In the last part, as I mentioned, we hurriedly went to the market to buy wool as the clouds were getting darker, and when I looked over the mountain peaks, they looked straight from an alien movie. Harshil Valley had changed many colours since I had arrived. My main motive for visiting the market was to buy original sheep wool from a local house, and my mother had promised she would knit the sweater for me. When we reached there, all the shopkeepers were running to shut their shops to get to their homes before the rain. I was there in November, and it was not a "touristy" time. People just pass through Harshil in the summer months as it falls on the way to Gangotri Dham. The gates had closed in October, and in addition, it was the start of harsh winters that Harshil faces. Half of the locals had already migrated to Uttarkashi and Pauri for the winters, while a few left who were waiting to prune the Apple trees.
The first shop I went into, the woman was in a hurry. It is worth mentioning here that all the shops were operated by women who wove the clothes on their own. "Do you have wool?" I asked, and she said no, wool is all sold, we only have the clothes. "How much for the cap?" I asked her. She said 200 for the cap. I enquired about the sweater, and she said 1200. I had thought that having a local with me would help in bargaining, but Ishan was naive. Neither did he know the actual prices, nor could he talk to the women there. "Where can I get wool?" I asked her. She came out of the shop and shouted towards a house on the opposite side, around 10-20 meters away, "Do you have wool?"
"Oon kahan milega bhai ji ab es time pe?", the woman said to me with a hair cloth on her head and a big smile. She did not make eye contact. "Aage unse puch lo, unpe hoga to", she pointed towards another house. The shopkeeper lady went ahead of us to another house. A very old lady with a black shawl was sitting there. Her white hair was all messed up and looked like they had not been combed for ages. She was sitting with a machine that makes thread out of raw wool. "Oon padi hai kya?" she asked her, and to my relief, she said yes.
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| Evening in Harsil Before the Rain |
"How much will it cost?" I asked the shopkeeper lady slowly while the old lady went inside to take the wool.
"1000 for 1 kg," she said and went running towards her shop.
"This is the wool", the old lady came back with a sack full of wool balls.
"How much for?" I asked.
The lady shouted towards the shopkeeper who had come with me. "Kitna bataya tune?"
"1 kilo 1000 ka", she shouted back
"1 kilo 1000 ka bhayia", she said to me.
"Okay. I want to make one sweater out of it. How much will I require?"
"1 sweater? That's it? 1.5 wool is enough."
Seeing the wool, I could not imagine how so little can be used to knit a sweater for an adult. Moreover, I actually wanted the wool, which is enough for 1 sweater and 3 caps. I asked her, but she did not know how much is required for a cap. I asked her to weigh 1 kg of wool to get an idea. She kept putting ball after ball on her physical weighing scale to around 7 or 8. Even though I have never knitted a single piece of cloth in my life, I could easily guess that this is too much. I asked her, and she said these can be used for 3 sweaters easily, and maybe one cap.
I said, "This is too much. Give me less than that."
In this, Ishan and I started talking and calculating the wool balls we might need, and in between, reminding each other that it is going to rain soon. While we were doing this, the old lady handed me the bag. I checked inside, and it was 3 balls of wool.
"That's 500 gm", she said.
"I did not ask to put 500 gm, this is too little," I said.
"You said 1 kg is too much, you want less than that."
"Yeah, but I never said 500 gm."
"500 gm is less than 1 kg, isn't it?" she said while sitting on her spot.
I looked at Ishan and laughed at him. What kind of logic is that? I asked her to put one more ball into it, and she refused.
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
"Because 1 kg is 1000 and 500 gm is 500," she said and showed me the numbers on a calculator.
"Yeah, you put one more ball, I will pay."
She put one more wool ball and weighed the total to around 650 gms. I gave her two 500 INR notes, and she kept them, gave me the bag, sat on the spot, and started to make the wool from her machine.
"I gave you 1000, where's the rest of the money?" I asked.
"What rest? I told you 500 gm is 500 and 1000 rupees for 1 kg," she said.
"Yeah, but this is 650 gm, so it is 650 INR. You have to give me 350 back," I said.
"650? What is that?" she asked.
"Cost of 650 gm wool," I said.
She shouted to the shopkeeper and yelled in the middle of the road that I am looting him. "Ye pagal bana rahe hain mera," she said so that every woman could listen.
I said to Ishan, "1000 gm for 1000 is 1 rupee per gm. This is the easiest calculation. What is the confusion? I don't get it."
Ishan did not understand. "Lo yaar tum 500 gm hi," he said as he did not want to be highlighted in this area, to which he is a local.
"You people from the cities make a fool of us because you have studied so much. I know you are fooling me," the old lady said.
