IRONMAN 13 TIMES AND COUNTING

Dr Kaustubh Radkar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Dr Kaustubh Radkar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

We were at the PYC Gymkhana on Pune’s Bhandarkar Road.

Our mutual introduction and subsequent conversation had one shared quality – Dr Kaustubh Radkar spoke to the point. Except in places, he didn’t seem one for long sentences or the sort for whom, one sentence leads to many. You gauged pretty early, a penchant for brevity in the interviewee; the likely legacy of having been for long a competitive swimmer and after that, Ironman.

Kaustubh was born May 1982 in Pune, coincidentally the year Julie Moss fired popular imagination in the US with the mantra that finishing an Ironman is as good as victory. Moss, a college student then, had collapsed near the finish line. She crawled the rest of the way to complete her race. She didn’t give up. The incident was widely telecast in the US. It is unlikely anyone in India would have seen that telecast, now available on YouTube. In 1982, India was still a government monopoly in television broadcast and colour television commenced only that year, thanks to the New Delhi Asian Games. Ironman was probably unheard of. Indeed, according to the website of the Indian Triathlon Federation (ITF), the first triathlon in the country was held eight years later, in 1990.

The Radkars were a family of four; besides Kaustubh, there was his father, Sunil, who was a lawyer, mother, Nilima, a trained violinist and PhD in music and a sister, Deepti, three years elder to him, who was into swimming. She was a good swimmer who used to win medals at swimming competitions. At seven years of age, the boy followed his sister into swimming. It wasn’t a move with any aim in mind. He just followed. Nevertheless two years later, he was competing at swimming competitions and by the age of 11-12, he was winning medals at Pune level.

From Kaustubh's early days in the pool (Photo: by arrangement) Kaustubh

From Kaustubh’s early days in the pool (Photo: by arrangement)

We met Deepti at a cafe in suburban Mumbai. According to her, Sunil Radkar was a keen sportsman, particularly interested in baseball. He encouraged his children to take up sports. The family stayed not far from Pune’s iconic Tilak Tank. That is where Deepti and Kaustubh were introduced to swimming. Those days Tilak Tank was completely fed by subterranean springs, `L’ shaped and at 100 yards on its longer side, slightly less than double the length of an Olympic-sized pool. Today it is a modern swimming complex with only a portion retaining spring water, the old way. The siblings had diverse tastes in swimming – Deepti preferred the breast stroke and longer distances; Kaustubh took to freestyle and sprint. She recalled two coaches in particular – S.N. Karandikar and Srinidhi Sakharikar. Karandikar also organized swimming camps during the holidays. A day at one of these camps typically entailed a hill run, a few hours of swimming in the pool and lectures by sportspersons, nutritionists and motivational speakers. This was the environment in which Kaustubh’s swimming evolved. In 1995, at the national level school swimming championships held in Kolkata (Calcutta), he secured gold. Then based on his performance at the open nationals, where he was in the 15-17 age-group, in 1997 he got his first chance to represent India for races at the Asia-Pacific level. Speaking about the progression, Kaustubh said, “ initially I did not like swimming. It is a solitary pursuit, anti-social in a way and I wasn’t winning any medals. It was often serious practice, long practice sessions and few results to show. I was working as hard as any of the other kids and not getting anything. But at 13 years of age or so, the difference between talent and hard work started to show. That is when I started getting results and began enjoying it.’’

At the finish of Ironman, South Africa (Photo: by arrangement)

Finishing Ironman South Africa (Photo: by arrangement)

Apart by 150km, Mumbai and Pune are cities with different character and in sport, arguably different trajectories. Set by the sea, mercantile and open to the world, Mumbai was first off the mark in sporting greatness. Up and over the hills, located on the high Deccan Plateau and regarded as a sentinel of local culture, Pune took time catching up. Nowadays, Mumbai is the laggard in sports and adventure activity. In swimming, Kaustubh recalled, his years in the pool at school and university level, was the period Pune emerged from the shadow of Mumbai, Maharashtra’s erstwhile powerhouse in swimming. “ We were not afraid anymore,’’ Kaustubh said. Representing Pune University at the national university meet in Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum), he won six gold medals; one silver and a bronze in swimming. “ I was a specialist in the 100m, 200m and 400m-freestyle events,’’ he said. The Radkars were a family of lawyers. Although she made it to the nationals at university level, Deepti progressively found her calling in the arts and slowly veered off swimming. Kaustubh’s future, the family realized, may be in sport. “ The two of us not becoming lawyers was a major departure,’’ Deepti said.

Things weren’t rosy in India for a career in competitive swimming. Characteristic of Indian sports, there was much politics in swimming. Kaustubh started looking for opportunities to study and train overseas.  He wrote to American universities seeking to represent them in swimming. He was accepted at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, initially with 50 per cent scholarship. Later, after seeing his performance, another 10 per cent was added to the scholarship component and he was included in the Dean’s List. His chosen line of academics was: BSc in Exercise Science & Pre-medicine. Deepti felt that there was an experiential link between the solitary progression of the competitive swimmer and Kaustubh’s academic journey. Several colleges in the US have a sizable Indian student population. But as a student with strength in sports and seeking to grow in it, Kaustubh was at colleges overseas that didn’t always have a large Indian student population. He became more independent; his circle of friends was diverse. “ He is an excellent cook,’’ she said.

Judy and John Collins, at their induction into the USA Triathlon Hall of Fame in 2014. Triathletes from California, they introduced the triathlon to Hawaii on February 18, 1978 by creating and staging the first endurance tyriathlon, The Hawaii Ironman Triathlon, a swim/bike/run course that circled the island of Oahu. The Ironman course linked the minimum 2.4mile Waikiki Roughwater Swim, an estimated 112 miles of the 115 mile Round Oahu Bike Course and the 26.2 mile Honolulu Marathon (Photo: courtesy Judy and John Collins)

Judy and John Collins, at their induction into the USA Triathlon Hall of Fame in 2014. Triathletes from California, they introduced the triathlon to Hawaii on February 18, 1978 by creating and staging the first endurance triathlon, The Hawaii Ironman Triathlon, a swim/bike/run course that circled the island of Oahu. The Ironman course linked the minimum 2.4mile Waikiki Roughwater Swim, an estimated 112 miles of the 115 mile Round Oahu Bike Course and the 26.2 mile Honolulu Marathon. This is how Ironman started. (Photo: courtesy Judy and John Collins)

Training in the US was a remarkably different experience. The Indian approach to being a better swimmer was to swim, swim and keep on swimming. The coach postured as a know-it-all. In the US, approach to sport was a convergence of different streams ranging from practising the sport to strength training and nutrition. There were separate teachers for each stream and none posed as a know-it-all. “ If you compare it hours for hours, you probably spend fewer hours in the pool there. But the recovery time is productively used for a lot of related training,’’ Kaustubh said. Another major difference was – the Indian approach focussed on the individual; training in the US focussed on teams. The entire team travelled together, trained together and cheered each other. Every weekend there was a swimming meet where Kaustubh’s university competed with some other university from the region. The daily training spanned 6AM to 8AM and 3.30PM to 6PM. There was only one session on Saturday. After two years of such training, he was either the best or second best swimmer on the team. He finished his programme by May 2003. “ I was pretty burnt out from swimming by then,’’ he said.

Kaustubh joined the University of Wisconsin to do his Masters in Cardiovascular Physiology with specialization in rehabilitation of people with heart and lung disease. This was an intense course with hospital-internship; it lasted till December 2005. During this period, he swam little. But he began running. Although from the same stable of endurance, swimming and running are two entirely different animals. Running is a high impact sport; swimming is not. One is partial to upper body-engagement; the other is wholly lower body-engagement. “ The transition from swimming to running was challenging initially. The good thing was I already had the required endurance,’’ Kaustubh said. Starting with 5km and 10km runs, he slowly graduated to distance running.  In 2006, he ran the New York City Marathon. His participation at this prized event was a matter of luck. The daughter of one of his patients worked with the Road Runners Club. They gave him a slot to run the marathon.

In 2007, Kaustubh shifted to Boulder, Colorado. He was now in the outdoor capital of the US. As he put it – in other cities people talk of which party they went to on a weekend; here they talked of the running, cycling or climbing they did. While in Boulder, he joined a Masters Swimming Programme, marking a return to swimming. By 2008, he had placed fourth in the US Masters Swimming Championship in the 200 and 400 yards freestyle events. He also took part in the Denver Marathon of 2007. His swimming coach at the Masters Programme was a triathlete; almost 90 per cent of the trainees at the programme were triathletes. It wasn’t long before curiosity set in. His friends mentioned Ironman. It seemed like a good challenge. Started in Hawaii in 1978 and since staged at various locations worldwide, the Ironman is essentially an extended triathlon. The full Ironman entailed 3.8km of swimming, 180km of cycling and 42km of running, all of it back-to-back. According to Kaustubh, full Ironman races in America have 17 hours as overall cut-off time. Within 17 hours, 2 hours 30 minutes is cut-off time for the swim, 8:10 for cycling and 6:30 for running. In comparison, the Olympic format of the triathlon features a 1.5km-swim, 40km of cycling and a 10km-run. He signed up for his first Ironman – a full Ironman – due in Arizona in six month’s time. As part of training, in 2008 June, Kaustubh did a half Ironman in Lubbock, Texas. He finished in 5 hours 59 minutes.

Kaustubh finishing the 3.8 km-swim at Ironman Brazil (Photo: by arrangement)

Kaustubh finishing the 3.8 km-swim at Ironman Brazil (Photo: by arrangement)

“ Arizona was really nice. The water was cold and I had to borrow a wet suit for the day. I had the fastest time in the swim segment at 47 minutes and 37 seconds. The cycling was okay. I had two punctures, the first at 120km and the second at 170km. I fixed both myself as you lose time waiting for the mechanics. The run went as planned. Overall I finished in 11 hours, 41 minutes. I was very happy,’’ Kaustubh said. He had overcome the main challenges – training the lower body for the strength and endurance demanded by running and cycling and surmounting the mental barrier in cycling, the sport – among triathlon’s three – he felt least connected to. The outcome at Arizona was also despite the fact that he was working full time. “ Kaustubh’s shift to the triathlon was completely unexpected. The Ironman was a surprise for us. It was only when he shared the timing he had in Ironman and details like you are doing the three disciplines back to back, that the enormity of it hit us,’’ Deepti said. In December 2008, Kaustubh moved to the East Coast, to Baltimore and Johns Hopkins, where he commenced work at the hospital’s cardiology department. Between 2008 and 2013, he did four full Ironman races. This included races in Canada (2009), Lake Placid, New York (2010 & 2012) and Idaho (2011). “ I was doing an Ironman every year,’’ he said. Amid this, he enrolled for a MBA programme in Health Care at Johns Hopkins and then halfway into the MBA, added a PhD programme also to the list. These commitments were among reasons that kept his participation at Ironman to one race per year.

In 2013, with a few Ironman races now in his kitty, he designed a goal for himself – do a full Ironman in every continent. “ It was just something I came up with. Two other people had done it till then and it seemed a nice thing to aspire for,’’ Kaustubh said. The new goal entailed some specific challenges. Different locations come with different peculiarities, most important being difference in weather conditions. Then there is the issue of resident weather condition at one’s base – how much training one can do and how much training in those conditions may be relevant to the location you are planning to go. His new pursuit in the Ironman fold started off in May 2013, with the race in Port Macquarie, Australia. This was followed up with a full Ironman in Wisconsin, where he registered his personal best – 11:03 hours. That year – 2013 – also became the first year in which he did two full Ironman races. In December 2013, Kaustubh returned to India. He had always wanted to start something of his own in his line of work.

Cycling at Ironman Zurich (Photo: by arrangement)

Cycling at Ironman Zurich (Photo: by arrangement)

Meanwhile his pet project continued. In July 2014, he went for the Ironman in Frankfurt completing it in 12:11. In September, he was at Langkawi, Malaysia, finishing the event there in 13:24. In November, he did the Ironman at Fortaleza, Brazil in 13:49. If in 2013, he did two Ironman races, he ended 2014 with three races done in a year. In March 2015, went to Port Elizabeth, South Africa for the Ironman there, completing it in 13.22. With that Kaustubh had done an Ironman event on all the six continents it is held. In July 2015, he raced at Zurich, Switzerland, finishing the race there in 12:32. It was the first time he coached four others to participate; two did, the others couldn’t get visas in time and so hoped to do an Ironman later in Malaysia. Two weeks after Zurich, Kaustubh completed the Ironman in Boulder, Colorado in 12:31. “ I don’t advise that,’’ he said pointing to both the need for time to recover between races and that fact that Boulder is at an elevation of over 5000ft. He now has a new goal coming up. After you have finished 12 Ironman races, you gain entry into the Legacy Programme. Under this provision, you get a slot for the Ironman World Championship held annually at Kona, Hawaii. Kaustubh has so far participated in and completed 13 Ironman races. He hopes that his slot for the World Championship will come in 2017. “ The World Championship is always a big dream for anyone who has done an Ironman. That’s the birthplace of Ironman,’’ he said.

In the years since he returned to India, Kaustubh began Radrx, a clinic that attends to people with heart and lung diseases, cancer and also deals with sports medicine. Additionally, he is associated with two hospitals (going on to three) in Pune. Of direct relevance to sport, he started Radstrong Coaching which specializes in coaching for running and triathlon. In January 2015, he got married; his wife, Madhuvanti, is a PhD in Pharmacology. He estimates that around 20-25 people from India have so far finished the full Ironman. He has set a goal for Radstrong: coach 100 Indians to finish an Ironman by 2020. At some point, he would also like to bring Ironman to India. This is not an easy task for multiple reasons.

With others at a triathlon training camp (Photo: by arrangement)

With others at a triathlon training camp (Photo: by arrangement)

Most locations hosting the Ironman have a sizable resident community already into the triathlon. This is crucial because an event cannot survive by banking wholly on foreign visitors. India’s triathlon-community is yet small. At present, the Indian hotspot in terms of people interested in the Ironman is Bengaluru (Bangalore). Pune, Mumbai and Delhi are catching up. In Chennai and Hyderabad, local clubs have organized races sporting Ironman-distances. But there is a long way to go. Then there are India’s infrastructural challenges. The Ironman event requires the portion of road used for running and cycling to be closed for the whole duration of the event. That means a road being closed to traffic for 17 hours. Ironman events happen outdoors. The swimming segment needs a suitable water body and while the water body can be a river, lake or a portion of sea, it could be a challenge finding a water body in India that is presentable at the international level. “ For now, Goa looks promising,’’ Kaustubh said. There is also another angle to India’s relation with water. While abroad, swimmers turned triathletes are common, in India those moving to the triathlon are mostly from running and cycling. As in sailing, the country’s engagement with swimming smacks of reluctance despite its shores graced by major seas and water bodies available inland (for an idea of India’s evolving relation with sailing, please see the series on Sagar Parikrama at this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2013/10/27/sagar-parikrama-part-one/).

The question plays on the lips of the curious: will there be an Ironman race in India?

(The authors, Latha Venkatraman and Shyam G Menon, are independent journalists based in Mumbai. Where photo credit says ` by arrangement,’ the photo concerned has been sourced from Dr Kaustubh Radkar. The authors would like to thank Judy and John Collins for allowing the use of their photograph.)    

IMAGINING A UNIVERSITY FOR LADAKH

SECMOL, Phey campus (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

SECMOL, Phey campus (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

An old story revisited; new chapters unfold:

The pile of twigs spoke little of the story. As did a couple of long pipes, collapsed over the heap. Prayer flags, still fluttering, indicated hope; a hope that had lived through the winter. Now it was summer. Whatever was in that pile, had gone, escaped. A few tiers below on the hillside, rows of saplings planted months ago provided a touch of green to bare earth. I was near the pile of twigs, on a piece of flat land between the lower reaches of Phyang village and its monastery further up. Behind me were brown hills and somewhere behind them, snowcapped mountains. Before me, Ladakh seemed a vast expanse, all the way to the Leh-Srinagar highway in the distance. Connecting Phyang to the highway was a straight road, so impressive for its straightness that it resembled an airstrip. To one side of the road lay vast tracts of unused land.

