Trek down the hill

On a February Saturday of 2013 the three musketeers (S,T and Me) started our impromptu journey from home to the hill. It was too sunny so I had to cover my face with the typical checkered Bengali towel (Gamchha as we call it). Both the guys wore comfortable shoes and were walking without much discomfort. Whereas I, on the other hand couldn’t even look straight or up, I continued to look down.

S: Do you know how  to identify if people are enjoying themselves on a trek?

Me: No. How do you identify them?

S: They’ll walk like you—looking at the ground and walk.

I was embarrassed but what the hell! I’ve never been on a trek like this before. It was my first time.

I did a very very big mistake of wearing my canvass shoes. I got blisters on my feet and could barely walk. Anyway after a walk of about 90 minutes we  reached an uninhabited farm house. The house was surrounded by jackfruit trees and  was totally abandoned. More than the jackfruit my focus was  on my burning and aching feet. I only wished to go back home and regretted ever  giving in to the idea of trekking. My visions were blurred and enough was enough! I removed my shoes, S got some banana leaves  and folded it, T took off his socks (which were torn ofcourse J ) and gave it to me. I put the banana leaves below my feet and wore the torn socks on top of it. S, with his fast as a lightning thoughtful brain designed  it and started tying  it with the strands of zapanhlo (a vine used as medicine  by the locals of Mizoram)  but had to replace it with plastics.

                             Voila! My feet got a pair of custom made shoes  J

We took a ‘jackfruit’ break  and started moving again. On the way we saw a stream and drank the fresh water and filled our bottles as well (Fresh water stream is one of the novelties Mizoram provides)

After about 3 hours of walk we finally reached the main road. Few houses were there closeby.My trek-mates wanted to intoxicate themselves with Duichuani – a locally made alcohol infamous to the Reang  community (Tuikuk, as the locals call them).

It was again time to move. We headed towards our spot—a bigger stream where we swim. We had to walk a bit on the main road. My fellow mates went ahead of me and I had to walk dragging my ‘Lady Gaga’s’ like shoe and walk. It was really sunny. As I was dragging myself to reach our sweet spot my students saw me and were shouting ‘Miss,Miss’. I was like,’Damn these kids. Why do they have to see me in this state when I look worse than a ghost wearing torn socks ’.

Cursing and grumbling we reached the stream  and  what happened afterwards was a bliss! After  bearing the scorching heat the water then soothe my burning skin and brought a calmness all over me. I was at peace. The blisters,the heat, all forgotten; what laid then was just calm Reki, inside and out.

On the way home we ate in a hut-tea stall  and hitched a ride back home somehow.

It has been more than 2 years since we went trekking. Why am I writing about it now? Well, I am just scared that one day I might lose my memory (like Amir Khan in Ghajini) or have Alzheimer and won’t be able to recall anything back. I want to store it somewhere safe besides my own fading memory.

That was one of the last few things we did together. We parted ways, only to cherish the moments shared and be treasured in our memory banks.