Trip to Kullu

                                              

The Chandra, Lahaul

In the first week of October, while nymphet autumn, with a sunny but shy grin, was wrapping my

Palampur valley in its ruddy pristine charm, we – the ageing duo of husband and wife – set off to the 

apple-valley Kullu for a wedding.  The NHAI, past Mandi, has made travel easy. But at what terrible 

cost – both financially and ecologically – is not hard to fathom. However, the winding kilometers 

between Joginder Nagar to Mandi continue to be a pain in the arse. Abandoned, neglected, forsaken, 

and left to the mercy of the gods and weather, this pitiable road-stretch seems like no one’s baby; a 

poor orphan.

Despite the widening, and new state-of-the-art tunnels that make the famous Atal tunnel pale in comparison, the massive landslides, mountains of debris and ugly gashes on the pristine hill slopes tell their own story: A sad tale of greed, corruption, and bribes from bottom to the top. A grim story of gross bureaucratic apathy and hubris with scant regard for the silent hills and grim-looking trees looking askance and waiting to wreak vengeance. Therefore, despite crores of taxpayers’ money but lacking scientific oversight and a sharp eye of accountability, there still is no riddance from traffic jams (stretching to several hours) and long lines of waiting vehicles, particularly from Mandi to Pandoh. Come rains, spots like ‘9 miles’ and ‘11 miles’ make frontpage news as the denuded hill slopes stripped bare, rain boulders, slush and rocks to turn the fancy roads into death traps for vehicles and people. This is ‘development’ (gone berserk) for the pampered urban elite, singing praises for new airports (with leaking roofs), expressways (that turn into watery graves in monsoons), and bridges (that tumble soon after the ribbon-cutting).

However, Katrain, a small township between Kullu and Manali (the wedding venue) still retains its quiet demeanour, sunny grin and slow trot with the high mountains encircling the valley like warrior- guardians. The hush of river Beas (though invisible) lends an aura of mystique to this charming little oasis.

From then on, on the way to Manali, the wide highway gives you the illusion of driving on a city road than a mountainous one. But again ugliness and eye sores fester all along. The Beas, now tranquil, but raging mad in rains, has inflicted deep cuts and swallowed vast chunks of the road, as if to mock the sinister, destructive human hand and his machine, screaming, “Don’t you dare, O brute human!”

Enter Manali and you are in for a shock. Once a deodar studded, gods-blessed little town that boasted of history, culture, lore and mythology with high mountains adding to its surreal beauty, awe and wonder, it is now an unrecognisable, urban sprawl. Instead of that old soft hum and gentle pace of Manali, and the pleasant din and bustle of its Kulluvites and Tibetans welcoming the few nature-loving tourists who came to revel in nature (and not pollute it with petrol, litter and noise) there are now parking lots and vehicles and hotels and houses galore.

We moved ahead, passing through the Atal tunnel into the Lahaul valley. Like a graceful hill belle, the curvaceous Chandra river flowed quietly alongside the road. It went by at an unhurried pace as if singing a melody in anticipation of its rendezvous with the Bhaga to become Chandrabhaga.  A cheery, gleeful waterfall rushed downhill eager to greet the Chandra and lose itself into its welcoming bosom. The high, rugged mountains on both the sides were silent, somber and meditative waiting for snowfall to restore their lost silvery sheen and charm.

 At Sissu we watched the boisterous tourist-crowd at the heliport… the crowd that made loud noises, sang filmi songs, clicked pics and selfies, and littered with garish plastic packs of potato chips and namkeens. An hour or so later we returned, eager to post our pics and videos on our Facebook/Instagram/Twitter accounts, while the valley and the mountains looked on keeping still and silent with lips sealed and a questioning finger planted firmly over them.

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