An hour or so before, we were on an unpaved road between the SECMOL Alternative Institute in Phey and the Leh-Srinagar highway, a little less than 20km from Leh. We were cycling to Phyang from Phey. It was past noon; hot. The bike below my writer self held up well. That morning in Leh, I had hired the best bicycle I could find within my budget. The bike had 24 gears, front suspension, water bottle carriers and 26 inch-wheels. My sea level lungs were not born for exertion at altitude. Multiple gears helped. The front suspension soaked up the bumpy passage to an extent and the 26 inch-wheels devoured a fine length of terrain for each rotation of the crank. I looked at the gentleman cycling alongside. He was perched peacefully on a small folding bicycle. The wheels may be small but the size of crank and apt gear ratios made the small bike adequate for commutes in Ladakh, he explained. I can cite the excuse that he was Ladakhi; born and brought up at altitude with lungs to match. That would be childish. Not to mention, it missed the point. I had impulsively chosen the sturdy looking-mountain bike, the SUV of the bicycle family. He used his head to imagine, analyze, attempt; match me on bigger set of wheels with his small ones. Very Sonam Wangchuk I thought.

The first time I met Wangchuk was in 2010. At that time, many people in Ladakh believed that the character of Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad aka Phunsukh Wangdu, in the film 3 Idiots was loosely based on Wangchuk, a founding member of the Students Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh (SECMOL). That may or may not be true. Ahead of making the movie, the producers are said to have met him. But there has been no confirmation on whether the film’s main protagonist was modeled on anyone. After 3 Idiots was released to box office success, tourists however, went seeking Wangdu in Ladakh’s cold desert. A few discovered SECMOL; most followed the tourist trail to The Druk White Lotus School where portions of the film were shot. Others washed up on the shores of Pangong Lake. When I met him in 2010, Wangchuk was in Ladakh after a series of events that could hardly have been pleasant for the mechanical engineer and the then 22-year-old SECMOL.

Sonam Wangchuk (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Sonam Wangchuk (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

SECMOL’s genesis can be traced to coaching high school students in a region notorious for its abysmally low pass percentage in the matriculation exams. The system was flawed. Textbooks lacked local themes. The medium of instruction till Class IX for Ladakh was Urdu, switching suddenly to English. In 1991, SECMOL’s pilot project on educational reform with village and government support, in Saspol, clicked. It saw other villages seeking the same. With Operation New Hope of 1994, planning better education for Leh district in league with local government and village communities, SECMOL graduated to a popular movement. Its work spanned redesigning textbooks and training teachers to monitoring schools through village councils. Later the newly set up Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council (LAHDC) accepted Operation New Hope as its educational policy. From 5 per cent pass at matriculation exams in 1996, Ladakh’s pass percentage increased to 55 per cent by 2004.

Then a rash of problems surfaced. Some disgruntled schoolteachers protested. When the executive councilor in charge of education at LAHDC — he was formerly associated with SECMOL — was shifted, Wangchuk’s observation on the matter was seen as interference. SECMOL’s media wing published a magazine called Ledogs Melong. It played the role of a watchdog, the exposes of which may have displeased some, while its patronage of colloquial Ladakhi, as opposed to the classical Bodhi of scriptures, ruffled feathers. The exact spark is unclear. The administration’s Deputy Commissioner hauled up NGOs over issues like funding and then zeroed in on SECMOL. Among other things, Wangchuk was accused of being a spy and his organization was virtually banned. This was despite SECMOL’s work earning national respect. The Ladakh model of the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan programme had been inaugurated by the then President, A.P.J. Abdul Kalam.

In the following months, after protests far and wide, SECMOL’s freedom was salvaged to some extent and the Deputy Commissioner, transferred. Wangchuk moved to Nepal to work in the educational sector there. SECMOL hibernated, keeping a few activities alive. Ladakh’s matriculation results began to dip again. For most observers, the story was puzzling. It wasn’t the ugly moments that rankled. It was the vendetta. Why did that happen? The answer probably lay in a variety of factors. Wangchuk’s father Sonam Wangyal was a politician who became state minister; that may have made the son’s rising stature worrisome. SECMOL’s work benefited those struggling in Ladakh’s educational mess; that may have endeared Wangchuk to one side of a class divide, something likely in the magazine’s language controversy, too. Ladakh is a small society glued together by mountain life; anyone stepping out of line is instantly noticed. Wangchuk and his unconventional work were likely out of line. Were these the reasons? Nobody knows. In 2010 in Leh, I had met people who were critical of Wangchuk. But none disputed SECMOL’s contribution.

The pile of twigs (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The pile of twigs (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

With no higher education available at home, young Ladakhis travelled to Jammu; Chandigarh, Delhi and elsewhere to study. Many of them children of Operation New Hope, they knew SECMOL. They discussed it in cyber space. In December 2009, 3 Idiots was released. Over May-June 2010, interest in SECMOL revived. Ladakhi students invited the reluctant Wangchuk to address them in Jammu. On June 15, a meeting at Leh’s Polo Ground brought together a wider cross-section of Ladakhi society. According to those who attended, Wangchuk said he would resume SECMOL’s work if the LAHDC passed a resolution welcoming the organization. “Why did he leave and why does he want a resolution to return?’’ one of his fans who was also once a student at SECMOL had asked me. In Phey, where SECMOL is, I had posed the questions floating around, to Wangchuk. He said that both his withdrawal from Ladakh and the request for a resolution were because he wanted the idea of SECMOL to live in the people. If they enshrine it, neither authorities nor politicians can derail education. Good education would become systemic.

That was 2010.

Five years later, Wangchuk wasn’t anymore in Nepal, he was back in Ladakh. My first halt to meet him this July 2015 was the eco-friendly SECMOL campus in Phey. The road leading to it was in better condition than before. Previously it used to be rough with a particularly rough patch near and above a culvert just ahead of the school. Couple of years ago, a patch of ice surviving here in the shade of the culvert had become trigger for Wangchuk’s latest project, which in turn drew much from the work of Chewang Norphel. In 2015, 78 year-old Norphel was awarded the Padma Sri (India’s fourth highest civilian award) for an innovative idea implemented in Ladakh. A civil engineer, he retired from the state’s rural development department and joined a NGO, helping with watershed development. He introduced the concept of creating artificial glaciers as a means to overcome water shortage in the cold desert. The basic principle was simple. He diverted streams and small rivers to fill a large excavated area with water. The water’s flow was slowed down using check dams. In winter, the water body froze becoming an artificial glacier at lower elevation. According to Wikipedia, the artificial glacier helped increase groundwater-recharge, rejuvenate springs and provide water for irrigation. As they melted earlier thanks to location at lower altitude, the artificial glaciers helped extend Ladakh’s growing season. These artificial glaciers were created in several villages.

The ice-stupa; Phyang monastery in the backdrop (Photo: by arrangement)

The ice-stupa; Phyang monastery in the backdrop (Photo: by arrangement)

Norphel’s work caught Wangchuk’s fancy. Upon study, he felt the artificial glaciers had a few shortcomings. Although at elevations lower than natural glaciers, artificial glaciers were still far from the villages they serviced. This meant added labor cost and at times, inadequate attention. More important, they melted fast in Ladakh’s harsh sun. Wangchuk’s questions were two – can artificial glaciers be brought to still lower elevation; can they be made to last longer? That’s why the ice below that culvert in May had intrigued. SECMOL was close to the Indus, the drainage basin for Ladakh’s streams and therefore among the region’s lowest points (it is still around 10,000ft in elevation). Ice in May, under a culvert not far from the Indus, proved that ice can survive that long at lower elevation, provided it was shaded as under the culvert. But where do you get shade big enough for an artificial glacier, in cold desert open to the elements? To overcome this, Wangchuk altered the shape of the artificial glacier from being flat and spread out to being conical. The cone may resemble a structure rising upward, almost seeking out the sun. But as he explained, it isn’t an Icarus-situation. “ Cones and hemispheres are the geometric shapes that have the smallest surface area to given volume,’’ Wangchuk said. Used as shape for artificial glacier, it meant: the lesser the surface area exposed to the sun, the lesser the melt rate of frozen water within.

The stupa is a structure identified strongly with Buddhism. Wikipedia describes it as a mound-like or hemispherical structure containing relics, typically the remains of Buddhist monks or nuns. Buddhism has long held sway in Ladakh; the stupa is a commonly seen structure. The first ice-stupa (as Wangchuk’s artificial glacier concept was called given its shape) came up as a pilot project at SECMOL. Roughly two storey-tall, it did well, lasting till May 18th that summer. Among those impressed by the ice-stupa were the authorities of the Phyang monastery. They invited Wangchuk to put up a bigger one at Phyang. The second ice-stupa, implemented over the winter of 2014-2015, was significantly bigger in size, almost as high as a four or five storey-building. It was designed with an ante chamber that could be accessed via a narrow tunnel. Water was brought using pipes and tubes from a far off stream with the sourcing point adequately high so that gravity would ensure a high fountain at the ice-stupa’s lower elevation. No pumps were used; it was all gravity at play. From inside the chamber, the pipe dispersing water as a spurt or fountain could be raised higher and higher as needed. The fallen water froze all around in the shape of a cone. Ladakh’s winter temperature is low enough to ensure that the water sprayed out, froze quickly to ice. The eventual stupa was several floors high. The chamber within the structure served as test for the possibility of an ice hotel in Ladakh (a boutique hotel made of ice). Post winter, the ice-stupa melted fully only by early July underscoring the merit in the conical design. The entire project was crowd-funded. Contributions came from all over the world. The twigs I saw had once rested on the ice as a deterrent to quick melting. Ice gone, a pile of twigs remained. “ Next year, the ice-stupa will be five times bigger,’’ Wangchuk said.

The ice-stupa (Photo: by arrangement)

The ice-stupa (Photo: by arrangement)

The success of the ice-stupa inspired plans for the open space sprawling to one side of that airstrip of a road leading to Phyang. In the ice-stupa, Wangchuk has a potential means to green tracts of Ladakh’s desert, something already underway on a large patch of land not far from the location of Phyang’s ice-stupa. Here, 5000 saplings had sprung root, the initial water for their survival having come from the melting ice-stupa. If there are many more ice-stupas around, more areas of the cold desert can be greened. Wangchuk has dovetailed this possibility to a dream project. It is a known fact that he is critical of India’s educational system. In a television interview, where Norphel was also present and both spoke of artificial glaciers, I heard Wangchuk describe the exam-obsessed Indian approach and the tendency of the system to destroy self esteem in young people. In Phyang, elaborating on his desire to see Ladakhis solve their own problems and the problems of mountain people elsewhere, he told me, “ we are not just a linguistic and cultural minority. We are also a technological minority. Nobody innovates for Ladakh.’’ Wangchuk now wants to set up a university on the vast tract of unused land in Phyang. The land is currently with the Phyang monastery and the LAHDC.

Wangchuk visualized the university as an eco friendly campus featuring mud buildings, quite like SECMOL. The SECMOL campus has often been praised for its eco friendly architecture, its use of solar energy for daily needs and the use of simple materials to provide dwellings that are warm even in Ladakh’s winters. Concept papers for the university have been drawn up. According to it the new university – Ladakh’s first – is meant to address a few basic issues. The absence of a local university so far has meant students seeking college education leaving Ladakh for cities in the Indian plains. This education is very much the sort Wangchuk is critical of. But a handful of other factors add to the concern. One of the concept papers quoted an estimate by the Ladakhi Students Union: roughly 10,000 Ladakhi students currently study away from Ladakh. The expense incurred by parents for this is quite high; the paper pegged it as almost equivalent to the region’s annual earnings from tourism. Further, the majority of these students – the paper said: 80 per cent – were apparently on correspondence courses that don’t actually require them to be away from Ladakh. “ Unfortunately, Ladakhi people are caught in this social game where it has become stigma if a son or daughter is not away in some far away city after grade 10th or 12th. In fact, it seems to be this social pressure rather than the quest for knowledge that drives the exodus,’’ the paper said, adding, “ it is important to emphasize here that all this is not the fault of students or their parents; it is society that attaches so much value to pieces of paper called ‘a degree’ that has led to thousands of youth becoming educational refugees.’’

The saplings grown with melt water from the ice-stupa in the foreground and beyond to the right, tracts of open land, potential site for the university (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Saplings grown with melt water from the ice-stupa in the foreground and beyond to the right, tracts of open land, potential site for the university (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The Ladakh People’s Alternative University was proposed as a panacea for this problem. Wangchuk wanted the project to grow organically. Maybe, there will be a pre-university phase featuring no more than hutments – “ something like well appointed, solar heated, mud igloos or a university made of tents’’ – with the bigger, solid structures kicking in later. Eventually the solid structures take over. SECMOL has expertise in construction using natural materials, especially in Ladakh’s context of cold desert. The institute has a programme called ` Natural Building Apprenticeship.’ One of the interesting angles in the suggested educational approach was to conceive the project as a university township replete with resident enterprises, where the students gain practical training alongside theoretical studies. Day to day management of the university campus will be in the SECMOL-style. SECMOL has managed a much smaller campus in Phey – it is run by students – for the last 25 years.

Wangchuk admitted that formal recognition of the university’s courses will need the stamp of a ` degree.’ For this, the project was hoping to tie up with the Indira Gandhi National Open University (IGNOU), already home to a variety of studies and therefore hopefully amenable to the unconventional themes of the alternative university. The concept of the Ladakh People’s Alternative University had been launched with the patronage of His Holiness Drikung Kyabgon Chetsang Rinpochey. It was to be run jointly by SECMOL and the Drikung Kagyu Cultural and Welfare Society Phyang. Wangchuk estimated the total area of available land near Phyang at roughly 500 hectares. Of this, he felt, the university will need about 50 hectares. In the works was a design seminar for imagining the university. The overall cost of the university-project was estimated at Rs 40 crore (400 million) and Wangchuk was banking on the same crowd funding approach that worked for the ice-stupa to generate the funds.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. A portion of this story – the part from 2010 – was published that year in The Telegraph newspaper. Where photo credit has been mentioned as `by arrangement,’ the photo concerned has been sourced from Sonam Wangchuk.)

A SCHOOL TEACHER IN KAZA

Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The story of the first Indian to climb six 8000m-peaks.

Sometime in the concluding portion of the bus ride from Reckong Peo, the Spiti valley assumes shape and begins to impress by its dimension. After much distance covered in the valley’s folds, the wait for Kaza melds into a small township in the distance, on the banks of the river which gave the valley its name. The bus passed through a gateway next to premises operated by the Border Roads Organization (BRO) and a while later rolled to a halt at the local bus depot.

I was in Kaza, Spiti; eastern part (tad north too) of Himachal Pradesh. The terrain was quite similar to that of better known Ladakh. Except – Leh is at 11,500ft; Kaza is close to 12,000ft up. The Ladakh link shouldn’t surprise for both Ladakh and Spiti share the same Buddhist culture and in times gone by, the two provinces were administratively linked. Kaza felt like a quieter version of Leh, an older version of its northern sibling before the world arrived and made Leh the Leh of today. The world hasn’t poured as much into Spiti, yet.

Getting off the bus I pulled out my cell phone. There was a story to do. We – my subject and I – had promised to connect as soon as I reached Kaza. Too lazy to hunt for my specs, I held the phone away from my eyes and checked its screen. One stick; two sticks….? There was zero connectivity on my Mumbai-phone. I had thought the bigger operator I shifted to, would deliver network in Kaza. Damn! I looked around for somebody who could be the person I was looking for. There was no anticipation on anyone’s face. A few people calmly conversed. Some others went about their daily work. A monk stood sipping tea before a teashop; quintessentially monk, alive to the moment, to the sip. Nobody seemed to be expecting anyone. On the other hand, it was becoming increasingly clear from my nervousness that I was looking for somebody. From the depth of a beedi or a cup of tea being enjoyed, eyebrows rose casually to survey my presence.

“ Excuse me,’’ I said, stopping a person passing by. I explained my predicament and sought the use of his phone. “ Sure,’’ he said extending me his phone. I dialled the number and introduced myself. “ You have reached? Give me five minutes, I will be there,’’ the voice at the other end said. I returned the phone, said thank you. The evening was slowly fading to dusk. It suddenly occurred to me that I had given no clue regarding how I looked or the colour of T-shirt I wore. I wondered how two people who had not seen each other before would meet in Kaza’s bus depot. A few minutes went by. A middle aged stocky man of short to medium height with a day pack slung on his shoulder, appeared. “ Mr Shyam?’’ he asked loudly to nobody in particular. It was like a query to the winds; rather befitting, I thought, given surrounding geography of mountains and passes with the wind as timeless spectator. We shook hands. I had found the school teacher. Next morning, in a classroom overlooking the school and beyond that, the town, the teacher narrated his story.

