I have had a really long lull between my last crazy fantasy dream and this one. But I am only happy that they have not died down. This time, I travelled to the highest point on earth. It was not Mount Everest though. My highest piece of land mass was not an icy mountain that is conquered by persevering mountaineers. It was a place that can be reached travelling in a bus. Not the Airbus, but the usual rutty RMTC buses that ply between Tamil Nadu and Kerala.
Why did I go? Who were with me? Where did I begin my journey? I do not know. What I do know is what it was like to go to the top of the Earth. It was exhilarating and unforgettable. I realise why people endeavour to risk their lives for a few moments on the summit.
It was an early morning when the bus creaked out of the town into the foothills that will lead to the mountains that held the peak. The winding roads and hair-pin bends were of no surprise to me as it was to many other travellers. I was told that it was a thirteen hour journey. Was it tough? Not really. I would have made thirteen hundred thirteen hour journeys to ponder if it was long or not. I knew it was long. And I knew it was bearable. The hot gusts of wind that blew as we rolled out of the town slowly mellowed into a cool breeze before it turned cold.
It was not the icy Himalayas. It was the typical tropical forest that I often encountered. Stone railings at bends to prevent vehicles from toppling over, clans of monkeys waiting for the lone motorcyclist, dark green leaves with just a single speck of water on their tips from last night’s rain, the sweet smell of soil, the big and small pot-holes and the muddy waters in them, the thatched roofed huts that were interspersed amidst the greenery like the tooty-fruities on a pastry, a bunch of villagers indulged in their morning smoke, the bare-backed boy running after his brother who rolled down a tyre with a stick – they were all familiar sights, but fresh and refreshing.
We could all feel the climb getting steeper and steeper as our backs stuck to the seats; and the hands clutched the bars in front. The first bag of home-made breakfast rolled over from the front of the bus to the back. The owner of the bag could only trip and fall when he tried to grab it. The heart skipped many a beats and it was one of those very rare moments when you are not ashamed to telling anyone that you are scared. I pleaded with gravity to go easy on us. I pleaded for everyone; because my life depended on everyone’s. The belief in miracles waned as the bus inched closer to ninety degrees. I was sure we were all going to get sucked back to the base camp like a paper trifle into the vacuum cleaner.
I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. Well, I have not always heard about it, but just once; in American Beauty. Anyway, I waited for this my-life-movie to start. To my great disappointment, I could only hear the hum of the engine as it tried to thug inch by inch. I knew I had a dull life devoid of memorable instances, but come on, not even a one minute promo?
That is because, I was not dying yet. The upright drive ended and we were on flat grounds. Zero degrees. Sorry, did I say zero degrees? No, I was wrong. It was one-eighty degrees – we were travelling upside down going around in an inward spiral. Once, twice, thrice, the circular ride did not end. I was definitely going down head first. Will the hand of God not hold the bus until it reached someplace safe? No, no, no. I was not to believe in the concept of God. Come on, think of someone else to help, you idiot. The head ran and reran the database of all my human and machine friends I knew to come to an inconclusive standstill. Everything seemed to be at a standstill but for the knowledge that I was travelling upside down. And then…
And then, when the bus was close to the centre of the circle, it rose up. It rose up and began moving up in another ninety degree road. Only this time, it was not as scary as the first time.
Did I reach the summit? I do not know. But the journey was as good as reaching the summit. Will I do it again? No. Why? I will allude to a friend of mine who recently completed a marathon. ‘It is quite a fanciful thing to boast to people that you finished a marathon. But, to do it again, no, your legs really hurt.’ I died a million times on that journey. I have experienced it once and that will be it. I am happy stretched on my couch, with a cheese burger, criticising Roger’s game against Fernando. Should you do it? Definitely. A. Because it is one hell of an experience. B. If you die, it is good riddance. It is one less leeching this place.
