On Relationships

People are screwed up.


...that should be all, really, as it's all I've learnt in the past few months. Every time I work out something new about someone or myself, it comes back to that. People have screwed-up, over-complicated lives. People, including me, have no clue what they're doing, but they do it anyway.

You'll be glad to know I did not, in fact, screw up my endsems. I over-complicated some stuff, and I simplified some other stuff, and I came to the conclusion that I am a terrible friend. A good person, in general, with good intentions, but a terrible friend. I know that someone out there, reading this, knowing me, is agreeing with me.

I love you, and I want to apologize for being a shitty friend, but not yet. Not yet. Because fixing pain and broken relationships requires, above all, time.

Declaration of Intent

So this week, in Renaissance and Restoration, I will be doing Thomas More’s Utopia. I’ve begun by reading the 30-page introduction and hope to give it a preliminary reading by tonight. I have, in fact, spent most of today 

a. doing nothing and 

b. reading a chapter of the Good Study Guide, explaining how to approach primary texts, which is actually very very useful.

I am also planning to do Wordsworth, in Augustans and Romantics, since I have the necessary books and all. I’m actually looking forward to it, since I like Wordsworth, and I like reading poetry(even though analysing it is beyond me. For now, anyway).

For Victorians, I begin with Robert Browning(gasp, more poetry). I know next to nothing about the Victorian period, having done no background research on it, but I will. This should be fun. :D

Finally, for Varieties of English DX. I still don’t have the book, still haven’t ordered it off of Flipkart. I must be out of my mind! But it’s okay, since I have two of the other set texts, and the study guide to start me off. I’ll just pad my knowledge once the actual book arrives. I suppose.

Now to start! :D

Retreat.

All the music I hear is conspiring against me.

Social media is plotting my mental defeat.

Am I going mad? (No.)

Am I driving myself insane? (Yes.)

Endsems are almost here. I gave my quizzes with my eyes barely open and the thoughts buzzing like wasps in my head, the kind of wasps that go round and round with no sense in my room when it's late and it's almost like they're manifestations of some vague horror movie ghost(thankfully no clearer since I watch horror movies with my eyes closed and my ears pinched shut).

And now? Everything is in my head, right? I mustn't admit any confusion, my misery is all made-up, after all, I have everything to be thankful for and nothing to dread.

But like I said. Everything(everyone??) is plotting against me. I have no defenses(I leave chinks in my armor, all over). My heart keeps up this dull throb of pain and the thoughts buzz in my head.

Situation: unnecessarily complicated(by me, of course).

It's true. The guilt bogs me down. I hesitate to admit my feelings of inadequacy and woe. Especially woe. People will think I've gone mad(I have gone mad).

I'm retreating.

Blog Makeover

I have my midsems on, and have decided that now's the best time for a change! And since writing anything is always a big part of that change for me, I'm going to be changing this blog.

Here's a little secret that I'm telling the whole wide world. I'm in my second year of a BA English.

No, you gasp. What happened to your perfectly nice Chemistry degree? Well, I'm in the fourth year of that, so two more years of each and I shall have an Integrated MSc Chemistry and a BA English. Feels nice to tell the world like this.

The important thing is, I've always scraped by in my Chem studies(more than just scraped by, I'd like to think) but without a significant change in my approach towards English, I don't know if I'll be able to manage a grade of Upper Second.(Do NOT ask my first year grades. I'm just thankful that they count a little less.)

So I'm turning my 'musing on life(and, more importantly, writing)' blog into a 'Second Year BA English studies(and, more importantly, writing)' blog. Will be putting up my reading lists, what I hope to accomplish, and also notes on texts and approaches as time goes by.

This will be a Saturday and Sunday blog from now on.(A lot of work? Hah, I scoff.)

This will officially launch on Saturday the 13th, since I'll be free of midsems by then.

K.

Bookbucket Challenge

I haven't read nearly as much as I should have, and not half as much as I must. So the books I list here are what have helped shape some part of my life, hopefully not a major part, as I hope to read many, many, many more. Note that none of them are particularly highbrow reading, in fact, more than half of this list comprises children's books, without which I wouldn't be here.