Bodh, on the summit of Phabrang (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh, on the summit of Phabrang, his first expedition (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh on Longstaff Col; seen behind is Nanda Devi main summit (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh on Longstaff Col; seen behind is Nanda Devi main summit (Photo: by arrangement)

Chhering Norbu Bodh was born in May 1969 in the village of Lalung, a cluster of about a dozen houses then, not far from Kaza. The fourth child of his parents they were in all two brothers and four sisters; now only Bodh and a sister remain. With his father sadly caught in a dispute over family property, life was a struggle. His early school education was at Rama village and Lalung. In 1976, the family shifted to Chobrang, a village roughly six kilometres away from Lalung. After the fifth standard, he shifted to Kaza’s high school, 20km away. He stayed at the government hostel. He was good at his studies. In 1985, the uncle who bore the expenses of his education, died. A year later Bodh cleared the tenth standard. But he had none to fund onward studies. He was now an angry young man earning a livelihood doing odd jobs. Around this time, he worked for about two to three months at the local branch of the State Bank of India (SBI) as a ` water carrier.’ His responsibilities included cleaning the office premises and fetching water.

Courtesy the region’s severe winter, the pattern of life in Spiti was six months of work followed by six month of rest. Although of late climate change has been making its presence felt here too, traditionally Spiti winters have been harsh. In this remote mountain scenario with premium on usable land, the person who owned land and cultivable fields was affluent. That was the old order. Over time, as links to the outside world became more, government jobs became an alternative option for survival. In 1988, Bodh recalled, at a public function in Kaza, an official of the Indian Army’s Himachal Scouts (part of the Dogra Regiment) informed that recruitment was due to happen.  Bodh had no idea what a career as soldier entailed. He nevertheless joined the army. He trained for nine months during which time he was adjudged best student in weapons training. In 1993, he volunteered to train at the army’s High Altitude Warfare School (HAWS) in Gulmarg, Kashmir. It was on his return from HAWS that he got called for his first mountaineering expedition – an army expedition to climb Phabrang (6172m) in Himachal Pradesh. Losing his goggles after reaching the summit, the trip gifted the young climber his first taste of snow blindness.

In 1994, he was part of the army expedition to Kabru (7412m), located on the Indo-Nepal border. A year later, Bodh was in Kumaon, attempting Nanda Devi East (7434m) with an international army expedition. Their objective was to traverse the ridge linking Nanda Devi’s twin summits. But following an accident after gaining the east summit, the traverse was called off. Being part of the second summit team, Bodh didn’t get a chance to climb the peak. Following this expedition, Bodh travelled with his regimental team to climb Gya (6794m). Gya has a reputation for foxing climbers, directing them to a false summit. That turned out to be the case on this expedition; the team climbed Gya Gaar. In 1998, Bodh did his advanced training at HAWS (he was best student); he also did his basic and advanced courses in skiing (best student again). He secured instructor grading. From 1999 onward, he was posted in Kashmir. A year before this, in 1998, he was part of an expedition by the cadets of the National Defence Academy (NDA) to Kedar Dome (6940m). Twenty cadets reached the summit on that expedition, he said.

On Everest, south east ridge as seen from near the Hillary Step (Photo: by arrangement)

On Everest, south east ridge as seen from near the Hillary Step (Photo: by arrangement)

In 2000, Bodh was a Lance Naik posted at HAWS as instructor. That year in June, he was in Kaza on leave, when he got the call to report for selection to climb Everest. The selection was done on Mana Peak (7274m). Bodh couldn’t summit owing to dehydration. However he made it into the Everest team after some others, who had been selected, dropped out. Selection done, the team proceeded to Manali for winter training. In March 2001, the team was flagged off by the then Chief of Army Staff, General S. Padmanabhan. The army was returning to Everest after tragedy and death on a previous 1984 expedition to the peak, when five team members had died. Bodh was tasked with overseeing the 2001 expedition’s equipment. On May 24, 2001, Kaza’s future school teacher reached the top of Everest (8850m). As on Nanda Devi, he had been part of the second summit. “ Almost always, I have been part of the second summit team,’’ Bodh said. Soon after the Everest expedition, talk began of attempting Annapurna (8091m). In 2002, the army team proceeded for Annapurna. Yet again, part of the second summit team, Bodh had descended to Advance Base Camp on the mountain when he was informed of the first summit team’s failure. On May 6, 2002, Bodh reached the summit of Annapurna.

According to Bodh, on his way down from the summit, he met the British climber, Alan Hinkes, who was going up. Hinkes would become one of the people to climb all the fourteen 8000m peaks. As of August 2015 Wikipedia still listed his claim as ` disputed’ owing to lack of clarity on his ascent of Cho Oyu.  The world’s fourteen 8000m peaks are Everest (8850m), K2 (8611m), Kanchenjunga (8586m), Lhotse (8516m), Makalu (8485m), Cho Oyu (8201m), Dhaulagiri 1 (8167m), Manaslu (8163m), Nanga Parbat (8126m), Annapurna I (8091m), Gasherbrum  I (8080m), Broad Peak (8051m), Gasherbrum  II (8035m) and Sishapangma (8027m). Climbing all the fourteen 8000m peaks is prized in mountaineering. The first person to do so was Reinhold Messner, who hails from South Tyrol in Italy.  The second person to do so was the legendary Polish climber Jerzy Kukuczka. As of August 2015, on Wikipedia, there were 33 verified ascents of all the fourteen 8000m peaks and five disputed ones. No Indian mountaineer featured on the list. One reason for this is that five of these high peaks lay in Pakistan Occupied Kashmir, territory illegally occupied by Pakistan. From South Asia, home to the Himalaya, only Mingma Sherpa and Chhang Dawa Sherpa of Nepal, figured on the list. Unknown to Bodh, while Hinkes proceeded for the summit on Annapurna, Kaza’s would be school teacher, returning from Annapurna’s summit, was commencing a new journey.

On Kangchenjunga (Photo: by arrangement)

On Kangchenjunga (Photo: by arrangement)

After Annapurna, Bodh was due to leave HAWS for his unit, when he got a message directing him to report to Delhi. There was to be a joint Indo-Nepal expedition to Everest to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the first successful ascent of Everest. Of interest to Bodh was that the agenda included an attempt of Lhotse. The selection was held on the Gangotri group of peaks in Garhwal. The eventual team was a big one, Bodh said. It was drawn from the armies of both India and Nepal. The Lhotse climb was a smooth affair with not much of the up and down shunting that typically happened on expeditions. In all, 12 people including Bodh reached the summit in May 2003, he said. With it, Bodh became the first Indian to summit three 8000m peaks. He didn’t go to attempt Everest on this expedition because he had already climbed the peak once. Celebrations were muted for the joint team suffered the loss of one member from a crevasse-fall. In December 2003, Bodh was in Delhi in connection with the army tableaux for the Republic Day parade, when he was informed of an upcoming expedition to Kangchenjunga by the Dogra Regiment. In May-June 2004, he underwent selection procedures at Beas Kund near Manali. Asked why he consistently reported for selection despite rising stature as mountaineer, Bodh replied, “ when a man thinks he is too big for his shoes, he becomes a problem for his team.’’

The Kangchenjunga expedition was set for the post-monsoon phase, a cold period. The ascent of the 8586m-high peak happened in cold conditions. At 10AM on October 10, 2004, Bodh reached the summit of Kangchenjunga after a steady climb of twelve hours. For the Indian Army, it was its second ascent of the peak. On return, Bodh enjoyed a brief holiday and was then posted to Srinagar. Just when he got to the transit camp in Jammu, he got a call from Delhi; he had been deputed to go to Everest as part of the support team for the army women’s expedition. On that trip, which put four climbers on the summit, Bodh once again oversaw the management of the expedition’s gear. Back in Delhi from this expedition, he was told to join the team going to Nyegi Kangtsang (6983m) in Arunachal Pradesh. The expedition failed. The approach was very difficult; the weather was bad, there was heavy rain. As it turned out, the trip served as selection process for an upcoming expedition to Cho Oyu. Bodh became part of the 2006 army expedition to Cho Oyu. Not a very technical peak, all 12 team members reached the summit of Cho Oyu. Bodh’s tally of 8000m peaks climbed was now at five. He spent the next few months on UN peace keeping duty in Lebanon, attached to 15th Punjab, also known in the army as First Patiala.

Tackling Saser Kangri I (Photo: by arrangement)

Tackling Saser Kangri I (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh got back to India from Lebanon, in July 2007. He was home on holiday when he got instructions to report to Delhi in a few days time. He was deputed to a joint Indo-Australian army expedition attempting Mt Shivling (6543m), among the most beautiful peaks in the Himalaya. It is also quite technical. Up on the mountain, the team had just finished fixing ropes, when a big ice wall broke. Additionally weather turned bad; it was bad weather across much of the surrounding Himalaya. Despite the conditions, four climbers reached the summit in that expedition. Bodh wasn’t one of them. Returning to Delhi, he was dispatched to Siachen Glacier becoming part of the team that helped raise the Army Mountaineering Institute. The institute has played an important role in commencing civilian treks to the glacier. Meanwhile, the 8000m-story continued.

In 2008, the selection process for an expedition to Dhaulagiri was done on a trip to Saser Kangri I (7672m). While the Saser Kangri climb had to be aborted midway owing to avalanche (there was one from nearby Plateau Peak that rolled in close to camp) and bad weather, Bodh reluctantly got included in the Dhaulagiri team. He wasn’t keen on going as he had much work to do at his given posting. In April 2009, the team reached Dhaulagiri Base Camp. That day, a Polish climber died in a crevasse-fall between Camp 1 and 2. The lower part of the mountain is heavily crevassed. The team leader put Bodh in the second summit team. The first summit team returned from Camp 2 as it snowed hard. The second summit team went forth. Between Camp 2 and 3, it was mostly blue ice. The newly dumped snow, helped in the climb. Bodh set out for the summit from Camp 3 at 8PM. He climbed through heavy snow. At 11.30AM on May 8, 2009, he reached the summit of Dhaulagiri, sixth 8000m peak in the bag. By the time he got back to Camp 3, he had been out on the mountain for 23 hours at a stretch. A second summit attempt by the first team was called off due to persistent bad weather.

From Dhaulagiri (Photo: by arrangement)

From Dhaulagiri (Photo: by arrangement)

Bodh considers all the mountains he climbed as challenging in their own way. But he remembers especially the descent from Dhaulagiri in a raging storm. He feels he would have died that day and was saved by the grace of God. The storm began when the team was on the summit and kept hammering periodically all the way back to Camp 3. “ Due to the storm, there was much electricity in the atmosphere on top of the peak,’’ Bodh said.

In November 2009, Bodh was promoted to Subedar Major. In the period following the promotion, he helped train an army women’s team heading to Indira Col at the apex of the Siachen Glacier; did a stint with the National Cadet Corps (NCC), was posted back to HAWS, was part of an army delegation to Alaska and was part of a Dogra Regiment trek through Zanskar following the old campaign route of the famous Dogra general, Zorawar Singh. In January 2013, Bodh was made an Honorary Lieutenant and in August that same year, he was made Honorary Captain. On September 30, 2013, he retired from the army. Bodh’s awards include a Shaurya Chakra, the Tenzing Norgay National Award for Adventure in 2006 and the gold medal of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation (IMF) in 2012. Besides being thankful to his battalion for the support he received, Bodh remembered three individuals as important to his journey. They were his spiritual guru the 19th T.K. Lochen Tulku Rinpoche, head of the Kye monastery, Colonel S.C. Sharma (Retd) of the Dogra Regiment and Brigadier K. Kumar (Retd) of the Madras Regiment, both of them mountaineers.

Retirement is tough on the army man if he has nothing to do. It wasn’t long before Bodh reached that stage in Kaza. Luckily for him, the state government had begun vocational education courses at its schools and there was a module on security related studies at the local school. The ex-army man became a teacher. A devout Buddhist, Bodh now splits his time between work at school and prayers. Whenever we met in the evening, he had his prayer beads with him and arrived at my door wrapped in a cocoon of soft chanting. Mostly staying in Kaza, he visited family in Chobrang, once in a long while. Aside from knowledge that he worked in the army, he does not think his parents knew anything of his mountaineering or how far he reached in the field.

C.N. Bodh, July 2015, Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

C.N. Bodh, June 2015, Kaza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At six 8000m peaks climbed, Bodh is the Indian with the most number of 8000m peaks to his credit. He recalled two other army men, close on his heels. There was Neelchand of the Dogra Regiment, who joined the army and retired from it on the same day as Bodh. Neelchand climbed five 8000m peaks. Then there was Rajinder Singh of the Kumaon Regiment, who was still serving when I met Bodh. Theoretically, keeping aside the peaks in Pakistan Occupied Kashmir, three other 8000m peaks – Shishapangma, Makalu and Manaslu – could have been attempted by Bodh. That is three peaks, critical for an Indian to reach the nine peaks tally when chasing 8000m peaks. Bodh revealed a hint of lingering regret. As against the three peaks he did not climb, he was thrice on Everest expeditions and climbed the peak only once. Having climbed it once, he wasn’t interested in attempting Everest again. On one occasion (as mentioned earlier in this story) he went on an expedition trying both Everest and Lhotse and climbed Lhotse. If only one of those Everest expeditions had been to any of the said other three peaks. Maybe one more 8000m peak would have been in the bag?

The army is a massive organization; it is a world in itself. One thing about retiring from the army is that the soldier – particularly soldier-mountaineer – leaves supportive ecosystem behind. Bodh knew that his days of back to back expeditions ended when he left the army. Born in 1969 and already retired, he was yet middle aged when I met him in July 2015. For a climber, the forties are still within his / her mountaineering-years. Bodh’s retirement happened in tune with army regulations. Having got his promotions well in time and reached as far as he can in the ranks, there was only so much time he could serve. Retired and now civilian, will he go for a Shishapangma, Manaslu or Makalu if resources and sponsors are available?  “ Why not? It is worth thinking about,’’ he said, a smile on his face as the subject returned to mountains and mountaineering.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. This article is based on interviews with the subject. Where photo credit has been mentioned as `by arrangement,’ the photo concerned has been sourced from C.N. Bodh.)

LADAKH’S RUNNING TEAM

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

It was a cool July morning, past 5.30AM.

I was in Chubi, Leh; on the road leading from the police station to Lamdon School and beyond that to Khardung La. Leh had been experiencing intermittent showers. It lowered the warm temperatures of July, added an occasional passing chill. A middle aged man in track pants and T-shirt slowly jogged up the road. I watched his uphill progress recalling my attempted running near Khardung village in 2011. My sea level-physiology had heaved and puffed like a steam engine. The jogger floated by smoothly, legs working effortlessly, a calm demeanour on his face. My flared nostrils and gaping mouth from four years before flashed past in the mind. Well! – I told myself; its one life and you can’t be everything, can you?  Make your peace with what you got. Cool mornings are good for healing philosophies. Five girls jogged down from the Lamdon side. That was six joggers in fifteen minutes of standing by the road. A white SUV slowed down to pick me up. “ Good morning,’’ Chewang Motup said. Beside him in the front seat was one of Mumbai’s best known coaches for long distance running, Savio D’Souza.

Years ago, Motup, co-founder of Rimo Expeditions with his wife Yangdu Goba, did something memorable for Ladakh’s ice hockey. Located at over 10,000ft mean altitude and having a winter cold enough to freeze water to ice and keep it so for long, Ladakh has long been India’s ice hockey capital. Motup and Rimo Sporting Club (the outdoor company’s sports club), along with Ladakh’s Winter Sports Club, did much work procuring adequate ice hockey gear from empathetic sources overseas and reaching it to the region’s far flung villages. The sport, originally played to stay active during winter’s deep freeze, not only received impetus, it also acquired linkages into Ladakh’s interiors, home to hardy talent. Today, the majority of players in the Indian ice hockey team hail from Ladakh. The region has several teams, including teams from the military, not to mention annual competitions.  As a sport, ice hockey has found its footing in Ladakh; it no more needs hand holding. Motup gave away all the ice hockey gear Rimo Sporting owned to its players and the club was transformed into a trust to seed new initiatives. What next?

