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.

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.

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.

To Pee or not To Pee

High with no Alcohol

Shira Camp (February 12th)- 'Good Morning ladies!' We heard a booming voice followed by some vigorous shaking of the tent itself. It was still dark. The tent shook again. In my troubled state (I was thinking of lions all night remember) with sore muscles, I managed to open the tent zipper to encounter a cheery Professor with a tray of tea and biscuits. Yikes! I was aghast. I probably died and went to heaven. No I was sure I hadn't, I still felt like I was hit by a truck. We were (or rather Lee was) woken up with bed (in this case sleeping bag) tea every morning by Professor. Ewald is a porter who is also known as Professor as he knew three extra words in English compared to the others. He was quite a sincere and likable chappie who moved on to Pi and the Dawg's tent...'Good Morning brothers!'

As we were about to head out of Machame camp, my water bottle started leaking and spilling most of its content on my pants. Sleep deprived and butt freezing wet, I wasn’t feeling too pleasant as we scrambled through terrain that was steeper than the previous day. The path being very steep and narrow made us stop and let the harried porters pass by. They passed us in huge numbers and we saw ourselves falling behind every group. There were hundreds of porters. By day two, without shower and change of clothes, the stench of body odour was overpowering. There were times when I felt I would throw up. I mean it was sad and all to see them carry 1/2 their weight (sometimes more than their weight) uphill. But my condition was definitely sadder. They at least got paid for this madness. Herment offered to carry my bag , but I refused feeling silly about having difficulties on the second day itself. I also remembered Herment saying todays hike is comparitively tame to what is in store! Couldn’t deal with the fact that the Dawg was racing up the mountain like it was a molehill. Must have been that extra omelette he thulped off my plate. I was out of breath every few minutes and had to stop to catch some air in my lungs. I got loads of advice from Pi from changing my wet pants to keep moving as I was slowing him. If I had some energy, Pi would have been a dead man. I would have regretted that act later of course.

Thick vegetation was replaced by Stoebe Kilimandsharica (twiggy trees covered in cobweb like lichens) Lunch break was on a breathtaking landing where we could see the neon green expanse of Heatherland extending as far as the eye could see. Well fed ravens came for scraps and regaled us with some amusing acrobatics in the air. Mood was elevated instantly. We reached Shira Camp (12,600 ft) soon after and could catch the glimpse of the highest peak of Kilimanjaro (Kibo). Kilimanjaro consists of three peaks- Kibo, Mawenzi and Shira. Uhuru Point on Kibo is the highest point on this mountain that we were aspiring to reach. It was a sight to behold and we watched mesmerized the Snows of Kilimanjaro. Like a massive scoop of chocolate ice-cream with vanilla sauce. The destination seemed so far away and daunting, so high above us that I felt ridiculous to think I even dreamt of being there. Yet Kibo seemed so alluring and beautiful that it would be ridiculous not to be there.


Shira Camp itself was on an open expanse with the perfect triangular outline of Mt Meru looming behind.
Some people were shaving their underarms outside the tent! I couldn’t even think that far- my immediate worries were regarding sleep. Will I be able to catch a few winks tonight? If I had more energy, I would have shaved everyone's underarms and doused it with deo. Sleep came in spurts and by then I decided not to worry myself about it. Agonizing is my forte and I knew that would be something I had to let go in this mountain.

Hold it or Bold it

click to enlarge

I do not miss the pit toilets of Kilimanjaro. It was mandatory we use them as the sheer number of people shitting anywhere can be disasterous to the fragile environment. As much as I value that sentiment, never again! Corporation toilets in Madras smell like green apples in comparison. I 'm bringing my own shit bag next time. It was an adventure, especially the time when there were strong winds while you were at it. Some details even I can leave out.

On the slopes of Kilimanjaro

Machame camp (February 11th, 2008): When I finally got some sleep battling with the power cuts and the mosquito net, it was time to wake up. In fact we were still in bed when Lee and the Dawg called from the reception area all ready. Jumped out of bed and thought about skipping a shower when it dawned upon me that we won’t be having a bath for the next seven days. I acceded to the indulgence and got really late. All packed up, water bottles filled, and slathered with sun screen, we definitely looked like we were ready to ascend the mountain of our dreams. At the new Arusha Hotel, we boarded the Good Earth bus filled with our guides, porters and cooks. Our Head guide introduced himself as Herment Mosha and then he proceeded to introduce us to the others in the Good Earth team. By the time he finished, I had forgotten everyone in the crew except for Justin. Just couldn’t point to him. There would be enough time to figure out everyone as we go.

We passed through the city of Arusha and some dotted villages along the Savanna and couldn’t help notice how similar the landscape was to India. Villagers sitting in a group, talking, combing each others hair, buying vegetable, cycling and some marathoners preparing. So you really don’t see runners in a typical Indian village. We also saw a few drive-through orphanages. As we reached the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro and drove up the slopes through the village of Machame, we were greeted with lush green cultivation of predominantly banana trees. We could never see the mountain even though we strained our eyes in that direction as it was always covered by a veil of clouds, frustratingly so.

