After leaving Chalsa, I kept moving towards Tawang. That evening I couldn't find a place before dark to camp and I was tired. I found a petrol pump and asked if I could camp beside it, he said there were sleeping arrangements in the station itself. I went inside to find about 20 freshly painted cots, even had a restaurant nearby but I was already done with my dinner, I went to sleep. The next day was again a long ride, covering about 300 kilometres climbing up and down the mountains. In the evening, I found a lovely place next to a pond. I requested the family nearby if I could camp and they agreed. I pitched my grand tent, washed my stinky clothes, took a bath and rested like a baby. He guided me about the roads and suggested I stay in Rupa next.
It gets dark very early in the North East of India. At 5 pm in the evening, it is as dark as 10 pm in Coorg. With my headlights, I did not want to risk riding after dark and these roads were unknown. Reaching Rupa around 6 30, I found a room. After bargaining, he agreed to rent it at 600 for the night. I had food and went to sleep. The next morning I was up and running towards Tawang. On the way, I met a few bikers from Chennai returning. They had rented bikes from Guwahati. One of them had a burnt clutch and was waiting to get it repaired.
Tawang is a beautiful hill station and the roads are more of an adventure, not sure about you but I love bad roads, they often lead to beautiful destinations. The scenery around, pure water flowing from the mountains, man the muddy roads. This is my life! I thought for a moment. I rode through the Sela pass absorbing the mind-blowing views to reach Tawang. The bike lacked power but was steady at its own pace. Since I couldn't find a place to camp I found a room at 300 which was comfortable enough. Sitting in the birthplace of the Dalai Lama, It was a feeling of accomplishment. The monastery was on top of a mountain and the room boy showed me around. He was from Bihar, working for Rs.5000 a month, had no parents and siblings back in his hometown, again living a clueless life.
The architecture of the monastery was like any other Buddhist monastery but the location, the energy and the people felt beyond human. I visited the monastery again before leaving and sat there while their rituals and chanting kept flowing through my mind. When I came outside, I saw they sold some fresh fruits from the mountains; I picked up a couple of pears and bananas. The pears were so fresh and juicy, it reminded me of the pears I ate in Yemen once. I also tried some boiled channa and jalebi fresh out of the oil. Took a sip of holy water, washed my eyes as suggested by the jalebi stall uncle and rode back. Reaching Bomdila I again had to take a room. With the cold and commercialisation, there was hardly someplace left to camp. My next destination, Kaziranga national park. It was my dream to see the world’s largest population of one-horned rhinoceroses in their natural Habitat.
I took the route to Tawang a few kilometres before Guwahati and rode downhill reaching Tezpur. The temperature started going up as soon as I came down the mountains. I stopped by the river, took off a few layers of clothing, took a bath, wet my t-shirt to beat the heat and rode on. Nearing Kaziranga it was almost evening again. I looked for a few places to camp but was denied by the locals. Finally, as I passed a nice spot behind me and saw a man standing on the roadside. I took a turn and went up to him asking if I could stay there for a night?
Abdul Kalam Bhaiya, was kind enough to allow me to stay, also since the weather looked bad he suggested that I camped inside his shed. It was filled with grass and mud but it didn't matter because just after I camped, it rained like cats and dogs. He and his brothers had houses in the neighbourhood and he promised there will be no trouble from the locals. Later in the evening he took me out and bought me dinner. He owned a few trucks running around the state, managed the business on phone and lived a peaceful life. That night at around 9 pm a very old man, mostly in his 90s, thin, almost blind came up towards the tent to enquire. I greeted him and he said he was Abdul Bhai's father. He was too old to stand upright. If he stood straight even for 30 seconds, he would bend forward and rest his hands on his knee for support. He left when I said I have informed his son before camping.
The next morning was Kaziranga! It was raining from the time I started and unfortunately, the national park was closed for the season. Also, I ran out of cash in hand and needed to find an atm. I sat beside the bank and wondered which direction to choose next? I wanted to visit the famous Kamakhya temple in Guwahati.
The moment I had this thought, I saw an unread message on my Facebook messenger. "F***R, where the f*k are you?"
The Crazy Manas Nath from Ramaiah! He has seen my Facebook update with dots marking my trail on the map towards Assam. I replied I was in Assam and he straight away started throwing gaalis (Slanging at me ) asking why I didn't call. I asked him if I could stay for a day there and if his family didn't bother? He again shot Gaalis before telling me to shut up and just get there. While I was on my way, he kept calling me every hour to check where I reached and if I was on the right track. Finally, by evening when I reached Guwahati, bugger came to receive me and we hanged out for a drink before he took me to his house. He lived with his mom, dad and brother in a 3 bedroom house. They were building another floor for the boys and their future families when they got married. Since his brother was out of town, I was given his room. Uncle was a retired army man and aunty a simple housewife. Lovely family. I felt at home.
Manas and Mrigien were school friends since childhood, had done their BSC in Bangalore. They were my classmates from Ramiah College where I had studied for just a year. We rarely met after I discontinued my studies there. Manas was a National level Basketball player but he is now working as a computer teacher in Kendriya Vidyalaya. Man, so much training, the pain, the passion, the hard work, one training the body and mind so well, not enough for the country. There is so much politics, that most of our country's best never get to the top. Without enough funds for bribing corrupt officials and lacking quality food and gears, most sportspeople understand the reality and simply quit. Manas is one such example and India has a million stories like this.
Sela Pass
A picture from the monastery at Tawang
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