Crap

I like sketching trees. Bare ones.

Maybe because i find it much too difficult to draw foliage. Or maybe because bare trees carry with them emotions that mean much to me.

However: The number of sketches of such trees that i have made, can be counted off the back of my hand. The number that i have preserved with me, presently stands at two. And they’ve all been mostly average (or worse), and nothing i can brag about. Yet, they all carry with them, stories that i seldom think of, and yet, often thrive on in my subconcious.

This sketch (refer: image) is from the last diary i made an entry in. The diaries, themselves, are liabilities, and although near-invaluable, are almost no-longer used as record-keepers by me now. The depicted sketch, meanwhile, finds it’s roots in a diary entry on May 12, 2008, as part of an incomplete attempt at documenting the trek up the Everest-and-Gokyo valleys, in the Summer of 2008.

I’ll pull out some paragraphs from it,
[Describing the view from Tengboche]

Looking forward, there is a pretty valley (barren, even so) that terminates in the formidable pair of Sagarmatha and Lhotse. Behind us, is an entire range of mountains that are no-less charming. Also within view (forward, and to the right) is Ama-Dablam, sacred mountain to the Sherpas. Bang opposite our lodge is the famous Tengboche Monastary, which although rebuilt (post a fire), has lost none of its importance in the region. Visitors can attend a puja in the Gompa [loosely, a monastary], and that is exactly what Daddy, Mama and Debu did at 4 pm. I chose to opt out, for i had wanted to sketch a particularly inviting tree, nearby.

I spent well over an hour making that sketch, stopping post-sunset only because it had become so cold that my hands were shivering in the cold and dark, and i was unable to hold a pencil without it shaking uncontrollably. In-all, the tree had kept me rooted to the spot, till Daddy saw my state and physically paraded me off the place, into the warmth of the lodge. The sky had been overcast, and we had only gotten glimpses of the famed mountains on that day, in between the clouds. It was the middle of May, and very much near the end of the trekking-season, and although Tengboche was not as splendid as it was normed to be, the tree had mesmerised me completely.

It spoke of death replacing the undead. And also of a promise and of a flicker of life, from within a decaying body. It also uttered of a resolute will to weather storms, in face of uncertainty, whilst in promise of hope. Yes, i romanticised it. For, the surroundings were full of green trees, and yet, this one, stood at the edge of a wood, almost bare, as though in anticipation, and in distinction. It wanted to be drawn, uncaring about the lacking deftness in my hands.

That trek (especially the leg that took us up the Gokyo valley) presented several opportunities for me to sit down at a spot and draw. Sadly, we were running a tight schedule, and everytime i sat down at a quiet spot to draw, someone’d come along and whisk me away, for a destination awaited, and could not be reached any later than planned. I like to think of this as an excuse for me to go back there, someday, maybe alone, and spend days at select spots like the slopes of Gokyo Ri, and sketch my heart out.

Trees that brave the treeline. Those fairytale lakes that reflect some of the world’s tallest mountains in the purest of waters. The Himalayan birds that played between my feet when i sat down for a break, as the clouds rushed in from below me, hugging the steep slope that i’d just run up, trying in vain to outrun them. The 4am race against time, towards the top of 5000 metre high peaks, only to catch the sunrise reflect in orange on Sagarmatha’s head, and photograph the mountain for my sister. The tales about the Yeti that murdered 3 yaks in one swift motion. My first AMS attack. The pathetic despise for over-crowding by trekkers in the Everest valley and the blatant murder of nature at the behest of adventure tourism. The silent attempts at reafforestation. The snowfall at the crack of dawn. The 200 rupees we spent on boiled water. And most of all, the experience, that for any traveller, is beyond words.

Someday, i’ll head back up the route to the Gokyo lakes, with a sketchbook strapped-in, and time in my hands..

The extended weekend is over. And i think i’ve written stuff i’ll actually like to read. So i’m happie!

Now, i look forward to two weeks of frantic work, followed by one week of studying, and then one week of exams. Then, assuming nothing goes wrong, i can look forward to spending May on Everest and in Gokyo Valley. I just hope i manage to prepare sufficiently for the trip.

So ya, a sabbatical from blogging is on the cards.

I hope to return to posting in June. By when my summer vacations would be on. And hopefully i’d have passed all my exams!

ciao.

Dad and me may pay Everest a visit in May’08. It’s not certain (not in the least), but a plan is being made. Here’s a bit on what i feel about the whole arrangement.

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