At the Machame gate, suddenly there was a population explosion injected with a flurry of activity. The place was filled with people who came to climb the mountain and the guides and porters who took these people up. European tourists in their brand new mismatched clothes and the porters with their hand-me-down mismatched clothes. We being the only brown people were definitely outnumbered by the whites and the blacks. Other than in Thirupati, I am not sure where I saw a bigger crowd. I had no idea Kilimanjaro was so popular. I heard only 50% make it to the top. Well of course, that guy with pink tights can be ruled out right away. There were touts selling rain gear, bandanas and walking sticks at the gate. The guides were busy registering us for the climb, porters were packing and weighing the stuff they would carry, while the we hikers ate boxed lunches and waited for the go ahead sign. Before we were about to ascend, the guide told us that this is no competition and that we must walk extremely slow (pole-pole in Swahili) so we acclimatize better. We started at around 1 pm and walked through the equatorial rainforest, mostly uphill, and mostly difficult. The forest was very lush and beautiful. Endemic trees consist of Macoranga Kilimanjarica and the flower Impatiens Kilimanjarica.


Thankfully our guide, Herment, could sustain long (3 min) conversations in English after which he would lapse into animated Swahili with the assistant guides, Freddie and Antony. They all were good friends and hailed from the same Marangu village on the mountain slopes. Most of the porters and guides belong to the indigenous mountain tribe called Chagga who migrated to the slopes on Kilimanjaro from West Africa many years ago. They are essentially farmers, but have been drawn into the lucrative tourism business lately. Swahili is a very sweet sounding language that I grew to like and learnt a few key words like Jambo (Hello!), Caribu (Welcome). The Tanzanians we met had a very easy going attitude towards everything in general and were cheerful people who never complained. In any situation, you’d hear them say- Hakuna Matata! (No worries!) Everytime I stopped gasping for breath, Herment would say Hakuna Matata! 'Oh come on! I will hakuna.. I better hakuna...its not normal for me to feel like I am going to die.'





When I did have energy, I would probe Herment about his family and the mountain that drew us to Africa. He was very knowledgeable and gave us a lot of pertinent information. Freddie spent most of the time in mountain with a transistor that played loud Swahili music, which seemed to entertain other groups along the way too. The Dawg would suddenly lapse into dappanguttu (South Indian folk dance) for 2 minutes after which he would collapse as he probabaly spent his last ounce of energy appeasing the African Gods. But Swahili music did something strange to him everytime. Antony was the quieter guide who usually led the way. Anytime Antony sensed some trouble, he’d turn around and ask casually, ‘You are Ok?’ It didn’t take me long to understand that any answer he got from us would have resulted in the same reaction from him- to turn back and walk on. One time when Leela was struggling, he turned around and expanded his vocabulary,’ You carry my bag?’ Leela gave one look at his humungous backpack and shuddered. She instantly felt better and moved on without a sigh.

Our first glimpse of the peak

We reached Machame Camp (9,900 ft) at sun set and found to our surprise that the porters had already set our camp for us. Sumptuous dinner was served and we ravenously consumed it. Soup, Rice, Vegetable stew, fruits and of course the famous hot tea that they insisted we drink all the time. Having backpacked in the US a lot and not being used to porters and cooks, we felt all this was way too much luxury in backcountry. Pi went on about how terrible it was to have a chair to sit on when we could very well manage sitting on the floor of the tent and eat. Infact, after day 3, the same Pi wanted a ski lift to get him to the top of the mountain. Tired and aching in every joint, we tried to stretch a little, but eventually fell into our sleeping bags and tried to sleep. I am a light sleeper and have trouble falling asleep in the best of the situations. I spent the most of the night reading a book that spoke about Sudanese children being eaten by lions on their way to refugee camps in Kenya. In detail. Now whose great idea was this book? I sat up all night counting Sudanese kids and watching Lee sleep like a baby. How would it be if a lion came and ate her?

Exploring Arusha

I decided to step away from the breakfast bar (where the three of us seemed to be hovering around for hours ) and explore the gardens while enjoying some solitude with my camera. There was Raphael standing among the flowers beaming at me. I grinned back wondering if I should strike a conversation. ‘Do you know what this flower is?’ he asked.

I was confident about this one.’ I don’t know,’ I said. I like to imbibe life without having to remember names, whether it is an album, movie, book or a freaking flower. Checked off from my list of career options are Taxonomist and horticulturist.

He looked hurt and said it was called the Bird of Paradise. He repeated it once more so I remember.



Then he grabbed me by my hand and took me to another corner of the garden, behind a bush. Just as I was about to scream for help, he asked me to name another flower. Slightly perturbed, I examined the flower. ‘It could be…..’ Before I could complete the sentence, he pulled out the little flowers from the stem, crushed them in his palm and thrust it into my nostrils.