Stretch circle near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Stretch circle near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In his school days in the Kashmir valley, Motup used to be a good runner. Back in Ladakh, aside from the armed forces running (Leh is a major military base), there wasn’t any established event for civilians; certainly nothing similar to what was going on elsewhere in India. This was despite Ladakh’s earlier brush with fame; in November 1995 Rigzin Angmo had won the Bankgkok Marathon in her category. In 2010, Ladakh received its first ultra marathon, when La Ultra-The High commenced. It was and remains a niche event. In July 2012, Motup approached the local hill council – The Ladakh Autonomous Hill Council (LAHC) – with the idea of a marathon. The community in Leh is small and tightly knit. On August 15, the local youth council announced at the town’s Polo Ground that youngsters should participate in the upcoming run. In September 2012, Motup and Rimo started the Ladakh Marathon. The event had four disciplines – a seven kilometre-run, a half marathon, a full marathon and a 72km-ultra marathon that ran over the Khardung La pass and was called Khardung La Challenge. The field included runners from elsewhere in India and some from overseas. According to Motup, overall in 2012, there were 1500 runners for the Ladakh Marathon’s half and full distances. In 2013, that rose to 2200. By 2014, it was 3000 and the estimate for the upcoming edition in September 2015, is 3500-4000. “ We will be preparing for 4200 runners,’’ Motup said. Figures have been climbing for the Khardung La Challenge too. In 2012, it saw 11 runners, going up to 33 in 2013 and 47 in 2014. The estimate for 2015 is over 100. Further, starting 2015, the Ladakh Marathon is certified by the Association of International Marathons and Distance Races (AIMS) making it among select races in India to be so approved.

At the start of the 10km-training run, road to Spituk, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At the start of the 10km-training run, road to Spituk, near Leh. Savio in lime green T-shirt (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

A few things contributed to the event’s evolution. Motup has kept the distances across the four disciplines, clear and tidy. He has a seven kilometre-run. a conventional half marathon, a conventional full marathon and an ultra marathon that incorporates the coveted Khardung La (prized by all as a milestone in altitude) but stays contained at 72km overall. This avoids confusion in how the event is perceived by potential participants. Over time, as the event stabilised and participation rose, local support for it has been more forthcoming. As travellers and hikers will tell you, life in the hills can’t divorce itself from community as in the plains because it takes a bit of everybody to get things done. Organizing a running event at altitude (Leh is 11,000ft up from sea level) is no different. Many agencies in Leh – from LAHC to village committees, medical services and the military – pitch in.

Given its cold winter, Ladakh’s tourism is seasonal. Commencing in summer, the season is into tapering phase by August. The Ladakh Marathon, set in September (fine conditions for running: 6-8 degrees centigrade when the race starts; 20-22 degrees when it concludes), helps to extend that season a little longer. And it is a profitable extension because visiting runners won’t be able to perform at altitude without acclimatizing. This means – they have to be around for a while; arrive several days before the event and stay in Leh. Motup believes, in terms of traffic, the Ladakh Marathon has grown faster than the government sponsored Ladakh Festival, which has been around for the last 20 years.

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From the training session near Shanti Stupa, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From the perspective of tourist traffic, there is another aspect. Traditionally, foreigners have dominated the inbound tourist flow to Ladakh (it has begun changing in recent years as Indians take to an active lifestyle). In 2012, Motup said, when the Ladakh Marathon kicked off, there were altogether about 120 outsiders participating. For the September 2015 edition, he was expecting 600. Similarly the 2012 debut edition of the Khardung La Challenge had 2-3 outsiders. For 2015, at least 50 per cent is expected to be outsiders. Needless to say, reflecting the old tourism trend, the foreigner component in the outsider segment is significant at the Ladakh Marathon, when compared to running events elsewhere in India.

All organized marathons and ultra marathons have aid stations set up along the route. In the Ladakh Marathon’s case, Motup said, the onus of managing aid stations is slowly being taken up by villages through whose area the course runs. Two villages – Chushool and Sabu – currently do this. Motup narrated a story in this context. In one of the editions of the event, a gentleman from Madhya Pradesh turned up to run. He was an alumnus of Doon School. After observing the land and people around him, he told Motup that he would like to fund the education of a student from Ladakh at Doon School. As it turned out, the gentleman could not finish the running race he participated in but the race he triggered to find a deserving student, progressed well. Eventually, a youngster from Sabu village, who was then studying at Lamdon School, was selected. He is there at Doon School now. Gestures like this have earned running and the Ladakh Marathon an amount of goodwill at the villages its course passes through.

Motup (left) and the support vehicle (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Motup (left) and the support vehicle (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Podium finishes at the Ladakh Marathon have been swept by Ladakhis. Altitude is easier to tackle for the locals; outsiders in comparison are running in unfamiliar environment. On the other hand, there are some good runners and great timings at the marathons of lower elevation. Opportunities to run are also more in the plains. Runners there gather experience. Starting January 2014, Rimo brought the winners of the Ladakh Marathon to Mumbai to participate in the annual Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM), the country’s flagship event in running.  A senior member of the Himalayan Club, Motup has friends in Mumbai. Since running in Mumbai required getting used to the local conditions, the Ladakhi team would arrive a few weeks ahead of the SCMM and stay in rented accommodation. In the run up to the SCMM, they ran and trained; Mumbai based-coach Samson Sequeira was associated with them in this regard. Some of the Ladakhi runners, I spoke to, mentioned his name. The cost of the team’s annual Mumbai trip is borne by Rimo. July 2015, I was in the middle of Ladakh’s visit to SCMM, playing out in the reverse. It was a case of Mumbaikar in Leh to coach after Ladakhi runners visiting Mumbai.

Beyond Leh’s main market, I saw a pick-up truck with a few youngsters in it coordinating its passage with Motup’s white SUV. At the junction of the roads leading to Choglamsar and Skalzangling, there were more youngsters waiting. They got up seeing the approaching vehicles. A few of them got into the SUV; the rest took the pick-up truck. On the Choglamsar road, we turned off for the bridge across the Indus River and the road to Spituk beyond. Here, next to a small clearing, an army truck from the Ladakh Scouts Regimental Centre (LSRC) was parked; waiting alongside were a group of soldiers, all ready to run. As with ice hockey before, the LSRC appeared to have enmeshed itself into Ladakh’s emergent interest in running. Some people I met in Leh felt that the concept of trained army athletes competing with civilian amateurs was unfair. But it is also true that in the past, those finishing well at the Ladakh Marathon and the Khardung La Challenge have been either noticed or picked up by the Ladakh Scouts. Savio is a former national champion in the marathon. Wards in place, he was his typical Mumbai self, wasting no time to get a stretching circle started. The soldiers joined in. Stretching done, Savio quickly got the day’s 10km-practice run going. The army truck followed the coach and his trainees. Motup had brought Savio to Leh to meet the Ladakhi runners and train them for a while.

Crossing the stream en route (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Crossing the stream en route (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Knowing that if I ran, my story would be sprinting miles ahead of me, I watched the runners’ progress from the comfort of the SUV. Motup who was driving, had taken on the role of a mobile aid station. We had water and oral rehydrants in the boot. With my middle aged, slow jogging pace as reference point, this was a fairly fast 10km-run at 10,000ft. The road was flat and inviting.  Among the runners were youngsters who had popped up just that day after hearing of the daily coaching sessions. Everyone who reported was included; all of them ran. Savio’s first couple of days running in Leh had been tough. Then he had found his pace. It was evident that day as he ran along with his wards, the whole 10km. Rain and snowmelt had caused stream levels around Leh to rise. A part of the day’s course was adjacent to a major stream and its flooded banks. At one point a second stream, knee-deep (depending on how tall you are) and filled with the ice cold water of early morning, crossed the runner’s path. All the runners waded through it. Nobody complained. A few laughed. My city self couldn’t help reflecting on that. How many of us will wade happily, uncomplainingly through ice cold water? After the day’s run, the team was treated to a hearty breakfast. This was the daily format. The training was for free.

One of the Ladakh Scouts-soldiers attending Savio’s training sessions was 21 year-old Rigzen Norbu. In 2012, he had placed fourth in the half marathon conducted as part of the Ladakh Marathon. That year, in December, he joined the army. Less than a year later, in September 2013, he finished first in the Khardung La Challenge. In January 2014, he ran his first SCMM. In September 2014, he ended second in the Khardung La Challenge. At the SCMM of January 2015, Norbu running the full marathon, finished 15th among men and ninth in his category with a timing of 3:08.

Jigmet Norbu was a lone figure near Lamdon School, waiting in the sun to talk to me. At 20 years of age, he was a year younger than Rigzin Norbu but a promising runner in the team in his own right. Born in Tsokar village in Ladakh’s Changtang region, he used to go out with his family’s flock of sheep. His parents were shepherds in Changtang, a high altitude plateau. Later, as a sponsored student, Jigmet reached Leh to study at the Lamdon School. That’s where he got into running becoming a noted runner at school level. In the 2012 Ladakh Marathon, he placed second in the half marathon. Next year he shifted to the full marathon, earning second position. His first visit to SCMM was in 2013. He couldn’t participate; he was underage! At the 2014 SCMM he completed the full marathon in 3:13, pruning that to 3:10 at the 2015 edition.

Jigmet Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jigmet Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzin Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzen Norbu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Close on the heels of the men, on both the occasions I saw the team run, was 21 year old-Jigmet Dolma, the strongest woman runner around. Hailing from Igoo village, she used to run at block, school and state level. Around the time of tenth standard, she left running for about a year. In 2012, she ran the half marathon at the Ladakh Marathon without any prior practice and emerged first. At the 2013 SCMM, she was placed 17th in the half marathon. Her main problem in Mumbai was muscle-cramping. “ I had no idea of timing, I just ran,’’ she said. At the 2013 Ladakh Marathon, she finished first in the half marathon with a timing of 1:50. In 2014, she improved her performance at SCMM to fourteenth position. Same year she retained her first position at the Ladakh Marathon. In January 2015, she ran her first full marathon at the SCMM, ending second in the open category and sixth overall. “ I wish to become the best marathon runner in India,’’ she told me, 21 year-old Tsetan Dolkar by her side, a morning at a cafe in Leh. Tsetan hailed from Lamayuru. With no prior experience, she ran the 2012 Ladakh Marathon in the full marathon category and ended second with a timing of around 4:50. Travelling to the 2013 SCMM, she was placed 13th in the open category of the full marathon. That year, she finished first among women in the full marathon of the Ladakh Marathon. Next year at the SCMM, she was placed 26th. Same year, 2014, she participated in the 72km-long Khardung La Challenge; she was placed first among women and fifth overall.

The Ladakhi running team I met was very young in age. According to Savio, his Ladakhi trainees have good endurance and strength. “ There is tremendous potential,’’ he said. Where the trainees falter and where they had faltered at SCMM, was in maintaining a sustainable rhythm. They needed to learn how to settle into a comfortable rhythm and carry on at a steady speed. Savio’s plan was to coach them in the core principles and then leave them with training modules that they can independently pursue once he returns to Mumbai. By running regularly together (as they were during the coaching sessions), he felt they would gravitate towards appropriate sub-groups that may serve as ideal cocoons for continued training. Most of the students in the training group hailed from distant villages; they were in Leh thanks to residential schools. “ I realize that some of them may not be good runners. But the point is – they are getting an opportunity through running to know themselves better,’’ Motup said. Next morning we assembled at the base of the road leading to Leh’s Shanti Stupa. The day’s practice involved running uphill and fast, on that road several times. Motup had high hopes from the training process begun. In a few years’ time, he wished to see at least one Ladakhi right up there on the national marathon scene. And that – including the process in place to move towards that goal – was what stood between Rimo, which hosted the Ladakh Marathon completely by itself and getting a sponsor aboard.

Tsetan Dolkar (left) and Jigmet Dolma (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsetan Dolkar (left) and Jigmet Dolma (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Motup had divided the whole Ladakh Marathon effort into two halves. One was the event composed of the marathon, half marathon and the Khardung La Challenge. The other was the training scheme he had got underway including the running team’s annual trip to the SCMM in Mumbai. The training scheme is set to get bigger. After this year’s Ladakh Marathon in September, the team is planning to spend the winter away from Ladakh, running at various events in India including the 2016 SCMM. Running in different Indian cities will help them gain experience. Ice hockey was a way of staying engaged and warm in Ladakh during the deep freeze of winter. In running, the plan is to go out to warmer areas and run for you cannot do much running in Ladakh’s winter. Motup was clear – anyone wanting to sponsor the event-half of the Ladakh Marathon must spend to make the training-half happen for the period of sponsorship. Training brought running skills to Ladakhis; the event merely showcased running. That was the difference. Sponsors may want the showcase-half. But Motup will yield only if the training-half is promised sustenance. The search is on for a suitable sponsor. In Motup’s imagination, the training phase is critical. There have been requests from competent overseas athletes to run at the Ladakh Marathon, something that will go up with the event receiving AIMS certification. Motup said he would like to consider these requests only after some time. In that while he wants to improve the performance of Ladakh’s runners so that when the world arrives in Leh to run, Ladakh will be able to hold its ground.

Photo & imaging: Shyam G Menon

Photo & imaging: Shyam G Menon

Update: The top three runners from the men’s section of the Khardung La Challenge in 2015 were: Tsewang Tokden (06:33:41), Rigzen Norbu (06:41:25) and Tsering Stobgais (07:08:43). The winners from the women’s section of the Khardung La Challenge were Skalzang Dolma (10:58:56), Khushboo Vaish (13:39:12) and Tsetan Lamo (13:41:18). Top laurels in the men’s full marathon went to Fayaz Ali (03:02:01), Padma Namgail (03:07:30) and Tsering Tondup (03:12:49). In the women’s full marathon, the top three finishers were Tsetan Dolkar (03:40:37), Jigmet Dolma (03:42:47) and Katharina Leuthner (03:47:13). In the half marathon, the men’s section was topped by Tanzin Norbu (01:22:47), Nawang Tsering (01:23:26) and Tashi Paldan (01:24:50). The winners in the women’s section of the half marathon were Diskit Dolma (01:48:05), Tsering Dolkar (01:50:53) and Stanzin Chodol (01:51:30).

Here are some photos from the 2015 Khardung La Challenge:

Tsewang Tokden / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsewang Tokden / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzen Norbu / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Rigzen Norbu / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsering Stobgais / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tsering Stobgais / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Runner approaching Leh / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Runner approaching Leh / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Lone runner on mountain face / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Lone runner on mountain face / Khardung La Challenge 2015 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. The timings and rankings mentioned in the article are as provided by the interviewees. The 2015 results are from the event’s official website.)     

NOTES FROM A JOURNEY / SHIMLA-SPITI-MANALI-LEH

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

“ For the bus to Spiti, you have to go to the new bus stand. You will get everything there, food and room to stay,’’ the helpful taxi driver said.

He delivered me to an impressive building with bus bay on first floor and a hotel, couple of floors up. I had just reached Shimla from Delhi; that bus dropping me on a road some five kilometres away and above the new bus depot. The bus to Spiti was at 6PM. Ticket booked, I took the elevator to the hotel and alighted onto a swanky lobby that contrasted the general affordability level of the transport bus-using population below, including me. The receptionist assessed me as I sought a room. The assessment was justified. It was peak tourist season. A room cost Rs 4000. I was shocked. Between airports, railway stations and bus stations, bus stations have traditionally been the most plebeian. Maybe this was a hotel meant for those hiring entire buses to travel and not a mere half or third of a seat? Or maybe the hotel catered to families – the standard unit of Indian existence – and I was too single for the economics to make sense. Or maybe I just missed the bus to riches, which everyone took in the last two decades. That’s quite possible. To live is to find one’s own time warp. I am in mine.

At the only other hotel in the neighbourhood, the sole available room was pegged at Rs 2000. I didn’t want my brief rest to cost that much. I made my way back uphill to the city’s crowd and congestion, where I had spotted a dharmshala. The dharmshala was fully occupied. It was now raining. “ Looking for a room?’’ a tout asked, extending his umbrella over my head. I followed him to a promised reasonably-priced room, down a steep, narrow path to a narrow, tall building. My request for the cheapest room yielded a space best described as the tapering end of a triangle with three walls built tightly around a cot. I wondered how they would take the cot out. Break down the walls? I settled for the second cheapest room, rested and then walked around a bit. The bus to Spiti was crowded. As we exited Shimla, I saw the city from various tiers. Hill towns have become thick with matchbox-buildings. Shimla amazed for the number of vehicles it packed in. All that steel – moving, parked and caught in traffic snarls – made it resemble a junkyard. Probably why I liked my time on the city’s Mall Road, closed to traffic. In 1972, Shimla had been the first hill station up north, I visited. I thought I saw the hotel we had stayed in then; from its balcony, on a cold, snowy morning with my parents savouring the heat from a tray of hot coals, I had seen Shimla’s railway station in the distance. I found an old hotel with an old shop selling coal nearby and if I erased some new buildings, a line of sight to the railway station. That’s why the junkyard look saddened me. It was like fungus to an old photo.

