Last four months I spent in Africa. I met strange people, ate stranger food, walked into juju markets of Nigeria, lost baggage in Mali, danced and sang with Nubians in Egypt, got lost in the medinas of Morocco, dined with Zulus of South Africa, made eye contact with the Mountain Gorillas of Rwanda, relaxed in the beaches of Ghana, cheered for the lioness as she pounced on the wilder-beast in the vast Serengeti plains, and managed to completely avoid winter in Pittsburgh. And here I am, kicking myself for not seeing Ethiopia, Namibia and Bostswana. Life is calling me an ingrate!
I may or may not get into all the details of my trip in this blog, but you shall hear snippets for a long time to come. I met lots of Africans and this was their reaction to India:
Nigeria
'Man! You Indian people never part with your money even though you sleep in golden beds. If we get one Naira (equal to $1/150) from an Indian, we throw a party. By the way, if you didn’t get it, we don't like Indians.’
South Africa
'My great-grandpa was Indian; from Madras. Is Aishwarya Rai from there? One of these days, I would love to see what India is like. We Indians have thrived here from generations, keeping our culture alive. If you think Cape Town is infested with Indians, go to Durban. Can I offer you some chai? '
Mali
'India? Hind? aaahh! (glazed far away look) Where ever you are from, your skin color and hair is great. Wish all Malians could have brown skin and straight black hair.' (touches to see if I am real)
Tanzania
'Indians control all big businesses and keep to their own community. They never let their daughters marry localites and are forever suspicious of us. but you both are very different and friendly.'
Egypt
'You know Amitabh Bacchan? You look like heroine! What eyes! What body! Be my wife. I will give your husband 1000 camels in exchange for an Indian bride. He can have my fat sister too for free. '
[I plan to go to Egypt everytime I need ego boosting]
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Ode to Ignatius
‘We’ll have a driver, cook, maid, laundry-boy and even a gardener’, said Pi in order to entice me into following him to Lagos, Nigeria. What he didn’t mention was there was also a pool-boy for the private pool in the backyard for the bungalow. Fume away, fretter all you want, you lesser beings in Western countries who clean your own bathrooms. I was dying to be waited on by my own Men Friday.
Our pot-bellied chef, Ignatius, walked in majestically with a white coat and a chef’s hat. Mentioned he went to chef school. My gastronomic cells jumped in glee. I learnt very soon that Ignatius couldn’t cook. In fact, Ignatius and the word ‘cook’ should never be in the same sentence. But he cooked nevertheless. He had all the signs of a person who wanted to do the right thing – as in cook a decent meal. But he failed every time he tried. His food tasted like something, but we are yet to ascertain what. Some say donkey tastes like that. Even his fried items tasted like cardboard soaked in oil. What he was adept at was making something terrible out of perfectly good ingredients (oil and flour. How? How?). He mixed up coffee and tea; salt and baking powder. After he cooked, the kitchen would look worse than the garbage truck filled with road kill. On top of that, he was a little slow for a human being. It took him three days to comprehend that we were vegetarian.
‘No meat.’
‘No chicken madam?’
‘No, Ignatius.’
‘Oh. I understand madam- o. I know one lady vegetarian. She dey eat no chicken.’ He said in perfect Pidgin English.
‘I am glad you have encountered such species.’
‘Tomorrow I dey make pork chops madam with white sauce.’
What ensued was an hour class on vegetarianism filled with drawings and actions. I gave him a cue cards and cheat sheets. ‘Nothing with eyes.’ He nodded his bulky head. He went shopping muttering 'no eyes..no eyes' and came home with Carp.
‘Ignatius, we don’t eat fish. I told you no eyes.’
‘They cut the head off. See.’
ARRRRGGGGHHH!
‘Oh, madam! You say no chicken, I dey understand. No pork, I dey understand. No beef or mutton, it is very hard. What I dey cook if I dey no cook fish. You come to Nigeria to starve?’
I spend the next two hours showing him how to cook dal and cabbage with whatever I could scrap from the kitchen. Everyday after that, we had decent food except for the fact that dal and cabbage started seeping out of our nostrils every time we breathed. ‘Ignatius, please put a stop to this. If I have one more meal of dal and cabbage, I will combust in my own fart. Ask Alpha madam to give you some recipes. ’ Pi warned and left to work.
So while I was busy working on some project and looking more important than I needed to be, Ignatius waddled up to me, sweating and breathless (he always managed that look even if he was watching TV on the couch),’Madam, Pi sir told me to ask you for recipes.’
Patience wearing thin, I wrote down good Indian recipes and even showed him how to make a few things. Considering he was being paid, I had no intentions of doing the job for him. No one finished my design report for me when I taught chefs how to cook. ‘Ignatius, you better improve, or else!’ He had signs of panic in his eyes and stuttered something about making a decent meal for dinner after he is done grocery shopping. Palak paneer was laid out.
Relishing it, Pi commended my training and said he would congratulate Ignatius the next day. I beamed with pride for my new ward.
That is when I saw empty packets of MTR ready-made palak paneer in the garbage.
[Part of my 4 month stint in Africa after taking a break from work. Now I'm back in Pittsburgh]
Our pot-bellied chef, Ignatius, walked in majestically with a white coat and a chef’s hat. Mentioned he went to chef school. My gastronomic cells jumped in glee. I learnt very soon that Ignatius couldn’t cook. In fact, Ignatius and the word ‘cook’ should never be in the same sentence. But he cooked nevertheless. He had all the signs of a person who wanted to do the right thing – as in cook a decent meal. But he failed every time he tried. His food tasted like something, but we are yet to ascertain what. Some say donkey tastes like that. Even his fried items tasted like cardboard soaked in oil. What he was adept at was making something terrible out of perfectly good ingredients (oil and flour. How? How?). He mixed up coffee and tea; salt and baking powder. After he cooked, the kitchen would look worse than the garbage truck filled with road kill. On top of that, he was a little slow for a human being. It took him three days to comprehend that we were vegetarian.
‘No meat.’
‘No chicken madam?’
‘No, Ignatius.’
‘Oh. I understand madam- o. I know one lady vegetarian. She dey eat no chicken.’ He said in perfect Pidgin English.
‘I am glad you have encountered such species.’
‘Tomorrow I dey make pork chops madam with white sauce.’
What ensued was an hour class on vegetarianism filled with drawings and actions. I gave him a cue cards and cheat sheets. ‘Nothing with eyes.’ He nodded his bulky head. He went shopping muttering 'no eyes..no eyes' and came home with Carp.
‘Ignatius, we don’t eat fish. I told you no eyes.’
