Up Birders hills & vales Buddies

મમ્મી પપ્પા

Surat was home to our extended family and a number of close friends of pappa. Pappa’s elder sister – more mother than sister – was friends with Prabodhaben. She was also well acquainted with Maniben Nanavati, nee Jhaveri. Jagadishbhai was Maniben’s son. I do not know how pappa met Jagdishbhai in Bombay and the families rebonded, but I suspect they met somewhere in Scindia house, where pappa was employed, and the Nanavati’s had their business premises there as well. Subsequently, they bonded over their common love of mountains. Pappa got a message one day from Jagadishbhai, to come over to his place to see some great slides (photo transparencies in those days!) of Himalayas and flowers and such. When we reached his house, ‘ba” i.e. Maniben called out “Suman!” and we went over to chat about pappa’s sister Hiralaxmi, for a while. Jagdishbhai then introduced the photographer “Meet Ashvin Mehta, and this is Sumantbhai”. Pappa’s response was, ”I know him, I have played with him when he was a toddler!” Ashvinbhai was Prabodhaben’s son!

Jagadishbhai and Mandamaasi, pappa mummy and later Anju and I,  with mountains be they Himalaya’s or be they the Saihyadri’s  just talk, see slides, or go off on short hikes. We were together  often. Jagadishbhai had a stronger affinity for mountaineering, (thus, Mandamaasi’s trekking would terminate at various basecamps!). He was my role model for hard-core mountains.. so off I went to do rock climbing courses on the outskirts of Mumbai with instructors from the HMI,  and later the mountaineering courses at NIM Uttarkashi.

Pappa was planning Anju’s first trek in the Himalayas, and mummy was a bit concerned how she would adapt to trekking and altitudes. Mandamaasi heard about it, and simply told pappa, “I and my daughters Sonal and Sujju (Sujata, Mandamaasi’s niece) are coming with you!”. Mummy was thrilled that Anju would get the companionship of these two teenage girls, also out to the Himalayas for the first time! Our families often went hiking in the Saihyadri’s around Bombay. Kalsubai, Ghanchakkar, Visapur Lohgadh and many more.

Ashvinbhai and Tiluben. Serious intellectuals, artists with high levels of achievements, and nature mad like us. Ashvinbhai was perhaps 20 years younger than pappa, but they got along very well. Ashvinbhai – in his professional photographer mode – would dismiss critics of his work with “you don’t understand an artist’s vision”, but would accept feedback from only a few, like  Pappa and Anju’s father Prafullbhai.  Ashvin-Tilu were both intensely fond (and knowledgeable about) Hindustani classical music.  Tiluben was a highly trained Hindustani classical singer, but would sing only at spontaneous moments. However, she would honour  my request to her to sing in raag Desh. Ashvinbhai was also deep into Gujarati literature, and wrote occasionally, but beautifully. Both of them were good friends with Ninubhai and Kaumudiben, doyens of Gujarati music. Ninubhai had compiled a poetic story about Sita, called Sitayan, and the performance had been broadcast on All India Radio. Ashvinbhai called us to listen to it together, and I recorded it on our cassette recorder directly from the radio set! We did a number of hikes with them, memorable ones to Saaler Muler from Ahwa, and Avandh Patta forts.

Our group of friends keen to take off on Saihyadri hikes  was quite large. Climbers Club arranged many such hikes on weekends, and public holidays (known in Bombay as “bank holidays!”). A “leader” was identified – essentially someone who had been there before and knew the routes and paths – and soon messages started circulating: “Prabal fort this Sunday, 4:20 a.m. Karjat fast from Byculla, third bogie from the front” or “Saturday 1:20 pm Poona passenger from Boribandar, get off at Malawli, night on the station, climb  the next morning, back to Lonawala, 6:10 pm Deccan express to Bombay” and any number of hikers from 20 to 50 would be in the third bogie from the front on that date!

Shashikantbhai and Shashiben (a.k.a. Shashikala). Shashikantbhai needed a rucksack once, and he was guided to Sumantbhai “if he has a spare, he will happily loan it to you”. Shashikantbhai came over to our place, borrowed the rucksack, and became our friend for the rest of his days. Pappa got him and Shashiben totally hooked on Himalaya and mountains and nature in general. He too was fond of photography, and that was one more common thread woven into our friendship. He joined us on our trek to the Valley of Flowers. He too was an employee of Scindia Shipping, and together with pappa, got a few other couch potato colleagues off the couches, into their cars, and on to Tansa and Vaitarna lakes in pouring rain, or off to climb Kalsubai or Ghanchakkar.

