He saw it. He saw the message.
I open my mouth to offer an explanation, not knowing why, because we’re all here only becauseof Amrit, aren’t we? But the bus comes to a halt, and Jalaj calls out to let us know we’ve arrived.
Just like that, the moment’s gone.
18
If I Can Make It Up This Mountain with an Unhooked Bra and Butchered Confidence, What Makes You Think You Can’t?
Prabalmachi, Saturday
It’s so dark outside I can barely see my hand in front of my face. Flashlights are flicked on, and I have to squint to let my eyes adjust to the light.
“All right, everyone, gather around,” Jalaj says. He points to a flickering dot of light in the distance, nestled among the dark mountains. “That’s the base camp we’re trekking to. We’ll head there, eat our food, and get some sleep before the trek to the Prabalmachi peak point.”
Digha gasps. “That’sthe base camp? But it’s so far away.”
“It seems far away, but it’s just a one-and-a-half-hour trek.”
“And you think that’sshort?” Digha says, her eyes wide. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to do this.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Varun says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “If it gets tough, I’ll carry you.”
And who’s going to carry me ifIcollapse?I think, obviously not voicing it out loud but concerned nevertheless.
I’ve never been a fitness freak or even someone who exercises regularly. I spent most of my free time caught between studying and extracurriculars, and I was on zero sports teams. I did try track for a while but failed miserably at it. And by “failed miserably,” I mean stumbled, rolled, skidded, and fell flat on my face during a relay race, nearly impaling myself on my baton, in front of what seemed like the entire school (actually it was just a bunch of freshmen, but that doesn’t make it better). If I had any hidden talent for exercise, I’d know by now.
Priti gyms regularly; she’s got those washboard Disha Patani abs, and she’s flaunting them right now in her black tank top and spandex yoga pants, her jacket sleeves knotted around her waist. I’m sureshe’sgoing to have noproblem trekking.
I don’t know the college guys well enough, but they did mention earlier that they’d been trekking all summer, so I’m assuming they have someexperience. Varun said he’d carry Digha if he had to, so I’m guessing he does as well. Charu said she’s done this same trek before, and she looks pumped. Rudra’s lean, but that’s no indication of stamina.
That leaves Digha and me. We exchange an uneasy smile as the group shuffles forward, and I’m reassured because there’s at least someone who’s feeling the same way as me.
We follow the dark, tree-bordered path zigzagging up the mountain at a steady incline. At first, the route is easy to follow. The trees aren’t thickly interknit around us, so the path is weakly lit by the creamy moon.
But it starts to get rocky about ten minutes in, and that’s when I hear myself panting out loud. My T-shirt is already damp with sweat,cloth sticking to my spine and stomach, because places near Lonavala, while cold, are still humid. Perspiration forms droplets on my face, and I wipe at it hastily with the back of my hand, feeling icky.
See, this is one of the main reasons why I despise exercising and working out. I sweat alot, and anything that gets me moving for more than five minutes has the tendency to make me look like a soaked rat. Now, I’m not sure if it’s my tight sports bra that’s making it harder to breathe, but I’m wheezing so loud that Rudra, who is walking a few feet ahead of me, pauses to look back.
“Hey,” he says. “You need some help?”
“N-no,” I say, but my voice comes out as shrill and airy as a half-assed whistle. I manage to trek for a minute more, the path getting trickier with each passing second, before my lungs feel like they’ve caught fire, and I can’t walk another step, close to blacking out.
Luckily, Digha times out before me. She raises both her hands, palms perpendicular to each other, and barely manages a croak. I slump against the nearest rock, breathing deeply, in and out, in and out, until some of my lost consciousness pours back into me.
Once I feel reassured that nothing I swallow will go down the wrong pipe, I take long gulps of the water mixed with ORS from my bottle clipped to my fanny pack. I empty half the bottle down my throat.
Much better.
This is barely the start of the trek, not even the highlight, which is the journey to the Prabalmachi peak and watching the fireflies. Jalaj said the base camp is an hour and a half from the starting point; it’s been, like, thirty minutes, and I’m done. Screw my enthusiasm from earlier; I should’ve known I wasn’t built for this.
Around me, the wind lightly rustles the leaves and branches of trees, darting between gaps in the wilderness and wrapping me in cool comfort. We’re paused at a slanting, rocky climb, gravel and loosestones sliding and crunching under our feet. Although it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted better to the little light the moon provides, and I can make out the others’ silhouettes. Because of my embarrassing slowness, I’ve somehow drifted to the very back of the group.
Great, now I’ll be thefirstto get eaten by a bear if it decides to target our group from the back.
I tilt my head up and look at the sky, gaze flicking from one star to another, then another, then another, my vision swimming, until it’s time to resume walking.
“Single file, everybody,” Jalaj says as Varun begins scaling the rocky incline, one hand holding Digha’s and the other stretched out to balance his frame. “If you’re sure-footed, you can climb with just your feet; think of it as ascending steep, tall stairs. If not, don’t hesitate to go down on all fours. The more limbs you have steadying you on the rocks, the more your body will feel grounded.”