‘They cut the head off. See.’
ARRRRGGGGHHH!
‘Oh, madam! You say no chicken, I dey understand. No pork, I dey understand. No beef or mutton, it is very hard. What I dey cook if I dey no cook fish. You come to Nigeria to starve?’
I spend the next two hours showing him how to cook dal and cabbage with whatever I could scrap from the kitchen. Everyday after that, we had decent food except for the fact that dal and cabbage started seeping out of our nostrils every time we breathed. ‘Ignatius, please put a stop to this. If I have one more meal of dal and cabbage, I will combust in my own fart. Ask Alpha madam to give you some recipes. ’ Pi warned and left to work.
So while I was busy working on some project and looking more important than I needed to be, Ignatius waddled up to me, sweating and breathless (he always managed that look even if he was watching TV on the couch),’Madam, Pi sir told me to ask you for recipes.’
Patience wearing thin, I wrote down good Indian recipes and even showed him how to make a few things. Considering he was being paid, I had no intentions of doing the job for him. No one finished my design report for me when I taught chefs how to cook. ‘Ignatius, you better improve, or else!’ He had signs of panic in his eyes and stuttered something about making a decent meal for dinner after he is done grocery shopping. Palak paneer was laid out.
Relishing it, Pi commended my training and said he would congratulate Ignatius the next day. I beamed with pride for my new ward.
That is when I saw empty packets of MTR ready-made palak paneer in the garbage.
[Part of my 4 month stint in Africa after taking a break from work. Now I'm back in Pittsburgh]
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Back to being me
Hello there!!! Anyone still lurking? This feels like coming back to a house you abandoned because life handed you a mansion of experiences in exchange for this little hut where you saved memories. I couldn't stray away too long as a familiar sense of happiness dragged me back. On a very bad day, I read my blog and it made me want to be more like Alpha. I just realized how much money I saved by being my own shrink.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Should you run?
For the 20 odd years (and more) that I have known myself, I have wanted to do many things like get on a stage as audience cheers on, look into Pi’s eye, and sing ’Teri Bindiya re..re hai hai.’ My music prowess being equivalent to that of a donkey in labor, I have decided to push unrealistic ambitions to my next birth where I might come back as a donkey and take the center stage by storm. Oh well, there are some things you just leave alone and revel in your actual talents like day dreaming.
But running was different. I didn’t even want to run. I never wanted to run. I hate running. I can't run. I had mixed feelings regarding people who run- pity plus indifference. ‘Tsk tsk, whatever dude’.
‘Congrats!’ I effused to friend who seemed to feel like he had actually gone on stage and sang Teri Bindiya re.
‘You can do it too,’ obligatory punctuation followed.
‘Why should I run? No marathon shit for me! Too much training and no life. I can’t even imagine getting injuries and dehydrated. In the end what have I achieved? Breathlessness? Naah! ’ I tried to sound positive and sensitive to what he had achieved.
‘Try a half marathon,’ my friend would besiege assuring me that I could definitely do it considering my fitness level and so on. As pandering as it was to my ego, I couldn’t see myself indulging in such a mindless activity.
‘Half Marathon? Yikes! Why would I ever do half of something when I can very well do the full? I would rather run a 5K than something that is called ‘half’ of something. So demeaning!’
‘Call it a 13.1 mile race then.’ He was postively giving me a headache.
‘Bah! It doesn’t just sound cool. I would rather bump my head on a railroad track.’ I despised running.
Just a day (24 hours) after this conversation, I signed up for the half marathon on some whim proving that I cant stand up for what I stand for. Pi being witness to above conversation just got convinced that his wife is a freak. I had discovered runners high. I couldn’t stop running and couldn’t explain my predicament to the other non-runners.
Between my training sessions, I had to make a two week trip to India. And I had to run.
The first day my mom was shocked to see me up at 5 am, tying my shoe lace. The last time I woke up at 5 am was when …ermm.. there was no such recorded incident. It was required as it gets too hot after 6 am. Before she could stop me, I was out of the door running in the colony feeling on top of the world. This would be great. Being used to run in long stretches on a trail along a river (in my backyard) with squirrels and deer scrambling past, in Bangalore I was encountered with roads that led to other people’s gates. I would have to make an abrupt U-turn just to face another dead end. I was running in a freaking maze- in the dark, bumping into the same house again and again. Surely the owners are calling the cops at this point. Out of nowhere, seven neighborhood stray dogs congregated and ran after me. There suddenly seemed to be a point in my running...and running fast! I somehow found my way and bolted into my house, breathless, just after scaring the living daylights off an aunty walking with Nikes and a head scarf. I just barely managed 15 minutes and had enough for the day.
My mom was wringing her hands in fury, ‘What is wrong with you? Why are you running like a mad woman? What will people say? We have to live in this neighborhood you know. You didn’t even have breakfast. What if you fainted?’
Day 2- I decided to run outside the gated compounds of this colony to keep my sanity and my mom’s name intact. So I snuck out early and ran along Bhanerghatta road towards this Shiva temple I knew to have a long secluded road. As I ran, people stopped what they were doing and their eyes followed me till eternity or till the awkwardness stopped (whichever came faster). I almost got run over by a few autos. Avoiding running over some kids sleeping on the ground, I leapt into a garbage dump. If I was training for hurdle race, this would have been so worth it. The secluded road did give me a few jitters when strange people appeared out of nowhere. But I managed a good run that day inspite of the locals wondering what ‘Goddess’ got inside me. I got back home to a livid mom.
‘Where were you? Its 2 hours since you left! I sent your mama in search of you. Stop running. Or if you have to, you better not go before the sun rises! It’s not safe.’
Day 3. Out of despair, I called up a few elite runner friends in Bangalore and got their advice on options. ‘We usually drive to Turali (which is 1 hour away) and then run along this beautiful stretch uphill. Sounded good to me. Plus I would have human company.
‘Can you pick me up from my place?’
‘South Bangalore eh? Then we’d have to wake up at 3 am.’
‘Holy Turali! I don’t think I can get permissionto leave home that early. You see my mom is more used to me staying out till 3 am and coming home sloshed. She is having a hard time dealing with this. Plus the watchman would think I am eloping. Too much drama. ’ I was bummed and thought about Pittsburgh fondly when I could run in abandon anytime I wanted.
