A walk in the clouds

It’s strange how a stroll in the mountains and a few drops of rain can change you.

I seriously recommend travelling to anyone caught in the web of urban life. It’s therapeutic. Put a little distance between yourself and your daily routine. Viola! The dull, dreary walls of dead habit come crumbling down. A recluse, introvert, weary of strangers; on a recent trip to Sonapani, a village in Kummaon, I met my schizo opposite.

Sonapani resort is located in a bowl of lush green vegetation. A good rainfall had drenched the valley in a glistening shade of green. As far as the eye could see, there wasn’t another colour. It was green everywhere. Everywhere except a spot of red on the adjacent range. A tree that stood out. Proud and distinct as a peacock amongst fowl. With each passing hour, it changed colour. Bright orange in the morning light to burning amber in the afternoon to brick red in the evening.

By next morning I knew I had to get a closer look. After a late breakfast, I set out. Unprepared,
umbrella-less and directionless. As long as the flaming tree was in my view, I guessed I was on the right track.

After an hour and a half, I reached someone’s estate entrance. Without a moment’s hesitation or fear (a charging Bhutia, mad cows or a psycho owner, the possibilities seemed endless) I jumped across the barbed wire fence and marched to my tree. Much like a homing pigeon, if I may add.

20 odd steps later, I was confronted by the estate’s owner. A no-nonsense ex-army colonel. Without a word I knew I had trespassed. Instantly I felt the bhutia dog might have been easier to handle. Before he could begin interrogation I blurted, “this tree I had to take a closer look.” Taken aback, he replied, “oh yes one of the first my great grandfather planted when the British gifted him the village.”

I don’t know if it was my 5 foot nothing, drenched; dishevelled frame or the colonel’s pride in the kind of admiration I had lavished on his tree or simply the rain but I was taken into the house. We spent the evening over endless cups of tea and fresh-off-the-tree apples recounting tales of the first gurkha regiment that set foot in Sonapani.

Once the rain stopped, the colonel escorted me safely back to the camp. Later that night, huddled around the bonfire, my husband asked if the trek to the tree was worth it. I smiled. It sure was.