P.Y.T

Oh the transcendence that MJ himself can bring to a situation, and he was just the smallest portion of the conversation and events of this past weekend (more on this later).
It was another weekend away from the city, going to an ancient hillside retreat known as Bhimashankar. , The large throngs of pilgrims to the Shiva temple were not there since it is festival season celebrating Ganesh (which ends tomorrow in an unprecedented 36 hours display of processions, dancing and pure jubilee). After waiting an arduous two hours at the bus depot in Pune and hearing constant misinformation from various bus drivers and counter personnel about the location and timing of the bus, the decrepit carrier pulled into the bus stall. It seemed like it should have been taken out of commission ten years ago but some sort of miracle keep the bus in running order and regardless of the potholes, torrid air, torrential downpour and the gross breach of weight limits, it got us to our destination in a timely manner. Guess the thing about drivers in India, especially those in public transportation, like perpetual motion, so despite the varying gradient and turns of the road, it didn’t seem like there was much change in speed.
We entered Bhimashankar after the sun had set, and an eerily fog, which would not have been out of place in an Alfred Hitchcock film, rolled in. As soon as we got off the bus, Hasselhoft, Alayna and I were surrounded by suitors offering a variety of services, from personal guides to inquiring about the accommodations of the night. Since we did not have the latter and did not want to trek back the five kilometers to the more established hotel, we asked to see the rooms these guys were offering. As the faint rain feel, we followed the two of the guys, who seemed congenial enough, down a market-alleyway. Our first prospect was across from a restaurant; it was a double room with a sheet-metal roof and a back area that we were told not to enter. The second prospect was up an emergency staircase and contained low ceilings with half as many beds. Mainly on account of the door width, we went with the first prospect since it was an actual door (with a double-lock) instead of plywood.
Ordering dinner was surprisingly good considering the menu was only in Marathi and one of the few words we could identified was masala, or spicy. We got three dishes ending with masala. It was a delicious choice.
We then retreated for the night, and slept decent considering the bed and pillow was stiff as a leather ottoman. It was not until the next morning that I was disturbed from my restful slumber by the odd (or maybe common) mixture of arguing over some business transaction, a blaring television, and fighting children. With it being seven am, I was even more delusional than my typical morning state.
The previous night we all agreed to get an early start to the day, as so we could take full advantage of our limited hours since we had to take the evening bus back to Pune. We eat a delectable assortment of deep-fried, spicy vegetable balls prepared right before our eyes, and then found a guide to take us around the neighboring hills. As we slowly descended into the jungle, the two signs of civilization was the array of plastic bags, broken sandals and food wrappers choking the creek and the groups of people we encountered. After another hour of hiking, we got past the impediments and started to realize that we were in an actual jungle, having to cross the river at more than one intersection point and seeing the dense canopy and greenery around us. The first stop was a beautiful waterfall, with high boulders and smooth enough bedrock that we were able to get under the fall itself.
The subsequent stop was the highest mountain point around the town. It took an additional two hours and a steep gradient, about the most intense hiking we could accomplish considering our footwear, to trek there. Before reaching the top the of ridge, as we took a short break on the plateau, our guide spotted some rustling in the nearby forest, and uttered the words jaguar….however, it ended up being just a herd of cattle foraging for some sweet grass.
We then descended to the top where we felt as if we at the edge of the world. Before us was a sheer drop, unassumingly covered in a plethora of wildflowers, and a wide green valley before us, unexploited in habitation or ugliness. It was one of those places in nature where nothing could enhance the view because it was already picturesque enough.
Directly afterwards, Vishal, our guide, invited us over to his house, declaring we must meet his entire family and eat after such a strenuous hike. In our state, we could not say no. Vishal’s village was a short bus ride away, and upon arrival, he stated we needed a chicken for the special occasion. We purchased a fresh one from the village market, and began the walk to his house. There, we meet his wife and youngest son, who was just about two years old. He had the most disinterested look on his baby face, maybe it was because we were all trying to do the baby face.
We sat in the cool, dimly lit kitchen as Vishal prepared the chicken. Not to go into detail, but it was quite the experience to see such meat primed right before you. As the chicken cooked, Vishal continued his hospitability by filling his house with a familiar smell. He then proceeded to show us the wonderful climbing tree in back, and with his two other sons, we climbed the many branches.
Before the feast was served, we got to interact with his young sons more. At first they were timid, but as we spoke broken Marathi and helped them a little with their English exercise book, they took an increased liking to us. David pulled out his playing cards, and I got out my iPod. From a previous conversation with Vishal, he stated he only knew (liked?) Michael Jackson out of all famous musicians in the world so I decided to play some for his eldest son. It takes awhile for someone to warm up to a particular beat but MJ proves to be infectious. The oldest one starting dancing a little, and then upon the crying of the youngest son, his brother decided to show him MJ. Thus, started the laughter cause the kid demonstrated not a look of indifference but confusion, then a smile.
Eating chicken at Vishal’s was the one time I have broken my attempted vegetarianism in India. It was within in that moment that I did not doubt it. All that unfolded that day was complete spontaneity and that was the beauty of the day. I came to Bhimashankar with a purpose but no expectations. I was more than thoroughly rewarded.

[More pictures to come]