Memory's Momentos

If I ask myself whether this event in my history changed me for life perhaps the answer would be a cautious,'No'. But as it is repeated in my personal memory it reminds me of the delicate nature of existence, of life itself as we have it and don't have it.

Our family is made of four sisters and my parents. As we grew we realized that my dad detested any kind of travel. For him home is Mecca and he could travel any distance to talk you out of an impending trip beyond 10kms from home. He simply loves lazing in his haven.

So we five women(my mom and 4 of us), soon got in the habit of traveling together as this gang of five women(onus on my mom). My mom would drive this old blue fiat then,(can't ever forget the number-DIA 51). She loved the romance of a VIP number plate on her first car. She would pile us all in this second hand VIP 'number' car and we would chug along to all possible places in and around Delhi with her on the wheel.

I clearly remember the excitement of jumping lights(apparently one could do that back then, without a traffic ticket only if you had a VIP number). So all museum visits, picnics, zoo, circus(which is the fondest memory still), the monuments and all the possible rest happened in that car with 4 young ladies of different sizes tucked in the back.

As we grew, Delhi became insufficient so we started stepping out, going to places like Haridwar, Agra etc. As we ventured out, my dad would be at home guarding the house and keeping all the domestic chores in order. I don't remember him trying to question our need to travel. We planned new trips and he did the cheer leading from the home front.

One such trip was to Almorah, a planned escape in the month of June from Delhi's harsh weather. But when in Almorah we realized that even the hills were as warm as the plains that year. So basically we all sat disappointed.

So to pep us up, my mom suggested a trip to Binsar, a small hill top just about 20 kms uphill from Almorah. There we were the next day packed for Binsar sitting in a hired van, ready to leave for our super summer retreat.

On our way uphill we noticed these small fires, presuming it was a leaf burning exercise we did not give it much attention and moved on performing the touristy rituals of waving to the trekkers, feeling the mountain breeze on the face and catching the mist in our young palms.

After spending a wonderful afternoon at the guest house on the hill top we decided to head back before it was too dark.

We had hardly driven 4kms downhill when the driver crashed to a sudden stop, and we all sat watching a huge jungle fire, covering the trees, in the valley and leaping onto the road, just about 6 ft away from the car. As we looked around we saw the fire spreading, fast enough to reach us in a matter of a few minutes. Sitting in the car we all were waiting for someone to raise the alarm, to say it
aloud- "This could be it".

My mother asked the driver if he could back the van all the way up to the top, as there was no time or space to actually reverse the car and drive back. And in the same breath she told me to run and check the road behind us. I ran out from the safe cuddle of the car forgetting my shoes and as my right foot met the road it erased all doubts- this was more than a crisis. Melting charcoal stuck to my feet like hot chocolate. I still don't know how instead of lamenting the burn I swiftly picked my slippers and ran uphill. To my horror the smoke and the fire was almost on the edge of the road behind us. So here we were sitting amidst approaching flames in a 5 ft patch with fire behind us and before us.

It was only minutes of sitting helplessly when our driver and all four of us except my mother started sobbing and praying. It is strange how unbelievable death is when it knocks so close. You see it as you breathe in and you breathe out saying,'no', not me, not us.

As we sat for some seconds waiting for something to happen my mom told the driver, "See the white post on the edge of the road and drive." I can never forget the look in the driver's eyes, he looked at her hoping she knew what she was doing. My mother shouted this time, "Carry on, close the windows, look at the white post and drive!" He was a young fellow from Haryana, his name was Rakesh, and in those fitful seconds he had informed us that he had two young sons and a young wife waiting at home. He hit the ignition as we all sat with choking throats, watering eyes, feeling the raw heat of nature through the dangerously transparent glass windows. As we drove through the flames completely blinded, I only remember smoke, yellow angry flames lurching higher and my mom looking straight ahead as if trying to feel destiny.

After a few more alarms we reached Almorah. I remember my mom's chiffon saree with these huge big holes. And I remember this completely ash covered white van which was black now. And I can still feel my hand trembled uncontrollably as I sipped a bottle of coke sitting in a small restaurant.

Many months later I asked my mom,"What were you thinking when you asked the driver to drive threw the fire?" Her answer amused me,she replied in a rather plain way, "The wind was blowing upwards, towards the top, so it was obvious that we would be safer if we risked moving downhill"...!