How Did I Get Here?

The narrow road ahead was barely visible as thick fog blanketed the Mahindra XYLO on all sides. As we inched forward, a new section of the sheer wall of rock, looming skywards to our right revealed itself. Up ahead, coming towards us was an overladen Himachali bus, looking for all intents hell bent on brushing us aside into the ravine, while it lumbered on to wherever it was headed. On the left, where I was seated, the wall of fog hugged my window. But I know the wall is an illusion. It hid a bottom less ravine with a few million deodar, pine and fir trees sticking out like javelins waiting to impale me.

Surya (the only one, amongst us four adults, with the skills to drive on these mountain roads) was reversing the XYLO towards a bent in the so-called road, so that the damn bus could pass us without knocking us over. My senses were heightened, and I could hear the smoother swish of the tire on the poorly tarred roads replaced by a crunching grinding sound – the back tires were now going over the stones and rocks that formed the edge of the road, and the world itself as far as I was concerned. My heart and stomach were not in their designated spots. They were in my mouth and that may have been the only reason why I was not puking in sheer terror. Behind me, I could hear the two girls belting out their own garbled version of Gangnam Style for the 100th time, oblivious to everything else. As usual I found myself leaning to my right towards my friend Reva and her year-and-a-half old son Yugi – as though by leaning my shoulder in towards the centre of the car and the baby seat I could prevent our car from tumbling over. And I asked myself for the 100th time, “How did I get here!?”

I had turned 40 that year. Gravity was suddenly having a greater impact on my body and my emotions swung between those of a defiant-25-something and a why-bother-we-are-all-going-to-die fatalist 90-year-old. The previous year, I had been told that my thyroid housed a few unwelcome nodules and my breasts, three lumps. A week and some FNACs later, I was told that every single one of the nodules and lumps were benign. But like most medical emergencies, this too brought about an existential crisis, and I decided to start doing the things I had always dreamt of – going on a Himalayan Road trip being one of them. In my dreams, I am single, footloose, and without a worry in the world. As it turned out, I was accompanied by husband, best friend and her husband, and three kids under the age of six.

Our friends were the adventurous types – a lifetime spent going on treks, road trips and making risky choices. My husband and I, despite our best intentions lived lives that followed conventional paths, and the riskiest move we had made until then was to try out the raw seafood platter in Singapore.

The plan was to pack the seven of us and our luggage into the XYLO and drive from Chandigarh to Solan and then stop overnight at Narkhanda, Jalori, and finally, Manali, before heading to Rohtang and back. In nine days. With three kids. Sounded more fool hardy than adventurous.

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More later :).