(first draft)
The un metalled road takes us down slowly. Its narrow, steep, and bendy. The shiny red 4 wheeler is dancing, jumping, and rocking down the death-track. Sharp cuts and high falls.
The back seat ride is not comfortable, seats are at ninety degrees to the direction of our hesitant movement. With my back to the mountains, I can see the depths and falls bending inches away from the rear tires. Holding on with most of my strength, one hand on the seat handle and the other on the overhead railing... this is not the ideal mode of traveling.
Samavar--recently voted 'The Best Driver in the World' by a group of Dutch philanthropists visiting Pekhonagar-- is focused, and in deep rhythm with his elements... the road, the steering wheel, the limited view of the world and a thousand thoughts.
I am high on my ability to appear in silent supporting roles in such ordinary and extra-ordinary situations. The faint smile widens with each bump. I feel like captain of a ship guiding my gal through rough seas-- proud, defiant and invincible.
But there is still a hint of the bad taste left in my mouth from the morning, towards-the-village ride. My reluctant discourse with Abdul, the mistri. His words were simple and depressingly cruel. Good thing we left him back in the village.
What was he thinking? 'rich boy from Lahore, touristing the disaster areas'
.......
Was it more like...'Hah, another wannabe good guys. This half pint of milk and blood..'
Or maybe sympathetic. 'Look at the young kid. Poor guy, out here, away from his home. He wont last long here.'
Abdul... you bastard.
Do people really think like this?
I know I do. But I am pissed, because he wasn't wrong.
But what the fuck did he mean by, by 'shouldn't you be taking pictures and sending/taking them back home' and 'why dont you right this? people need to know'
People already know. They always know. What would a few pictures do, a few badly written lines. No good. Not from me.
And at this point Asif asks Samavar to make a quick pee stop.
That's a releif, mentally and physically. All those cups of extra-sweet tea have made me a little jittery, and the steadily building pressure.. the jumpy ride doesnt help much. Being me, I would rather hold it till my bladder blasts then to ask these semi-strangers to make a stop on my account.
I get off and move a little away to find a sweet spot. 'Right here my boy. Stand and deliver.'
Its getting a bit chilly outsite. The sun is already dropped down behind the mountains. Its still an hour till sunset, but our journey would take atleast 3.
Back in the jeep again, and now Asif starts talking.