From Ocean to Sky - Part II

“We are going to be the leaders of this group and you all will do as we say. Nahi karoge to nanga kar denge. Samjhe !”

After the talk we all queued up at the Camp office and we were handed khaki uniforms, trekking shoes and backpacks. The instructions were to fill the backpacks and assemble at the stadium gate. The backpack was to be shared among two boys and had to weigh more than 8 kgs. Arjun and I filled the bag with clothes and stuff we needed and rushed to the gate. Arjun and I decided to carry the backpack in turns of 15 mins.

We all lined up in a single queue wearing the misfit khaki uniforms, shoes and the backpacks all set to leave. There was a headcount followed by –

"Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj ki Jai !"

"Sachidanand Sai Baba ki Jai !"

The terrain shifted from the busy streets to the countryside very soon - palm and coconut trees lining the roads and the ubiquitous football field.

Over the next 12 days we trekked south, by the river canals and jungles from Madgaon to the Chandreshwar hill temple, then west by the rice and paddy fields, coconut trees and small villages to Betul beach, north on the beaches of the Arabian Sea from Betul to Benaulim beach and then east back to Madgaon base camp.

‘From Ocean to Sky’ – there couldn’t have been a better name.

At nights we camped in tents put up by the army. Fortunately, we went without shitting for days. Thanks to 14 – 20 kms of strenuous trekking powered by the army mess food - handful of poha, burnt rotis with rajma and “Tiger” glucose biscuits which were available even in the smallest of tea shops. And when we had to shit, we set out with torchs to the makeshift toilets dug out in the ground.

People on this trip were unlike I had met until then. Boys were stripped at the pretence of a magic trick, while some woke up with their hands wrapped around body parts which did not belong to them. India is truly a diverse country and this camp had provided an opportunity for cultural and linguistic exchanges. Some kept learning the word for penis in all possible languages while some became popular for their folk dance and songs

Meanwhile the BMS guys kept harassing us. Their questions ranged from silly to awkward.

“Abbey, Tujhe itne pimples kyun hai?”

“Din me kitne baar hilaata hai?”

I never answered any of them. Let them pass like a storm which would pass by.

12 days of strenuous trekking took us back to the Madgaon base camp, slightly darker and much more lighter.

The last 2 days we were taken around Goa for sight-seeing – the churches at old Goa, Mangeshi temple, Dona Paula. All the money I carried was spent on buying T-shirts at a shop in Dona Paula. I was very excited about the T-shirts.

The next day we boarded the white bus back to Belgaum. Reached home to find that the T-shirts were missing. I was furious with the BMS guys. They had volunteered to watch over our bags while we went to have breakfast on the last day. So dumb of us. The whole trip they had treated us like shit and then the sudden generosity.

In more ways than one it was much more than just ‘Ocean to Sky’. It was a window to the real world – somewhat like a movie trailer.

From Ocean to Sky to burnt rotis, make-shift toilets, strip magic shows to the stolen shirts. Life’s way of saying “ Welcome to the world”.