“Ahh, Lavender” I said profoundly.

He blushed and looked very proud. He introduced himself as the head gardener. Now I understood this over-the-top behavior as it had had me perplexed for a minute. So the botany lessons went on for a long time till he moved on to chameleons and squirrels. Raphael had put his blood and sweat into this garden and it was evident in the way he spoke about his plants. He didn’t know the names of his daughters, but remembered obscure plant names like Patenestasia. I gave him a couple of dollars for this unexpected tour and he beamed again. Its amazing how much Raphael had managed to grow in this area. Its amazing how much of variety actually grows in this equatorial climate.


Walked up the Dawg’s room where the party apparently was. Both Pi and the Dawg were watching Aljazeera TV and all over the floor were the Dawg’s hiking stuff. ‘Hey di, pack this up for me no. My wife gave up last week in Philly and now I have no one to do it for me.’
Took a few deep breaths. Congratulated myself for marrying a saint like Pi. Thanks to the Dawg, my marriage suddenly looked bright. I started the packing process. Remember I had even walked him to the store and helped him buy this shit. And he couldn't even pack!

‘Where are the rest of the socks?’

‘That’s all I have di.’

‘What? You need a pair of socks a day! You have only 2 pairs for 7 days! You need to really look after your feet or you’ll get blisters.’ Going by the fact that he hadn’t even changed his T-shirt from the time I saw him in the Detroit Airport (which was 35 hours ago), I didn’t think socks really mattered.

‘You didn’t even tell me to buy the socks.’

‘So then why do you have freakin six bags of trailmix (nuts and raisins)? Are you panning on eradicating all the hunger in Tanzania?’ I yelled. ‘Why did I spend three hours making a list and emailing it to you? To wipe my virtual ass with it?’

‘But you never told me to buy the socks that day.’

‘Arrrrgggh! Ok, where is the hiking pole that I had you buy for Lee?

‘I didn’t bring it. It’s at home!’

Next he looks at my bandana and wants the same one. ’Why didn’t you get me something like the one you have? I am taking it. You can have mine.’ He grabbed mine and flung his bandana away.

That does it! I took some painkillers and sprayed some insect repellent on him hoping to get rid of the pest.

We decided to walk into the city of Arusha and maybe I can hire some local thugs for this job. If his wife becomes a widow and his kid becomes fatherless, even the devils cant make me guilty at this point.

Just as we walked out of the gate, a guy approached me and started talking about Abishek Bacchan in good English. ‘Very good actor. By the way madam, you must look at these necklaces. They will look so good on you.’ He pulls out some trinkets from his pocket and tells me, ‘For you 20 dollars!’ I shake my head and walk on. We are met with many more and they just follow us, bargaining and lowering the cost. I looked at the guy and told him to leave us alone. He stopped abruptly, turned around to the rest of the touts and sternly said,’ Can’t you see fellas, Madam is getting annoyed by your constant nagging. Could you all please leave?’

They all did except him. He followed us to the restaurant and ushered us in and then said he would wait outside. In the restaurant, we decided to order ugali. But it so happens that we are in the midst of some African conspiracy and had to order from the various curries and chappatis available. Very tasty, very Indian. My bet is that there exists no African dish and hence no ugali.

As we walked around Arusha (which reminds you of a city in Kerala), I jumped up with joy pointing at a distance. There it was, behind the buildings, rising above the clouds, Mount Kilimanjaro! A shiver ran down my spine. The first sighting! We gaped at it for a while mesmerized. A local passed by and we smiled. We asked if he had been on Kilimanjaro.

‘No, that mountain you see is Mt.Meru’.

‘Erm, Yeah yeah, it does not look like Kilimanjaro of course.’ To think we were planning on climbing Kilimanjaro the next day.

Leela finally arrived late that evening from an adventurous bus ride and cancelled flights. This was the first time I was seeing her, I was eagerly waiting her arrival on the hotel steps. Her bus pulled in and I ran to hug her. Shocked, disheveled, completely disoriented and 4 feet tall. Under the circumstances, she was still very cheerful. Yeah, inspite of her height. Her stories of the bus ride had me in splits even though I probably should have shown some sympathy. She started emptying her really heavy suitcase to repack into the duffle bag- 50 notebooks (did I mention she is a journalist sort), 100 pencils, 30 wet wipes (She is also a clean freak sort), 2 torch lights and a headlamp (a paranoid sort), sandals and wollen scraves (a confused sort), 2 cameras (a rich sort) and of course world famous dates from Dubai.