I reached Manali from Spiti via Kunzum La. At this pass, the mountains seem parked in your front yard. The small town of Reckong Peo, passed earlier on the approach to Kaza (in Spiti) from Shimla (you change buses at Reckong Peo), had hosted similar views. In the immediacy and dimension of their mountain scenery, both Kunzum La and Reckong Peo reminded me of another town from far away – Kumaon’s Munsyari. The deeply engaging parts of the Shimla-Kaza route are the portions before and after Reckong Peo. It is particularly so when done in the regular state transport bus; no frills, a seat in a metal box on wheels, jets of cold air shot in through gaps in the glass window, sleepy people sitting and standing, every pothole an orchestra of rattling vehicle parts, much ache in the butt. Ahead of Reckong Peo and just past the Kharcham Wangtoo hydro-electric project, the road, perched on steep hill sides, is stingy on space to manoeuvre and with segments eroded by the most recent spate of natural phenomena. Several u-turns couldn’t be negotiated at one go entailing manoeuvres on tricky slopes; all this at midnight and early morning (it was a night bus) with the passengers, mostly locals, utterly calm through it all.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

I thought of our passage as a pair of headlights, high up on a mountain face enveloped in inky blackness. As if that wasn’t enough, periodically through the night, passengers got off at their stops and walked with a torch – sometimes none – to their houses, identifiable in the distance by a single electric light somebody had left on as GPS for the late night navigation on foot. Next morning the section past Reckong Peo, debuted as a muddy, bumpy road above the river Sutlej in its early stage past the Indo-Tibet border, easily one of the most furious flows I have seen. The river barrelled on churning up mud and crashing against rocks. Crumbs of earth from the road-edge occasionally rolled off into the turbulent waters below. By the time I reached Kaza, I had developed considerable respect for the driver and conductor of the state transport buses I took. It is one thing being responsible for just oneself on a bicycle or a motorcycle or a car, on these roads. It is another, ferrying people safely. I also remember Tabo. When the driver turned off the bus engine at this settlement, the afternoon silence was inviting. You felt away from everything.

Manali was bursting with tourists. I sipped coffee in the security of a first floor-restaurant, seated by the window, watching the crowds in the street below. If you seek the mountains to be away from people, this was its very antithesis. I wanted to run away. “ Two more days and the schools will reopen. Then you will see less people,’’ a hotel manager assured. I bought the last available seat on a bus and fled to Delhi the very next day. I had to be back in Manali, in a week’s time. On the return trip to Manali from Delhi, my unassertive self was quiet. Not so a foreigner lady who faced the same predicament as I did. Both of us had booked seats originally shown as on the penultimate row of the bus. The seats we got matched the numbers on our reservation slips, except we were in the last row. In the transition from diagram in cyber space to reality, the bus had shrunk! We got thrown around and as the journey progressed, the heat from the rear-engine cast us and everyone else on that row into a sauna of sorts. “ Incredible India,’’ one of them quipped. We reached a Manali that was less crowded. With schools reopened and tourists thereby less, the taxi cost from Manali to Leh had also corrected. That was a pleasant surprise.

Ongoing construction schemes took the sheen off walking in Leh’s main market. A hoarding announced it as a beautification scheme in progress. “ The work has been going on for a while and the state of the market road affects business. Fewer people drop by,’’ a shopkeeper in the main market said. Away from the town centre, despite rising tourism, Leh has managed to keep an architectural idiom in place – at least its hotels and guesthouses have subscribed to a minimum code. As yet, you see little of the garish steel and glass structures resembling giant sunglasses stuck in the ground, which is how buildings are in India’s cities and increasingly so, in its hill towns. Mark the expression – as yet. Who knows what the future will bring to the hills? Now four or five visits old, I must confess I have an emergent problem with Leh – noise. It and vehicle emissions are registered strongly in the town’s narrow roads set in the clean air of 10,000ft. Loud, thumping four strokes are music to two wheeler riders. It is noise to others; literally bullets shredding peace and conversation.

On July 21, the final phase of our journey commenced. The flight out from Leh to Delhi got cancelled. It was attributed to bad weather, except – our airline was the only one cancelling; others operated. Maybe bad weather loves this airline? Worse was the experience of cancellation. It was several announcements of continued delay leading to eventual cancellation, a junior officer assigned to face the passengers’ ire and her superior, the local airline manager, conveniently disappeared. The dumped passengers received tea and biscuits at the airport’s canteen. There was no assurance of an extra flight the next day to accommodate us. For several hours the cancellation did not register on the airline’s computer system. “ What cancellation? The flight left on schedule,’’ the airline’s call centre replied.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Getting seats on other airlines is better said than done amid Leh’s tourist season. Many years ago, in the days preceding Internet-based reservation at Indian Railways, as a journalist working in Delhi, I used to think that Kerala was the worst-treated in terms of access. Trains to Kerala were few, heavily booked and airline tickets to India’s southern tip were expensive. Leh is perhaps a quarter of the distance from Delhi as Kerala is. But in tourist season, airline tickets from Leh to Delhi can cost as much as Rs 20,000, sometimes more.  It is cheaper to fly overseas! The market lauds it as ` dynamic pricing’ (so fashionable is it that even the Indian Railways wants to try it). I asked my guest house owner in Leh whether he got any relief being a local. “ If we plan ahead, we manage to get tickets at lower price. Else we are in the same boat as you,’’ he said. On previous visits, I learnt, this was partly the handiwork of package-tourism blocking seats in bulk. At one point, the trade’s motive was so clear that a now defunct airline used to fly in just for Leh’s tourist season and stay off the cold desert for the rest of the year.

That night the airline computer system at last acknowledged flight cancellation and promised an extra flight. Next day, Leh was due for a taxi strike from 6AM. The air travellers of the day rented wheels to the airport early in the morning, landing up in front of a still shut airport at 4AM. At least one tourist tucked into a sleeping bag at the gate. We imagined a rock concert and the faithful camped for guaranteed entry. After the inevitable Indian mess that followed, we waited patiently post-security check, boarded the aircraft and clapped when the plane commenced taxiing.

An hour later, we were in Delhi, the self absorbed capital imagining Incredible India.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai)

TOO ULTRA FOR SPONSORS?

From a previous edition of La Ultra (Photo: by arrangement)

From a previous edition of La Ultra (Photo: by arrangement)

How extreme can extreme be when it comes to ` extreme’ marketing itself?

Ladakh is home to one of the world’s toughest ultra marathons, ` La Ultra-The High.’ Its architecture straddles a few extremes – average elevation of over 13,000ft going up to 17,700ft (Khardung La); day temperatures of up to 40 degree centigrade (thanks to the unfettered sun of altitude), night temperatures as low as minus 10 degrees (at high elevation), oxygen content that is 60 per cent of what you would find at sea level and a long distance to run enduring all this. When it started, La Ultra was pegged at 222km. Last year (2014) it grew to 333km. At present, there are three distances on offer for those enrolling to test themselves – 111km with Khardung La included, 222km with two passes over 17,400ft to cross and 333km with three passes over 17,400ft to get across (for an article on the 2011 edition of the race please try this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2013/10/19/an-ultra-marathon-from-the-sidelines/).

La Ultra’s prime mover is Delhi based-Sports Medicine physician and ultra runner Dr Rajat Chauhan who runs Back 2 Fitness. “ I am clear Back 2 Fitness is my work. Ultra running on the other hand is my passion, what I like to do,’’ he said mid-July at his Delhi office. Over time, the race he pioneered has come to rest in an entity, distinct and apart from his main income earning business. There is also a manager now to oversee race arrangements. The structure for sponsors to come aboard is thus available. Except – to date, no big sponsor has fully stepped in. The annual organization of the event continues to be done by Dr Chauhan and his team and the expenses are borne by them.

Dr Rajat Chauhan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Dr Rajat Chauhan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

According to Dr Chauhan, in 2014, a leading SUV manufacturer very nearly joined as sponsor. There was convergence of what the SUV brand stood for and what La Ultra showcased through the demanding ultra marathon. But that was it. The deal didn’t materialize. Going by what Dr Chauhan and observers said, there are a few things worth noting from a sponsorship angle.

La Ultra-The High is a niche product both in terms of the type of athlete it attracts and the enrolment it sees. From the start, Dr Chauhan was quite sure about what sort of race he was creating. He wasn’t looking for a crowd-puller. He wanted to push human limits marrying the physical strain of functioning at altitude to long distance running. One of the key aspects here is acclimatization. This phase is included in the La Ultra participation-tenure, which is a composite of eleven days to acclimatize plus three days of the actual event. Nobody is allowed to run without undergoing the acclimatization phase. Needless to say, this duration of event spells a long stay in Ladakh plus the costs pertaining to race arrangements. This has made the cost of participating in La Ultra, quite high; it is well over a lakh of rupees (ie more than Rs 100,000) per head. You have to be accomplished and motivated to enrol. The number of participants in this race has consequently remained small. It has always been less than 20.

From a previous edition of La Ultra (Photo: by arrangement)

From a previous edition of La Ultra (Photo: by arrangement)

By design too, Dr Chauhan said, he does not want more than 20 people running in a race that genuinely pushes people to their limits in an environment known to challenge physical activity. “ The runner’s health comes first to me,’’ Dr Chauhan said. Both the medical team and the Race Director monitor the progress of each participant and when needed, Dr Chauhan said, he has not hesitated to prevent a runner from continuing. In fact, he saw the stage cut off times (111km-24 hours, 222km-48 hours, 333km-72 hours) less as parameters celebrating performance and more as safeguards to prevent mishaps. For such monitoring to be effective, right down to the documentation needed to support a decision, too many runners are not ideal along the race’s 333km-long course. For a sponsor, that’s perhaps the first challenge La Ultra poses – how do you draw mileage from an acclimatisation plus three day-event that does not take more than 20 runners? From that ensues other questions – what type of audience would wish to see it; how big is that audience, how can the race be relevant to a larger audience, how can a brand benefit from sponsoring it?

In the first edition of La Ultra (when the course length was 222km), there was only one finisher. That has improved since. Dr Chauhan said it was this improvement in performance that made him both trim the finishing time for each stage in the race and also increase the total course length to 333km. Initially a race featuring only foreign runners, there is now a trickle of Indian participation for the shorter ultras. But as challenge levels rise in terms of tighter stage timings and 333km-overall distance, observers say, La Ultra has invited upon itself a second handicap – it probably looks too daunting for people to participate.

From a previous edition of La Ultra (Photo: by arrangement)

From a previous edition of La Ultra (Photo: by arrangement)

Dr Chauhan does not wholly agree with this, especially the distance part.

“ There have been people who came back to participate,’’ he said. Further, he thinks that the race is daunting for the less experienced as the ultra opens with the first 63km of running leading up to the Khardung La pass, which as things stand now is only a fifth or so of the total distance to be covered. So far, no Indian runner has got past the 48km-first stage of the race, except in the race’s third or fourth edition when one Indian runner carried on despite disqualification for missing the seven hour-cut off at the 48km-mark. “ For elite ultra runners, 333km is not a big deal. Mix it with altitude, that makes it punishing,’’ he said. Fact remains however – La Ultra is not something the average marathoner or ultra marathoner would look to. It denied the race popular appeal, making it challenging to market. Is there in marketing a sweet spot, an apt distance between ability and fascination, that makes an event marketable and worthy of sponsorship? Something like far and yet within reach, within the realm of attempting by the viewer?

There are races with gentler attributes – either a lower elevation or lesser distance – that fetch more participants, including in Leh. La Ultra, in comparison, sits aloof at the extreme. It is different enough to be radical but it is too radical for the difference to be marketable. That’s a tricky predicament for a race to be caught in, when it seeks sponsorship. Can there be a compromise-sweet spot, should a potential sponsor insist? Dr Chauhan said he likes such engaging problems. Left to him, it appeared, he would like the race’s shape to continue. What makes the puzzle even more engaging is that according to Dr Chauhan the expense a prospective sponsor may incur to sponsor the event and thereby bring down the cost of participation for runners, is not much, particularly if it happens to be a big company. Such sponsorship and not a sponsor negotiating changes to race parameters, is what he would like. But then, where is that elusive sponsor? As he gears up for the race’s sixth edition – yet another year with no big sponsor – Dr Chauhan said, “ each year it has been a struggle. But I get a kick out of it.’’

The next edition of La Ultra-The High is due in Ladakh this August.

Fifteen people had enrolled as of mid-July 2015; seven to attempt 111km, four for 222km, the rest for 333km.

From a previous edition of La Ultra; the crew (Photo: by arrangement)

From a previous edition of La Ultra; the crew (Photo: by arrangement)

Dr Chauhan had the last word. In the final stages of editing this article, he wrote in, “ the other day my nine year old son suggested that from next year we run a bit longer, ie 555km. I pitched the idea of 555km (with five passes) to runners who have participated in La Ultra-The High. After a bit of deliberation – less than an hour – we agreed on 666km (with six passes) next year, possibly over seven, seven and a half or eight days. I already have eight participants for it. I will possibly get 15. And for once, I will run my own race. Most people who do such things don’t try to make too much sense of the return on investment. They just do it. From the beginning, I had thought of La Ultra-The High as the Tour de France of running. It is only a matter of time before the rest realize that.’’

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. Where photo credit has been denoted as `by arrangement,’ it means the picture concerned was obtained from the organizing team of La Ultra.)

THE CONNOISSEUR OF DISTANCES

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

It was weekend in Delhi.

The cafes of Khan Market were still prepping for the day.

The one we were in was quiet.

We were the day’s first customers or nearly so.

The man before me was athletic.

He had an easy smile that hid an underlying intensity, which surfaced when he spoke about his life lost to fate and circumstance till step by step it gained wings.

I pulled out my notebook; then took a sip from the cup of cappuccino.

The story commenced at Baoli in Baghpat, roughly 50km away from Delhi.

Arun was born the second of eight children – four brothers, four sisters. His father Jaswant Singh was a teacher at the government owned Central School. From class two onward, every year Arun succumbed to malaria. The annual bout of malaria would cease only when he reached his penultimate year of graduation in college. He grew up a weak child.

He was a small person, typically seated up front in class and not robust to play any games. “ My son who is now in the eighth standard weighs 40 kilos. In class nine, I weighed 26 kilos,’’ Arun said. In class nine, another defining spate of illness started. Arun got an infection of the parotid gland, a major salivary gland located between the mouth and the ear. Its cure was a daily injection repeated 90 days.

The course got over. But the infection continued. One side of the boy’s face was swollen, disfiguring his appearance. Around the time of class nine exams, he was taken to the larger hospital in Meerut. There, the doctors identified it as parotid tumour.

After the exams, he was hospitalized for surgery. The tumour was removed. Within four months the tumour returned. In the winter of class ten, a second operation was scheduled and the tumour removed for a second time. Ahead of class ten exams, the tumour returned again. After the exams, Arun had his third surgery to remove the tumour.

The family had thought of sending him for a diploma course in some trade. Arun cleared his tenth exams with decent scores and secured admission for studying commerce. His father, having moved to Delhi wished for the family to join him. But Arun’s tumour flared up for a fourth time. The boy was back to seeing doctors.

Arun Bhardwaj (Photo: by arrangement)

Arun Bhardwaj (Photo: courtesy Emma Rodling & Johan Wessel)

The prime cause of tension in the recurrent tumour was – all the surgeries so far and the ones to be done were close to facial nerves. A spate of extended hospitalization began. In Delhi, most of Arun’s eleventh standard days were spent hospitalized. “ I used to write to the hospital authorities seeking leave to attend important days in school,’’ he said outlining his predicament. Studies suffered. After his class eleven exams, the fourth operation to eliminate the tumour took place. This time, the incision was bigger, needing 14 stitches to close. “ The doctors said they burnt the whole area – that was the wording they used,’’ Arun said. In any case, the tumour hasn’t returned since.

By class twelve, the young man had a body weight of 37 kilos. He joined college to graduate in commerce; a three year-program in the second year of which, the last of those annual malaria bouts happened. With that, Arun’s history of being consistently sick died out.

It was in the second year of his degree course that Arun started exercising, the first dose of physical exercise for a body locked up since childhood in illness. Arun remembers those first few days of physical workout. He was so weak that he could do no more than two push-ups at a time. So he kept the sets small and slowly, determinedly cranked up the repetitions. In less than a year, he was doing impressive numbers.