Day 4. My mom piled on pooris and aalo subzi on my plate and insisted I eat before going off to the gym. The gym, we decided, would be ideal given the situation. I sauntered off whistling towards the community gym letting my mind wander over the feeling I was going to get after the workout. There were at least dozen men in the gym and the swimming pool just sitting around in their hunches staring at me, some brushing their teeth with neem twigs. I smiled and they all just froze mid activity. They were caretakers and not gym users. I walked into this empty gym with rusting equipment. I opened the windows to let some breeze in and walked over to the treadmill. Hmmm….no treadmill. I looked around in vain and went out to ask one of the guys about the mystery of the missing treadmill.
‘Woh andar hai memsaab’ (It is inside)
‘Accha, Dikhta hai kya?’ (Is it visible to naked eye?)
The guy (who is apparently the caretaker or manager of the gym) walked in and scratched his head.
‘Kya bola apne?’ (What did you say?)
‘Treadmill on which you run.’ I did some running action to drive the point.
‘Agar aap kehte hai, toh nahin hoga.’ (If you say so, it probably isn’t here) ‘Aap dumbbell kar sakte hain memsaab’ (You can do dumbbells)
‘What do I do now? Can’t run outside, can’t run inside.’ Crestfallen face met puzzled face of Bahadur Singh.
Bhagna zaroori hai? (Should you run?)
PS: In spite of the Universe trying to conspire against me, I finished the Pittsburgh IKEA Half Marathon on Sept 6th in 2 hours 34 min. I wasn’t the last person to finish. There was a 10 year old. Yippee! Now if I had dogs following me, I would have had much better timing for sure.
But running was different. I didn’t even want to run. I never wanted to run. I hate running. I can't run. I had mixed feelings regarding people who run- pity plus indifference. ‘Tsk tsk, whatever dude’.
‘Congrats!’ I effused to friend who seemed to feel like he had actually gone on stage and sang Teri Bindiya re.
‘You can do it too,’ obligatory punctuation followed.
‘Why should I run? No marathon shit for me! Too much training and no life. I can’t even imagine getting injuries and dehydrated. In the end what have I achieved? Breathlessness? Naah! ’ I tried to sound positive and sensitive to what he had achieved.
‘Try a half marathon,’ my friend would besiege assuring me that I could definitely do it considering my fitness level and so on. As pandering as it was to my ego, I couldn’t see myself indulging in such a mindless activity.
‘Half Marathon? Yikes! Why would I ever do half of something when I can very well do the full? I would rather run a 5K than something that is called ‘half’ of something. So demeaning!’
‘Call it a 13.1 mile race then.’ He was postively giving me a headache.
‘Bah! It doesn’t just sound cool. I would rather bump my head on a railroad track.’ I despised running.
Just a day (24 hours) after this conversation, I signed up for the half marathon on some whim proving that I cant stand up for what I stand for. Pi being witness to above conversation just got convinced that his wife is a freak. I had discovered runners high. I couldn’t stop running and couldn’t explain my predicament to the other non-runners.
Between my training sessions, I had to make a two week trip to India. And I had to run.
The first day my mom was shocked to see me up at 5 am, tying my shoe lace. The last time I woke up at 5 am was when …ermm.. there was no such recorded incident. It was required as it gets too hot after 6 am. Before she could stop me, I was out of the door running in the colony feeling on top of the world. This would be great. Being used to run in long stretches on a trail along a river (in my backyard) with squirrels and deer scrambling past, in Bangalore I was encountered with roads that led to other people’s gates. I would have to make an abrupt U-turn just to face another dead end. I was running in a freaking maze- in the dark, bumping into the same house again and again. Surely the owners are calling the cops at this point. Out of nowhere, seven neighborhood stray dogs congregated and ran after me. There suddenly seemed to be a point in my running...and running fast! I somehow found my way and bolted into my house, breathless, just after scaring the living daylights off an aunty walking with Nikes and a head scarf. I just barely managed 15 minutes and had enough for the day.
My mom was wringing her hands in fury, ‘What is wrong with you? Why are you running like a mad woman? What will people say? We have to live in this neighborhood you know. You didn’t even have breakfast. What if you fainted?’
Day 2- I decided to run outside the gated compounds of this colony to keep my sanity and my mom’s name intact. So I snuck out early and ran along Bhanerghatta road towards this Shiva temple I knew to have a long secluded road. As I ran, people stopped what they were doing and their eyes followed me till eternity or till the awkwardness stopped (whichever came faster). I almost got run over by a few autos. Avoiding running over some kids sleeping on the ground, I leapt into a garbage dump. If I was training for hurdle race, this would have been so worth it. The secluded road did give me a few jitters when strange people appeared out of nowhere. But I managed a good run that day inspite of the locals wondering what ‘Goddess’ got inside me. I got back home to a livid mom.
‘Where were you? Its 2 hours since you left! I sent your mama in search of you. Stop running. Or if you have to, you better not go before the sun rises! It’s not safe.’
Day 3. Out of despair, I called up a few elite runner friends in Bangalore and got their advice on options. ‘We usually drive to Turali (which is 1 hour away) and then run along this beautiful stretch uphill. Sounded good to me. Plus I would have human company.
‘Can you pick me up from my place?’
‘South Bangalore eh? Then we’d have to wake up at 3 am.’
‘Holy Turali! I don’t think I can get permissionto leave home that early. You see my mom is more used to me staying out till 3 am and coming home sloshed. She is having a hard time dealing with this. Plus the watchman would think I am eloping. Too much drama. ’ I was bummed and thought about Pittsburgh fondly when I could run in abandon anytime I wanted.
Day 4. My mom piled on pooris and aalo subzi on my plate and insisted I eat before going off to the gym. The gym, we decided, would be ideal given the situation. I sauntered off whistling towards the community gym letting my mind wander over the feeling I was going to get after the workout. There were at least dozen men in the gym and the swimming pool just sitting around in their hunches staring at me, some brushing their teeth with neem twigs. I smiled and they all just froze mid activity. They were caretakers and not gym users. I walked into this empty gym with rusting equipment. I opened the windows to let some breeze in and walked over to the treadmill. Hmmm….no treadmill. I looked around in vain and went out to ask one of the guys about the mystery of the missing treadmill.
‘Woh andar hai memsaab’ (It is inside)
‘Accha, Dikhta hai kya?’ (Is it visible to naked eye?)
The guy (who is apparently the caretaker or manager of the gym) walked in and scratched his head.
‘Kya bola apne?’ (What did you say?)
‘Treadmill on which you run.’ I did some running action to drive the point.
‘Agar aap kehte hai, toh nahin hoga.’ (If you say so, it probably isn’t here) ‘Aap dumbbell kar sakte hain memsaab’ (You can do dumbbells)
‘What do I do now? Can’t run outside, can’t run inside.’ Crestfallen face met puzzled face of Bahadur Singh.