We started to pack her duffle bag with the stuff that she'll actually need on the climb. It seemed like this packing would never end for me. If someone gave me a death wish or pack wish, I would have gladly walked into the diamond studded coffin. But then I had to make a good first impression on Lee and the poor thing had a stressful journey. Also her case was excusable as she could not have packed her stuff before. I had brought most of the hiking gear from Pittsburgh.*halo* Since Dubai has no concept of outdoors, they don’t sell outdoor gear (except wollen scraves). She just had to order everything in the US and take a huge leap of faith that it would all fit her. In fact, most of the stuff did as she tore out the labels and wore them one by one before packing.

That night I was quite excited about the climb that I could hardly sleep.

Setting Foot on African Soil

We saw ‘The Dawg’ at the Detroit Airport fully geared up with all the regalia to be worn during the actual climbing. With a water tube jutting out of his backpack and swirling around his neck to finally hang precariously near his nose, he looked more like a patient wheeled out of the ICU. I was quite shocked to see more of him that I had imagined. He was easily 30 pounds heavier now.

'Dude, are you wearing all your layers too?'

‘One website advised to load on carbohydrates before departure. They didn’t say from how many months before departure.’

‘Well, did the website say anything about training for this climb?’

I should have realized The Dawg has limited comprehension. Even when it comes to emails. In reply to my 300 words email, I would get an answer from him that would consist of three words that would bear no context to the mail itself. ‘I am Bored!’

Or maybe it did have a context.

We reached Nairobi after flying over America, Europe and Africa. The snow-covered Alps in Switzerland was a huge contrast to the vast dessert of Libya. We met a bunch of hikers in Nairobi who we would meet up again in Kilimanjaro. We learnt that Leela’s flight got cancelled from Dubai and she would try to get on the next flight. We felt so bad for her, but all that melted away when we learnt that she would be taking a private chartered plane from Nairobi to Kilimanjaro. Next thing we learn the chartered flight was full and she was going to take an armed vehicle. Finally she managed to get into a rickety bus and got to the destination just in time. Her journey to Arusha from Nairobi is probably going to become a best seller right away, so I will withhold from giving away too much of the plot. She was holed in a bus with a mad woman, a rapist, a thief and a lion wrestler.

At the Kilimanjaro airport, The Dawg was detained for not having taken Yellow Fever vaccination. He was hoping to slip through the cracks of the Tanzanian health department that was checking for the documents. Since he was overweight, they caught him and finally poked him. He came out simmering and was convinced that the whole world was out to get him. From then on, he stopped trusting. He complained that I had not told him about the vaccination. Pi had to hide my pocketknife quickly.

Warm air, starry night, gulmohar trees- Tanzania did feel a lot like South India. Outside the airport we were greeted by David, the computer guy from Good Earth Tours. He took us to our hotel in Arusha (the nearest town to the mountain). David spoke in his lovely African accent about the different tribes in Tanzania and how Christian missionaries helped them get to where they are. They are now Christians and have names like David. He seemed very proud about this. This topic has been debated to death between Pi and I (with Pi very skeptical about the intensions of missionaries). I wanted a pleasant ride and wanted David to do much of the talking. I started sending frantic signals to Pi not to began some heated discussion on this topic when the Dawg jumped up and went, “So David, don’t you think these missionaries are buying you in the name of charity?”

So you can just imagine what ensued. I just closed my eyes and prayed that our tour company wouldn’t
a) poison us while we are on the mountain
b) throw us off a cliff
c) take us the wrong way and leave us to fend for ourselves like Hansel and Grethel
d) do all of the above unless we all converted

After this awkward discussion, The Dawg tried to do damage control by asking David to give him a list of great Tanzianian music. Kuch kuch hota hai and Oops I did it again featured in the top 10.

At 2 am, David took leave after dropping us off at the New Arusha hotel where Bill Clinton had apparently stayed- probably when he was trying to hide from paparazzi. Actually speaking it wasn’t bad at all. One of the nicer hotels with a lovely courtyard garden, an uber rich desi owner and an inefficient front desk. A few towels missing, the mosquito screen fluttering away from the window shouldn’t be that much of a concern. It definitely confused the mosquitoes. And oh, we had to start using our headlamps in the hotel itself whenever there were power outages. Sometimes rudely in the middle of watching Aljazeera on TV. The hotel was still very welcome after the 24-hour flight from Pittsburgh. We went up to our rooms salivating for local fare and decided to order some ugali that David was talking about. From the choice of Burger, pasta and steak, pasta seemed as close to African food as it could get. Pi looked at the dessert menu and did a little jig when he noticed chocolate mousse. When the order arrived, we saw some guey pink mass. ‘Sir, that’s passion fruit mousse. We didn’t have chocolate mousse. It’s one and same.’ We got billed for it.

A little observation on passion fruit- it’s better inside a face cream than a fruit.

To the top and back

Unfortunately I haven’t even had a chance to thank you all for being so supportive and wishing us well. As you could tell from Lee’s post, WE MADE IT TO THE TOP OF KILIMANJARO!!! What an amazing experience. I can go on and on….but before all that I want say- Thank you! … for goading me on (I could have died, you freaks!!!). To whoever advised me to take the ipod, I want to kiss you! (Just as I figured that the guy is Smiley, I quickly withdraw that offer.)

