The Prettiest Marathon

That’s the tagline they use for the Sohra Cherrapunji Run in Meghalaya, the prettiest marathon. And that’s what got me excited. After covering the beautiful and virgin stretches of Mussoorie and Dehradun in the respective Half Marathons, one would wonder, can it get more beautiful than this? May be it can. After all, abode of the clouds would surely be worth a visit. And it was Monsoon season for god’s sake.

So there we were, enroute Shillong from Guwahati. And my my, what a beautiful drive that is. The greenery of Assam and the undulating terrain of Meghalaya come together to create a picturesque landscape. And with that you see subtle hints of culture change. Most of the outlets and motels run by women. They stand beside them looking o’so beautiful in their traditional dresses. Most of them selling the local pineapples which would surely be the sweetest one you had ever tasted.

As you move further up, the weather gets even better. You feel as if the God of Rain has descended upon us and the clouds are loitering around the place embracing the roads and the houses. The starting point for the half marathon was mid-way between Shillong and Sohra but since my friend Nipon who happens to be SDM, Cherrapunji was also participating, I decided to go all the way to Sohra for the night halt. The road from Shillong to Sohra is surely the prettiest drive you will ever experience and especially in this monsoon. The road goes through these ultra green hillocks with rains and fog playing hide and seek. The way is full of numerous waterfalls of all shapes and sizes. But as fate would have it, we were stuck in Shillong itself for several hours as there was some accident ahead on the way to Sohra.

It was dark already. It was raining like hell. And we came to know that there is thick fog on the way to Sohra. The driver seemed a bit hesitant. But then we moved on anyway. Slowly and cautiously. The rains were so strong that the visibility was not more than 10 m. As we moved, little temporary waterfalls emerged alongside the road. There was only one sound we could hear then. The sound of the downpour.  Through that 42 Km stretch we crawled at the constant speed of 15 Kmph. The professional marathoners would have beaten our car had they started alongside us.

By far, that was the scariest drive ever. Of course, if I may have the liberty of calling it a drive in the first place. I do not remember experiencing the fear of “rains” ever in my lifetime. We always loved them, admired them and even wanted them to last longer. But not fear, this was a novel emotion when it came to rains. I wanted the rain to stop. I wanted to listen to that silence once again. I wanted to smell that after-rain fragrance coming from the moist terrain. But as I am not the God of Rain, I just plugged in my earphones and listened to “The Rains of Castamere”. And it never ever before sounded so surreal.

When we reached the Circuit House at Sohra, it was still raining. I told Nipon that it has been raining cats and dogs all the way along. He smiled and corrected me, “Yes, this is quite a drizzle”. After a wonderful dinner, we tried to get some sleep before the run. But the sound of the rains was getting even more intense. The circuit house was from the British times and even had a fireplace in most of the rooms. Sounds so fancy no, but with that comes a concern that would this antique peace survive in that voracious windy rains of Cherrapunji. Well, it has survived, for centuries, and may be it will last another night.

When I woke up at 0400 hrs, it was still raining. No signs of weakness, still going strong. How the hell are we going to run 21 Kms in such rains. Or maybe we won’t have to, perhaps we would be swimming instead.  Not just to complete the run but to save our lives. At 0500 hours we left circuit house to reach the starting point which was this beautiful little bridge mid-way between Sohra and Shillong. The fog was still there, perhaps a little less dense. I was surprised to see the numbers participating in the half marathon.  Madness contagion, was it?

There was no big tent to hold that many numbers but nobody really cared now. Everyone started warming up in that rain, if at all you can call it a warm up. But the rising energy levels, the euphoria and the excitement got the better of us. It was run time finally. Who cares about the damn rains, who cares about the damn fog, who cares about the cold winds. Actually I did care a little though. Anyway, continuing the tempo, there is a 21 km beautiful road ahead calling for us, and we are gonna conquer it. Get, set, and go.

Initially all of us were wearing that pretentious piece of raincoat they had provided but we all knew it would not last long. The rains were so strong that soon water reached every possible place it could reach and then there was no point of that polythene wrapped around you. And I took it off embracing the rains for the first time. And it felt so so good. The fear was gone. I wanted more of it. I wanted it to last. The fog had started to diminish gradually but the rains persisted. At some points, where the wind was strong, they almost felt like water cannon shots. As if we were some kind of mob. Now we could see the green hillocks more clearly. The little lush green grasslands that surrounded the road on either side. The small lakes proudly showcasing the rain waters. Scotland of the east they had said, god, they are right!

Yes yes, the prettiest marathon. I will give you that. But also the most badly organized one. At the starting point they messed up the timing clocks and the race had to be restarted. At water junctions, they could have placed dustbins as well so that we don’t ruin the landscape while we enjoy our run. At the finish point, they were charging for refreshments. Then why take 1000 bucks for registration. They decided to give finishers medal to all at the same time which is a foolish idea. You cannot manage this big a crowd at that small a place. This marathon has a potential of becoming the most sought after in  the whole world, if of course managed professionally. Imagine the tourism boost it would give to Meghalaya.