I attempt to go chronologically and figure out what each book taught me. This way, I can remove the ones that are irrelevant and say I tried if I go(inevitably) above the limit of 10. :P

1. The Mallory Towers series by Enid Blyton, particularly book 5(I think!) the one in which Darrell writes a play and everyone is so pleased and proud of her. I am not kidding. I've come to a conclusion that only an author can represent in words what it means to be an author, and to love the craft of writing. And each time I read another account, whether fictional or non-fictional, about writing, I'm buoyed up by it(See 'On Writing', below). I remember why I write. This was the original source of my infatuation with wordsmithy. (also, where I learnt the word 'idiot' :D )

2. Harry Potter, particularly the lulls between the publishing of book 4 and 5, 5 and 6, and 6 and 7. These periods almost beat out the actual readings of the books, on the day that they were published(or a few days later, if my too-slow-at-reading brother got them first), filled as they were with conjecture, speculation, and a memorable complete fanfiction that was way more imaginative than book 5, in my humble opinion. (also, where I learnt the word 'moron' :D :D )

3. The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke. I'm not sure why, but it meant a lot to me. Particularly the parts about escaping reality and imperfect lives with perfect endings. Also one of the first books I ever read which sympathised with both sides of an ongoing(although small-scale) war.

4. A Series of Unfortunate Events, mostly books 1-5. Because those are the ones that I read and re-read until I went crazy. And they taught me that it's okay to ask about things, like how something works, or what the meaning of that word is.

5.  Fairest by Gail Carson Levine, and, relatedly, First Test by Tamora Pierce. Kickass female pro tags rebelling against the world, magical realism, anyone? These are the good kind of book for a young girl, telling her the right things: you can do anything, be anything. You might have to push harder than anyone else, but you can do it.

6. The Princess Diaries series, particularly the third or fourth book. Actually, more or less the whole series. See what I mean about kickass female protags above. Also, the way that Mia grows throughout the series and, well, saying that caring about certain things like shoes or TV shows or silly books doesn't make you less smart or less useful to society really boosts someone who does care about these things but doesn't want to think she's just a, you know, fluffy-headed girl.

7. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Because this was the first time that I realised that books could be irresponsible and immoral and yet so good. (Oh, he gets his comeuppance, you say? Well, he lives for years before happens, in a kind of consequence-free zone, so there!)

8. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Passionately in love with one of the characters. Engrossed in a different world from dawn till long after dusk. This is the power of a book.(And it taught me, without shoving it down my throat, about politics and war and all that jazz.)

9. Short stories by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Because he's the kind of writer I would give an arm and a leg to be. Who sees the dark side of humanity and presents it to us in a wry, what-can-you-do sort of way. I worship him and his writing.

10. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. Putting the idea into my head that all books are related. And that  everything, everything: in fact, reality itself, exists to be played with in words, those magnificent things.

11. On Writing, by Stephen King. Is it weird that I began reading his actual fiction, the books he's known for, The Shining, It, Carrie and Under the Dome, after I read his treatise on putting words together? But this is the one book, which, for me, encapsulates a writer's life.(Yes, alcoholism included.) Over the years that I've read and re-read it, I've begun snapping off screenshots of the most useful writing advice I've found, and collecting them all in a folder titled 'Writing'. I fondly presume that I'll end up making a scrapbook out of these gems someday, to refer to when I'm complacent or (much more likely) disillusioned.



These are by no means my favourite books. That would require another list, which would definitely not be limited to 10 or 11. They are the books that I grew up with, the ones I tip my chin to, the ones that, embarrassingly or otherwise, made me who I am.
Also, others I was considering but didn't mention: The Liar by Stephen Fry, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery, things by Sir Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Diana Wynne Jones(who are all inspirations just by having existed in this place and time), LOTR, and many, many more.

Admiration

You. You out there, yes you, who I've been stalking all over the internet, who manages to do everything he wants.

You've done all I have and much, much more. You leave me speechless at the thought that someone like you can actually exist.

I envy you the fact that you're not allowing your laziness to get the better of you: that you can be dedicated in a way I've only ever dreamed of being.

