Girl in Pulga- Part One
The sweet smell of rotting apples filled the air. Naked, twiggy trees surrounded her, their branches thin and jagged, pointing in different directions. It was dusk when she finally reached the village, and there was no electricity in the houses. She thought they were deserted, had closed for the winter without notice. She yelled out to the empty windows and triangular roofs, hoping someone would pop their head out and respond, but nobody did. Snow from three days ago crunched under her shoes. Slimy mud mixed with the frost and created something new on the heels of her shoes. Where the snow was muddy and translucent, she had to avoid treading, for it was slippery. A guide she had met in Grahan had told her that, but she didn’t trust him fully. She saw in him a sensitive, nervous, introverted charm that couldn’t fully extend and ground in the practical. She felt drawn to speak to him and make him feel included, but she wasn’t betting on his tips. He was right about the snow though. The people of the village told her that last year’s snow had been 5 feet thick. This year, the village elders were doing some ceremonies and restoring their local temple whose deity was Narayana, and so there would not be any snowfall. Legend had it that when temple work went on, snow wouldn’t come to interfere.
Mohit had been living here for four years and knew things about the place. He told her about Kangra, in Dharamshala and about the Chadhar trek. She asked about the forest, and Mohit told her about its waterfalls, its mysterious and strong winds that gave inklings of another presence. He told her about magic wood that seemed to burn forever, about medicinal plants that only the locals knew of, about mushrooms that sprouted in the monsoons. Fairy-like insects flew in their clustered darkness, but only during the rainy season. She planned to visit there soon, she wondered if the forest would inspire her, what spiralling paths would they lead her to?
Getting here should’ve been easy but it wasn’t. She had been reluctant to pack and get going. The buses had been delayed. A taxi driver made a fool of her and dropped her only half the way for the price. She had to trudge through wet mud with two backpacks that made her look comical and frail, like a child from a nursery rhyme. She missed people being around her, the chatter and raucous laughter and Mumbai slang being thrown around. Her hands smelled of mucus and her pretty turquoise down jacket was starting to look dirty and bulky. She ate many fresh oranges and mini oreo packets along the way. In the bumpy bus ride she met a travel guide in a red jacket, with dreads that a Japanese tourist had given him. He told her about the Kheergange trek, and that the hot spring was open even this time of the year. She rented out a pair of black trekking boots but never went, weary from all the travel of the previous day. She sniffed at her chest and underarms. She needed a bath desperately.
Last night had been palak paneer with generous dollops of ghee, accompanied by plain phulkas. She ate alone in the common room, being the only guest. A monolithic JBL speaker stood to one side, typical café pin ups of Pink Floyd, Jim Morrison and The Beatles. A sedate buddha sculpture was pushed in with other knick knacks- a succulent, a toy penguin and some playing cards. A large painting of tree people, the tree man bowed down to the tree woman in obeisance. Instead of a pahadi tandoor, they had an electric heater. Sammy came into the room, apron on his thin frame, bespectacled with large eyes. He spoke to her for a while, wanting to provide her with some company, hoping she wasn’t feeling bored. She told him that she was used to being alone. Then the others came and the TV was turned on, and that was when she felt a headache come on. Golmaal Returns featuring a bhoothni. She excused herself and covered herself in a sea of blankets. Her room reminded her of the Beatles’ song, “Norwegian Wood”. Except it was all pinewood- the walls, floor and roof. Small and cosy, psychedelic elven patterns on the blue curtains, floor carpeting, a large bed that took over the entire room, a jug of water and a simple plastic tumbler on the bedstand.
The electricity was gone today as well and she was feeling lacklustre. Her internet connectivity was back to normal, and while it had excited and pleased her at first, it only made her feel strangely anxious and irritable now. The magic of the mountains lay in part in poor internet connectivity, in the feeling of being cut off from the mundane world, in snatching bits of network to post or say only those things that were truly heartfelt and important. The sun came and went in whimsy. An energetic Siberian husky dug holes in the apple garden. She felt very cold even in the day time, and itchy. She wished she could move about more and do something important, maybe even contribute in the kitchen. She didn’t like being served food in her room. She had got used to swinging in and out of pahadi homestay kitchens, cooking something up from what vegetables were available. She missed the boy she had made up in her mind.