Thank you also for all those who donated to my cause. I raised $3,500 from this fundraiser! It will all go towards constructing a fish farm in Mali.

Yes, Kilimanjaro was tougher than I had ever imagined. Much tougher than coming out of my mom’s stomach. (yes, babies have it tough too. They just can’t express themselves as eloquently as the moms).

It has been a month since I am back, but I can’t stop thinking about Tanzania. Someone take me back….just one more time. So unfortunately for some, I will attempt at recreating all the good times (as and when time permits). The bad times will be exaggerated so that some of you don’t jump up and say, ’Hmmm. I could have done that too!’ Even Edmund Hillary didn't climb Kilimanjaro!

[Also posted in my other hiding place]

EWB Fundraising Update

Thanks to all those who contributed to the Kilimanjaro EWB fundraiser. We have also reached out to several corporate sponsors and hope to receive similar enthusiasm from them. I am very happy to have received this kind of support from you (in words and donations) without which all this would have been a daunting dream.

If you had planned on contributing and have not already done so (or if you are hearing about this for the first time), there is still a month to go before I start the climb. I still haven't made my goal of $5000.

Here’s the link through which you can donate. Paypal has been made an option now.

Update on the Mali Project- We at Engineers Without Borders, Pittsburgh, have chartered out a project plan, schedule, budget and are looking at various sources for more funds. We have been working over the Christmas break on a mock design of the fish farm. We are excited about our first trip to Mali in March of this year to understand the community and bring back with us all the information needed to successfully design this project. We will make another trip during December to construct the fish farm.

Thanks again for all the support. All your proceeds will go towards constructing the fish farm and training villagers to sustain the business as a steady source of much needed income for their community.

Regarding the Kilimanjaro Climb Preparations, check out the blog.

Mountain Alert!!!

The Kilimanjaro blog is up! Witness our highs and lows as we try to climb the highest peak in Africa. Make sure you subscribe to the feeds, check in hourly, comment regularly, give up your normal life, but mostly please come by to cheer us on!

PS- You might see some writings other than mine. And no word verification! I guess that's the extent to which I am going to plug this.

Leave the Rest to Pi

Last night we were at a friend’s place for dinner. The friends had invited their other friends to check us out. We were still on probation to secure an extended friendship. If we appealed to the other friends, Pi and I could potentially be invited into their inner circle and could be privy to all the local scoop. We would also be laughing at inside jokes like- ‘He is like an orange juice’ that seemed to take the crowd by storm.

So I had obviously hyped up my resume (best cook, best gossip magnet, best social skills etc) to even get an invitation here. I was also at my best behavior- laughing at everything the host said, commenting on their cooking skills, letting them win in a board game. I could see sparkle of approval in the other people’s eyes and a tinge of pride in the host’s. It was going pretty well and this time even I didn’t see it coming.

We had finished eating (which could be taken as a sign) and Pi went on to inquire about this person’s work, trying to make small talk and look positively interested. The guy just started his monologue with genuine passion and just when he was about to launch into further details, Pi’s eyes glazed over and as we all watched, he went off to sleep.

Not sure if we might have to pack up and leave Pittsburgh or live with bad reputation, but I do know one thing. I am pissed! Let me explain why I seem to be over reacting to something perfectly normal as someone sleeping after a good dinner. If there is one thing I would like to acquire from Pi, it would be his sleeping sickness. In close contention were eating disorder, obsessive controlling disorder and a big nose. I already have the big nose, so there!

I am cursed to be a light sleeper and I have known to wake up with a start if someone coughed in Nigeria. I could drink all the warm milk I wanted, use lavender scented eye patches, read History and listen to Chopin…but after a whole hour I would be agonizing over sleep while Pi would be waking up another light sleeper in Nigeria with his snores. I normally end up getting a headache with all that lavender smell and sound effects. It also takes a very patient benevolent soul like me to ward away any murderous thoughts during these trying times. It would be still fine with me if Pi needed some sort of ambience to drift off to sleep- soothing music, dimly lit room, a rocking bed, nagging wife… something that would validate the act. My hubby can sleep like a baby the minute his head hits something soft like the granite kitchen counter top. His claim to fame is sleeping at a rock concert in IIT (Sarang), next to speakers no less.

So it probably shouldn’t come as a shock when I tell you he drifts off mid-sentence when we have guests at home. Now it wouldn’t worry me under normal circumstances. It definitely seems fair enough to show displeasure when the aforementioned guest happens to be his most annoying friend, who could potentially be the reason why he has developed this trait in the first place. The friend takes this as a sign from Pi and makes himself comfortable, insisting on sharing his escapades with me… all night long (emphasizing the ‘long’).