A dream? I have a dream, too. But I'm crap at reconciling it with my reality. I know the ideal case, because I struggle to achieve it; give up, believe that no one can be that ideal case. And you prove me wrong, again and again. I'm impressed, just like everyone else is.

I want to know you(I suspect a lot of people do).

I want to be you(Even more people, I suspect).

And you just foil my ideas of spending my life gently drifting down the stream of compromise and mid-level achievement. You make me want to do more and be more.

K.

Ineffective and Oversensitive

...is how I feel.

I'm used to these feelings, and used to getting over them, mostly by the tried-and-tested technique of escapism and transference to fiction. But my mechanism is rusty; has been for the last few months. I'm not sure at what point I stopped expressing myself creatively, but it's driven me quietly insane.

Yesterday I began to brood on two characters I'm putting through their paces before they get to their happily-ever-after. I spent about half-an-hour on them before I was forced to give up: and that half hour wasn't enough, either, because it took so long to get into their heads and really feel the story.

I can't take it anymore, though. I thought I'd try making a straightforward list and publishing it. No names, no details. Just some steam-letting.

1. Ridiculous is how I feel. Being ignored is the second shittiest thing in the world, the first being ignoring someone when you really don't want to. And in the end, even surrounded by people, you feel like something's missing. A whole bunch of someones are missing.

2. When something mars an otherwise perfect memory, there's nothing you can do about it other than brood and feel the hurt as if it was fresh. And it ruins every good thing you felt about the past.

3. Panic. My favourite emotion, I do believe. I'm very good at the irresponsible action--useless panic combo. Usually followed by a deep sense of self-disappointment.

That's all, folks.

Cooking Adventures

I was thinking of titling this blog post 'Culinary Adventures' but then decided against it since nothing I've done so far can be called 'culinary' in any sense of the word. I've cooked, yes. Not much more.

Also, of course, since I tend to write fiction, the days are not in any real order. Was the food real? Well, I ate it, so I ought to know.

For my mom. Because cooking is hard.

Day 1:
I try to make instant food. It's terrible and I never want to eat instant food ever again.

...Day 14:
I eat a Hot Pocket for the first time. Suddenly my freezer is up to its ears in Hot Pockets.(Pepperoni pizza. Yum.)

Day 3:
I adventure away, making some variation of paella, which in my case turns out to be chicken with rice and tomatoes. It tastes waaay better than it sounds.

...Day 26:
I am proficient at making(fake) paella, it being one of the few dishes I already have the ingredients for. *sigh*

Day 5:
I try to cook a chicken breast. Meanwhile, mashed potatoes, which are great :D

Day 6:
The mashed potato leftovers with bread make wonderful burger patties. They are a little too... buttery and creamy though.

Days 7-25-ish:
I can't be bothered. I eat out, order in, and have some more Hot Pockets.(Meatballs and mozzarella. Yum.)

Day 26:
I'm fed up of eating junk. I make(even more!) paella.

Day 27:
I stuff a chicken breast with bacon and cheese. And smoked ham. Maybe some more cheese. I eat my guilty feelings together with the chicken.

Day 28:
You can cook bacon in the microwave?!

Day 34:
Mm. Microwaved sausages. Easy to make: and best of all, can be grabbed from the microwave as you're running out the door in the morning, late.

Day 39:
I toss some pre-cooked cocktail shrimp in some pre-made cocktail sauce. Side of pasta--argh, the pasta's burning! Or... something! --one pasta-related emergency later, the dish is actually pretty decent.

So. As someone very aptly put it, we're not here to cook and eat food, we're here to survive, and I seem to be doing just that. And I know I sound weird and down about the whole cooking thing, but I actually kind of like it. It's fun, and I eat rather well(for those who are worried about me :) ), even if I do spend too much time in the kitchen.

Off to Washington(hopefully).

Journeys: Interlude

Justification.

I am the kind of girl who, raising a bottle of water to her mouth, ends up spilling it down the front of her shirt because it's less the concrete fact of the water hitting my throat and more the idea of it that quenches my thirst.