At this time, two women came running to the shop. One, the shopkeeper, and the other the woman who had shown me this shop.
"What happened?" the shopkeeper asked.
"Pagal bana rahe ye dono", the old lady said.
"We are taking 650 gm wool, I am paying 650, and she is saying I am looting her," I said to the shopkeeper. I took the calculator and showed her the easiest calculation on it.
"650 hi to hua mata ji," she said to her.
"650 ka to koi nahi leta. Sab 500 aur 1000 ka lete hain," the old lady said.
"I think she has only memorized the cost for 500 g and 1 kg. She doesn't know the calculation," I said to Ishan.
Finally, I got my wool for 650 INR and moved towards the parking. The old lady was still unsatisfied and hesitated while giving me the money. She still thinks I took advantage of her. I threw the wool inside and asked Ishan, "Do you want to have momo?" and he agreed.
We went to the same shop where I had seen CP and his wife eating a while back. That was the only shop for "evening snacks" in Harsil. Once we finished, he got a call from his friend and informed me that he would have to go to his friend's house, and I should carry on towards his house. "What about CP?" I asked, and he said he left 30 minutes ago; he must have reached. "Alright, I will go then," I said and started climbing the 1.5 km steep climb towards his house. Ishan went to the other side towards the market.
On the way, I met CP and his wife. They were struggling to climb. I met them around the 1.2 km mark, and they were using trekking poles to reach the house. CP was fine, but his wife was struggling too much. She would stop after every three steps, and CP waited for her a few steps ahead. I passed them with a gentle nod just to acknowledge their presence, as we both know each other. I reached Ishan's place and sat on the balcony. It started raining 5 minutes later, and his mother came with a cup of tea.
"CP and his wife are coming. I met them just 5 minutes back," I said, so she can prepare tea for them as well. As I was saying this, I saw his head moving horizontally as if there was no body beneath. One more turn, and I could see them both. They were drenched in rain but were prepared with heavy raincoats. They sat on the balcony where I was sitting, looking towards the mountain ranges and the clouds that were wrapping them.
"How was Gartang Gali?" CP asked me.
"It was good. It's a small trek, but it is worth it, especially the last stretch," I said.
"We will go there tomorrow and then to Gangotri."
"How was Llama Top?" I asked.
"It was good, but Ishan did not tell me how risky it was. I slipped at various places," he said in disappointment. I knew if Ishan heard this, all he would think about is his rating going down.
"It was also a tough climb", he continued, "and I think Ishan did not know how much time it would take. I think he said around 2 hours, but it took us a lot more than that."
"It's not that we don't trek," his wife jumped in, "we have trekked all over the places. We have done Valley of Flowers, Hemkund Sahib, Kheerganga, and every Sunday we climb a local small trek in Dehradun as well."
Then she continued towards her lineage of being a Kumauni for about 15 minutes, explaining how Kumaunis can climb mountains easily and how innocent they are. She then digresses to her husband, continues to talk about 5-10 minutes about his prestigious bank job, which helped him move to various places and see real India instead of those who do regular jobs. She took another 15 minutes telling us about her kids and how they are living their life in the United States, not forgetting to let us know that she visits them every couple of years and stays there for 2 months.
All of this made Ishan's mother realize that she was lagging in life compared to the woman in front of him. She points out how Ishan is careless, not serious about her studies, and doesn't listen to her. "Aaj kal ke bache sunte kahan hain aur enhe to kuch bol bhi nahi sakte fir baat nahi karte", she said. She also takes care of not losing her dignity and keeps praising Ishan, his father, and his brother subtly so that she doesn't come out as a loser. "He has done a B.A. from a University in New Delhi". The two women were competing there for things that neither of them owns or has any contribution to. CP's wife made sure she kept commenting on Ishan and how he could improve his life. None of them knew, except me, that he had been learning AI and was stressed about his future more than these women.
Ishan comes after a while, and CP makes sure to let him know that he doesn't know much about the trek. Ishan gets worried about his ratings, as I had imagined. Once everyone dispersed to their respective rooms, Ishan and I talked for a while. I did not tell him about the talks that happened a few minutes back about him. They were pointless in my view.
"Where's my bonfire?" I asked Ishan. I have been insisting on a bonfire since day 1, but he always postponed it to the next day.
"Oh! right! You are going tomorrow! We'll have a bonfire today," he said.
It was raining that time, and extreme winds were blowing. "In this weather?" I asked. "Yeah! It's your last day, we'll have a bonfire."
