My trip to Kasmoli village.
I am old- not growing old, plain , simple, Old. This fact was brought to fore when I had to climb the mountain to reach the house where Anjali was staying in a really remote village of Kasmoli off Agarkal.
Flight to Delhi was uneventful, so was the trip to Haridwar. I stayed at Ginger. The roof was peeling and the handle of the bathroom door had come off , leaving behind rusted screws. Tatas have to immediately spruce it up, lest ginger becomes another seedy hotel.
Morning dawned and it was a breathtaking scenery all the way upto Agarkal.Once, we reached there, there was simply no connectivity. We enquired in a small shop and Ajender was very well known, so they directed us to a village 5 kms away. After initial hesitation, the taxi driver drove me up to the Kasmoli bus stand and dropped me. It was completely deserted with no one in sight. I sat down and waited for sometime. Then came two men in a bike who said , his house was up there- can you see that building- that one up there- that is the place. Well looked way too far. Then came 2 kids carrying hay twice their weight and size, careening their way up. I requested them to pass the word that I was waiting in the bus stand. Another 10 minutes. Then came this pretty girl, Ajender’ wife. Well there started the walk.
It was an uphill climb of may be 2 km and took me close to one hour. It was the most torturous walk. She offered to carry up the luggage and she did so with ease. I had two hand bags and my bedding to carry up and my self. Two kilometres up the path, I had to request her to hold my hands. I huffed and puffed my way up with frequent stops. The whole village saw me. Some were helpful and offered water, while others were laughing at my plight.
Once I reached the house, it was well worth the efforts. It was a beautiful house facing the valley. It was so neatly kept , shining vessels arranged well, hand painted low ceilings and nice people. It consists of an old lady, daughter, two daughters in law and her elderly father in law. Her son had come here as it was the election day.
We had a lovely lunch of rajma and rice and cups of buttermilk. Later in the day, we saw them planting ginger. The slope was the same as the mountain slopes they did not water stagnation. We tried telling them, the best practise is to have steps following the slope , and the slopes within each step should be uphill to conserve water and prevent soil erosion. A simple drain following the slope would reduce excess water. They were practising old methods of agriculture using hoes and ploughs.
We had cups of tea, walked up to a natural valley and came back to the house. I discovered the “old lady” and I were of the same age. I am an old woman. Period.
I am old- not growing old, plain , simple, Old. This fact was brought to fore when I had to climb the mountain to reach the house where Anjali was staying in a really remote village of Kasmoli off Agarkal.
Flight to Delhi was uneventful, so was the trip to Haridwar. I stayed at Ginger. The roof was peeling and the handle of the bathroom door had come off , leaving behind rusted screws. Tatas have to immediately spruce it up, lest ginger becomes another seedy hotel.
Morning dawned and it was a breathtaking scenery all the way upto Agarkal.Once, we reached there, there was simply no connectivity. We enquired in a small shop and Ajender was very well known, so they directed us to a village 5 kms away. After initial hesitation, the taxi driver drove me up to the Kasmoli bus stand and dropped me. It was completely deserted with no one in sight. I sat down and waited for sometime. Then came two men in a bike who said , his house was up there- can you see that building- that one up there- that is the place. Well looked way too far. Then came 2 kids carrying hay twice their weight and size, careening their way up. I requested them to pass the word that I was waiting in the bus stand. Another 10 minutes. Then came this pretty girl, Ajender’ wife. Well there started the walk.
It was an uphill climb of may be 2 km and took me close to one hour. It was the most torturous walk. She offered to carry up the luggage and she did so with ease. I had two hand bags and my bedding to carry up and my self. Two kilometres up the path, I had to request her to hold my hands. I huffed and puffed my way up with frequent stops. The whole village saw me. Some were helpful and offered water, while others were laughing at my plight.
Once I reached the house, it was well worth the efforts. It was a beautiful house facing the valley. It was so neatly kept , shining vessels arranged well, hand painted low ceilings and nice people. It consists of an old lady, daughter, two daughters in law and her elderly father in law. Her son had come here as it was the election day.
We had a lovely lunch of rajma and rice and cups of buttermilk. Later in the day, we saw them planting ginger. The slope was the same as the mountain slopes they did not water stagnation. We tried telling them, the best practise is to have steps following the slope , and the slopes within each step should be uphill to conserve water and prevent soil erosion. A simple drain following the slope would reduce excess water. They were practising old methods of agriculture using hoes and ploughs.
We had cups of tea, walked up to a natural valley and came back to the house. I discovered the “old lady” and I were of the same age. I am an old woman. Period.
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