Makarand Mazumdar and Dakshaben. Makarandbhai was a cousin of Ashvinbhai. He too had become a part of our group of mountain aficionado’s. They joined a number of the hikes organised by The Climbers’ Club, or just ad-hoc rambles with us on weekends. But I dare say that pappa’s slides also played a big part in getting them hooked into mountains and nature.

Pappa met Malatiben Jhaveri some where  in this stream of Himalaya aficionados. She was drenched in her love of mountains, besides literature, dance and  community service. She was ever present in our Saihyadri rambles, although her husband Damubhai stayed away from mountains preferring cultural pursuits. She frequently told pappa, I want to go to the Himalayas, take me with you! Circumstances coalesced and she joined us on our trek to Valle of Flowers, and later went with mummy and pappa to Margan and Sinthan in Kashmir too. She was a Sanskrit scholar, and could recite Meghdoot – a famous poem, with all its nuances. We had pitched tents for our stay in the Valley of Flowers. It was July, and rain was frequent. Our afternoons were filled with Maltiben reciting Meghdoot from her tent, and then explaining the verses in Gujarati to the rest of us! By evening, the rain would stop, and we would gather around a camp fire near by. Can you visualise what heaven  felt like?

Two good friends from Climbers’ Club were Ashok Kunte, and “Tiny” Mazumdar (his aunt called him Satyapriya, but when he joined IIT Khadagpur, his friends decided that the 6’2” 90 Kg fellow is best described as “Tiny”, and that stuck!). Pappa would be a bit antsy on Sundays especially during the monsoon. Few friends – Ashok and later Tiny amongst them – would take off for somewhere or the other near Bombay on Saturday afternoons, and come back Sunday evenings. “Somewhere” was often about knowing the end point e.g. Sheravata lake (landing point not known) and a probable starting point, over the hill from Walvan. And they would simply find a footpath or two to walk along! We had hardly settled in our apartment in Singapore, may be a month into that place. We were out buying Indian groceries in the Little India area of Singapore, and we bang into Ashok and his wife Saroj. Pappa was thrilled but also livid, “How can you come to Singapore, and not let me know? And you go and stay in a hotel! pack your bags and come home immediately!” Anju I came home and went shopping for mattresses for our first guests in Singapore! Ashok went hang gliding to celebrate his sixtieth birthdate! Ashok is a very caring friend. Every time we visited Bombay from Singapore, he would take pappa to his home for a few days, and take great care of pappa.

Given that Bombay is “home” to the Parsi community, we had quite a few of them in Climbers’ Club. They had their own special name for pappa – Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam was a guaranteed source of a sip of hot tea, during the monsoon hikes around Bombay!

We always meet very interesting people during our travels in the Himalayas, helpful, warm, affectionate and precious; many of whom stay in touch with us for ever!

We scheduled Kumaon in 1960. Navaneetbhai encouraged us to visit his orchard near Almora, called Khali Estate, and gave us a note to the caretaker there.  Khaali was a few miles from Almora, but a bit remote. We reached there late afternoon, and met fellow guest Gangotriben Garbiyal, a close friend of Navneetbhai. There was an alter set up in the house, and Gangotriben invited us to join her for the evening prayers. We sat around her, as she started singing devotionals. She was so engrossed  in her devotion, that tears of joy rolled down her face, and she was totally unaware of the wetness. We were just stunned at her oneness in her devotion. The association that began that evening, lasted a lifetime. Gangotriben was from a tiny  remote village of Garbyang, in Pithoragadh district, but had done her masters and had been teaching in girls schools and colleges ever since, all in Gadhwal and Kumaon. We met her every time we trekked in Kumaon or Gadhwal. Gangotriben had retired to Narayan Ashram, and was the administrator there of. Her stories about her early struggles in the village, her efforts to get educated, and activism for girl child education were thrilling and exhilarating.

