Tales untold: Adventures of an underage

I was studying for an Honours degree in Mathematics in Hindu College, Delhi, in the early 1960s. My parents and I went to Shimla for summer vacation in 1962. We stayed with my uncle (who used to work in Shimla). Itching for adventure, my uncle's son Achut and I decided to go on a hike to Hattu peak. The peak was a few miles north of Narkanda in Himachal Pradesh. It was situated in a fir forest and a few miles away was the peak whose altitude was 10,300 feet.

We travelled in a bus to Narkanda and camped for the night in a small wayside Dhaba. Next morning, we set out for the expedition, duly armed with youthful enthusiasm, total ignorance of mountaineering and absolutely no inkling of what was in store for us! Since we also enjoyed the additional advantage of not having a guide to help us locate the right route to the peak, we naturally landed on the wrong side of the mountain! From where we were at that time, there was no regular track to the peak, and we had to depend on stones and branches of plants for foothold and leverage while making our way up. Halfway during the climb, we began to get doubts about the wisdom of the whole adventure, and whether we would at all reach our destination. Somehow or other, we reached the top, bruised, bleeding, desperately thirsty and hungry. Needless to say, we carried no water or food with us. The brochure we had read about the peak had painted a picture of a flourishing tourist destination where such things would be available aplenty!

One deeply satisfying consolation was the magnificent view one enjoyed from the top. There were the Himalayas all along the horizon in a 360° arc. The breeze was cool and pure, and it was an exhilarating experience. The peak itself was a lush green patch, roughly the size of a football field.

While we were debating how to return to the base of the mountain, we fortunately heard some voices on the other side of the mountain. Cautiously we made our way down and found, to our unspeakable relief, a unit of the Indian army there. The officers and the men were extraordinarily courteous and understanding. After giving us the first aid, feeding us and stocking us generously with things we might need on the journey back to Shimla, they bade us a hearty farewell.

Exhausted, slightly uncomfortable on account of the mild injuries, but extremely contented, we made our way back to Shimla.

It was in the same year that I was chosen as a member of the NCC contingent to represent the college at the Republic Day Parade at Vijay Chowk. The initial pride and enthusiasm wore out somewhat when realisation dawned that the parade was to be preceded by a march all the way from the college to India Gate! So exhausted was I that, during the parade, the right foot and the right arm were going forward together and so were the left counterparts, instead of each arm going forward in tandem with the leg on the other side!

Once the parade was concluded, I was rewarded with (what in those days was) a princely sum of Rs 1.67 paise, in the form of a coupon which one could exchange for a 'bread pakora' and a Coca-Cola. I can hardly remember a snack that tasted better! The coupon even yielded small change enough to cover the trip back home in 'phut phati'. A patriotic task well performed, an enjoyable repast and a comfortable journey home. Supreme bliss!

As my memory goes back even further, I recollect the days in Guntur in 1955. Andhra State had just been carved out of the erstwhile composite Madras State, and the High Court of the new State was located in Guntur. My father had just been elevated to the Bench of that Court and we moved, from the small house in which we were staying until then, to a huge bungalow right opposite the High Court building. One day, as we did every day, we had a game of cricket in the adjoining Police Parade Grounds. Game over, I somehow got persuaded into visiting a nearby agriculture field on the outskirts of the city. In it was a patch of vegetables and, don't ask me why, two of us started plucking brinjals off a plant. One suddenly felt a whiplash on the back with an uprooted plant serving as the instrument of attack. The farmer had discovered us! From there to home was a sprint the likes of which I had probably never made before! To this day, I can feel a flush in my cheeks when I remember that somewhat foolhardy episode!

The only time I ran that fast again was probably the time when my father and I went to visit Justice Kumarayya. We had, by then, moved to Hyderabad, following the formation of Andhra Pradesh State and the location of the High Court of the new State in Hyderabad. Kumarayya was a colleague of my father whom we visited frequently. Soft-spoken, gentle mannered and erudite, Kumarayya was the very epitome of the Telangana version of Mehman Nawazi. As we alighted from the car, I ran to the doorstep of the house and rang the bell, and, the next moment, was face-to-face with a Great Dane fully my height, his eyes 6 inches away from mine and staring straight into mine! The next thing I remember is being behind father once again. And he had not moved an inch! In later years, my father would console me (whenever I did not fare well in my studies), that I should not worry, as, after all, an alternative career as a sprinter was always available!

(The writer is former Chief Secretary, Government of Andhra Pradesh)