Those were the days: The baby beach

In Cannanore (now Kannur) in North Malabar, Kerala just a few meters from my ‘boarding house’ at school, there was a small beach we called the baby beach. The beach was so small that it could take not more than fifty people at one time. Besides our school, the possible claimants to the beach were the local church, St Theresa’s convent and school and the DSC Centre. In those days none other than our school laid claim to the beach. There were no ‘visitors’ from the other institutions in the vicinity for reasons of their own. The DSC Centre had another exclusive beachfront of their own. The Church, oh well, is it blasphemous to lay claim to a beach…I wouldn’t know…but they did not. Anybody from the convent was always welcome to the beach. But visitors from the convent to the beach were rare…during normal hours – that is another story.

Imagine a private beach 24X7. It was a clean beach with white sands which I can today assure you will rival the beaches of Rio, Hawaii and Goa. It was a beach with no hawkers and no shit. The best time on the beach was on full moon nights when the tide was coming in high. Occasionally we stole (please forgive us, of father! It is never too late to pardon) wine from the rectory larder and made our way to the beach by way of the tree leaning onto the terrace of the boarding house. We went there on rainy nights during the monsoons too. The roaring Arabian sea was a sight to behold from close quarters on those thunderous wet nights. We were not frightened by the foreboding dark waters hitting us on the shore. We felt comforted and relaxed. It was as if there was a bond between us and the sea…a bond of understanding each others’ ways.

 But then one day we flirted with danger – all in jest we thought. Occasionally we went to the beach on a new moon day too; just sitting on the shore and watching ship lights on the horizon, across a clam sea. On one such night we decided to play a prank with Venu (No, Not the Bard or NV; a third Venu who is today a child specialist). He was a bit timid type and thought ghosts from the graveyard of the church roamed the area on new moon nights. We told him that ghosts existed only in stories and persuaded him to come to the beach on a new moon day and see for himself. Satish ( a Kerala state schools pace bowler those days  who actually bowled faster than Sreeshant, even in those days, but never really pursued cricket and is today settled in Singapore) was already at the beach, covered in while bed sheet, atop a scraggly tree standing beside a disused well. What was meant to be a prank turned serious when Venu spotted Satish before we could and ran for his life in all directions before falling into the disused well. With a fractured skull and limbs he lay in the hospital for a month. The bond was such that the incident as it happened was hidden from the subsequent inquiry. Venu told the inquiry that he just fell into the well on the dark night by accident while visiting the beach. We did get reprimanded for going off to the beach at night, as if it were the first time we did it, and wee made to promise that we will never do it again. Such promises came easy those days.

Post the incident, Venu was convinced that there were no ghosts…After Venu came back as a full boy, we continued with our escapades as usual and now with Venu joining us.

Atop Marsimek La @ 18634ft (Chang-Chemno Range)

Mule is the better known beast of burden. The Yak is another in the same genre but more versatile in its multifaceted service offering to mankind than the mule.    Domesticated yaks have been kept for thousands of years, primarily for their milk, fibre and meat, and of course as beasts of burden. Also their dried dung is an important fuel, used all over Ladakh and is often the only fuel available on the higher reaches of the Himalayas beyond the tree line. Unlike a buffalo the Yak will not eat grain. It eats only grass. My first close encounter with the Yak was at heights beyond 15000 ft in the Ladakh ranges. 

In the winter of 1976 I,  was part of a Long Range Patrol (LRP) across the Marsimek La pass and rendezvous with a Patrol from Northwest somewhere ahead along the Shyok river. I have not enjoyed a trek or a walk more than during that outing in the divine higher reaches of the Karakorum ranges.

The mainstay of the patrolling party was the load carrying Yaks and tattus. Tattu is a variety of pony generally found in the High Altitudes in India. They are domesticated for riding and load carriage. Tattus are credited with a bit more intelligent than mules but are places below the lowest class of horses. The local guides completed the retinue of the patrol party along with the soldiers.

Marsimek-La is on the northern-most tip of the Changthang Plateau. From Darbuk we take the track (as it was then, it is probably a road now) to Lukung on the NW tip of Pangong-Tso from where another dirt track breaks to the left. The pass is still 32 kms away from this turn. The track is so small that if you are not alert, you will miss it. This track  takes you to Marsimek-La via Phobrang.  We set camp at the foot hills of the pass proper at dusk on a wintry day. That night and for three nights thereafter it snowed continually.  We were cooped up inside the snow tents, that served as bed cum living rooms and kitchen, to the last man while the guides stayed in Nomadic tents made of yak wool with the yaks and tattus tethered just outside.  There we were holed up, at an altitude touching 18000ft, crowded inside a tent with many feet of snow all around and still snowing heavily, trying to keep ourselves warm and at times wondering whether we will get out of it at all. I thought “what the heck if it is this way let it be this way” and ventured out into the snow on the third morning…morning it must have been I guessed from my biological clock, as we had not seen the Sun for a couple of days by then ( I have never ever worn a watch). I usually tell the time of the day judging from the position of the Sun or the Moon; much easier; Otherwise it is always “time kya hai baisaab?” – this always works. Notwithstanding this uncertainty of time of the day, I looked out for snow leopards and mountain goats.  Of course in that type of snow even the snow leopard wouldn’t have ventured out of its lair. Yet, hope or wait (what do they say? “jo majah intezar mein hain, who mulakkat mein kahan?) is what we ride on and there was nothing wrong in being imaginative or romantic. Of one thing I was sure; that I will never ever be in that position again (Siachen is different and in any case was yet to happen). I just stood out there in the snow and soaked in the atmosphere – I knew I will not get wet in that temperature!!!!! And what an atmosphere…it was white all around the air was thick with that peculiar odour when there is lesser oxygen content, the ranger near and very near were silhouettes, so much so that even if a snow leopard was sitting next ti me I may not have known. Was there one lurking nearby then? That is Army…could life have been more adventurous. You bet…..some events of the following day were more death defying (or so I felt)…

The Sun shone brightly on the fourth morning. We struck camp and prepared to move. The young blood and the feeling of an aura of invincibility on seeing the Sun prompted me to volunteer to lead the way. A wrong move by real standard of our training!!! Ten I was a nonconformist like most people from my state are supposed to be.  Soon I was leading an advanced guard perched on a yes, you guessed it, a tattu. I was told that a tattu followed by a yak was the best way to cut through snow. The ‘guide’ was on the yak following. We were soon on the Marsimek La pass proper.  I have often wondered in later years why in hell was I leading and not the guide and as you will see, with good reasons too. The means of communication with the guide was in my chaste Hindi and his broken Hindi. In knee deep snow (the tattu’s and NOT mine) when he wanted me to turn left, I suppose, I turned right, or was it my inability to control the tattu I will never know. I soon found myself in knee deep snow (this time my knee astride the tattu) and sinking further. I looked back to find my guide a good six feet behind standing on the yak and shouting at me. I too stood up as well, on my tattu(ha!ha!) which by then was in neck (tattu’s neck)deep snow. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath prepared myself to do a standing broad jump on to the yak which was also neck deep (yak’s neck) in snow…I reckoned that yak’s neck being lower than a tattu’s the overall depth of snow there would be shallower. But before I could take the leap the tattu seemed to have found firm ground and did a 180 degree turn as I found myself facing China, with the yak behind me. We returned to camp and reported that the pass was un-passable. That night it snowed again.

After an aerial reconnaissance next day, it was decided to call off the patrol in view of the inhospitable weather conditions. I learned later that the patrol did go the following month and complete the mission.

 I was not on that one.