Pappa mummy were on their way to Phoksumdo lake in Nepal, and just flown to their starting point – Jumla. As was normal in interior Nepal in those days, one simply picked a large looking dwelling and asked permission to spend the night in the veranda! Pappa saw a well built house, and asked the owner for permission to spend the night on the porch. The owner said “No!” taking pappa’s breath away in shock. But he continued “come and stay IN my house!”. That was Dr. Gautam and his wife Dr. Leela, who hosted pappa mummy for 3 days while they organised their trek.

We – me included – were travelling to Spiti valley in extreme north west Himachal Pradesh. It was already late afternoon. It was barren all around, and not a village in sight, as the bus headed to the last stop Sumdu. An army jeep halted by the side of the road, and two people in Uniform waved us to a halt. A baby donkey had fallen off the steep hill side, and lay injured and bleeding on the road. We stopped, and one of the army officer asked if anyone had some water? We had our water bottles, which we gave the officer. After a while he came back, handed us the water bottle, and said “see you in Sumdu”, and took off. The bus did terminate in Sumdu, but we were a bit stunned by what Sumdu was! Totally barren spot in the bottom of a valley, strong wind, the sun had gone, not a house is sight, and the couple of locals who were in the bus disappeared in a jiffy! We unloaded our luggage from the roof of the bus, and the bus too took off! No one around, and no place to go to! Suddenly, two soldiers appeared, grabbed our kit bags and said in Hindi, “come, the boss has called you folks”. We reached their well laid out camp – otherwise invisible from the road - and were welcomed by the same two officers we had met on the road. Capt. K C Mehra of the ITBP, and his battalion’s veterinary doctor. When they found out that we play bridge, they asked us to stay a couple of more days, and other officers from army units around that border area came down to play a few rounds with us.

Further up the trek, we reached Kaza after 6 days of walking. We had planned to cross Kumzum La and reach Manali. We found that there was a motorable road from Kaza to Losar at the base of Kumzum La, but the pass itself was heavily snow bound. We decided to visit Losar at least, and surprisingly met a PWD officer going to Losar in his jeep. We went along and met the PWD engineer posted there… A place of sever cold, strong winds, totally barren, not a blade of grass, no village, and just tents to live in! Ashok Odak of Poona was that engineer, and he was thrilled to meet people – pappa and I – who could speak Marathi. He said he had not spoken Marathi for over 2 months! We stayed the night with him, and he gave us the jeep back to Kaza.

Narkanda is 40 miles from Simla, and a lovelier view is hard to imagine from anywhere else in Himachal Pradesh. In 1963, it was a little village of one PWD dak bungalow, a couple of shops, a tea shop or two, and hardly 10 dwellings, on either side of the road. We reached Narkanda from Shimla, and parked ourselves in the PWD dak bungalow. Mummy and I went across the road to the shop to buy a few grocery items. It had started raining, so the shopkeeper said, “you need not carry every thing, I will send it with my ‘man’”. We ran back, and a few minutes later the shopkeeper’s ‘man’ turned up with our goods, soaked to the skin, and shivering at that 8000’ altitude in a shirt, and a leather jacket. Mummy made him sit down, and gave him some of the hot tea that we were all drinking. It turned out that he was a well educated (Master’s in law - interrupted! - from MS University, Vadodara!) boy, from a well off family, out to “find himself or some such”! He had absolutely nothing on him, except the clothes on his back, slept in the shop, and lived off whatever the shop keeper paid him. Mummy called him over for a proper Gujarati meal that evening!

I better close after this last story.

Kumaon again in 1960. We got off the bus late afternoon, at a place called Chaukori. One other person also got off the bus. Even as we got our luggage down from the roof of the bus, we realised that the place was totally bereft of any civilisation. The other person saw our bewilderment, and asked us where we were headed? He clarified. The place was Chaukori, but there was no village! There was a tea estate and he was it’s manager. He asked us to leave our luggage by the road, go along with him, and he would arrange for a place for us to stay! His staff would collect the bags. Boy, did we get royal treatment! He housed us in the tea estate’s guest house, and hosted us there for 3 days. The manager – Mr. G S Taragi of the Berinag Tea Estate – made just one request of pappa. After you reach Bombay, please help me acquire a pair of binoculars like yours! Which of course pappa did.

I may run out of space, but not stories to write!