Bhagna zaroori hai? (Should you run?)
PS: In spite of the Universe trying to conspire against me, I finished the Pittsburgh IKEA Half Marathon on Sept 6th in 2 hours 34 min. I wasn’t the last person to finish. There was a 10 year old. Yippee! Now if I had dogs following me, I would have had much better timing for sure.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Extraordinary people can't be related to
Say Godzilla decides that he wants to have some Indian today. He carries you off and places you on the buffet tray in Taj Mahal Indian restaurant. Definitely a worrisome proposition. You need help. Whom would you turn to?
a. Superman, the guy who paid too much for his chaddi and now needs to show it off.
b. Priya, the girl who flunked in Social Studies- just like you.
If your answer is b, you must be a white Republican suburban hockey mom! Just because you dimwits relate to Sarah Palin, doesn’t mean she can save you from the Godzilla. Go have some paani-poori with this woman and please vote for someone capable. [hint: Obama]
This advertisement is paid by the polar bears, moose, wolves, pigs, gays and people who would like to see less of the bleached wax statue called McCain on TV for the next four years. I might be forced to watch the E! channel (excuses excuses).
a. Superman, the guy who paid too much for his chaddi and now needs to show it off.
b. Priya, the girl who flunked in Social Studies- just like you.
If your answer is b, you must be a white Republican suburban hockey mom! Just because you dimwits relate to Sarah Palin, doesn’t mean she can save you from the Godzilla. Go have some paani-poori with this woman and please vote for someone capable. [hint: Obama]
This advertisement is paid by the polar bears, moose, wolves, pigs, gays and people who would like to see less of the bleached wax statue called McCain on TV for the next four years. I might be forced to watch the E! channel (excuses excuses).
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Smile Please Madam
We went to a friend’s house to congratulate them on their newly wedded status. They showed us their wedding album. It was a tastefully done coffee book with pictures that didn’t garishly shock, but rather sublimely blend. The pictures showed the bride and groom laughing into each others eyes looking lost in love and there was a picture of their silhouettes walking on the sands of Kovalam beach hand in hand. At the wedding ceremony the people were not even looking directly at the camera. The photography was brilliant and the lighting natural. The album brought a tear in my eye. A tear of abject jealousy and self pity.
‘That sucks!’ I said swallowing back more tears. ‘No, I mean it really sucks’ I tried explaining to the visibly perturbed hosts. ‘Not your album, but ours.’
‘Oh, come on…I bet it is awesome. We must see it sometime when we are your place.’
Both Pi and I cried in unison, ’Nooooo!
I shuddered thinking of the photos and the cameraman from hell (or rather Triplicane). On the album cover was my face, almost murderous, and around the photo was a message in golden letters ‘Heven shower blissings on the happy coupple.’ Next to mine was Pi’s face with his eyes closed…hoping no one could see what he saw.
If he hasn’t burnt them already, Pi guards the photos like a crazed watch dog. His figure not being a perfect ten during those days, made him protest vehemently against the cruel treatment given to Brahmin bridegrooms. ‘Sorry, you can not wear a shirt and the poonal (sacred thread) over that. You will have to go bare-chested.’ they said.
‘Can we wait for a year longer to get married? I could go to the gym or convert to Christianity.’ he begged.
Unfortunately no one even considered it; Pi had to pose without a shirt. I believe the constipated look on the guest’s faces was actually shock mingled with sympathy for me.
So there he was consciously half naked exposing chest hair to open fire and there I was telling him how his tummy was making the priest jealous as I poured some ghee into the flame. At that time, the the cameraman would call out loudly, ‘Madam, look here madam. Can you smile please? Tilt head towards him please and point that little pinky towards the Jupiter if you don’t mind. And while you are at it, could you move to the right so we can get the mapilai’s (groom) love handles in our frame.’
When Pi tied the mangalsutra, the camera guy made me shake hands with Pi and pose. *Click* At first I thought it must be the first kiss equivalent of Indian weddings, but later when he made my brother shake hands with Pi after my brother poured puffed rice into the flame, I was a little confused.
Some things perplex me to date. First, why should there be a videographer in a reception? Second, why is there a band on a stage singing ‘Gemini Gemini Gavani Gavani?’ Third, why should there be a reception at all?
On Pi’s insistence, who was now more comfortable in his Sherwani, I decided to stop making faces at the cameraman. ‘It’s alright. Just deal with it today. Cooperate with him so you look good in the pictures.’
‘Madam, don’t grin. Please look here. Smile saar. Saar, look here saar. Aiyoo Saar, here here!’
‘Ok, who hired this moron!’ Pi was livid.
Video guy would pull people who were in the middle of greeting us and rearrange them beside us and make them stand straight and look directly into the camera while he rolled his video camera to take action shots. The camera guy clicked a still picture to accompany the action shot just in case we missed who presented that plastic tea cup set.
Ohm… Ohm… Ohm! Slow breaths. There will be an end to this. All I have to do is believe in it.
I protested against the filmy poses and he finally gave in. If I lived to tell this tale, I want to retain some dignity. Not a single wild horse was going to make me hold Pi's cheek with one hand and throw my head back in coy abandon. I told him not to bother with any graphics and just do a simple album and video. 'No frills pa.'
‘Aiyoo, how is that possible madam? For all that money, you will have to get all this only no?’ I considered handing him all my jewelry to disappear with the photos forever.
He wanted to do real time computer simulation and dazzle the crowd. It definitely was a crowd puller as we turned around and performed a fake puja to the screen behind us; he morphed the screen with an image of Thirupathi Balaji Yelumalai Venkatesa of Govinda Govinda fame. The audience could see all this and we had no idea what was happening. As we offered flowers to the screen and folded our hands in devotion, the crowd was yelling how close I need to go to the screen to get the flowers falling in the right angle. Next we had to stand with our side profile to the camera. We were being flown to Singapore on this Honeymoon Airlines with our faces sticking out of two windows, one behind the other. Even they were prudent not to get us booked on adjacent seats.
After a few days 3 humungous albums in sets of three and 3 sets of DVDs arrived at the door in a truck. I left my copy back in India giving the airline-baggage-limit excuse. If they ever needed an extra bed, it would come in handy. My mom cried as she watched the video of people standing in the reception unmoving. ‘Look look, how fat Seetha has become. I wish we could do it all over again. Sniff.'
Shudder.
