c u on top - satyabrata dam

Mara Porini Camp – Ol Kinyei Conservancy My next destination with Gamewatchers was their Mara Porini Camp in Ol Kinyei Conservancy. This happened during the latter half of January and by this time I had gained adequate experience for wildlife and all things wild to consider myself a little above ignorant in such matters. So I start off with some sense of efficacy as I ride with Mr. Pappu, the rotund good natured Indian origin Gamewatchers overall manager cum all-purpose man. Pappu loves driving, eating and music and is a Formula race fan; thankfully he drives like a normal person. In few hours and with our vehicle full of supplies and provisions for the camp, we arrive at Narok, the staging town for Mara. A brief halt to pop few samosas inside our growling stomachs and we speed off on the un-metaled road towards the conservancy. The sky is grey, air is breezy and Pappu is full of funny stories. At a point we leave the road and drive into a dip, through a stream and up on the oth...

Am I scared, I ask myself. The answer is a silent ‘no’ followed by ‘perhaps’ followed by ‘certainly’. I and fear doesn’t seem sound somehow when spoken in the same sentence, even if it is my mind that is doing all the rambling. I am unnerved for sure, without an iota of doubt. My limbs, especially the lower ones are trembling under their own accord propelled by some mysterious forces that is way out of my conscious control. So are my teeth, only figuratively though, and thank god for that. Since according to my guide our survival depends on our silence and moreover the sunbathing beauties eyeing us through slit red eyes within handshaking distance don’t mean any harm unless they are hungry (which they certainly look) or we disturb their siesta with some wild gestures. That was a day when I cussed and cussed my inborn guts and curiosity, both of which were on that day trying their best to detach from my body. Was I or am I completely irrevocably insanely insidiously masochistically figu...

As I stepped off the road my feet sank perceptibly into the soft snow. It was the December of 83, I was about to turn nineteen and on my one of the earliest forays into the greater Himalaya. I wanted to seek solitude, a decent climb and my inner self; not necessarily in that order. It had been an unusually heavy winter with snow line starting well below Manali and coating everything within sight in a sweeping uninterrupted sheet of pure white. My quest lay above Manali, deep into the Beas Valley. All the villages and road side joints, bustling in the summer with tourist and odd-stuff sellers were now deserted. The road just ahead of Manali, that wound up towards the Rohtang Pass was submerged under heavy snow. No vehicular movement was possible neither deemed necessary. Buried deep within the snow, lurked empty gaps and dangers of which I had no clue and I wished to go alone. I wound up slowly along the road and then at a point left the curbs and plunged deep into the forest. On my bac...