I dream a lot, introspect one night every week(right on schedule) and overthink everything. Nothing I do or have ever done is good enough for me.(Or for anyone else, for that matter) It feels good to write down these negative feelings, whether I post them or not. I usually do post them, because it liberates me: the words are not just my property anymore; on the tip of my tongue with my lips sealed tightly shut to prevent even the least bit of sound from escaping.

Why did I set such an arbitrary goal for my own life? Why did the people around me set other arbitrary goals for me? And why do I keep asking myself these questions, knowing that the answers are always going to be unknown to me?

None of this is what I truly want to say. Or maybe it is, and I just don't dare let myself pin it down with real, actual words.

Signing off, because it's late and I'm beginning to make myself sick with the sheer loneliness.

Journeys: Week One

In which I talk about buses. And food.

Journeys

Because why the hell not.

Date a girl who thinks too much

For nobody in particular, about nobody in particular.

~

You know the type. You'll find her hesitating in elevators and at doors, wondering whether to push or pull, maybe in a nice restaurant, wrinkling her forehead at the mind-boggling amount of choices on the menu. Don't sit down just yet: she might get freaked out. Smile at her from another table and then walk over, politely asking if you can have a seat. She might have a slight breakdown at this point, but you'll sit anyway. Help her choose what she thinks will be good: be prepared to do this a lot.

Date a girl who thinks too much, because she'll think about you a lot. She might obsess a little, but don't worry, it just shows that she cares. Date her because she'll be clingy and you'll feel needed, and also because you need someone who plans your birthday and anniversary and Valentine's day about four months in advance.

She might read more into every text that you send her, so be careful what you type and say. But once you get to know her well, she'll stop, and both of you can speculate about what other people mean instead.

There will be fights and arguments when she misunderstands you and is hurt, and won't listen to your explanations. There will be tears and recriminations, but it'll all be better once you've finally explained yourself. There may be more tears, as she tells you miserably what a horrible person she considers herself for not listening to you in the first place. This will, no doubt, soothe your stinging pride.

Ask her to marry you. She may not be sure about taking the plunge. She may even change her mind in the middle of your engagement; in fact, she'll do it several times, veering back and forth between ecstatic and doubtful. It'll leave you frustrated and insecure. Once she makes up her mind, however, she'll throw herself into the preparations with a determination that will astound the people around her. She'll want everything to be perfect: on your wedding day, she'll become miserable if everything's not just the way she imagined it, and you'll have to console her.

Date her, because if you have kids(this will require another long, long deliberation), they'll be the apples of her eye. She will worry about every little cough and sniffle, and will drive you up the wall with doctor's appointments and parent-teacher meetings. But your kids will get attached--maybe a little too attached, so that it'll be hard for them to live on their own when they grow up.

All of this may sound like a lot of work for relatively less joy, but isn't that what life is about? Relationships can't be perfect, and you'll find many examples of that as the years pass.

And finally, date her because when you realise that she's thought so much, about everything, your relationship and your lives, and also about you and chosen you to invest so much thought and effort in; you may come to find that you don't regret dating a girl who thinks too much at all.

A long-winded Confession.

I must admit something, and I must do it now.

I’ve been on a Diana Wynne Jones spree. 

It’s true. 

I’m slightly ashamed. And it’s not over yet.

It’s been so long, so long, since a book made me laugh or cry like a maniac (sometimes both at the same time). What can I say, when I’m bowled over like this? Absolutely nothing. But I can type a whole lot.

Let’s see. It started with:

1. Charmed Life: When I fell in love with Cat and hated Gwendolen and was thankful for Janet and didn’t know quite what to make of Christopher and Millie.

You know what, I happen to be wrong. I read another, but separately, and sometime before the fever really caught me properly. I suppose it won’t hurt to do what that old robot did in Asimov and create the Zeroth Law(or Zeroth book, I suppose):

0. Witch Week: This was Before Cat, of course, and I found the children in this book most unpleasant and Chrestomanci most odd. But I read it through, and the end gave me that feeling of exultation and pleasure that’s been missing in most of the books I’ve been reading intellectually recently.

