Above and beyond, rightfully so!

by Bhavneet Singh (India)

Making a local connection India

The summers of tropical India shakes the denizens of the Northern states of Punjab, Haryana, and Delhi and to an extent, nearly half of them end up in some or another hill station. While most travellers of these states prefer "The roads travelled by thousands", I was able to convince my folks to travel to the small town of Bir in Himachal Pradesh. The town is famous as a landing spot for paragliders taking off from Billing, the highest spot for paragliding in India. A lovely market has flourished in Bir to serve numerous travellers coming here for the paragliding experience. We weren't informed enough to know we came during the dry season. The travellers peaked around July, and we went there in May. So it was pretty desolate as we arrived. Desolate, but not melancholy. We lodged in this beautiful house cum resort owned by a middle-aged man, ready to help, and full of stories as anyone of his age. The ride to Bir was an adventure itself as our car broke down in the middle of the slope, that too when we were making a U-turn, lucky for us, we were near Palampur. Upon reaching Bir the first business was to listen to my cousins complain about the rooms, while I defended the sole existence of them. There are perks attached to visiting a small town rather than a fully developed hill station: You get the local taste, the peace of the mountains, while still being comfortable in fancy resorts. It amounts to a perfect escape for a family, while of course camping being still "the thing" for the more "wanderlust(y)" generation. We roamed the streets of Bir throughout the evening, it catered all kinds of stuff, with a Tibetan touch. The Monastries hosted humongous paintings of Buddhist stories, which could shy the word beautiful. It always fascinates me, what if I could replace my life with someone, and it especially happens when I am somewhere I can't imagine myself to sustain. We are all so accustomed to urban pleasures, at least I am, to rush back to a city. The "Pahari" life is beyond my understanding. Doing justice to the title, I'll account for my Paragliding experience here. The ride to the take off spot itself was a rollercoaster. Our driver was a teenager, drove at a speed of at least 60, on a road narrow enough for just one car, handling the steering with his one skinny hand. I don't know about my cousins, I was more thrilled than I was scared. When we reached the top, I saw some people camping at the edge, I was so jealous of the view they were enjoying. It was one of those "Nat Geo Photo" deserving scene. The gliders shimmering in the dusky sky. The wind was strong, for a moment I wanted to abandon the plan to glide and just sit there, in peace, watching as the sunset, a bit faded behind the mist. I don't believe in taking many pictures when I see something beautiful, the lenses don't serve the scenes best, hence I have just one of when I was up there. The preparation to glide was a bit challenging with all the wind, I had just one instruction to follow, RUN when they ask me to, so I did. And trust me, it was the last time I ran to never land on my feet in the very next step. The initial thrust blew me. I was thrilled with what I could see below. The houses seemed like pieces of lego, so small, so funny. My pilot tried to engage me and persuaded me to handle the go-pro at certain angles to get good pictures, while I just wanted to let myself free of the stick so that I could swim my hands through and feel the air between my fingers, like someone clutching my hand. The dusk made my time in the air so much more worthwhile. For the first time in my life, I didn't want music in the background, but just the sound of the wind gushing through. I am not writing how was the landing because since that day I never really did land back on my feet. I am still among the winds and the clouds and my dear, sun!