I had no courage to watch the video for the longest time. When I finally did in the company of a few drinks and persistent friends, I was pleasantly surprised to see most of our footage replaced with Simran and Surya’s dancing. Then there was the whole computer graphics deal that would put Spielberg to shame. My head splitting into ten and forming a little trajectory into Pi’s eyes. It’s quite possible I actually performed that stunt under those circumstances. I wish he could have turned me into Kali mata with blood dripping from the corners of my mouth and tongue sticking out. Oh well, that wasn’t necessary. From what I saw of myself in that red saree, I came close.
A year later back in India, just as I walked into my parent’s house, I saw a gigantic laminated picture of the both of us looking completely hassled in our wedding garbs, hanging on the wall. The very picture I detested as my hair was all frizzy and Pi was er... fat. Horror of horrors!
‘The nice fellow that he is, Popular Studio guy presented us with two such laminated pictures, for free!’ my mom gushed. ‘The other one is at your in-law’s.’
‘That sucks!’ I said swallowing back more tears. ‘No, I mean it really sucks’ I tried explaining to the visibly perturbed hosts. ‘Not your album, but ours.’
‘Oh, come on…I bet it is awesome. We must see it sometime when we are your place.’
Both Pi and I cried in unison, ’Nooooo!
I shuddered thinking of the photos and the cameraman from hell (or rather Triplicane). On the album cover was my face, almost murderous, and around the photo was a message in golden letters ‘Heven shower blissings on the happy coupple.’ Next to mine was Pi’s face with his eyes closed…hoping no one could see what he saw.
If he hasn’t burnt them already, Pi guards the photos like a crazed watch dog. His figure not being a perfect ten during those days, made him protest vehemently against the cruel treatment given to Brahmin bridegrooms. ‘Sorry, you can not wear a shirt and the poonal (sacred thread) over that. You will have to go bare-chested.’ they said.
‘Can we wait for a year longer to get married? I could go to the gym or convert to Christianity.’ he begged.
Unfortunately no one even considered it; Pi had to pose without a shirt. I believe the constipated look on the guest’s faces was actually shock mingled with sympathy for me.
So there he was consciously half naked exposing chest hair to open fire and there I was telling him how his tummy was making the priest jealous as I poured some ghee into the flame. At that time, the the cameraman would call out loudly, ‘Madam, look here madam. Can you smile please? Tilt head towards him please and point that little pinky towards the Jupiter if you don’t mind. And while you are at it, could you move to the right so we can get the mapilai’s (groom) love handles in our frame.’
When Pi tied the mangalsutra, the camera guy made me shake hands with Pi and pose. *Click* At first I thought it must be the first kiss equivalent of Indian weddings, but later when he made my brother shake hands with Pi after my brother poured puffed rice into the flame, I was a little confused.
Some things perplex me to date. First, why should there be a videographer in a reception? Second, why is there a band on a stage singing ‘Gemini Gemini Gavani Gavani?’ Third, why should there be a reception at all?
On Pi’s insistence, who was now more comfortable in his Sherwani, I decided to stop making faces at the cameraman. ‘It’s alright. Just deal with it today. Cooperate with him so you look good in the pictures.’
‘Madam, don’t grin. Please look here. Smile saar. Saar, look here saar. Aiyoo Saar, here here!’
‘Ok, who hired this moron!’ Pi was livid.
Video guy would pull people who were in the middle of greeting us and rearrange them beside us and make them stand straight and look directly into the camera while he rolled his video camera to take action shots. The camera guy clicked a still picture to accompany the action shot just in case we missed who presented that plastic tea cup set.
Ohm… Ohm… Ohm! Slow breaths. There will be an end to this. All I have to do is believe in it.
I protested against the filmy poses and he finally gave in. If I lived to tell this tale, I want to retain some dignity. Not a single wild horse was going to make me hold Pi's cheek with one hand and throw my head back in coy abandon. I told him not to bother with any graphics and just do a simple album and video. 'No frills pa.'
‘Aiyoo, how is that possible madam? For all that money, you will have to get all this only no?’ I considered handing him all my jewelry to disappear with the photos forever.
He wanted to do real time computer simulation and dazzle the crowd. It definitely was a crowd puller as we turned around and performed a fake puja to the screen behind us; he morphed the screen with an image of Thirupathi Balaji Yelumalai Venkatesa of Govinda Govinda fame. The audience could see all this and we had no idea what was happening. As we offered flowers to the screen and folded our hands in devotion, the crowd was yelling how close I need to go to the screen to get the flowers falling in the right angle. Next we had to stand with our side profile to the camera. We were being flown to Singapore on this Honeymoon Airlines with our faces sticking out of two windows, one behind the other. Even they were prudent not to get us booked on adjacent seats.
After a few days 3 humungous albums in sets of three and 3 sets of DVDs arrived at the door in a truck. I left my copy back in India giving the airline-baggage-limit excuse. If they ever needed an extra bed, it would come in handy. My mom cried as she watched the video of people standing in the reception unmoving. ‘Look look, how fat Seetha has become. I wish we could do it all over again. Sniff.'
Shudder.
I had no courage to watch the video for the longest time. When I finally did in the company of a few drinks and persistent friends, I was pleasantly surprised to see most of our footage replaced with Simran and Surya’s dancing. Then there was the whole computer graphics deal that would put Spielberg to shame. My head splitting into ten and forming a little trajectory into Pi’s eyes. It’s quite possible I actually performed that stunt under those circumstances. I wish he could have turned me into Kali mata with blood dripping from the corners of my mouth and tongue sticking out. Oh well, that wasn’t necessary. From what I saw of myself in that red saree, I came close.
A year later back in India, just as I walked into my parent’s house, I saw a gigantic laminated picture of the both of us looking completely hassled in our wedding garbs, hanging on the wall. The very picture I detested as my hair was all frizzy and Pi was er... fat. Horror of horrors!
‘The nice fellow that he is, Popular Studio guy presented us with two such laminated pictures, for free!’ my mom gushed. ‘The other one is at your in-law’s.’
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Kilimanjaro Hakuna Matata
(February 17th)- At breakfast, all of us were so upset that this was coming to an end. The porters sang the Kilimanjaro song and the Hakuna Matata song with high spirits. I can't stop humming it even now.
KILIMANJARO KILIMANJARO KILIMANJARO
KILIMANJARO MILIMA MREEFU SANA,
NA MAWENZI NA MAWENZI NAMAWENZI
NA MAWENZII MILIMA MREFU SANA.