Anyway, after Charmed Life there was no looking back for the Chrestomanci series. I managed to read in some sort of order:

2. The Lives of Christopher Chant: I want to write more about this book, but there’s this massive lump in my throat that prevents me from doing so. All I can say is, I got really attached to Christopher, and can’t believe Ms. Wynne Jones didn’t write any more about him-- I could cry when I realised--

3. Conrad’s Fate: had him playing a major role, at 15, and sort of different, but plugging in the gaps from the end of The Lives of Christopher Chant until we meet him again in Charmed Life. Oh, and at this time, I noticed something about Conrad. I’ll mention it later down the list, because I made a little detour to read--

4. The Magicians of Caprona: And there really wasn’t anything to say. This book would have been better off as a stand-alone, because while I enjoyed reading it, I never did get the point of my hanging around waiting for Christopher to appear/re-appear. But I did like Tonino a lot. And Benvenuto.(Wow, I got the cat’s name right. I haven’t been able to pronounce it yet.)

5. The Pinhoe Egg: This one really rounded off the set for me, wrapping up lots and lots of things neatly, even while introducing new, awesome characters like Marianne. Unfortunately, I feel somewhat that there was so much meshing of Cat and Janet and Marianne and Chrestomanci that the whole lovely brooding atmosphere of what-bad-thing-happens-next that was present in good quantities in Charmed Life and Christopher Chant, or even the amounts of worry at the characters and what would happen to them in Conrad’s Fate and The Magicians of Caprona was kind of off in this book. And here’s my note. ((Spoiler, spoiler)) Does anyone else think there are way too many downtrodden children doing all the work and getting their respective rewards in the form of adults who understand and take care of them at the end of the book? Marianne, Cat(although he’s just too obedient), Conrad, and, a little later in--

6. Dogsbody: Kathleen made me feel like crying, constantly and continuously. So did Sirius, honestly, because he’s such a nice guy dog star-thingy and doesn’t deserve all that trouble and (slight spoiler) that ending. But the book has me mystified for most of it, and crying for the next part. And oh, I just know Kathleen and Miss Smith are going to be alright.

7. Hexwood: For some reason, the way that Ms. Wynne Jones has knit together everything in this book, confusing temporality and making sure to blame the bannus, giving fantastic explanations for everything that was confusing in the beginning of the book and generally playing out a tale of revenge and poetic justice of epic proportions-- um, what was I saying again? Well, it bowled me completely over. It was just ...awesome.

8. Enchanted Glass: Did I mention the annoying way the characters in all these books have of clinging like limpets to your heart so even when the tale is nicely tied up in satin ribbon, you still want it to go on? You don’t mind even if the villain comes swooping back down a year or so later just so that they can go on having adventures and you can go on spying on them while they’re at it.

I must admit that after Andrew and Aidan I felt bold enough to go pick up--

9. Dark Lord of Derkholm: and I really gave up. I couldn’t actually finish, and I figured that there was just something that unsettled me about how human the griffins were. So I left it halfway, and I don’t plan to read its sequel in the near future.

Most recently, I read a book twice, going back to the start immediately after I finished it. This was:

10. Fire and Hemlock: Strangely, both novels ‘for older readers’, Hexwood and Fire and Hemlock made me feel slightly bored at the beginning, when I couldn’t exactly understand what was going on and why it was important: but then they both got really interesting in the middle. And alright, I thought I saw where this book was going when Polly writes that epic of hers at 14, but then I sort of didn’t, and then... and then... everything makes sense now? So, to clarify, I re-read the book because it was awesome and very, very cute and also because I couldn’t understand a word of the ending. The second reading helped me not one bit.

Polly is another one of those put-upon children, but frankly, she takes herself out of it and she does it quite well. I think she’s my favourite character now-- and when I say it, I have to somehow expand the space in my heart to fit in Christopher and Cat and Aidan and Andrew and Benvenuto and Polly and... alright, even Tom, I guess.

11. The Game: Enjoyable. Greek roots. Quite Good.

12. A Tale of Time City: Thoroughly enjoyable. Laughed at myself when I realised how badly I wanted Vivian to be the Time Lady and Jonathan to be her husband. Sad that it’s over now.

