No pain, no gain?
Despite the hoards that debunk this well known aphorism, this weekend proved that it is, undeniably, true.
After a great night at 9ft high that ended more than a little late, 3 hours of semi-wakeful sleep, frantic packing and shady encounters at a gas station, we wound up all alone at Tidel Park at 4:15 in the morning. Waited for the bus - introductions all around - and got eaten alive by the merciless mosquitoes.
About five hours later, as our buses wheezed along village roads, we finally arrived at Nagalapuram. 82 people, most of us women, since this was a ladies trek, stumbled/sprang/zoomed (depending on the fatigue/excitement/restraint ratio) out of the bus onto a mud road and made our way to the first destination - a dam of red earth. I scrambled up the dam, and as I skidded through the dirt a phrase began to beat in my mind that would continue all day, 'Don't fall - don't fall - don't fall' intermingled with 'Wow - this place is beautiful, I wonder whats on the other side?'
My question was soon answered. As soon as we reached the top of the bund - a large reservoir, completely placid, spread out about 10 ft below us for a mile or so. Surrounding the reservoir in front of us, were hills so untouched that wanderlust began to take over. Behind us, fields and other artifacts of civilization remained. But needless to say, none of us were looking back.
After a quick break and photo-op we proceeded around the reservoir into a path that led up the hills. Shrubs and thorns soon gave way to a grove of mango trees so large, old and untamed looking, they seemed to have nothing to do with the pretty yellow fruit that graces everyones table come summer.
We proceeded up a gradual incline into thicker forest, where the path became wide enough for only a single file and tree branches eagerly blocked our way.
Soon, we could hear a the sounds of a stream - and caught our first sight of it at a crossing. The water was, as promised, crystal clear, and I picked up speed in eagerness to get to the first of three pools.
Our arrival at the first pool was punctuated by splashes and shouts of glee. I soon dashed off and stepped into the water. It was so cold! After swimming around, relaxing under the waterfall and an ill-fated attempt or two at ferrying non-swimmers to the other side of the pool we were on our way to pool number 2.
The path was immediately more difficult. The first obstacle being a narrow passageway through a boulder. Slinking through that was tricky, but fun. We skipped boulders, crossed the stream a few times and voila - there was the second pool.
Now if the first pool was paradise, this was surely whatever is more than that. The water was clear, even in the deeper parts of the pool - and no imagination had to be exercised as to what "lurks in the depths." Small fish swam around and the waterfall had a wonderfully positioned stone right underneath it as well as small vines to climb up on the rocks and cannonball into the water. A lot of people opted to stay out of the pool, but the 'takers' still approached it with glee.
The sunlight shone right on this pool, making it warm and absolutely ideal. I jumped off one of the rocks into the pool - going underwater without goggles - unprecedented for me.
After sometime, Peter (the founder of CTC) decided that a group of us could go to the 3rd pool if interested. He said it was a 30 minute hike to a pool about 40 ft deep. I considered not going, but I don't think that was ever a real option.
The path to the second pool was quite difficult. There was no flat ground - just lots of boulders, twigs, and many many possible things to trip over. We had to cross the stream several times - which involves balance, steady feet, and concentration - not exactly my strengths. But I still had fun pretending to be agile and looking around at the ever thickening forest. At a certain point branches of a tree stretched across the path - they looked, for lack of a better description, like someones curly brown hair.
After losing the group in front of us, calling out and following their voices we made a last climb to a ledge of rocks. Upon looking down, we found a group of us relaxing in the water about 15 feet below and no direct entry into the pool other than a jump from about 8 ft above the water.
I had decided not to go into the pool, not wanting to "risk it." But the sight of non-swimmers relaxing in the sun on the other sight of the pool like mermaids, and the perfect serenity on the opposite side compared to the gathering multitudes on this side, forced me off the ledge into the surprisingly warm water. I struck out for the other side and lay lazily in the sun with the others.
At a certain point, I heard a loud splash, cheering, and saw some pretty major ripples. A few minutes later, I looked up at the waterfall and saw Peter, whizzing out with the water into the pool. Promptly two other girls scrambled up the rock face on the side of the waterfall and all was lost. I had to go. Fear pounded in me, but some insane drive drove me up the rock face about 25 feet in the air to the side of the waterfall. At that point I froze, though my decision was already made. Either get over my fear and slip into the path of the water and be down in 3 exhilarating seconds or try and make the same slow, precarious climb down - fearing perceived imminent death instead of enjoying myself.
So in I slid and after hitting the water pretty hard, came out to the sound of cheers all around. Life was good.
After some more amazing jumps and dives by the more experienced trekkers we began to head back to the second pool to collect the rest of our party. As we proceeded back home, dusk began to fall. Pretty soon, it was night - pitch black - and we walked back by the light of our torches. Glances upwards into the night sky reminded me of my long unexpressed love for nature. The stars spread out, almost littering the blackness with points of light. Around us were low shrubs and in the distance loomed the outlines of the hills we had just left behind. Silence abounded broken only by the squelching of my wet sneakers.
By the time we made it back to the bus, decided to head to a Dhaba for dinner and left, it was 9 pm, already 1 hour after the scheduled hour of arrival back in Chennai. Despite my utter exhaustion, the bus ride to the dhaba was memorable. Listening to Coldplay, stretched out on my seat, and looking at the stars and hills, there wasn't a better place to be.
At the Dhaba - sleeping in a room filled with simple wooden cots, we devoured some of the most fulfilling Paneer Butter Masala and Dhal Makani to date.
Back in the bus on the way back, I stretched out my legs and slept till we finally reached the city at 1 am.
I don't remember much of what happened after that, but I remember waking up finally realizing the incongruity of the previous day with the life I've lived for the past 6 years. And realizing that despite the pain everywhere in my body and my near total inability to speak or move, I was more myself in that past day than I am on a daily basis. I went to work that day with more confidence and a realization - that yes, i love what i do for a living.
Tonight, as I prepare to make the painful journey across my room to my bed, I bear the pain as a reminder that it came from a day that was intense, pure and a reminder that life can be lived with an integrity that should not be tainted.
Ouch.
But I loved it.
