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This morning in Kolkata, as mother recounts the snowy
terrains of Kashmir; the equally exciting and scary pony ride in the valleys of
Pahalgam; the pine willows trembling in the snow breeze, I am taken back to the
man who held the cord of my life, when my own body had abandoned me.
Drunk with every landscape of the snowy heaven, I
remember those heart battering seconds of having my feet dug in snow at 19000
feet, while I can feel my own fall to death. My knees buckling, head thrown
back, warm air thrusting through frost bitten lips and in a while I knew, in
one long slide through the white meadows, I will be right at the bottom of the
hill, that Gulzar slides in like a blessing from heaven, a saviour in all
rights, grips my numb hands and steadies my fall. Those seconds of having life
slip away from beneath your feet in the exhilaration of climbing high and then
held tight by someone, by an absolute stranger, was in itself an universe of
learning. The passing breeze hurled grits of snow into my face. I rubbed clean
my glasses and lifted my vapored eyes to his bony face. He sat up high on the
hillock, his stretched out hand tightened against mine, as I dangled down the
slope.
‘Sambhal ke, Sirji’ I heard his voice come
echoing to me, as I once again lifted my numb legs and set it forward into the
climb, in the deep mud of snow.
There at the top, the spreading terrain of Sonamarg was
quilted with white snow. Low clouds indulged in an intimate affair with the
handsome pines, as the sky continued to hurl us with crystals of ice. Skin
cracking wind kept sweeping fresh sheet of ice into our face, as we huddled
together before the camera to freeze this moment of achievement in our memories
for the rest of lives.
Sitting atop the drenched sledge, I asked him is name.
'Gulzar’, he replied.
'Shayari bhi karte ko kya?’ I
remarked, as we joined in a laughter. Fumes wafting from our rounded mouths.
We went downhill in a sledge, as I closed my eyes and
embraced the winds that rushed into my arms with sheets of snow. I collected in
my head images of Gulzar sliding down the snow to hold my hand. His dug cheeks
and ruffled hair. Thousands of feet above sea level, in extremes of climate,
bereft of everything that encompasses our daily, there was this man, Gulzar,
who was ready to set his life on line for an exchange of two thousand rupees.
Down below as I sipped hot Kashmiri Kahwa at a
refreshment stall, the endlessly beautiful unevenness of nature shimmering in
my eyes, I met with the hollowness of my soul. Looking at the spread of the
mountains that towered around us, it was an awareness, a learning of our own
insignificance. About how small our existence is in the whole universe. About
how vague and meaningless all the parameters of dignity and status are.
Mountains are where you bury your own head to reach to the top. It crushes all
your heroism, snatches away your principles and belittles your ego. It is all
about how big and brave, sometimes, a little human heart can get. That's it.
And dangling from Gulzar’s arm at 19000 feet with the winds threatening to
sweep me away, I learnt exactly that.
To the heaven’s savior.
This one’s for you, Gulzar bhai!!
This one’s for you, Gulzar bhai!!
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