13. Wild Robert: A cute tale, but oh, how I wish for romance!(Even though it would just be creepy.)

Well. If you've read till here(which I doubt), know that I haven't, in fact, been screwing up my Mid-Semester exam just to read Diana Wynne Jones novels. I read them all about a week or so ago, and had this written up and decided to publish it on a whim.

Also, the bibliophile in me went *squeeeee* with the Chrestomanci series book covers, because they're awesome. I was lucky enough that the one paperback I picked up, Charmed Life, had one of those awesome covers and not the uncool, non-sparkly ones.

Also also, Enchanted Glass had the most awesome cover ever! No, really. You can see faces in the glass and everything.

Katze

Life is Stranger than Fiction...

…Because Fiction has to be convincing, and Life doesn't.               -Neil Gaiman

I hereby decide to write another post. Why? Because of all-consuming jealousy, of course. What better reason could there be?

I don't write on serious topics. I shun life-altering truths and other such things. If you ever went through my blog, you'd find very superficial topics; all relevant to me, me, me. And that's good enough, because I use the web to escape from realities, from the world that freaks me out: so much that I wonder if there's a place out there for me at all.

But recently my life online has begun to merge slowly(and not without pain) into my real life. Mostly because I've neglected one in favour of the other.

(That's probably how it should be.)

Real life is painful, but its joys are so much more than the joys of the mind. The full-body-thrumming feeling you get when something goes terribly, terribly right. When someone says something that means a lot, even if it's just a simple thank-you. When you've caused tears and you know they're happy ones. And there's other feelings- when it's early in the morning or the night air is biting at your nose and you hear your heart pounding in your ears as you take a deep breath; you're so happy to be alive.

Even sadness has some undefinable quality: like that feeling after you've had a good cry and you know nothing worse can happen to you. The hurt of words spoken in anger, cutting you to the bone and leaving your inner self exposed to the world.

It's, well, it's all real.

And that is what makes me close my laptop, against all odds, and go out into the big, bad world.

Katze

P.S. I'm beginning to feel like a poet.

P.P.S. Meanwhile, trying to study the reasons English is a world language. Apparently, it's got to do with the English going to almost every country in the world. *shrug*

Also struggling with matrix representations of the Schrödinger equation. Well-balanced workload FTW.

The Adventures(?) of a Reluctant Trekker

Because someone suggested something similar and I'm at a loose end. Or something like that, anyway. The Trek mentioned below is the grandly-named National Himalayan Trekking Expedition 2013-14, Sandakphu-Gurdum, organized by the Youth Hostels Association of India; hereafter known as YHAI.

Disclaimer: This is a long post and will eventually be supplemented with pictures to make it less tl;dr. When I get them from the people who'd been taking them.

Day One:

We land in Darjeeling and it is effing cold. 

ONE picture with my dahling brother to commemorate. The concert stage in the background, if anyone cares.

We make very good time from Bagdogra airport via Kurseong, where we eat some okay-ish momos and I give fried momos a trial run--they are epic! and I solemnly swear to eat them again as soon as I can.

The heritage Himalayan Railway has no tickets for us, fortunately or unfortunately. It is a slow diesel engine which criss-crosses the road and follows along it for most of the way, so I don't feel like we've missed anything. In contrast, the cab journey is comfortable and quick. I meet people for the first time(they meet me too :D ) and everything is going swimmingly so far. Registration takes almost no time and we set off to explore the streets of Darjeeling.

Mall road is pedestrian-only and crowded with shawl, sweater and souvenir(or 'curio') shops. And, of course, with people. At the square at the end of the road is a concert organized through the Darjeeling Tea and Tourism Festival; there are a lot of people watching and listening, also singing and dancing(a little too merrily, if you ask me ;) ). ((I buy a book, a collection of Roald Dahl short stories to entertain myself.)) A wrong turning leads us down the road to the kabristan. Everyone is a bit spooked at this.

We finish off the evening with exactly 15 minutes of Dhoom 3, more than enough for me(Funny story there :D :D) and get some dinner/sleep.

Day Two:

We walk up and down a lot.