Obviously last night was not a lone incident. Pi has dozed off in other people’s houses, sometimes in their couch in sitting position (if they are lucky), or sometimes in their master bed in diagonal sleeping position (if they are unlucky). “So, this is your new bed, eh? Let me see if it feels comfor…..zzzzzzz… Snoooooorrrrrreeee… burrrrr… brrrrroooom… vrrrrooom”… and very soon he launches off the alien mating calls.

Here’s one more disturbing fact. None of our friends have shown any concern or disapproval. They are either too polite (remember we are talking about my friends) or pretty pleased to get Pi out of the way. Personally, I shall take that as a compliment, thank you!

Huh, What was that again?

I am convinced that I should have developed into a high-profile, Armani-wearing, Jaguar-driving executive by now. After blaming my high school math teacher, my crooked teeth and my rotten toe nails for not becoming the highly successful person I should have been, I have finally realized where the true problem lay. In my Fake American Accent (FAA). The last time I was giving a presentation, I was more focused in figuring out how to pronounce ‘route’ …rowt or root? By the time the word presented itself in front of me, I was so exhilarated by the possibility of masking my Indian accent that I forgot what point I was trying to make. So with a painful expression, I ended up drawling, 'I just had a Rowt-canal.'

I am screwing up so bad that the whites have started to think my FAA is actually the way we Indians normally speak. Then an Indian colleague comes along and confuses them even more by saying this is actually the British Accent because the British taught us how to speak English during their extended stay in our country.

When we first came to USA, we had to repeat words twice and spell out our names. Frustration crept in pretty quick and we changed the way we spoke and shortened our names. ‘Hi, table for two…the name is Sue!’ But there are some of us who are stubborn and stick to our roots (or maybe routes). We continue to spell out the 14 letters of our last name…D as in David, A as in Adam, H as in Jesus…and by the time we are done, we have the all the biblical names covered and the person typing the name gasping for breath. ‘Sorry’, I say (not feeling apologetic at all), 'My parent’s way of teaching me the alphabet.’

It always helps to try and fit in, to enable the majority to comprehend you so that you can be sucessful in half the time it takes for a person repeating words. The intention is to be global, but in the end of the day we get drawn to the people with whom we can converse with ease and poke fun of their FAA. Hence for most part, Indians hang out with Indians, Chinese with Chinese and Mallus with Mallus.

When I am with Indians, I don’t stop talking- all the time thinking that the universe might vanish without hearing what I have to say. But with the Americans, I am unusually tongue tied, busy forming sentences in my mind with the FAA. When I catch myself saying something in my Indian accent, I correct it immediately making it look even more preposterous. I squirm and to cover up, I reach for the cookie and stuff my mouth and keep nodding. So for most of the conversation I stick to -Sure! Awesome! Yeah! Kewwl! and of course, the universal hahaha!. So Americans think I am dumb at the best and psycho at the worst.

I do not impress anyone anyway. So I have made up my mind. I am sticking to what I am comfortable with. I will speak like an Indian, with pride. After all, I need to give the Americans a chance to be global. If they don’t understand my English language, they’ll at least get my body language. *finger shooting up*

Warming up to Global Warming

Boy, I am so glad that I camped in real cold conditions before Pittsburgh winters got extremely obnoxious like today. The winds howl in antagonizing horror, the snowflakes perform their last intoxicated dance before self destructing and the temperatures have frozen my bile juices. But I am unperturbed. I am well conditioned to tackle the worst. After all, I spent quality time in Utah camping out in the cold. I had almost lost my limbs walking in ice-cold water for a whole day and since that didn’t kill me, I have emerged stronger. ‘Pfft!’ and ‘Pah!’ at the weather trying to scare with a measly chill. ‘Haha!’ at freezing temperatures. I have endured the worst 25 miles thinking my limbs might have to be amputated due to frost bite (that too hiking in an obscure desert and not really the Mount Everest). Such risks I have taken. So what is mere two blocks in city winter? My skin has transformed into thick dinosaur hide and all the cracks have been sealed with Vaseline. I am having a real smug feeling about the Kilimanjaro glacier that I might have to spend considerable time on. Should be a piece of cake without the frosting. This year’s winter will be a breeze, a warm one at that!

Such becoming thoughts enveloped me as I sat in the coffee shop sipping hot fancy-named-awful-tasting latte and stuffing my face with Black forest. That is a part of my training regime to tackle the extreme weathers. No one has seen a skinny Eskimo!

I paid the cashier with a cheery disposition that only a confident winter veteran could muster. And I opened the door and walked out...

I made it!... To the book store which happened to have a door connected from the coffee shop. I tried poking my nose out and had to withdraw inside real quick. Shuddered, thawed, checked my bearings, checked my heart-beat, ran to the nearest fireplace and picked up my cell phone.

Boogles, come pick me up now!

Yeah, the same bookstore you dropped me off at!

I know! It’s just that I forgot to carry the third pair of gloves, the monkey cap and chemical hand-warmers.

Oh just beat it, Kilimanjaro is definitely not this cold!