But let’s not end on that bad note. For me, it was truly a humbling experience. The fitness levels of people in this region are mind blowing. For all the age groups. Let’s raise a toast, for the people of North-East, for the prettiest run and of course, to the joy of running!

Tall, Dark and ....

Shreya was really excited about the move. She always wanted to go to Mumbai, the city of dreams, so they say. She had been there once, just for couple of days on a business assignment few years ago. She did manage to squeeze in some free time for herself and went to the Marine Drive. The weather couldn’t have been better. The clouds only allowed a little fraction of the sunlight, just the right amount. And it had rained that day, just enough to make you fall in love. She liked the freedom women had in the city. And the people too.

So here she was, in her new apartment located in a busy suburb of the city with buildings risings like mushrooms on freshly drenched fertile land after the monsoons. There were so many of them and yet there were so many people still looking for them. All these apartments were so close to one-another, that one might easily jump to the balcony of the next building.  This compactness of things did bother her a little, given that all her upbringing was in some spacious house of a modest township. But then she could give that up for a place in this maximum city.

She had no idea how the whole week had gone past her. New office, new people and new assignments had kept her on her toes. And as she woke up late that Saturday, she realized she had not yet unpacked. Her head was still shaken with the heavy booze from her welcome party last night. She opened the drapes of the French window in her drawing room and sat against it sipping lemon water. That was the only source of natural light into the apartment and unfortunately it faced the neighboring building. Also with a French window.

There was so much to do that Saturday. She spent the entire day placing her possessions at the best place possible. She was very particular about things in her life. Even the smallest of things. She liked being referred to as a perfectionist. Of course, by that people actually meant she had OCD. This even trickled down to her love life. She had never been into a long term relationship. How could she, with the first sign of weakness surfacing in her partner, she would move on. She wanted a soul mate, not a partner. She wanted a price, not a squire.

After the day’s hard work, she sat against that French window on her favorite bean bag with the glass of red wine. When it came to music, she was from the old school. Soft, soothing and sensuous. That was her flavor. And the same was being played on her audio system. Suddenly the room right across in the next building lit up. Bright yellow light coming from something on the floor perhaps. But the drapes were covering most part of it. Nothing was to be seen. But then a shadow appeared. She sipped some more wine as she prepared herself to play the game of shadows.

Definitely a tall man, she told herself. She loved tall men, especially in uniform. She herself was pretty tall for a woman. He was also very well built, one could tell. He had curly hair, a bit long for a man but they did look to be complementing his body. He was talking on the phone. Something about the faculty of volition, the freedom of expression and such similar philosophical abstracts. She had never had the chance to read or discuss philosophy but she knew, it excited her like anything. There was nothing sexier than an intelligent man telling her the nuances of life’s philosophy. It swayed her, completely. Beyond her imagination.

And before she knew, it had become an obsession. After coming back from work, she would sit across her French window with the same wine and the same music, eagerly awaiting that seductive voice and those absorbing words. Most of the time, he would talk on the phone. Sometimes he would have company. But the talks were always intriguing. Of life and its purpose. He would at times also discuss the facets of Art. What is Art but a manifestation of one’s philosophy, she thought. As the addiction grew further, all she could think of during the day at office was what he would be talking about that evening. Was it love she was experiencing, or magic. Sometimes it is so difficult to differentiate.

She was in love, she confirmed to herself. But why had he never removed those curtains, she pondered.  She needed to see him. Desperately.  She needed to know more about him. Immediately. The shadow was not enough now. The words were not enough now. The philosophy wasn’t too. As that building was similar to hers, it was easy to figure out which apartment was his. As soon as his room was lit that night, she was on the move. She was wearing her favorite red dress. A dress for the kill, she had secretly named it. With her hair all open and those black stilettos, she was the damsel no one could resist.

She was at his door. She was smiling. She knew that the man inside was the man of her dreams. Her search was finally going to end. The door opened and there stood a man half of the size of that shadow. Her eyes widened in utter shock. His place was very abstract filled with paintings of all kind. And it was very abnormally lit with flood lights on the floor shining on to the canvases. One such light was placed against that window,  flooding it with that yellow light. He looked at her with amusement and said, “How can I help you, my lady?”.  It was that same voice she had fell for. Weighted and melodious at the same time. To her amazement, she still wanted to go in, give it a try. She had already fallen for him or perhaps his soul. But she couldn’t . He is almost a dwarf for god’s sake. Pride and prejudice prevailed over love. Like it always happens.

She said, almost apologetically “Sorry…. to bother, I ….. I took you for someone else”.  She was too embarrassed to stand there any longer. She turned and almost marched back to her apartment. He was there again too. Tall, dark and just a shadow. Frustrated, she closed her window and went into deep introspection. These are the ways of life. People are judged by their appearances. But we must remember what Lord Varys had to say, even the smallest of man can cast a very large shadow.