Us being all orderly and in line and all. Really.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We wake at a quarter to six, a respectably early time. Hot tea is welcome(I don't realize yet exactly how welcome it will be in the days to come). We jog up to the square and do some stretching, during which the (mean >.<) base camp leader gives us some good solid advice about acclimatization.

Then we get some hot kheer(yum) and the first in a long line of deep-fried foods, before we see off the day's group. One-two-one-two-three! Our hands are hurting from the clapping by the time all 45-odd people have crossed us. Back to the hostel hotel for breakfast, after which we are dragged hither and thither against our wills by the base camp leader, who keeps yelling and even threatens bodily harm at one point(credit someone else :D). Apparently the spirit of Christmas Day is lost on him :P.

We have some rather nice momos and tea at the intersection of the roads leading to the Japanese temple and St. Paul's. There's a verry verry interesting whistle.(And a verry verry steep climb up to some school where some movie was shot).

The afternoon is uneventful- some shopping and these really cool ribbons which can be simply pulled upwards to make pretty bows for the 'Christmas presents' we buy. My own present was a Kinder Joy(with Surprise! See my post on Joy).

In the night we eat at Glenary's, which has good food and probably deserves its reputation. We're a little worried about breaking a healthy proportion of YHAI rules --and with good reason. We write an apology letter and get yelled at some more. Sleep follows.

Day Three:

We're finally off. Some teething problems.

Above the clouds. Is that Kanchenjunga?! 

We wake, eat breakfast, pack and are applauded off by the next group. It's about an hour and a half to the start of the trek at Dhotrey. There are some more momos waiting for us here, and (possibly more importantly) our guides.

We set off and everyone realizes simultaneously that they're wearing too many layers. Slowly the outer ones come off and disappear into rucksacks. As the day goes on, some of us note that our backpacks are too full of useless junk(not me, though. Really :P.) 

This first day is around 8 kilometres, six more or less upwards to Tonglu and the last two gently sloping downwards to our first camp. The climb is gruelling for someone who has never walked so much((carrying some 7 kilos)). Not tiring, oh no, I'm too reluctant a trekker to ever get tired, but breathing problems abound at higher altitudes, and I keep stopping, ostensibly to admire the scenery, but really to control my breathing and try to stop panting. I'm pretty much the last to arrive at Tonglu, our highest point of the day.

Eventually, as the sun is setting, we reach Tumling camp, gaining some wonderful views of the Zonga(That's Kanchenjunga to the uninitiated ;) ). Soup is followed by warming our hands at the fireplace, which is followed by coffee and the 'Campfire', basically a programme in which we entertain ourselves. I'm slightly sick, but gather that everyone is playing Dumb charades, and having a good time, too.

Day Four:

Worst. Trekking Day. Ever.

It's a relief to see the Kali(black) pokhri(lake).   Pic courtesy: Vigi

The night is uncomfortably cold, and so is coffee and breakfast. We set off to yet another speech; this is routine, and we'll be cheering every day at eight(maybe slightly later, depending on everyone's punctuality)

The Tumling camp leader wasn't kidding when he talked about ups and downs. We're just not prepared for two horrible, horrible kilometres uphill after eight fairly-decent kilometers straight but get by somehow. But at lunch, we know the worst is over, and have a nice, peaceful 4 kilometre walk to the next camp. This is the most fun we have that day, skirting several hills and keeping our destination, Kalapokhri, in sight for long periods. Or maybe I'm having fun because someone in our little group is making funny noises at the distance we apparently still have left(sorry :/)

At Kalapokhri, we see the sacred lake(pond? water source?) and get yelled at for not sticking together --like a family! A 50-people-long, disciplined family. We hang around outside as the winds buffet us. I'm feeling rather sorry for myself by the time the whole exchange is done. We huddle around some coals which feel good after the freezing cold wind. There is a very-ahem!-spirited game of Antakshari before dinner, and then it's time to retire for the night. I get no sleep, yet again. Other people also have no luck.

Day Five:

The final uphill stretch.

Steeeep.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We are a little jittery about the last six kilometres to Sandakhphu; it's what we've all been waiting for, etc etc. Also, the previous night hasn't been good for sleeping, what with the winds howling outside like banshees and witches.