A rocking weekend

I've always wondered about humans who torture themselves by spending their vacations lying in a spa and sipping wine. Because to me a wonderful vacation means carrying 40 pounds for 25 miles in freezing cold waters of a dark narrow canyon. I get a particular satisfactory glow when I eat Luna bar that tastes like ear-wax combined with pig's excreta (just to set the record straight I might have eaten ear wax but never pig's excreta).

We hiked the Buckskin Gulch in Southern Utah this Thanksgiving weekend. The first semi-scary situation came when we were dropped off at the trail head by Susan the shuttle woman. It was godamn cold and after I had oversome the initial shock of freezing in a desert, I wailed, 'Aunty, please come back and take me!' My fellow hikers thought I was being obnoxious (as usual) and paid no heed to my sufferings. I pulled out chemical hand warmers from my backpack (to be used in emergencies only) and tore open the cover in a psychopathic frenzy while jumping up and down violently shaking my frozen fingers. All this before I had even started the hike.

We walked into the longest slot canyon in the world, the Buckskin Gulch. I truly believe that claim and I can't tell you how much mental preparation is required to make sure you dont get claustrophic and bury yourself in the canyon out of sheer panic that it might never end. It's tiringly long, achingly deep and extremely narrow. In places we had to remove our backpacks, inhale and squeeze sideways. Its also jawdropping surreal and extremely exquisite. The walls tell tales of erosion, flash floods and beauty. Its almost a spiritual experience. If you look hard, you can spot pertoglyphics (ancient rock art by Anasazi settlers). There are times when you can't see the sky through the 500 feet tall sandstone walls. Like ants carrying their food through long burrows inside the earth, we plodded on as every part of our body ached. Starts off with the calf muscles, moves over to your hips and then to the right shoulder. By the end of it, you are one big vessel of pain and it doesn't matter any more. You might as well get that rock and throw it on your left shoulder so that there is some equilibrium.

Apart from the sweet tango of pain, concerns were flash floods, claustrophobia, rocky terrain, boulders blocking the way, cold weather, walking in ice cold water (knee deep for 5 miles), and pooping in a bag (and bringing it back). To top it all, our stove decided to commit suicide on the first night itself. So we were doomed to eat our emergency food, the Luna bars! I am convinced the makers of Luna bars tested their product only on animals.

I am also convinced that I live for these moments.

Like the moment I got into the car after the hike and said, 'Turn on the heater, quick!'

The moment my hiking buddy says, 'I'll go into the shower first!' and I think of that extra fuel that could be used on him at this point.

The moment we saw a real meal after days of eating above mentioned Luna bars and bellowed at the waitress,' You forgot to add olives on this pizza!'

After hiking relentlessly for miles, the minute we all sat in the car, no one wanted to volunteer to get out and fill gas. It suddenly seemed like the most daunting task ever.

As you can tell, I couldn't have asked for a better vacation. Proof is in my limp.

Because Dreams Need Doing

I am hoping against hopes that I will be able to pull this off. Please click the below link and support in any way you can. Even if you spread the word, it would help

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Thank you for your time (hopefully you gave more than that). Ask me if you have questions like 'Is 400 too little?' Please note, the online option will take minimum of $25, but you can definitely write a check for lower amounts.

Engineers Without Borders helps me realize many of my passions- mentoring, traveling, interacting with community, doing good and of course engineering. No profession unleashes the spirit of innovation like engineering. Few have such a direct and positive effect on people’s everyday lives.

Off on a practice hike in Utah this Thanksgiving and spending the flight time learning on how to breed fish.

Andy ko maro goli

Writers Strike has affected alpha-2.blogspot.com. Despair not folks, let's look at all the wonderful alpha moments from the past. (You still around?)

ReRun 1- When Alpha was wronged by short sighted evil parents

ReRun 2- When a particular party went Northeast.

ReRun 3- When Alpha was subject to third degree by people she called her own.

ReRun 4- When Alpha returned unscathed from a wedding that was not her own

ReRun 5- When Alpha's body parts were attacked by a Vietnamese conspiracy


(Didn't see how else to break the news that Andy was a lab mate who spoke to me when he wasn't guzzling diet coke from a 7 liter tank. So in essence I spoke to him twice in my life. I also need to mention that you had to take 140 steps back to not mistake Andy for a department store. He probably was a department store considering how much he could store inside him. He was a white-washed department store that would shine like an EXIT sign every time he came back from the sun panting and puffing with 3 double cheese burgers, huge french fries, 7-liter diet coke and say, 'Duh Alpha, I heard you worship cows in India. I hope you eat em after that!'

Oh well, sorry about the ending. It is bound to build your character.)