-------------------------------------------------------------
JAMBO JAMBO BWANA,
HABARI GANI? NZURISANA
WAGENI MWAKARIBISHWA
KILIMANJARO HAKUNA MATATA
TWENDE KILIMANJARO HAKUNA MATATA
TWENDENI POLEPOLE HAKUNA MATATA
MLIMA WA KUPENDEZA HAKUNA MATATAA
We gave tips to the porters and they were quite jubilant as it was the day they would go home to meet their families after working so hard for us. One of the porters hollered just as we were breaking camp, "See you tomorrow!" like he would do every day. We laughed. I wanted to say 'Hope not', but I knew that I would miss them even in the comfort of my home, my bed and an attached bathroom. Our Good Earth crew did everything to make us feel comfortable in the harshest situation and for that I will be eternally grateful.
The air in Mweka camp was very festive with most of the campers heading back after a successful climb. By 11.40 am, Pi and I reached the Mweka Gate after 45 miles of walking in the wild and that’s where we had our first tryst with the modern world- clean flushable toilets.
Kilimanjaro in the end wasn't just about the mystical mountain with snow in the middle of Africa. It was about the Chagga people, swahili music, the abundant wildlife, the cheer in the air, the strength of people of all ages who attempt to climb Kilimanjaro, the humility of the best at the face of adversity, the shimmering African sky, the unbelievable vegetation, the hot masala tea, and a pletora of memories that will take me to Kilimanjaro whenever I want to be there.
On Top of Africa!
Mweka Camp (February 16th)
It was brilliant! I was so happy to see the stars and at that point nothing else mattered! No storm! I grinned for an hour straight as I looked to the right at the beautiful silhouette of Mt Mawenzi that we completely missed in the last morning’s storm. Mt Mawenzi is the second tallest peak after Kibo on Mt Kilimanjaro. Everywhere I looked there were little dots of light. The unpolluted African sky with its million stars, the headlamps of resolute people moving in a single file. When you looked up in the darkness, you could mistake the headlamps for the stars, which is well and good. We had a long steep climb. But that didn’t bother me a bit. Instead of being in the tent and counting sheep, I was just happy to be out here, in a place like this, with people like this. This was better than the dream I dreamt about Kilimanjaro. I never felt better than I felt now. I followed Herment and just kept going. Somewhere along the way, Freddie brought out some hot tea in a thermos and we had tea in pitch darkness sitting on rocks. We saw some people returning as they couldn’t go on. It was probably heart breaking for them after having come this far.
We reached Stella point as the sun rose over Mt Mwenzi and the clouds way below us. If I could hold my breath any longer, I sure would have. A sun rise that will stay with me for life. 
Sat down and enjoyed the moment and then continued on to Uhuru peak (which is the highest point on Kilimanjaro). We were almost there. To the right we could see the Reusch crater and to the left was the Furtwangler glacier. None of the photos that I have ever seen of this place does justice, which is why we went there to testify that. I just can’t imagine what Kilimanjaro would look like without the ice cap. We were there- on the Snows of Kilimanjaro, leaving our foot prints. Sadly, the foot prints and the snows are all transient. By 2020, it is said that this would all disappear due to global warming. But what would remain etched permanently in the Rosetta stone of my mind are these memories. I couldn’t stop taking pictures of this unbelievable sight.
Sat down and enjoyed the moment and then continued on to Uhuru peak (which is the highest point on Kilimanjaro). We were almost there. To the right we could see the Reusch crater and to the left was the Furtwangler glacier. None of the photos that I have ever seen of this place does justice, which is why we went there to testify that. I just can’t imagine what Kilimanjaro would look like without the ice cap. We were there- on the Snows of Kilimanjaro, leaving our foot prints. Sadly, the foot prints and the snows are all transient. By 2020, it is said that this would all disappear due to global warming. But what would remain etched permanently in the Rosetta stone of my mind are these memories. I couldn’t stop taking pictures of this unbelievable sight. 
The last strech was the most grueling and killing. I had to keep stopping to take a breather. The dawg was walking like Shankar Dayal Sharma had got into him. Pi had severe headache and was squinting and would sit down every 10 meters. Lee kept moving towards the goal, ‘I just want to get this done with!’ and she kept going with the kind of determination that is so characteristic of her.
The four of us reached the famous marker on Uhuru peak (19,340 ft) together at 8.45 am that day. As I approached it, my weariness withered to give way to a strange kind of sadness. When you know you have reached the top and there is no where else to go, but down. The jubilation was in the journey and not the destination. Somehow for me, seeing the final point didn’t hold the significance it held for everyone else. I know Pi shed a few tears of joy. So did Lee. We spent fifteen minutes on the top of Africa hugging each other, clicking pictures and generally hanging around. Suddenly everyone regained their energy. The power of achieving something was incredible. There were times on this mountain when I felt I couldn’t have come this far. All that was forgotten now; we had done it! The view from the top of Africa was stupendous! I could see years of bragging rights apart from the vast African plains. And mountains that once looked formidable when we were on them, looked like mounds from up here.
We started descending quickly so as to alleviate any symptoms of altitude sickness. We reached Barafu camp for lunch after sliding on loose gravel for most of the way down.
Layers were being peeled as we headed down. After we reached Barafu Camp, Professor brought out our celebratory pineapple juice. It was a wonderful feeling to be congratulated by all. Feeling accomplished and in good shape, I decided to venture out and brag to the climbers who were yet to summit. Just then, I had a horrible fall on the rocks (face first). I was lucky to have not broken my skull. I looked like I had a small bar fight with a cut lip, a slit on the forehead, bruised hands and feet. 
Leaving the gloomy miserable Barafu camp, we limped down to Mweka camp (10,101 ft). Since we had a late start (with everyone feeling out of sorts) and stopping for Kilimanjaro beer, we reached Mweka camp at 9 pm in the dark after maneuvering some treacherous downhill (slippery granite rocks). I fell three times again and by that time I was aching from butt to head. At one point I just sat down in the middle and refused to move. Somehow after the summit, you don’t expect anything more difficult, but this downhill part butchered me.
We had our final dinner in the mountain after 17 hours of constant hiking without a wink of sleep. It was the toughest, yet most exciting day of my life. Every part of my body was badly hurt, but sleep evaded me and for the first time in 6 days, I was out like a lightening. With the summit in our pockets, I guess nothing really worried me now. I could sleep.
Highest Camp on Kili
Barafu Camp (February 15th)- Steep uphill, but only 5 hours long to Barafu Camp (15,000 ft) which is also called the base camp. The weather was very bad- Freezing rain and sleet all the way to camp. Visibility was at an all time low and so was our spirits. 
With our gloves wet, our hands were freezing. The climb was unrelenting. Oxygen was rare and we were left gasping for breath after every step we took. It would have been a cake walk in lower altitudes, but at these altitudes everything became hard- even saying ‘Damn!’. So we moved slowly and very quietly. For once I didn’t feel compelled to chatter on. Herment gave a silent prayer of thanks. We saw many others struggling here for a good measure. Chipped and Broken rocks that looked like shale were all over the place and beyond that all we could see was an engulfing curtain of haze. We reached Barafu camp in these conditions and were completely spent. We make the summit push tonight, in the dark. 