Thirty minutes later, we started collecting wood. It was still very windy. Ishan brought the wood from his backyard, and all of them were wet. He placed them one supported by another and poured petrol over them. We lit the fire, but it did not work. We tried it for 20 to 25 minutes without any results. Then, his mother said she had dry wood at another place and asked Ishan to bring them. Finally, the wood was catching fire. She went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Whenever we tried to light the fire, a strong gust of wind would douse it in seconds. We consumed two matchboxes in this struggle.
Then, I suggested sitting with our faces in the direction of the wind so that it's blocked. I also placed a chair and other things so the wind would not go through. In a few minutes, the fire was lit, but Ishan stood up too quickly. He should have waited before it had enough strength to fight the wind. As soon as he stood up, small sparks started blowing with the wind, and they had enough velocity to cross the premises and land on other people's farms. All the farms around me belonged to Apple. There were sparks everywhere in every direction. Ishan got scared thinking it might start a fire, which would not be controllable as the wind is blowing too fast. His mother got scared, too. We had to spend 30 minutes moving from farm to farm and spotting any signs of fire in the dark. Thankfully, nothing was serious, and we returned to his home.
"Maybe we should skip the idea of a bonfire," I said to Ishan.
"Bonfire chodo ye dekho main kya laya," he said, taking out his hand from his jacket's pocket, which had a small bomb (firework). By its size, I knew it would be too loud. He gave it to me and asked me to throw it when it's about to burst. I could have done that, but its size was so big that if it blasted in my hand, I would have definitely lost my palm. I denied. "Okay then, you light it up, and I will throw," he said, and we got into position. It took us 10 minutes to light that bomb due to high winds. When I did, he looked at it and threw it nearby in another farm with near-perfect timing. We waited for a few seconds before it went off. It made a noise that would have travelled at least 10 kilometers in this silence-filled village. Everybody nearby came out, including CP and Ishan's mother.
"What happened?" Everyone bombarded us with this question.
"Don't know, we also heard a voice. It came from that side," Ishan said, pointing to the north-east.
Everybody looked and tried to observe if they could find anything. Then, they went on to carry on with the work they were doing.
"Are you having a bonfire?" CP asked, seeing the utensil in which we had half-burnt wood.
"Yeah," I said.
"In this weather?"
"He is going tomorrow. We have to light this up," said Ishan.
"I will help you guys," CP said and came downstairs.
He brought a bedsheet with him and stood there holding it from two corners. He gave me a sheet as well. We were both standing adjacent, and Ishan was sitting to light the fire. We tried our best to block the wind and have a good bonfire. Surprisingly, the fire lit and within seconds it started burning all the woods. "Now whatever you do, even if you keep it in a storm, it will not douse," CP said, folding the bedsheets.
He was right. The fire burned quickly but never stopped. CP went to his room and left us to ourselves. "You guys enjoy, I'll go," he said and left.
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| Bonfire lit by Ishan, me, and CP |
Ishan and I sat there quite a while. We discussed the future of Harsil and Garhwal in general. CP's gesture had made me feel like he was not as evil as Ishan had made him out to be. "CP helped us quite quickly", I said.
"Look at his status," he said and pointed the phone towards me. It was CP under the board that said, "Llama Top" with both his sticks lifted above his shoulders. "He is so happy and cursing me that I don't know the trek. How can I know the trek all the time?", he said.
I knew CP's comment would disturb him. Maybe more than the sinking grounds of the Himalayas and the disappointment of moving to Uttarkashi in a couple of days. His mother came with an apple and gave it to me. "This is from our farm", she said.
"Can we also have one?" said the voice from behind Ishan's mother. It was CP and his wife. They came down to fill their water bottles.
"Sure", she said.
When CP got down, behind him, we saw his wife. She was packed like a Mount Everest climber. A puffed-up blue jacket, gloves, shoes, two caps, and an ear cover. "Look back", I said to Ishan. He did and kept looking for a good 5 seconds. Then he turned towards me, and I was smiling by looking in another direction. I was forcing myself not to laugh. Seeing me like this, Ishan burst into laughter, and then I let myself free as well.
"What's so funny?" CP asked.
"Kuch nahi bhayia ne ek joke mara", Ishan said, but CP did not ask me about the joke. Maybe thinking that we are young, and it might involve something inappropriate for a person of his age. He just went inside the room, and his wife was outside looking at the stars, and her back was turned towards us. She looked like a small Eskimo.
We laughed and laughed at both of them for a while. "What element is this?" said Ishan for CP when he came outside and said, "Ishan, can we get the blanket?"
Ishan stops laughing and remembers that CP asked for the blanket in the evening, and he forgot.
"Oh! Yes, sorry I forgot." he turns towards him, stands up, and turns towards me again and says, "Gya ek star aur."
And I laughed for a few more seconds after he was gone.
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