Gori tera gaon bada pyara

Just like everyone else (except of course Sonia Gandhi), I arrived in America to do my masters. Yuck, not really. I wasn’t a part of any kinky slave trade. Rephrasing, I came to the United States to study like the throngs of other Tam Brams. I saw more eligible bachelors in Gainesville, Florida, than I ever saw in Tamil Nadu. I tidied up my horoscope and brought out the best jasmine strand and waited to be wooed by the ultimate pick-up line, ‘Which college did you pass out of?’

But alas, the desi boys were busy savoring the culture and trying hard to fit in. The same eligible bachelors spent majority of their waking day walking in slow motion, gawking at American couples making out (from a safe distance of 2 feet). Slow motion became motionless when a particular fair lady came bouncing along in what could be construed as a ‘shimmy’ in India. Most of our boys suffered from acute eyeball-to-lowball syndrome. Every endowed female of the Caucasian clan could only avert her gaze so much 'coz wherever she looked, she saw a Desi staring at her popping cleavage. She would have to smile if there was eye-contact, thus pushing our brethren into the deep abyss of sleepless nights and lone activities. Lord was to be praised if even one guy had his window facing the apartment swimming pool. Some brave ones would venture into the pool only to drown in estacy of being in the same body of water as the body of blonde and eventually be saved by his trunks turning into sails. This happened for much of the first semester. As you might have guessed, my jasmine flower strand just withered away in abject despair. I started to question my decision to come to the United States.

By second semester, a few rude shocks shook our men to reality:
1. The girls didn't care much for the 3 inch thick glasses, VIP designer frenchies and open mouths.
2. The girls didn’t make idli-sambar
3. They didn’t smell like their mom
4. They couldn’t integrate or for that matter differentiate
5. They owed a lot of themselves to their surgeon.
6. They weren’t female. (Some guys were lucky not to reach that point of discovery)

(Oh well, other than #1, everything was a manifestation of my imagination combined with natural flair for over-emphasizing.)

Just when the desi guys frantically turned to their mothers for procuring the vendakka curry recipe that would definitely impress me, I met Andy.

Stay tuned.

Falling in Love

On a fateful day, many years ago (precisely 2) while visiting Pittsburgh briefly for a friend’s engagement ceremony at the Venkateshwara temple, I recall gasping at the lush green forests and delightful countryside of Pittsburgh. ‘What a tranquil place, I could definitely live here!’ I gushed while digging into the puliyogre rice that could be procured at your whim for just two bucks.

Note to Self: Never wish for something when you are hungry. It might just come true.

Before I knew it, hubby gave me a choice. ‘Cleveland or Pittsburgh?’

‘Chicago’

I like multiple choices that don’t make me go through the actual process of choosing. Apparently Chicago was not an option.

‘Does Cleveland have run down steel mills?’

Thanks to that important criterion, we moved to Pittsburgh. The rolling hills, resort-like apartment, unparalleled greenery, Andy Wharhol, Mount Washington, Oakland, Shadyside, Pamela’s Kitchen, Steelers, Strip District on Saturdays, Falling Water, the sandstones cliffs... everything Pittsburgh, everything that could have normally blown my mind away seemed to turn my nose up till I could feel mucus in my throat. Not even the puliyogre made me warm up to Pittsburgh! Pittsburgh to me would remain forever cold and I had made a steely resolve that nothing would make me love this place, not even my in-laws visit!

But like every relationship that starts with skepticism and hate, there is always a glimmer of hope that the two of you will never have anything to do with each other after a year.

‘My company hasn’t got rid of me yet,’ hubby breaks the news gently while handing me a ‘Things to shop around in Pittsburgh’ book as a peace offering.

But then something did happen that made me fall in love with…hold you breath… Pittsburgh. Fall. (Yes, the new shoes too.)


I was wonderstruck by nature’s partiality to Pittsburgh when it came to performing her greatest show. In Pittsburgh, she uses all her passion coloring the leaves. In Pittsburgh, she enthralls and entices and uses the mountains as her infinite canvas. I was done for, infatuated and giddy… Exclaiming in glee at every tree, gasping for breath at every bend. Almost rear-ended a few cars gaping at the colored hills that would make the driver in front actually forgive me. Glad I didn’t test that theory.


It was a torrid affair and lasted for less than a month for Winter coldly walked into the scene and stole the Pittsburgh I loved.

Happy Deepavaleen!

May the flickering lights of your neighbors TV blaring with the Steelers game bring you cheer. May the shivering breeze wafting into your home as you try to open the windows to let the curry smell drift out greet your heart with warmth. May the almost bare trees shower you with the love of the remaining leaves that hang on for their dear lives. May the Halloween trick-or-treaters not digress Goddess Lakshmi to fight the Frankenstein instead of entering your home. May you eat crackers that come with soup to remind you of the ones that emit noise and light. May your new jeans bring you as much excitement as a new silk saree. May the jack-o-lantern brighten your porch. May you have your fill of Halloween left-overs (Reeses- peanut-butter-cups) instead of laddoos and burfis. May you meet and greet all your friends today in scrapbooks and walls.

Happy Diwali to you all out there!