You must know that every time I call Syapa Singh and announce my arrival, she waits until she hears the screech of tyres outside and then locks herself inside the bathroom the moment I enter her house. Then we have a screaming match from each side of the bathroom door until she finally comes out. Bitch! But today I didn't let that happen, and poor Syapa Singh had to wash her face, pull on a pair of jeans and a tee and tell her mom that she is accompanying me to enquire about a course and we rushed out before we could be hammered with questions. The pathetic lie called for a whack on Syapa's head. Me taking up a course? Going to the temple would have been a more believable, though it would guaranteed Syapa's mom fainting.
So we left for Rajpur Road, intending to drive up a little way till our pet Maggi point. We bought a can of diet-coke each, which Syapa pretended was beer and took swigs from, with all the tashan that the thought of alcohol induces. We started talking about the various trips that we have discussed a thousand times before. We start from Mumbai-Goa, then change our minds and turn midway to go to Dharamshala mid-way, with Syapa telling me about her friend's boyfriend who owns a place in Dharamshala, then we come nearer home and consider an overnight Mussoorie stay and finally promise to chalk out a plan after settling on a dawn-to-dusk trek. Which, of course will NEVER happen.
BUT TODAY my adventure hormones were in full swing and Syapa's are usually in top-gear so we were destined to do something wild. We drove past the Maggi point and before we knew it, we had crossed Shiv Mandir and Kuthal Gate too. Syapa Singh knew it. I knew it. But didn't say it lest we realize it. We drove on. The music was nice, Syapa's imaginary drink was making her imagine she was dazed and happy, and she was giggling about everything.
You must know another thing. Syapa Singh likes to, what we usually call reminiscence, while she is living the moment. So there we are, driving up on the mountains we know are forbidden but which have been calling out to us everyday since we got here, and suddenly Syapa says, "In retrospect, this could only have happened impromptu."
The panic hormones started flooding in as the emergency sirens began wailing in my head. Syapa was oblivious to the damage she had done and mumbled something about the fact that she had said she'd be home in half an hour and that I was supposed to be at work, in between fits of crazy laughter. It was not quite so peaceful on the beautiful mountains with Syapa cackling on one side, a cheesy "Botalan sharab diyan akhiyaan teriyaan" screaming in the music player in front, and a hysterical me shouting "Bhen**** I am driving to f***ing Mussoorie."
But we calmed down and I put on the "sanely happy" folder from my MP3 to help us set the mood and we continued driving up as I am sure the blurred and painted-on kilometres to Mussoorie on milestones reduced. We even managed to stop at a few places to click stupid pictures that determined for once that neither of us possesses what it takes to be a good photographer- especially a good camera.
It was pretty cool. The view was great, the weather was incredible and Syapa's unintended jolts of shock did not do too much damage then. Even when she observed on coming across a broken down car during a particularly mean turn- "You know, the engine often heats up and the car stops during such drives."
We intended to drive up till at least Mussoorie lake, which Syapa guessed would be either 3-4 kms or 7-8 kms from Mussoorie. A disturbing point was that Syapa was carrying no money today and I spent the money I had on our diet cokes.
Then my editor called me to ask if I intended to come to office today (he wasn't so mean but what's the fun of writing about someone who doesn't EVER not co-operate with what you are doing?)
So Syapa Singh and I looked at each-other, sighed, smiled, hi-fived, turned the car around and drove back, wondering aloud if Dharamshala is actually that impossible to happen?
No comments:
Post a Comment