Providence

Long story short, I ended up in Haridwar with excitement in my heart and heavy luggage on my back one early morning. It was December and it was Uttarakhand - this could be quite a weather shock for someone like me, used to the tropical South-Indian climate. But I was not to be deterred, I came prepared for the weather. What I was not prepared for, however, was the lazy and negligent attitude I carry during my leisure trips, especially when going solo. I usually account for my shortcomings on such occasions and so have extra checks in mind to avoid disaster. But this time - I really messed up. 

After taking a half-an-hour auto ride from Haridwar to Rishikesh, I got on a sharing jeep at Rishikesh immediately to reach my planned campsite, which is around twenty kilometres north of the temple town. As soon as I got out of this jeep on a twisty road in the jungle, near my campsite as per Maps, I realized that I did not have my smaller travel bag on me. This bag was important because it had cigarettes and, among other things, my office laptop.

The jeep had already raced away long before I realized my loss, lost in the twisting ghat roads of Uttarakhand, God-knows heading where to. Thinking of finding help in this place seemed more of a joke than hope. After a few minutes of panicking and swearing my heart out, I realized two things. One, I still had my phone and wallet with me, so I can survive. Two, there was a chance I can still catch up with the jeep if I can somehow find another ride in its direction. Because if I could not trace that laptop back, I might as well call my manager and quit right now.

What happened next feels like a planned sketch on hindsight. But I’d like to call it providence. A kind man stopped his jeep almost immediately and I convinced him of my situation so that he hesitatingly let me in and agreed to help me track the jeep. As we started on the road, I earned his sympathies through, among other things, the promise of a good breakfast and more rewards, in vague terms, if we were successful. He was a mountain guy named Suresh, or Kumar - definitely one of the two, hailing from a small mountain village north of Dev Prayag and was kind enough to give me some of his Beedis to fight off the chill.

Now, the dire situation I found myself in - more like dug myself into - was there to be dealt with, but let me dwell on this bliss that was this jeep ride just for a moment here.

I was sitting on the front seat beside Sunil, smoking those Beedis like a chimney to fend off the cold. And this was my first morning in the mountains after ages. They’ve been calling for some time now and I finally arrived. No lost bag can stop me from enjoying the views of these beautiful twisting roads among green and brown mountains, leading to heaven itself through the foggy morning. I welcomed the chilly breeze with open arms even if it felt like I was going to freeze (I had four layers of clothing on, but still). The Ganges on the right in a narrow valley was not visible, but I knew it was there from its sloshing sounds as it headed the opposite way towards the holy Shiva temples down south. I was in the Himalayas after long last and this moment right here was magic. The context of the ride itself was just background music in my mind and I wished that I could afford to ignore it.

I did bring myself back from my trance often to ponder on the situation during that ride. Had to, obviously. I think what kept me from losing my mind completely was the experience of being in such fucked-up situations before, and I am still alive, am I not? Want to know what been-there-done-that looks like? Look at my face as I was figuring out how to survive this. I was uncomfortable in the cold, a storm of pain waiting to unleash unless I got this bag back (not the least from my family back home), which was very unlikely and my original camping plan is probably ruined for good. But I also had a foolish smile on my lips because, deep down, I was swaying with bliss in this heavenly atmosphere. But I tried to conceal my joy from Sunil just so he takes me seriously enough. And I never smoked anything as spirited as those simple Beedis of his – just wow.

Anyways, we figured that the missing jeep was likely headed to Dev Prayag, then onto Rudra Prayag, or somewhere along that route towards the snow-mountains of the Kedarnath-Badrinath range. Que an hour-long ride with me trying to recollect the details of that jeep, scanning the ghat road ahead and talking to as many jeeps parked on that road as was possible.

After a lot of time with no success, or even clues, we were ready to take a breakfast break. At this point, I had given up on tracing my bag and sort of prepared myself to face the music. So, you can imagine my face when the sharing-jeep that I was searching for had also stopped at the same Dhaba for breakfast - broken glass on the driver’s side was the perfect clue. But when I looked - I felt like someone punched me in the face - my bag wasn’t there in that jeep. Despair.

After talking to the people from the jeep, I realized that I have likely lost it before I even got onto this ride somewhere back in Rishikesh or Haridwar, sixty kilometres down-south, right where I came from. So, credit to my amazing memory, I had managed to enjoy the whole journey from Rishikesh to that camping site earlier in the morning, a whole hour without a clue that I was missing crucial luggage. It slowly dawned on me (while enjoying an amazing paratha at this Dhaba), that I lost my bag on the sharing auto that I took from Haridwar to Rishikesh. Probably.

After saying goodbye to Sunil, who was very sensitive given my comical botch-up, I got onto a bus that went back to Rishikesh. As I was thinking about how this puzzle was deepening and as I tried to prime my Mr Holmes' instincts to crack this one, an amazing insight caught me by the neck and basically said “you may still redeem yourself, after all, you fucking idiot, and genius”. 

The auto in which I seemed to have lost my bag probably bore the number 2020. How do I remember? someone had specifically mentioned it to me as I was asking for directions at the bus stop in Haridwar “go to that auto number 2020”. Like, if it was some fucking 6532 or something, no chance it would have registered. As I said, providence.

Anyways, after another couple of such positive omens, my crazy detective instincts, and with help of some kind auto-drivers, I did trace my bag. The driver of the 2020 auto was kind enough to deposit it at the Union in Rishikesh, everything inside untouched including the fucking-laptop.

On looking back - and tell me if this whole thing is not reminiscent of the Alchemist story in any way, ok? - if Sunil and I were not able to trace back that sharing jeep en route to Dev Prayag - with help of lots of Beedis - earlier, I would have simply assumed that the bag was lost in the sharing jeep and given up. I would have probably travelled further north hoping to trace it there, but since it was halting at that specific Dhaba (with its amazing parathas) I would have likely missed it. And with that, I may never have realized that there was this auto called 2020 on which I had forgotten my bag.

So, stopping at that same Dhaba for our breakfast was pure awesome luck. I mean, we were talking of stopping at three other Dhaba’s before this place for breakfast, and we simply did not for God-only-knows-what reason. Just randomness you’d think. But I’ve found that this happens to me every so often - I dig myself into a deep pit and then find some unlikely way to get out. 

So, 2020 came back in December of 2021, to help me move into 2022 with a semblance of grace. Well, at least the number 2020 did. But the whole experience had a greater meaning. Over the journey on the slopes of Rishikesh-Dev Prayag in the quest for that sharing jeep, I realized that I was not really afraid of losing that laptop or my job. Any job, for that matter. In fact, there was this sense of relief that it was somehow decided for me. I carry that over into 2022 and beyond.

As it turned out, an old mountain lady at Deoria Tal asked for that bag a few days later on this same trip and I gave it away. It was a special bag – made of jute with shaded blue and red colours, with ropes for straps. More than a few people asked me where I had got it. “In Kasol”, I’d reply with a smile. And man did it save my ass on more than one occasion. But then, its time had come to move on and help an old woman with her chores.

I am giving up on my career too, by the way. It’s time too has come to move on and help, well, whoever needs a career, I guess. Losing that bag decided it for me. Or maybe it was the journey en route Dev Prayag with Sunil. Or Kumar.

On that day, actually tracing that bag back had set off something in my mind. A belief in some sort of providence. Or maybe, the providence was, after all, my carelessness in losing it in the first place.