I met my dear friend Avinash (Avi), that I knew from Sadhana Forest, in Delhi at 4pm and we began to discuss where my last week in India would be spent. We wanted to go to the Valley of Flowers in Uttarakhand but had been informed that it was ‘full raining’ there. At 4.50pm we made a decision – we would go to Parvati Valley in Himachal Pradesh, a favourite haunt of Avi’s and somewhere he tries to spend time every year. The idea of being in the Himalayas for my last week appealed to me greatly, as I’d only ever been on the Nepal side of the mountains. A week was just barely enough time to justify the long bus rides from Delhi into the Himalayas. Forty minutes after making our decision we were packed, had tickets in hand, spare bags checked in for the week at a grim hotel and were ready to go. We headed for the hills, excited to once again be in each other’s company. When he had come to Auroville some two months previous, Avi and I had formed a deep and instant connection that made it seem that perhaps these two souls weren’t meeting for the first time. With the exception of me falling into a ditch with my knickers round my ankles, the journey was pretty straightforward. The bus had stopped on a mountain road while customs officers delayed us as far as possible. It wasn’t quite dawn yet and I thought I’d take advantage of the cover of darkness to have a pee in relative privacy as you never know when the bus will stop again and what condition the nearest toilets are in when it does. There was very little traffic, being the early hours of the morning so I got myself in position at the side of the road just up a bit from where the bus was parked. There were shrubs and bushes on the side of the road and just as I was about to go I thought I’d shuffle back a little to try to gain a little extra privacy from the bushes. Unbeknown to me, there was a ditch at the side of the road which I hadn’t seen in the dark amongst the undergrowth. Before I had even understood what was happening I was bare arse down in the shrubs, looking at what was left of the stars as the dawn was about to break. I hadn’t realized at that point I’d cut my left cheek (not the one on my face!) on some sharp twigs and sustained a few other scrapes and bruises. Thankful that the darkness had meant nobody had seen me, I gathered myself together, got myself out of the ditch and got back on the bus. Two months later I’m sporting what I fondly refer to as my ‘Himalaya scar’ on my butt. Finally we made it to Kasol, hippie capital of Parvati Valley. We didn’t stay, instead walking the short thirty minute walk to Chhalal where Avi had some friends he wanted to see. We checked in for a night at their guest house and became acquainted with a rather bizarre Russian couple , Alex and Yuli who were also staying there and invited us to join them on the balcony for ‘chai’. Chillum smoking yoga freaks, this crazy couple are so into the virtues of Chinese tea that they carry around a full Chinese tea set, complete with stove, heavy pyrex pot and traditional Chinese tea serving table. We downed cup after cup of steaming tea until we had each consumed around forty cups. Meanwhile we chatted, mostly with Alex as his girlfriend didn’t have so much confidence to speak English and Alex had plenty to say. When they weren’t drinking chai, this couple would be suspended from the ceiling on ropes in all kinds of yogic poses, or doing pranayama (yogic breathing exercises) on the veranda. Crazy, maybe, but generous and hospitable, we whiled away the afternoon with this unusual pair, sharing philosophies and stories until the sun set. Next day Avi and I walked back to Kasol and caught the bus to Barshani, from which we could reach Avi’s hideaway retreat in Kalga with just a short trek. It was an unoccupied house, rustic in design, built with wood and cow dung among huge boulders overlooking the quaint village of Kalga. It was perfect. It was dusty and musty and full of cobwebs and burned incense sticks. I loved it. In Chhalal the newer houses had been built in a modern style with concrete and painted in bright colours that did nothing to blend with the landscape. Kalga, however retained much more sensitivity to the environment. There were no roads here beyond the ugly great hydro electric dam that was being built below in the valley. Small paths wound round the village, passing through people’s houses, apple orchards and fields of corn and wild hemp. The apple trees were burdened with enormous yields of rosy pink apples that became our breakfast staple stewed and served with oat porridge. Minute sunbirds the size of butterflies flitted from corn stalk to corn stalk, harvesting sweet nectar from the flowers. Bears were known to be wandering in the forest not far above these villages. Both the Himalayan black and brown bears patrolled these hills. Fuzzy, short faced mountain dogs with little floppy ears that cocked forward made the village hounds I was accustomed to seeing in Tamil Nadu appear even more scrawny and wretched. These were big, buffy hairy creatures, made for surviving this climate and harsh winters. We spent five beautiful lazy days here at Kalga, foraging for wild foods and fungi to supplement the food we bought at the little shop down the hill. We spent our time cooking, reading, staring into the ever changing view as the mists rolled in and out of the valley and clouds parted to reveal towering mountains. I slept deeply and awoke cold and refreshed, beginning the day with the basic chores that gave me such pleasure, filling buckets with water, cleaning dishes in the icy mountain stream water that poured continually from a pipe outside at our house, cleaning the tandoor for the next fire and preparing wholesome delicious food that somehow always tastes better in environments like this. We ate simple food that made us feel like royalty and cherished the abundance we were blessed with in this beautiful place. There wasn’t much talking, as words didn’t come, only contemplative thoughts interspersed with an empty brain. I was nostalgic about leaving India, my home for three years, I was mesmerized by the extraordinary beauty of this valley and hypnotized by the simplicity of life here. I even enjoyed a bracing shower on the morning I chose not to heat a bucket of water for the shower. It was icy and invigorating and maybe even a little painful but it made me feel alive. Very alive. And I felt grateful, grateful to have this connection with Avinash, grateful for the chance to be there, grateful to sit under a canvas of stars so bright you swore if you reached out you might just be able to touch them. At night clouds that looked like herds of charging horses would appear over the mountains and I relished the mystery of it all. On the last morning I awoke to find that a dog had eaten my sandals, the last pair of shoes that I had with me that were still in one piece. My last day was spent walking barefoot in the Himalayas. I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to end this adventure in India. Here I was, barefoot and broke and feeling like the richest person on earth. Avi wanted to take me to a scenic spot he knew before we left the valley so we left our bags in Kasol and walked an hour and a half to a rock beside a stream that he happened to like. He was that kind of guy, the kind that walked for hours to get to a rock. He was long and willowy and would trip over his own feet when walking on a street, but take him up a mountain and he instantly transformed into a mountain goat, swift and sure footed, finding places for his feet while looking at the skies. I watched him with love and admiration and while I knew that in another day we would have to part, not knowing when we would meet again, it made me treasure each moment in his company even more.