But the distance gets eaten up quickly enough; and we barely have time to get really tired by the time we see the top. Sadly, the clouds have been accumulating near the mountains, and almost nothing can be seen of the Zonga.

That last stretch seems endless, with Sandakphu always in sight but never within reaching distance. There is no redeeming scenery since the clouds descended, either. We reach in time for lunch, and are promptly kicked out and told to come back by 5.

Singing is fun, and singing songs I actually know the lyrics to is fun-er. I barely even feel cold once we head back for some tea and pakoras. Before dinner is what everyone jokingly calls the Camp Candle--which is exactly what it sounds like, a candle instead of a campfire. Horror stories are told and everyone feels a shiver at the thought of a red eye staring back through a crack in the wall. Various other psychopaths and monsters haunt my dreams. However, at least I'm (finally) (actually) getting some rest.

Interlude:

Sunrise at Sandakphu.

Awesome pic by Jagannath, who takes awesome pics anyhow. Admire the beauty. I say to you, admire it.

At Sandakphu, I am determined not to miss the sunrise: never mind that I haven't seen a single one so far.

And I'm glad I woke up, no matter how much the cold bites my poor fingers and toes. The sunrise over the mountains cannot be missed. It is one of the best experiences I've had so far, and I crave experiences, so it was all worth it, every single minute.

I don't have the words to describe the colours and, simply, the feel. Amazing, it was. The Zonga was incredible, all of the mountain ranges were incredible, and so was Everest.

Going back to tea and breakfast is a regret-filled task.

Day Six:

We're going down. No, really.

We more or less skip downhill(at least, I do :P) for thirteen kilometres, with some more wonderful views, of valleys and mountains and little hamlets halfway down mountains. I hear some interesting conversation and watch a name being scratched into a nearby rock.

Finally, we reach Gurdum, slightly late for lunch. ((I finally find the time to read that book but nod off after two stories)) In relief, I sleep for 12 hours straight, and would sleep some more if we didn't have to leave in a mere half-hour. 

Apparently, everyone else does something Campfire- and dinner-related; but I can't be sure, as I am dead to the world during that entire time.

Day Seven:

I bid my comfy bed in Gurdum farewell and move off.

Beside the river. Hypnotising.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We go down through some rather pretty forest trails, before reaching a river. The river is a-ma-zing, and I am tempted to stay on the first bridge I come to, staring at the hypnotizing eddies and currents below my feet.

Of course, that's not strictly allowed, and I tear myself away from the wonderful mountain river, with its smooth stones and white caps, to continue along a straight-ish trail that's crossed several times over with little clear streams, all leading to the main river. The river-sound makes for a wonderful soundtrack for the first part of the trek.

Eventually, we come to the scary, shaky rope bridge which is supposed to hold only three people at a time, two of which are usually posing for a photograph. Everyone crosses this way and then runs down to the riverbank, balancing on various rocks on the way.

We wait for the last group to cross on the rocks.((I have my story-telling skills insulted. I hope this blog post doesn't suffer the same fate >.<))

A little ahead of the rope bridge is the place where we have lunch: another opportunity to connect to the beautiful river, and some really nice khichdi. The last few kilometres are much fun; we see some nice views of the various valleys, we also sing some more, and talk and dawdle and generally enjoy ourselves. There's no painful uphill/downhill. This is the (trekking) life. We reach Rimbik.

There's a felicitation ceremony that's almost slipped our minds, but we're just in time for it. We listen to a lot of speeches, some suggestions for improvements(more exercises?! The horror!) and are given medals and certificates. One gala dinner later, it's time for bed and happy dreams.

Epilogue:

Still a reluctant trekker. Had infinite fun on this trek. Was a bit like prison, lots of rules, but I'm guessing that's why the trek was so peaceful, because everyone had to listen and most everyone did.

Made a new friend or two; had a blast for New Year's in Darjeeling. Couldn't have imagined a better way to spend the last week of 2013. :)

Do I want to go trekking again?

No.

Will I go trekking again?

There's a high probability that I will.

Will I enjoy it?

But of course.