We saw many people who had just summited and come back to base camp by mid day. They didn’t look too cheery either. We were too tired to even talk to them. Barafu camp was on a desolate exposed ridge with a huge clutter of tents placed uncomfortably on huge boulders. There was garbage strewn in places and toilets in inaccessible areas. To get to a toilet, we had to climb over huge boulders and scramble with our hands. This took every ounce of our strength. And then there was the activity of defecating itself. On top of that we had to drink and eat more to combat AMS and couldn’t avoid the input-output cycle. This was way too much work.
We were told to sleep in the afternoon when the sun came out for a brief time and solarized our tents as we baked inside with our 5 layers. As we started peeling the layers, it started freezing again. If anyone was complaining that they weren’t getting enough exercise, I think they were well taken care of. We were woken up at 6 pm for dinner and made to eat a hearty meal. Herment warned us about ‘Loss of Appetite’ at these elevations. Pi wondered what he meant by that as he hoarded the third helping of pasta. Loss of appetite was one side effect of Altitude none of us experienced. The food was just good. Herment, Freddie and Anthony (the head honchos) all walked into our tent as we were finishing up with dinner and stood solemnly. Hermant began to speak (for he knew English) ‘The moment is here my friends. We are finally going to make it to the summit and you all should be very happy to have come this far. I am sure you are very excited for the final summit push that will start at 11 pm tonight. Does anyone have any concerns?’
‘Will the storm go away?’ I asked like a 10 year old.
‘I think it is better if it rains as the temperatures will be warmer.’ This was Herment’s way of putting my mind at ease and seeing the positive of something as horrid as the weather outside. This time I thought he was mad and so I prayed hard for the skies to clear up. I tried sleeping, but was too damn excited and anxious. We nibbled on some snacks at 10.30 pm, wore all clothing we had including 3 pairs of socks and pulled ourselves out of the tents with our head lamps. The Dawg had a hard time moving, let alone pulling himself out of his tent. Looking like well fed polar bears; we were ready to hit the trail. Barely able to move, our guides led the way. Herment offered to carry my bag as he had nothing on him. This one time, I gladly obliged. I can’t thank him enough for this. Even that little pack with water and rain gear became a huge burden as we crawled higher. Better to conserve my energy than to act heroic, I thought. The Dawg spent the majority of his hike calling me a cheater for offloading my bag on Herment and when Herment offered to carry his bag, he happily obliged.
Ready for the midnight summit push
With our gloves wet, our hands were freezing. The climb was unrelenting. Oxygen was rare and we were left gasping for breath after every step we took. It would have been a cake walk in lower altitudes, but at these altitudes everything became hard- even saying ‘Damn!’. So we moved slowly and very quietly. For once I didn’t feel compelled to chatter on. Herment gave a silent prayer of thanks. We saw many others struggling here for a good measure. Chipped and Broken rocks that looked like shale were all over the place and beyond that all we could see was an engulfing curtain of haze. We reached Barafu camp in these conditions and were completely spent. We make the summit push tonight, in the dark. We saw many people who had just summited and come back to base camp by mid day. They didn’t look too cheery either. We were too tired to even talk to them. Barafu camp was on a desolate exposed ridge with a huge clutter of tents placed uncomfortably on huge boulders. There was garbage strewn in places and toilets in inaccessible areas. To get to a toilet, we had to climb over huge boulders and scramble with our hands. This took every ounce of our strength. And then there was the activity of defecating itself. On top of that we had to drink and eat more to combat AMS and couldn’t avoid the input-output cycle. This was way too much work.
We were told to sleep in the afternoon when the sun came out for a brief time and solarized our tents as we baked inside with our 5 layers. As we started peeling the layers, it started freezing again. If anyone was complaining that they weren’t getting enough exercise, I think they were well taken care of. We were woken up at 6 pm for dinner and made to eat a hearty meal. Herment warned us about ‘Loss of Appetite’ at these elevations. Pi wondered what he meant by that as he hoarded the third helping of pasta. Loss of appetite was one side effect of Altitude none of us experienced. The food was just good. Herment, Freddie and Anthony (the head honchos) all walked into our tent as we were finishing up with dinner and stood solemnly. Hermant began to speak (for he knew English) ‘The moment is here my friends. We are finally going to make it to the summit and you all should be very happy to have come this far. I am sure you are very excited for the final summit push that will start at 11 pm tonight. Does anyone have any concerns?’
‘Will the storm go away?’ I asked like a 10 year old.
‘I think it is better if it rains as the temperatures will be warmer.’ This was Herment’s way of putting my mind at ease and seeing the positive of something as horrid as the weather outside. This time I thought he was mad and so I prayed hard for the skies to clear up. I tried sleeping, but was too damn excited and anxious. We nibbled on some snacks at 10.30 pm, wore all clothing we had including 3 pairs of socks and pulled ourselves out of the tents with our head lamps. The Dawg had a hard time moving, let alone pulling himself out of his tent. Looking like well fed polar bears; we were ready to hit the trail. Barely able to move, our guides led the way. Herment offered to carry my bag as he had nothing on him. This one time, I gladly obliged. I can’t thank him enough for this. Even that little pack with water and rain gear became a huge burden as we crawled higher. Better to conserve my energy than to act heroic, I thought. The Dawg spent the majority of his hike calling me a cheater for offloading my bag on Herment and when Herment offered to carry his bag, he happily obliged.
Ready for the midnight summit push
Valentines Day Drill
Karanga Camp (February 14th)- Valentines day! We acknowledged it by going, ‘Guess what, its Valentines Day.’ That’s as much energy we were willing to part with for this day. I was forced to take a picture with Pi and that was that.
Freddie with his transistor
The Dawg dancing to Swahili music
Herment pointed at a vertical wall next to our campsite that we would be climbing to get to Karanga camp. ‘Its very easy hike today’ he said. I had stopped believing this guy..for a good measure too. Last time he said it was easy, I was willing to trade my life for a day in Hell.
Freddie with his transistor The Dawg dancing to Swahili musicHerment pointed at a vertical wall next to our campsite that we would be climbing to get to Karanga camp. ‘Its very easy hike today’ he said. I had stopped believing this guy..for a good measure too. Last time he said it was easy, I was willing to trade my life for a day in Hell.