Arun’s father taught geography at school. Income was limited. Tuitions can augment teacher’s salary. But who seeks tuitions for geography? It wasn’t a subject anyone sought tuitions in. To contain expense on food and to ensure supply of good quality milk, the family kept cows and buffalos. After they bought a plot of land in Ghaziabad, Arun’s family moved that side, staying there from 1989-2003. In 2003, they moved to Dwarka.

While in college, Arun got a taste of wrestling. During his Ghaziabad years, he was also associated with a training centre for wrestlers – an akhara. “ Wrestling wasn’t for me,’’ he said. However he appreciated the training. Meanwhile a dose of football resulted in a wrist injury that capped his ability to bench press. Nevertheless these were the turnaround years. “ Since 1988, I haven’t been sick in a significant way,’’ Arun said.

In June 1992, Arun joined the Planning Commission as a clerk. There, he got acquainted with two possibilities in sport – athletics, which featured in the inter-ministry sports meet, and chess. He started running to prepare for the athletics meet, also seeing in it a potential alternative avenue for career progression. The maximum distance raced at the meet was 10,000m (10km). Arun started training with 5km runs, slowly raising it to 10km. In chess too, he prepared well, borrowing and reading books on chess from the Russian Cultural Centre. Soon, he was playing chess locally at competitive level.

At the inter-ministry athletics meet, he finished third in the 10km run. He set his eyes on the upcoming Delhi marathon. But in the run up to the event, he got injured. This was how things were in 1997 when Arun got married.

His wife Sangeeta was a school teacher posted at Rewari. Although he wasn’t running much around this time, Arun used to read about running. The couple named their first born – a daughter – Zola, after Zola Budd the famous South African middle and long distance runner. After naming his daughter, Arun wrote to the South African legend; she replied.

Arun at the George Archer Six Day Race in South Africa (Photo: by arrangement)

Arun at the George Archer Six Day Race in South Africa (Photo: courtesy Emma Rodling & Johan Wessel)

It was now noon.

The cafe had come to life.

Three men, big of purse and body discussed business at a nearby table.

Elsewhere in the cafe, youngsters talked loudly marking their presence in freedom as only those new to freedom do.

Few things express freedom as well as running does.

Little Zola (she has since been joined by siblings Sofia and Yiannis) was six months old, when the running bug bit her father again. Arun heard of talk in his village about a running race within the annual pilgrimage called Kavad Yatra or Kanwar Yatra, carrying water from the river Ganga to the Pura Mahadev temple in Baghpat. The Yatra, once restricted to a season is nowadays year round and typically features pilgrims carrying water from Gaumukh, Gangotri and Hardwar all the way back to Shiva temples in their home towns and villages. Number of devotees added up, this is one of the biggest pilgrimages in the subcontinent.

The idea of running the distance from Hardwar to Baghpat – slightly less than 180km – attracted Arun. Knowing preparation would be required he set his eyes on the June 2000 Kavad, a year away. He trained, running every weekend a half marathon from Baghpat to Ram Park in Ghaziabad. When at Rewari, he ran at the local stadium. In Delhi, during lunch time in office, he ran on Rajpath, that broad straight line of a road known nationwide as venue for the annual Republic Day parade.

June 28, 2000.

At 8AM, Arun started running from Hardwar. In his hand he held a small bottle of water from the Ganga. On his T-shirt was written ` Zola.’ He had bought a pair of used running shoes costing Rs 150, for the race. As backup, he had a pair of Goldstar shoes, made in Nepal and trusted in the hills. At hand was a new Walkman, just in case he required music to egg him on. Twenty three hours and 25 minutes after he commenced running from Hardwar, Arun stood on the first step of the Pura Mahadev temple in Baghpat. He was the fastest runner in the race. Not only that, from 33km as his previous longest run (done while training), Arun Bhardwaj had just completed his first ultra marathon.

Today Arun Bhardwaj is India’s best known ultra marathon runner.

His accomplishments since that run in the Kavad Yatra are many.

Arun Bhardwaj running at the George Archer Six Day Race in South Africa (Photo: by arrangement)

From the George Archer Six Day Race in South Africa (Photo: courtesy Emma Rodling & Johan Wessel)

In 2000, Arun had just got friendly with the new technology called Internet. After the Hardwar-Baghpat run, he searched the worldwide web to get an understanding of what 180km (approximately) in less than 24 hours meant. He found that in a 24 hour-running championship in Italy, the third placed runner had done 163km. It was the first indication of where Arun stood and what he could do.

The next year, 2001, Arun ran from Delhi to Jaipur, covering the roughly 270km-distance in a little over 33 hours. In 2002, he went to Taiwan on his first race overseas, a 24 hour-endurance run. It was the first time India was being represented at such a race. Arun ran 138.17km. Arun has since notched up several long distance runs. But a few stand out; they found mention in the story he narrated.

He ran a bunch of six day-races in Australia, Taiwan, USA, South Africa and Denmark. All of them endurance runs, he covered over the six day-period, 492km in Australia, 516km in New York and 520km in Copenhagen. He became the first Asian to complete three six day-races within the time span of a year. In 2004 he ran 501km at a six day-race in Mexico. Later in the same year he did 532.8km at another six day-race in Germany. Then he ran the first marathon of his life in Russia in blistering cold, following it up with 153km covered in the 24 hour-open championship in Russia in 2005. Same year, he did 558km at a six day-race in Australia. In 2006 he ran 521km in a seven day-race on a hilly course in Greece.

In 2010, he ran a six day-endurance race – the George Archer Six Day Race – at Hekpoort in South Africa. How it panned out tells something of Arun’s running. The course was a one kilometre loop. You ran on it for six days, resting whenever you wished but committed to an average of 67km covered per day. Else you will be disqualified. Running without support staff, a vegetarian in predominantly non vegetarian country, Arun’s cachet of food was a bag of fruits (apples, oranges and bananas) and a bottle of honey. He had also stashed in a bottle of water. As the run progressed amid rain, the Race Director, noticing Arun’s predicament in food asked what he could do. Arun sought boiled vegetables. He got that. Then, someone gave him a bottle of energy drink. All this, Arun said, would have hardly met his food requirements for six normal days. But he tapped into something within and kept running on this limited food. At the end of day one, Arun was placed second. He stayed in that position till day five, when he snatched leadership position. On day six, he maintained his lead, ran 106km that day and won the race, the first time – and so far the only time – an Indian won a multi-day race overseas.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

In the context of Indians running ultra marathons abroad, Arun is known for completing the 2011 Badwater Ultra Marathon in the US in 41.06 hours, finishing 56th in a field of 98 runners. Badwater describes itself as the world’s toughest foot race. According to Wikipedia, its 217km-long course starts 282ft below sea level in the Badwater Basin in California’s Death Valley. It ends at an elevation of 8360ft at Whitney Portal, the trailhead to Mt Whitney. The ultra marathon takes place in mid-July when weather conditions are extreme with temperatures sometimes touching 49 degrees centigrade in the shade. Death Valley is the lowest, driest and hottest area in North America. It also lays claim to the highest air temperature in the world of 56.7 degrees centigrade, reported in July, 1913 (some meteorologists dispute the accuracy of this reading).

Within India, besides the Delhi-Jaipur run, Arun did Delhi-Chandigarh-Delhi (550km in 122.45 hours) and Delhi-Shimla (370km in 74.37 hours). His most ambitious project – completed in 2012 – was running from Kargil at the very north of India to Kanyakumari at the southern tip, via Leh. The distance of 4150km (as measured by the odometer in the support vehicle) was covered in 61 days of steady running, from October 1 to November 30. There was no day in between without running. In other words, a day of comparatively less running qualified to be rest day for this ultra runner running half marathons, marathons and more back to back. Thrice on the Delhi-Kanyakumari stretch, Arun ran over 100km per day.

His last major run before our meet-up in Delhi was a run from Delhi to Chandigarh in April 2015. He covered the distance of 254km in 49.55 hours. The maximum distance he has run so far in 24 hours is 186.4km, recorded at a 2010 event – albeit not official – in Kolkata. The same under ratified circumstances is 177.70km in 2009 in Athens. This is believed to be a South Asian record.

In most of the races (not projects like Kargil-Kanyakumari) he participated in, Arun was alone, without any support crew. His choice of races and runs also reflect passage through a variety of conditions. Between Badwater in the US, running in Russia and the Kargil-Kanyakumari run in India, he would have for example, tasted what it is like to run in hot, cold, high altitude and humid conditions.

An article in The Hindu written when Arun passed through Delhi en route to Kanyakumari, has him mentioning a run from Arunachal Pradesh to Gujarat and another along the Golden Quadrilateral among projects he would love to do. I asked Arun what his future plans are.

“ Before the age of 50, I would like to cross 500 miles in six days,’’ he said. That is 800km. Other goals on the wish list were – cross 300 miles (480km) in 72 hours; do 200 miles (320km) in two days.

From teh George Archer Six Day Race in South Africa (Photo: by arrangement)

From the George Archer Six Day Race in South Africa (Photo: courtesy Emma Rodling & Johan Wessel)

It had been quite a while since we left the cafe.

We walked maybe two kilometres for lunch.

Lunch had, we strolled back towards Khan Market, our pace decided by Arun’s passionate talk about running.

Although an accomplished distance runner, Arun was yet to find a major sponsor who stuck around for long. He also mentioned another challenge. When his first trip overseas came up, he had the organizers of the event in Taiwan write to the Planning Commission about the invite so that he could be officially allowed to participate. Unlike other sports including the marathon, the ultra marathon was hardly known in India. Eventually Arun’s participation was approved by the sports ministry and other agencies involved in the approval mechanism. But it was clear – nobody could grasp why the ultra marathon existed, why it was run.

In many ultra marathons, the failure rate is much higher than in the marathon because the course and course conditions are tough. Just finishing an ultra marathon is demanding. Finishing is respected. However the bulk of imagination in sports in India borrows from known themes like the world’s major sporting spectacles and the formats they indulge. Even globally, sport and disciplines in sport are seen to touch a pinnacle when they feature in staged events like the Olympics. This pattern traps our imagination; we lose our innate ability to empathize with the new and the spontaneous for want of vindication by set pattern. Thus when it comes to running, people – including officialdom – understand disciplines ranging from sprint events to the marathon. The ultra marathon puzzles. It finds no empathy. Why should there be madness beyond the marathon? Runners know why.

On one occasion – the six day-endurance run in New York – the bureaucratic delay over clearances in India bit so hard that Arun was forced to fly to New York via Moscow (the cheapest ticket he could find at that point) and reach with hours to spare for race commencement. There was no time to rest and get over the jet lag. He proceeded to run 516km over the next six days.

Arun Bhardwaj (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Arun Bhardwaj (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In several countries, ultra runners have associations representing them and the sport.

India has none.

Given the politics sports bodies devolve to in India Arun himself has little appetite for the concept of an association. But how else will you familiarize people with the whys of ultra running? How else can officialdom be made to understand the needs of the ultra runner? “ Ultra running is a spiritual journey. You see a body running by. Actually it is spiritual,’’ Arun said. That is the ultra runner speaking and expectedly, it does not reveal to the lay person the physical strain that precedes the experience of the spiritual. Question is – will others here understand things well enough to support and encourage ultra running?

We were now at the entrance to the Khan Market metro station.

Arun walked in to catch a train home.

On the adjacent Subramania Bharti Marg, a sports car zoomed, exhausts screaming.

Everyone loves speed.

How many like the ultra? – I thought.

UPDATE: Early August 2015, Arun Bhardwaj was the winner in the 24-hour Stadium Run held at Sree Kanteerava Stadium, Bengaluru (Bangalore).

Running on the 400 meter track, Arun covered 177.2 kilometers in the assigned time, media reports said.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. Please note: the timings and records quoted in the article are as provided by the interviewee.)

EVEREST – WHEN THE EARTHQUAKE STRUCK

Overall view of the location of Everest Base Camp. The tent clusters can be seen as small coloured specks (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

Overall view of the location of Everest Base Camp (EBC). The tent clusters can be seen as small coloured specks (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

For Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu it was his eighth visit to Everest and if all went well, a potentially successful climb to the summit for the sixth time. With five ascents already in the bag, he was the Indian to have climbed Everest the most number of times. In love with the peak, he had become associated with regular returns to Everest to try climbing it yet another time.

His 2015 expedition had been difficult to put together. Everest is an expensive affair and sponsors had been hard to find. “ This time it wasn’t as determined an effort. I decided to go if I secured some support,’’ Love Raj said. In the end, some financial assistance did materialize. But it wasn’t enough and so Love Raj, tweaked the details of his passage up the mountain such that he did all the climbing and cooking by himself to save cost (for a report on the run up to this trip, please see https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/04/04/going-for-a-sixth/). He left for Kathmandu on April 4 to join the Eco Everest Expedition organized by Asian Trekking, among best known organizers of expeditions to Everest. Their annual Eco Everest Expedition, besides climbing the peak contributed its bit to bringing down trash from the mountain. The team this year had 14 climbers including those from UK, South Africa, Australia, Belgium and India.

Love Raj’s flight from Delhi to Kathmandu was delayed by several hours. On April 4, there was a storm in Nepal’s capital city. It was midnight when Love Raj reached his friend’s house there. The next day was normal in Kathmandu. Everything seemed fine. It was a busy day for Love Raj; he had to meet his team and also complete the final preparations for the expedition. The next day, April 6, the team left Kathmandu in fine weather for Lukla. “ From Lukla onward, there was something funny about the weather,’’ Love Raj said. The local people spoke of snowfall. Usually, bad weather in Namche Bazaar in the season of Everest climbs, meant three to four inches of snow on the ground. But this time, it was as much as half a foot. For the next few days – April 9, 10, 11 – on all those days, it snowed. There was a pattern to it. Morning dawned clear. By nine or ten, clouds gathered. Afternoon, it snowed. The consistency of this cycle marked these spells apart from typical bad weather. On April 12, it snowed at Dingboche (14,800ft)). On April 13 too, it snowed. The team walked into Lobuche (16,210ft) that evening, amid snowing. The next day, April 14, the team reached Everest Base Camp (EBC/ 17, 598ft).

According to Love Raj, the first set of tents at EBC, typically belong to trekking groups whose trip is limited to reaching the base camp. Beyond these are the tents of the mountaineering expeditions hoping to climb Everest. EBC is basically located on a glacial ridge. Having grown in size over the years, the camp’s tents can nowadays be found on both sides of the ridge and its crest. At its apex lay the heavily crevassed Khumbu Icefall, one of the most difficult sections on the climber’s passage up the mountain. To one side of EBC are Pumori (23,410ft), Lingtrense (21,972ft), Khumbutse (21,785ft), Changtse (24,780ft), the west shoulder of Everest and Nuptse (25,791ft). Of these Changtse lay in Tibet. A saddle in this array of peaks forms the Lola Pass. The main bulk of Everest (including its summit) and its adjacent high peak, Lhotse (27,940ft), are not visible from base camp. Pumori, Lingtrense, Khumbutse, Changtse, Lola Pass – roughly put, these physical features ran parallel to EBC on its side. There was a depression between EBC and the commencement of these mountains. Pumori is eight kilometres west of Everest. Named by the late British climber George Mallory, Pumori means ` unmarried daughter’ in the Sherpa language. The mountain is often deemed the daughter of Everest. It is a popular climbing peak with significant avalanche danger. Kala Pathar (18,513ft), well known among visitors to EBC as a high perch to view Everest, is an outcrop below the southern face of Pumori.

Reaching EBC (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

Reaching EBC (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

The Eco Everest Expedition had its tents located just above the trekkers’ tents and at the beginning of the mountaineering lot’s share of camp. It was thus 20-25 minutes away from ` crampon point,’ which is from where crampons become essential for travel on ice. This is tad different from the usual thinking of climbers who like to be close to a climb. But that distance meant the Eco Everest Expedition was removed from the thick of tents at EBC. Significantly (significant from the angle of later events), the Eco Everest Expedition was away from the depression between EBC and Pumori. From the depression, you would have had to ascend the slope to the ridge and then descend to reach the team’s tents. Love Raj said, when he arrived at EBC, there was already a strong contingent of tents and climbers in place. “ A lot of people were there,’’ he said.

