His phone rang just as he was boarding his flight from Bangalore. It was his parents. Nervous, he picked it up and explained the situation. As he spoke, they grew tense and a bit angry. "I really need a break, Ma" - he said. They reluctantly agreed.

Next stop, NEW DELHI!

#1

said the mellow one, half smiling, half sleepy as he took another sip of the fruity old apple wine. He could still feel the chill of the cold Kasoli breeze, see the silver silhouette of some stranded clouds as they slowly yet surely drifted past the starry blue sky. Suddenly the rustling of the trees stopped and for what seemed like an eternity, nobody spoke. He smirks at the sky then to his friends, who spontaneously smiled with him at the beauty of both the scene and the conversation that was unfolding.

He realized that it had been a long time he had been this happy. Happy that it was very late in the night and he did not have to, but wanted to wake up early the next morning. The endless flow of the Parvati river provided more of a background score rather than a distraction to his thoughts. He could clearly remember the few times he had felt this calm.

“I still remember the bicycle ride to the school every morning. I preferred taking the route along the lake. And though I was usually very late, it never bothered me much. I will never be able to express the joy of the cool morning mist brushing my face as I would pedal my way through the empty road. Come to think of it, it was all very romantic, it still is; some sort of a ritual. It makes me think sometime, did I do it on purpose, did I intentionally get late!!??”

To his surprise, they were listening to him attentively. Usually, such conversations would end up with him getting up to ‘get some fresh air’, find a quiet place and listen to his favorite playlist. It was his momentary respite from the fast paced, heartless city life. 

‘Fresh air, good audience’. Just a myth. More than often it was 'conditioned air, anxious people'. It was slowly getting misty; eerie yet inviting. ‘Let’s take a walk; get some fresh air!’ spoke someone and everyone got on their feet.

KASOL was too big to be called a village. The narrow winding roads which were lined with shops and cafes were now fading in the fog; their dim lights slowly glowing afar. Few strangers walked passed them as they turned to take the bridge uphill. Few restaurants were still open where travelers casually smoked; some lost in their thoughts, some trying to find the tip of the nearby hills that were barely visible.

Wandering aimlessly through the beaten pathway; they talked about love, about technology and life, about art and spirituality, about politics and religion. About how humans could exist somewhere yet not make their presence felt. About how he did not feel the uneasiness of leaving his phone back in his room. About how movies, TV series, and YouTube videos were not the only way to pass the time. About how vibrant a Friday night could be.

In the distance, a radio hummed a familiar tune of a 70s song, but he was too lazy to ponder over further details. What went unignored was the dainty aroma of late night tea, which promised to stirs up one's sweetest dreams. Home seemed a long way back. But the team decided to take the gamble. None of it mattered anyway. The fast paced train that was life had slowed down to almost a standstill. Now and then they would rub their watery eyes and glasses, the tea vapors and the mist conspired in their own way to contribute to create a Hollywood dreamscape effect. He looks at his watch; 2:30 AM. Not bad. Not bad at all. The whole valley seemed to be listening silently to the soft and smooth music on the radio.

Amidst the maddening world, where time passes by with hot morning coffee, fellow bus passengers, TV soap actors and cold dinners, one generally loses the spirit of life. But, it is also this daily routine that brings meaning to such excursions. Maybe, that is what work-life balance meant. The balance could be different for every individual but finding it was one worthwhile aim.

The sky was almost purple now, announcing that dawn was not far away. They paid the chaiwallah and return to their hotel. Their hotel, Hotel Sunrise, was conveniently located away from the main street, in a small clearing in the woods. Its narrow weather worn pathway usually received its illumination from the nearby street lamps but in the fog they were useless. If they continued ahead, the path would have ended near the banks of Parvati river; a perfect place to hang around. But he consoled himself to bed. Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. Malana would be a long and interesting journey and he didn’t want to miss anything.

#2

The route to MALANA was picturesque. Long black cables connected the narrow valley, trolleying huge metal containers loaded with stones. Nearby, the water pumps gushed out fresh water from the numerous streams that flowed through the mountain crevices. The road fell to a steep drop before meeting the river, its water trying to flow violently, but bashed into the rocks and failed. The edge was blanketed with short green bushes which had triumphantly saved themselves from the hill goats who didn't seem to have any problem grazing over the slopes. 

The rest of the journey just flew by. Eventually, the car stopped near the edge of a valley and the driver informed them that the rest of the road was on foot. The beginning of the trek was marked with a sign, "Way to Malana village", which was very peculiar because he had never seen such a thing while entering an Indian village. It was almost as if Malana folks wanted you to know that you were in their area now. Probably, it was also there because without the sign and under the thick foliage, even frequent travelers could miss this location.

The trek was tiring, but he did not regret it, the beauty of the valley deserved their attention and exertion; the time to silently watch it grow on you. Almost the entire trek was riddled with herbs and bushes to such extent that one could easily miscalculate the outer edge of the trail. The trek had two part, a downhill stairway to the bottom of the valley (relatively small and easy) and a steep climb to the village. The air was cool and fresh and sun rays fell hard on the valley. Occasionally, they would come across old watering holes, which oozed water so cold that it would numb their hands. It must have been here, amidst the serenity of this place, the calming vibe of the valley that was enough to put anyone's mind at peace, where ancient sanyasis (saints) would meditated.

THE VILLAGE, as he had heard,did bear the exotic facade; the wavy mist welcomed them in, carrying with it the petrichor and an unfamiliar scent of herbs. The entrance to the village was marked by a small waterfall. Up ahead, they were met with children and shepherds with shy smiles, curious eyes and rosy cheeks. Some boys were busy enough in their game of marbles to notice two travelers entering their village. The sight provided some comfort to their weary and speculative hearts. They had made it!

They followed a bunch of kids as they enthusiastically ran forward, fading in the distance. Following them was a chain of women, possibly their moms, sisters, etc. either carrying or pulling donkeys laden with baskets full of cannabis! WAS HE DREAMING? He paused for a minute, wiped his eyes clean and stood where he was, till the last one them was barely visible. His friend gave him an assertive grin, upon which they started walking again.

As they ascended the last steps to the village, wooden houses with tin roofs rose on both sides of the street. They were open terraced, multi-level huts which provided a sort of a vintage point. These were occupied by women who were busy finishing their household chores. Many were casually grinding the herbs in their palms, the process left a slimy layer on it, which would later be scraped off, rolled into balls and sold as the most expensive hash in the world. No doubt the whole village was involved in either cultivation, extraction or the distribution of this product.

They were late, exhausted and famished. He did not expect the trek to be this tiring. The smell of butter and spices caught his nose. He turned gleefully to see only one of them standing beside him. Where were the others? "They went ahead", he said. DAMN! Now regrouping become a priority over replenishment. Off they went searching for four young boys in a village so aloof and reserved in itself, where nobody seemed to care. And it started raining….

Words fall short to describe the serendipitous location of Malana; one can only experience it by physically visiting the place. The very existence of the village is cloaked in clouds and mountain tops, and so are the numerous stories about it. Some true, some false. But who are we to say anything. Its only fair that one finds out the reality themselves.