Fearless leader- Herment
So there we were, scrambling up the ‘Breakfast Wall’, which is a rather tame name for something that needed all the four limbs to maneuver. Very scary in parts, almost vertical but mostly fun. Gained altitude pretty quick and passed some lovely valleys walking amidst the clouds. Had to stop and look back to sigh at the pretty sight that we would leave behind. After we caught sight of the Karanga camp (which seemed like we could reach it in 5 minutes), there was still an hour of downhill to Karanga valley and uphill.
Antony helping Lee
Karanga valley was the last source of water. So from now on, porters would carry all the water for the rest of the days. We would be very prudent with our usage. No more water balloon throwing activities.
We had hot lunch at Karanga Camp ( 13,300 ft) and spend the afternoon playing cards as hail and rain pounded our tents. I had a terrible headache that wouldn’t go away, so I took Tylenol. The headaches subsided, but came back with a vengeance at night. The weather calmed down and the clouds parted to reveal Kibo for maybe 10 minutes. I watched with awe the symphony of ice and rock, intertwined in harmony. Even as we neared the peak, I had a sense that Kibo was mocking our unwise fortitude. That night when I came out to take a pee break, I could see the city lights from Moshi and Arusha under me, the stars shining over me and the moonlit peak of Mt. Kilimanjaro. There was a lightening and for a brief second, the place lit up to reveal the other tents in the Karanga Camp. I shivered as I plowed my way into the tent and spent sometime doodling in my little dairy. I switched off my head lamp to conserve the batteries and spent some hours flopping like a seal unable to sleep. With depleting oxygen levels, every activity including eating became hard. I would yawn and spend the next few minutes panting and puffing. Acclimatization was in progress as we spent more time in the mountain. It was definitely getting tougher to remain upbeat.
The peak from our tent and the toilet
Doubts creep in
Baranco Camp (February 13th)- Thank God for the Ziploc, I could sleep better (one full hour)and not make half a dozen trips to the stinky bathroom in the middle of the night. Wish it was simple as ‘going to the loo’. It’s a HUGE process. Unzip yourself out of your sleeping bag, quickly wear your outer layers (inner fleece-outer fleece jacket-down jacket-rain pants-winter hat), zip yourself out of the tent, yank on stuck zipper, wrestle with it for 10 minutes, give up, squeeze yourself out from a 10 inch hole like toothpaste, fall in a heap outside, shudder at how cold it is, collect yourself, orient yourself to the general direction you want to travel, move towards origin of smell, trip over rocks in pitch dark, turn on your head lamp, get blinded and trip again, reach bathroom, remember you forgot to get toilet paper, curse, rewind, play, make way back in freezing rain holding nose.
Ziploc- I owe you my life.
Sometimes, I would be mesmerized with the beauty of the night. The zillion stars that light up the African night, like no other place I have seen. The serenity of the mountain, as it is suddenly seems to belong to me alone. Solitude was a treat in Kilimanjaro. Seeing the rounded peak against the moonlight validated my being there, in the night, all by myself, going to pee.
Ziploc- I owe you my life.
Sometimes, I would be mesmerized with the beauty of the night. The zillion stars that light up the African night, like no other place I have seen. The serenity of the mountain, as it is suddenly seems to belong to me alone. Solitude was a treat in Kilimanjaro. Seeing the rounded peak against the moonlight validated my being there, in the night, all by myself, going to pee.
The morning, just when I was declaring how well I slept, I had some symptoms of altitude sickness. I felt like puking while eating breakfast. The Dawg suddenly came to my recue,’ Hold it in! Hold it in! Do not puke!’ I tried tilting my head backwards, then suddenly I ran outside the tent and emptied the contents of my bowels, Malaria pill included. What the?! How does one hold puke in?
I felt very apprehensive about the rest of the days to come. Especially since I couldn’t hold the puke in as I was supposed to. Leela told me not to let this get to me and that sometimes achieving something is just a state of mind. I nodded weakly while lying on the tent floor getting my energy back. Herment, our guide, came to my tent and told me not to worry and that this is quite common. ‘I get sick too’. Herment had this uncanny way of putting people at ease at the most grueling times and I thank him for it even though sometimes we knew he was just saying things that he really didn’t mean. He did it very nonchalantly without creating a fuss. ‘Also if you feel like throwing up again, don’t try to hold in!’ That does it! I am convinced The Dawg is has been sent to twart my plans of making it to the top!
I felt instantly better as we moved away from the camp and Kibo came to full view again. We walked though some amazing expanse of Moorland vegetation (consisting of some huge cacti) and some black volcanic boulders. The vast starkness of the landscape was mind-blowing and we continued to prod on as the air became thinner. We reached an altitude of 14,000 ft after which we would descend to 12,850 ft to camp. This is the best mantra to acclimatize- Climb High and Sleep Low.
The Dawg declared that he was developing cerebral edema and we laughed at him like good friends should. ‘Dude, that's your Gatorade spilling on your ear.'
In fact his delusions in the mountain didn’t stop there. Every time he came back from the shithouse panting and puffing, he would declare he just had childbirth. His kids surely didn’t take after the mom.
I had lunch in a hailstorm. That’s one thing I would advice you not to put in your list to check off. It was brutal till it lasted. Though it was pounding with all kinds of white substance from the skies, it didn't last long. Downhill usually doesn’t bother me and I had a wonderful time admiring the snow covered landscape and then all of a sudden the clouds parted to my left and we got the glimpse of Kibo yet again, suddenly so close and so majestic. My heart skipped a few beats as I looked up. Nothing could be so perfect and nothing could take this moment away from me. I just sat down on a rock and admired this wonderful creation on earth. I could see the Heim and Kerstein Glacier , beautiful, though receding. A few glacial streams that cascaded down as little waterfalls adorned the path. The giant cacti (Senecio Kilimanjari) surrounded the landscape rendering this picture very illusory. I wished hard for one thing. I hoped to remember this for a long time to come. We had walked for 8 hours straight and were completely exhausted when we reached Baranco Camp (12,850 ft) right under the shadow of Kibo. To the other side was the vast plains of Africa and could spot the city of Moshi way below us. We felt very high and very cold.
Pi and the Dawg staggered into camp an hour later looking completely drained off every ounce. The Dawg collapsed in his tent refusing to come out for dinner. We literally dragged him out. The Dawg suddenly realized that this was not easy and for the first time he started having self doubts. He started talking fondly of his wife (This was highly concerning). He was in pain and had slight fever. Pi had a terrible headache, which is usually associated with high altitudes. Lee’s feet were hurting from an ankle sprain. But luckily everyone could speak two words before they retired into their sleeping bags.
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