One possible reason for the many people at EBC was an accident that had occurred a year ago. On April 18, 2014, a large chunk of ice broke off from a serac band at 20,200ft triggering an avalanche. On the National Geographic website, the ice chunk that broke off is estimated as 113ft high with a top area slightly in excess of a NBA basketball court. At that dimension, its maximum weight in ice was estimated as the equivalent of 657 buses or 31.5 million pounds. The broken chunk and the avalanche it triggered barrelled down on Nepali mountain workers in the Khumbu Icefall, who were preparing a safe route for clients that season. Sixteen of them were killed in the avalanche. Following this accident and the outburst in its wake of inadequate protection and welfare schemes for mountain workers, several outdoor companies had cancelled their expeditions. Some of the clients and climbers who missed climbing the mountain in 2014 would have returned in 2015, contributing to the robust camp Love Raj saw at EBC. According to old reports on the Internet, the authorities had said that ascents in 2015 would take a slightly different route given the damage caused by the 2014 avalanche to the old approach. That 2014 avalanche had been responsible for the highest numbers of deaths on Everest in a season, till then. Indeed among the 8000m peaks, Everest has claimed the most number of lives largely due to the high number of people congregating every season to attempt the world’s highest peak. People die climbing and assisting climbing expeditions. As per information on the Internet, around 250 people have died thus on Everest, so far.

EBC, before the earthquake and avalanche (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

EBC, before the earthquake and avalanche (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

On April 15, the Eco Everest Expedition had its team puja (prayers), a ritual ahead of formally starting the peak’s ascent. After the puja, some of the newcomers were provided time to train and check gear. Typically the day after the puja, the team members go up the mountain a little bit; the accompanying mountain workers climb up to Camp 1 and return. This time the Eco Everest Expedition decided to try Lobuche East (20,193ft) as pre-Everest climb. On April 16, they moved from EBC to Lobuche, where Asian Trekking had a hotel. The next day, they shifted to the upper base camp on Lobuche East. On April 18, they were on the summit. “ Weather was bad all through. The Sherpas who came with the team said they had never seen so much snow on the summit before. There was almost two feet of snow on top,’’ Love Raj said.

On April 19, the team returned to EBC. The next two days – April 20 and 21 – were devoted to acclimatization walks and training on the glacier. On April 21, the team’s support staff went up to Camp 1 and came back. April 22 and 23 were rest days. On April 24, some of the team left early morning for higher camp. The plan was to stay two nights at Camp 1; the first day, proceed to Camp 1 from EBC, the second day go from Camp 1 to Camp 2 and return to Camp 1. On April 25, according to Love Raj who was at EBC, two members returned early to Camp 1 from the climb to Camp 2. They had reached Camp 1 and not yet got into their tents. The rest of the team was in the Western Cwm. Named by George Mallory, the Western Cwm is a large bowl shaped glacial valley at the foot of the Lhotse face of Mt Everest. It is reached via the Khumbu Icefall and is notorious for how its shape combined with the vast amount of snow and ice around, reflect sunlight to gift the climber rather hot days despite the significant altitude of the location.

Noon, April 25, 2015 – Nepal’s devastating earthquake struck. News reports on the Internet peg the exact time of the event as 11.56AM local time. At EBC, Love Raj noted it as 12.06. With epicentre in the village of Barpak in Gorkha district (as per reports in April), the quake’s intensity was estimated at 7.8 on the Richter scale. Subsequent reports would say that the ground beneath Kathmandu may have shifted up to ten feet south in the temblor. The whole Everest region was also shaken up. Up on the mountain, top Indian sport climber, Praveen C M (he has been national champion several times), was one of the two people from Love Raj’s team who had returned to Camp 1. They were roughly ten minutes away from their tents when the earthquake struck. According to him, visibility was poor. But they could hear avalanches in the neighbourhood. “ Avalanches happened to our right and left. There was also a third one,’’ he said. Luckily the camp site was spared a direct hit and only the smaller debris rolled in. Down at base camp, Love Raj, the team’s doctor and a Sherpa were in the dining tent discussing something when the earth started to shake. It was initially mild. They stepped out of the tent. By then the tremors were strong. EBC is on a moraine slope atop a glacier. There were sounds of things falling and breaking up. Glaciers are live environment. Even on a normal day, when camped on or near a glacier, mountaineers hear the sound of ice cracking deep within. There is also the sound of chunks breaking and falling off from mountains in the neighbourhood. Mountain environment is dynamic. This time it was more pronounced; the sounds were loud. The three men held on to each other. Just after this, from all sides, the sound and fury of avalanche set in.

File photos of Pumori, the mountain from which the avalanche that hit EBC in 2015, came. These photos are from expeditions in previous years (Photo: left pix, courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu; right pix, courtesy Dr Murad Lala)

File photos of Pumori, the mountain from which the avalanche that hit EBC in 2015, came. These photos are from expeditions in previous years (Photos: left pix, courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu; right pix, courtesy Dr Murad Lala)

In Latin, ` ava’ means earth. `Lanche’ means: breaking down of. Wikipedia describes avalanche as a rapid flow of snow down a sloping surface. Further, after the process starts, avalanches usually accelerate rapidly and grow in mass and volume as they entrain more snow. If the avalanche moves fast enough, some of the snow may mix with air forming a powder snow avalanche, which is a type of gravity current. From past experience in the mountains, Love Raj knew what was coming. Within no time he felt the approaching gust of wind followed by the spectacle of powder snow billowing 30-40 ft in the air, rearing up behind the camps on the ridge between EBC and Pumori. The avalanche, coming down from Pumori had hit the depression, powered up the next slope to the ridge and was looming like a cloud for the onward journey. In the process it had already flattened camps on the slope immediately above the depression.

Seeing the cloud of snow, Love Raj and his companions ran their separate ways. Love Raj and two Sherpas took shelter behind a rock. The avalanche swept by. They were behind that rock for a couple of minutes. Love Raj described the period. “ When an avalanche arrives, there is severe wind chill. That and the powder snow flying around make your breathing laboured. The snow gets into your lungs. You are in a cocoon of heavy breathing. That’s what I heard when I took shelter. Later when I got up, everything was covered in snow. I was breathing hard as though I had run a 100m sprint,’’ he said. Since avalanches come from above and the whole area had been shaking, their first instinct was to check on climbers up the mountain. They immediately contacted the team members who were at Camp 1 and above. They replied they were safe but couldn’t see anything as visibility had plummeted. One of the members had been on a ladder placed across a crevasse when the quake happened. He was immediately pulled back, averting grave consequences. Love Raj and others at EBC, advised them to stay put on the mountain. Be at either Camp 1 or Camp 2. At both camp sites, across the many expeditions attempting the peak, there were approximately 100-120 people. No major tragedy was reported from the higher camps. Unknown to Love Raj, it was EBC that took the brunt.

As visibility improved at EBC, the devastation became clear. The injured started coming in. Most injuries were to the face; head, limbs – the consequence of being hit by flying debris or being flung around by the avalanche on the rock ridden-moraine. While some people fled after the quake, the others commenced rescue operations within about 15 minutes of the incident. The tents that hadn’t collapsed were immediately made into treatment zones for the injured, including designated tents for the seriously injured and the less seriously injured. Love Raj said that a chain of command took shape organically and pretty soon a rudimentary medical facility was in place. Mountaineering expeditions travel as self sustained groups. They anticipate accident and are prepared for it. Teams now pooled their medical kits. Kitchen staff got the stoves going; hot drinks and food was prepared. In terms of impact of disaster, those camped on the ridge slope facing Pumori were the worst hit. Those on the ridge and on the other side were less affected. In all 19 people would die in this avalanche making it the worst season on Everest. A year and six days after the 2014 avalanche, its reputation as the worst season on the peak had been surpassed.

After the avalanche; a helicopter at EBC (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

After the avalanche; a helicopter at EBC (Photo: courtesy Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu)

Some argue that the high incidence of tragedy on Everest is prompted by the number of people on the mountain and the varied nature of that people spanning seasoned climber to abject amateur. Makalu (27,838ft) is a beautiful sight from Everest and Lhotse. Eighteen kilometres east of Everest, it stands apart from other mountains. There were people on Makalu and at Makalu’s advance base camp (which serves as base camp for the peak), when the temblor hit. But nobody died. Arjun Vajpai, who some years ago became briefly the youngest person to ascend Everest, was at Makalu. Arjun had managed to climb Everest (29,029ft), Lhotse (27,940ft) and Manaslu (26,781ft) in his first attempt. He then decided to try Cho Oyu (26,906ft) and Shishapangma (26,335ft). Attempting these mountains in spring, he ran into bad weather. He temporarily suffered a partial body paralysis and had to be brought down from Cho Oyu. Following this reversal he decided to attempt Makalu. His first attempt in 2013 failed because the team ran out of rope; the second attempt saw much further progress on the mountain but again succumbed to rope related issues. His April 2015 trip to the mountain for a third attempt, was a “ really calm’’ one. The description fit the state of affairs till noon April 25.

Arjun reached Makalu’s advance base camp (ABC) on April 22. At 19,500ft, this is the highest base camp for any mountain. Both the approach to Makalu and the ABC don’t have any of the heavy traffic or frills one finds on the Everest trail. “ There is no impressive infrastructure here,’’ Arjun said. In 2013, there were just two teams on the mountain. In 2014, there were three to four teams. What he saw in 2015 was the highest number of teams he had seen so far on his visits to Makalu. But it was still nothing compared to EBC. Arjun too noted the snow he saw en route. “ There was a lot of snow. I hadn’t seen so much snow in the previous two years,’’ he said. The topography and lay of Makalu ABC is different from that of EBC. The main peak sits recessed and away. What is closer to ABC is rock ridden-ridges from which, even on normal days, stones can roll down. Around noon on April 25, the earth shook. “ We started hearing noises all around,’’ Arjun said. Fifteen minutes later, there was an aftershock. Till then there had been no major avalanche. According to Arjun, the aftershock felled a big serac with a lot of snow behind it, at Camp 2. Also, ahead of Camp 1 on Makalu, there is a 150m steep ice wall. A climber was rappelling down it when the wall split from the very centre. That climber and his team were rattled. One of them left the next day. The quake caused injuries at Makalu base camp. There were no fatalities. The approach trail to the region was badly damaged. Although Arjun managed to call home and say he was fine, for the first day or two, he said, there wasn’t a clear idea of the dimension of the earthquake. Then it slowly filtered in; first came news of EBC, then news of lands beyond all the way to Kathmandu. With the trail leading to Makalu damaged, Arjun and his team were ferried out by helicopter from Yanglekharka, a village some distance from base camp.

Mt Everest, April 26, 2015 : Helicopters arrive at the base camp of Mt Everest to airlift injured persons from the camp after an avalanche killed 16 people on Everest on April 25, 2015. (Photo by Praveen C M )

EBC after the avalanche; helicopters arrive to airlift the injured (Photo: courtesy Praveen C M )

At EBC, Love Raj said that news of the scale of the tragedy was available within an hour or so after the quake. There was panic initially. Some of the local people left wanting to know what had happened back home. “ But a lot of them stayed back. The rescue operation was actually carried out well. There was no particular panic in that department despite everyone affected by the temblor and traumatized by it,’’ he said. A makeshift helipad was made at EBC. By next morning, helicopters began arriving. Up on the mountain, people successfully reached Camp 1 from Camp 2. But reaching EBC from Camp 1 proved difficult; a group of mountain workers tried it but they retreated to Camp 1 as many of the ladders in the Khumbu Icefall were gone. Eventually they were brought down by choppers. The immediate rescue operations at EBC were more or less completed in the first three hours after the quake. There was little need to dig out anyone from the snow. The dead and the injured were on the surface. By April 28-29, the dead were removed from the scene, Love Raj said. According to him, on the first day, 14 were confirmed dead. That night, two people died. The next morning, three more bodies were recovered; altogether 19 (Wikipedia lists 22 dead including two who died in Kathmandu following injuries sustained at EBC).

By the evening of April 26, word came that China had closed access to Everest from the Tibet side. It wasn’t yet known what would happen for Everest ascents in Nepal. Every year, the initial part of the climbing route to Everest is opened by personnel from the Sagarmatha Pollution Control Committee (SPCC). Their team – often called the Icefall Doctors – open the route till Camp 2. With the SPCC camp at EBC among worst hit by the quake, their personnel were no more around. Despite tragedy, climbers – those who had reached EBC after investing much money in 2015 and those who had come after their trips got cancelled in 2014 – would have wished to proceed. But there were problems. One of the large expedition groups decided to retreat fearing more aftershocks. Then there was the issue of adequate mountain workers as support staff. They had suffered personal tragedies back home. Some had gone back; those still around were there despite the suffering. Around April 30, Love Raj said, Himalayan Experience, which along with Asian Trekking typically opens the route above Camp 2, decided to pull out (Himalayan Experience is an interesting company. As early as 2012, it had warned about impending disaster on Everest due to a bulge of hanging glacial ice on the climbing route and actually pulled out its expeditions that year. It was criticized. In 2014, after the year’s deadly avalanche, that decision was seen in a totally different light). On May 2nd or so, SPCC personnel reached EBC by chopper. By next evening, it was decided to shut down the climbing season. The reason available at EBC was – even if the SPCC opened the route till Camp 2, the route further up can’t be opened because some of the important expedition companies had decided to retreat. Love Raj made his way back to Delhi. In all, the April 2015 earthquake killed over 8000 people in Nepal and injured more than 19,000.

At EBC after the avalanche; the body of a climber, wrapped in polythene, ready for airlift to Kathmandu (Photo: courtesy Praveen CM)

At EBC after the avalanche; the body of a climber, wrapped in polythene, ready for airlift to Kathmandu (Photo: courtesy Praveen C M)

Two major tragedies, two seasons in a row – may leave a psychological mark on Everest climbs. Nobody can forget the lives lost. But from a mountaineer’s perspective, the climb – for the climb it is – can be viewed rationally. I asked Love Raj what the earthquake could mean for future climbs. What if the route on Everest has altered? “ Isn’t that how mountain environments are?’’ Love Raj asked. Mountains are dynamic. News reports quoting Chinese studies (China has a satellite monitoring system on the peak since 2005) have said that as part of the continuing collision of the Indian tectonic plate with the Eurasian plate – which is how the Himalaya was formed – Everest had been moving four centimetres northeast and growing 0.3 centimetre annually. In the April 2015 temblor, Mt Everest shifted three centimetres southwest with no alteration to height. In the aftermath of the earthquake, it is possible that the icefall on the mountain may have freshly cracked; new crevasses may have opened up, existing crevasses may have grown wider (at the time of writing this article little information had emerged on whether the climbing routes were affected and if so, how). But as Love Raj said, there are the winters and their snows which bridge and compact things afresh. It is the earth’s natural cycle. Mountaineers will find a way through. It was a sentiment shared by Arjun, albeit differently. He pointed out in the context of various types of people congregating in high mountain camps and then panicking when calamity strikes that trained mountaineers know how to cope with such situations.

Love Raj was worried less about climbers. He was worried more about the mountain workers whose houses were destroyed in the earthquake, not to mention, their source of livelihood literally shaken up. “ For them, there is a big gap in earnings between working on Everest and working on other peaks,’’ Love Raj said. In Nepal, Everest is a small economy in itself. When it shuts down, it affects the lives of those dependent on it. Or differently put, you may not be able to keep it shut for long.

(The author, Shyam G. Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. Please note: this article is based on events reconstructed from conversations. The author has not been to EBC. A slightly abridged version of this article appeared in Mans World (MW) magazine. For more on Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu please click this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/07/10/everest-to-the-east/)

HALF OR FULL? THAT’S THE QUESTION

Kamlya Joma Bhagat (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

Kamlya Joma Bhagat (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

Fanaswadi was a village with two lives.

“ At the earlier location, there were no facilities. There was no doctor, no water, no electricity,’’ Kamlya Joma Bhagat said. In 2011, the village started shifting to where it is today. According to him, the old village survives, mostly abandoned except for four families who continue to be there because the elders didn’t wish to leave the land they had lived off for so long. The agricultural fields belonging to Kamlya’s family were also at the old location. He visited his former residence when required. The new and old locations of the village were apart by roughly five kilometres, separated in the main by a hill. Pale Budruk – that was the name of the area where Fanaswadi’s second avatar sprouted. When you took one of those three wheeled share-taxis from Panvel, you didn’t just say Fanaswadi; you said Fanaswadi-Valap to indicate which Fanaswadi you were talking of.

Half an hour or so from Panvel we got off on the road. Fare paid, the taxi proceeded on its way leaving us next to a board from below which a path of baked brown earth, now rendered powdery by the fierce summer of 2015, wound its way up to a rather spread out cluster of huts and mud houses. Some ways up, a wiry young man of medium height greeted us and took us to his house – all of one room and a sit-out. Behind the hut was the hill separating Fanaswadi’s two lives. Up front and far away, the hill between Kharghar and Belapur loomed, large and faint. Somewhere in that dark outline of hill was Pandavkada, the popular waterfall, right then possibly awaiting the rains to come alive. In front of that hill lay the urban sweep of Kharghar and the factories of Taloja’s industrial zone. At a tangent from the houses we were at, through the summer haze, the rocky top section of a hill was visible in the distance.

The new Fanaswadi sat unsettled on land the families on it were yet to own. They had moved here because they were desperate to be near basic amenities. Technically the land was owned by the government. Apparently there was legal action going on. There was no water and electricity here too. Observations on life were tinged by a neither here nor there vagueness; a smile and a faraway gaze to avert the impact of that uncertainty. At Kamlya’s house a metal sofa had been dressed in a clean sheet for us to sit.

We sat down to hear his story.

Meet Kamlya Bhagat, runner.

Kamlya was born in the old Fanaswadi to a family engaged in agriculture. He was the youngest of six siblings. His father died when Kamlya was still a small child. The family primarily grew rice and nachni (finger millet); they also grew vegetables. Kamlya worked on his family’s land. He also worked on other people’s land as did others in his family. Much of the farm produce at Fanaswadi was meant for use in-house. That was how life amid meagre income was managed.

Fanaswadi, new location (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

Fanaswadi, new location (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

From the age of five or six onward Kamlya attended the Aadivasi Aashram School at Chikhale near Panvel, where he studied till the tenth standard. It was a residential school where the cost of education was met by government. In class eight at this school, Kamlya had his first formal rendezvous with running. It was a 1500 metre-race, which he had to quit with 100m left due to cramps. He had run without any practice. So over the next couple of years he kept running regularly in the range of 5-15 kilometres. Kamlya attended junior college at the Sanjay Gandhi High School in Kolwadi and then joined MPAC College in Panvel to do his BA (Geography). By now the funds for his education were a mix – it came from his family; it also came from his pocket as Kamlya was additionally working at a shampoo factory in Taloja. The distances he ran had now grown to 20km.

In the second year of his three year-degree course, Kamlya secured second position in cross country running at the Mumbai University level. According to him, across his college years, he won 28 medals in disciplines ranging from 1500m to cross country running. He even ran the 4x400m relay. At MPAC College, he practised at the college ground. Sometimes he ran to college from the shampoo factory he worked at. He also ran at University Ground in South Mumbai. Representing the university, he ran at venues outside the state, in Bengaluru and Andhra Pradesh. Kamlya said he had been to four or five inter university meets. Sports elicited a toll on studies. Kamlya never gave his final year BA exam. Academically therefore, the runner from Fanaswadi stopped a shade short of graduation. There were other developments. In his second year at college, Kamlya got married. By the third year, he was a father. Today he has two children, a boy and a girl; one of them suffers from a congenital heart problem. The family also lost one child.

Kamlya, his wife Kalpana and their children, Prathama and Raj (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

Kamlya, his wife Kalpana and their children, Prathama and Raj, in front of their house (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

It was during his first year at MPAC College that Kamlya had his first taste of the half marathon. By the second year, he was enjoying the format but remained an athlete in a basket of disciplines. After leaving college Kamlya ran a half marathon, barefoot, in Kalyan. Since then, he mostly ran the half marathon. The distance was a sweet spot for him. Given his backdrop in college running a variety of distances all the way up from the 4x400m relay (he said he could do 1500m in 4:10-4:12), the half marathon allowed him to tap his innate affection for speed. Kamlya estimated that he must have run over 150 half marathons by the time we met him. That prolific running was due to another factor. When Kamlya left college, he was married and having wife and child to support. He couldn’t get a job. There was nothing available. All he had to fall back on was running. Slowly racing became a source of livelihood. These races were typically organized by individuals and organizations ranging from local legislators to elected bodies and others. They happened mostly in the winter months. A good runner, Kamlya was confident of winning races in Raigad, the district he belonged to and lived in. Running almost every week, in a good season, he was able to earn up to Rs 50,000. A modest amount, it nevertheless meant much for the family. Except rice which they grew in their fields, they needed to purchase most other things.

The races made Kamlya locally known. “ I saw his name in a local newspaper. Then I met him in one of the races in Navi Mumbai. We shared our numbers. I called him for a run and he came to Panvel an evening. That was the first time I ran with him. Later I went to his place to run. There we ran on trail. It was very beautiful,’’ Dnyaneshwar Tidke, one of the best known runners from Panvel said (for more on Dnyaneshwar please see https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2015/04/11/the-constant-runner/). Although he did his practice runs wearing shoes, Kamlya ran the races barefoot. “ I don’t know why,’’ he said. His runs in and around the new Fanaswadi settlement included running on the road we had come by and extended trail runs on the hill behind the hutment. As regards coaches, there was a “ Shinde sir’’ at MPAC College and a “ Sushil sir’’ at the university. No other names came up.

A seemingly self made runner for the most part, Kamlya’s Fanaswadi address was also miles away from the Mumbai locales where the city’s running coaches trained their wards. But running and runners graced Kamlya and Fanaswadi differently. News of Kamlya Bhagat got around in the running community. For instance, Chetan Gusani, a runner and photographer, was collecting shoes for needy runners when Dnyaneshwar told him of Kamlya. In June 2014, Chetan enrolled him for a 10 km race in Thane and asked Kamlya to stay at his place as it was closer to the venue. Chetan recalled the episode, “ he came over. At night I asked him if he was comfortable. He said he was very comfortable as in his own house he did not have electricity. Next morning, he ran the 10 km-race and finished second in the open category.’’ Chetan put a post on Facebook about Kamlya. Help started coming in. Fellow runners got him shoes, footed his registration fee at races. At a Fanaswadi still devoid of electricity, a line of LED lamps powered by solar energy lined the pathway to Kamlya’s house. The lamps had been provided by a group of runners.

Kamlya with his mother Sangibai (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

Kamlya with his mother Sangibai (Photo: Latha Venkatraman)

As much as the half marathon emerged a sweet spot for Kamlya, it also appeared a limitation. The 28 year-old (according to Kamlya his legal age is slightly higher) fared strongly in the half marathon viewing it as a longer, stretched version of the middle distance runs he used to do before (and still does well as the outcome of the 10 km shows). At some point, Kamlya knew the same logic of adapting to age and endurance will prod him to try the full marathon. As yet he had neither attempted the full marathon in Mumbai’s annual Standard Chartered marathon (SCMM; India’s biggest such event) nor had his one attempt at the marathon, succeeded. In that latter attempt – a night marathon in Surat – he gave up after a half marathon and some more done because the run wasn’t progressing to his satisfaction. He required better endurance.

Given Kamlya’s predicament, wherein running is also a source of livelihood, satisfaction for him is probably several notches above what satisfaction is for the rest of us. He can shift disciplines only if performance is satisfactory. Further, he believes that he won’t be able to transition to the full marathon from the half without affecting his existing fortunes in the half. For example: to run the full marathon he may likely have to run slower as it spans a longer course. Do that in training several times over, how would it be if he suddenly required to a run a half marathon for money? Won’t he run slow and lose his chance to win? Not to mention: competition was emerging in Raigad. He may want the marathon but he can’t upset the income stream from the half marathon. This was Kamlya’s worry. At the same time, he knew the inner clock was ticking; he won’t stay fast forever. He hadn’t therefore shut the doors on the full marathon. “ I haven’t said no to it,’’ he emphasized. Finally there was the issue of shaking up a whole ecosystem. When we met him, Kamlya was also working as a temporary teacher at a school some distance away. Somehow the half marathon had come to fit in well in terms of the time he was able to spare for running, training and the resources he could invest in his passion, including food intake. Is it worth upsetting the equation?

Kamlya was unsure: should it be the half or the full?

“ I think he can be a full marathoner provided he trains regularly,’’ Dnyaneshwar said.

Maybe one day, like Fanaswadi before, Kamlya will step out into a second life with the full marathon.

UPDATE: At the 2015 BNP Endurathon in Mumbai, Kamlya finished second in the 25km-run. His timing was 1:45:33.

October 2015: Running the half marathon, Kamlya finished fifth in his age category (30-35 years) at the Sriram Properties Bengaluru Marathon 2015. His timing was 01:19:49.

(The authors Latha Venkatraman and Shyam G Menon are independent journalists based in Mumbai. Please note: race details, timings, performance at meets and number of medals won are as provided by the interviewee.)

GOLD RUNNER

Abbas Shaikh (Photo: by arrangement)

Abbas Sheikh (Photo: by arrangement)

Mumbai’s Marine Drive is the city’s best known image on a postcard.

In bygone days (and to a lesser extent today), when skyscrapers implicitly meant modernity, this giant arc of reclaimed land bordering the sea and backed by stacks of Mumbai high rises was the city’s signature view. At night, lit by the city’s electric lights and the headlights of passing traffic, it became ` Queen’s Necklace,’ the other name by which Marine Drive is famous. Mumbai’s romance with skyscrapers continues. But like in humanity’s romance with the automobile, a tall building is no more indisputable modernity. The idea of modernity has become more textured.

The road along Marine Drive is approximately three kilometres long. Cars and bikes zip on it. Between the road and the Arabian Sea is a paved area spanning almost the entire length of the arc. Over the years, it has become the postcard view of Mumbai-running. Early morning and evening, the paved area fetches walkers and runners. During weekends, their numbers rise, some of them running to Marine Drive from distant suburbs. Best known of these rituals is probably the monthly Bandra-NCPA run, happening the first Sunday of every month.

A late evening in 2009, a young man from Shikarpur in West Bengal’s Bardhaman district, stood on Marine Drive. He was born into a poor family. He studied only till the sixth standard. His father worked as a farm labourer and his earnings were too little for family of six – parents; two sons, two daughters. Although his elder brother managed to become a post graduate, our young man had to stop studies by the sixth standard to free up money to educate his sisters. The compulsion to find work struck early.

Many from Shikarpur ended up as gold workers in India’s jewellery business. The young man moved so, first to Sidhpur in north Gujarat where he worked for two years on a monthly salary of Rs 2000-2500. Then he shifted to Mumbai, joining a unit where he learnt to polish gold jewellery.

Days were tough. Working hours were long. As a youngster learning the ropes, he often ended up fetching water and cooking for 12-15 people. That late evening in 2009, Abbas Sheikh was out on a stroll with friends after yet another long day polishing gold. Going to Marine Drive after work had become a regular practice and it was on one such visit that Abbas noticed Mumbai’s runners on Queen’s Necklace.

His daily life was classic Mumbai (minus perhaps extensive commute for he stayed with other gold workers in town). It was clock-work, in tune with the timings and hours of the industry he worked for. It was a routine. From all over India, people reach Mumbai for such industrial routine. They find one and cling to it, till the human being’s natural restlessness rebels and seeks expression. Often, you don’t know you are restless within, you don’t know what you want till a hint of something different from the regular, passes you by. Abbas watched the runners pass by. Why not run like them? – He thought. “ Mujhe kuch bhi pata nahi tha running ke bare me (I didn’t know anything about running),’’ Abbas said recalling that Marine Drive-moment. Back then, inspired to run, he spent some money from his frugal earnings to buy track pants and a pair of ordinary sports shoes. “ I was too embarrassed to run in shorts,’’ Abbas said laughing.

That was the beginning.

Abbas Sheikh is now among Mumbai’s best known ultra marathon runners.

The family back in Shikarpur; parents AnsarAli Khan and Moina Bibi with Abbas' sisters Monjila Shaikh and Tanjila Malik (Photo: by arrangement)

The family back home in Shikarpur; parents Ansar Ali Khan and Moina Bibi with Abbas’ sisters Monjila Sheikh and Tanjila Malik (Photo: by arrangement)

Shivaji Park in Dadar is one of the city’s active lifestyle zones. People play, exercise, walk, run – it is also venue for an ultra marathon, a 12 hour endurance-run that Abbas had participated in. We met Abbas near his work place in Sewri. The local Udipi restaurant was crowded, not to mention – you don’t get to sit for long in such busy eateries. And as it happens sometimes, both journalists went blank in the head when it came to recalling an alternative suitable joint nearby. The search for a place to sit and chat over coffee brought us all the way to Shivaji Park. We took a taxi; then walked. Unlike journalist shaped to slouch by typing, Abbas walked confidently. He has a light frame, emphasized further by the spring in his runner’s legs. Marine Drive and thoughts about how to get into running – that was long ago. Abbas now wore Mizuno shoes. We sat down at a cafe to hear his story.

Not long after that Marine Drive-evening, in his initial phase of running in Mumbai, the daily runs were avenue to discover both running and runners. Abbas was intrigued by the urban idea of running for running sake. He does not recall anything by way of running in Shikarpur. In his narrative, the village came across as nothing more than home; the starting point of his life transforming from nondescript to engaging with the advent of running. People running for the love of it, was for him, a totally Mumbai phenomenon. There was one thing in this craziness that he couldn’t comprehend – the distances people ran. They seemed to run and vanish. Over time, he had come to recognize the regular runners on Marine Drive. But unlike him confined to the length of Queen’s Necklace, their running didn’t seem to have an end. They rarely returned the same way. Once he chased after a couple of runners and tracked their progress, realizing in the process the existence of a concept called distance running. Emulating them, Abbas also increased his daily mileage. He began running long distances but had no idea of how to assess the distance. He thought he was doing 6-7 kilometres, when in reality he was running three to four times as much, sometimes more. Slowly he too was recognized as a regular and included into their fold by a group of runners. According to him, it was runners Dev Raman and Purvi Sheth who introduced him to the well known coach, Savio D’Souza. The improvement in his performance since has been remarkable. At the 2013 Bangalore Ultra, he won the 75 kilometre-run. In 2014, Abbas ended up winner in the 100 kilometre-run at the same event. He has also won the Mumbai Road Runners Runner of the Year (Male) award for the year 2013 and 2014.

The journey was not without its ups and downs.

“ In the early days, I used to get frequently injured,’’ Abbas said. It was the typical learning curve of the self taught and self made. But his biggest injury had nothing to do with running. It happened ahead of what would have been his first Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM), the 2011 edition. One day he slipped and fell at the place he resided with fellow workers. “ I was in a very bad shape,’’ Abbas said. The first hospital he went to, the X-ray machine wasn’t working. So his friends took him to St George hospital near Mumbai’s CST railway terminus. There, X-ray done, the injury revealed itself as a broken femur. The doctors said he required surgery; a rod had to be inserted to hold the broken section together. Fearing the cost of hospitalization in Mumbai, Abbas and a relative took the next train to Bardhaman. He endured the journey. The required operation was done in West Bengal. He was advised six months of absolute rest and recuperation. Abbas was back in Mumbai after three months. Slowly, he resumed his running, inching his way back to form by himself. The rod and screws are still there in his leg.

Abbas Shaikh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Abbas Sheikh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In December 2011 he ran the full marathon at the Pune International Marathon. It was his first time at a running event and he was completely new to the experience. “ I ran without any strategy. Whenever I heard loud music, which was played here and there on the course, I ran fast and slowed down later. I thought music meant you should run faster. Then, halfway through, I felt very tired. I happened to see a guava fruit seller. I bought a guava from him and sat on the sidewalk to eat it. I resumed running when I saw some fast-paced runners go by,’’ he said. By the end of the Pune Marathon, Abbas had learnt an important lesson about long distance running – you don’t run at a blistering pace; you have to plan your run and train in a systematic manner, hydrate well. Soon thereafter, he became a regular at many major running events. Among them – SCMM, Vasai-Virar Mayor’s Marathon, Hyderabad Marathon, Goa River Marathon, Satara Hill Marathon and the Bangalore Ultra.

Abbas Sheikh / race timings:

Run                                                                       Distance                                         Timing

Bangalore Ultra 2012                                          50k                                                   4:47:29

SCMM 2013                                                           42k                                                   3:31:13

Airtel Hyderabad Marathon 2013                     42k                                                   3:27:26

Goa River Marathon 2013                                  21.1k                                                 1:29:56

Bangalore Ultra 2013                                           75k                                                   7:23

SCMM 2014                                                            42k                                                   3:25:40

Bangalore Ultra 2014                                          100k                                                  10:32

Vasai Virar Mayor’s Marathon                             42k                                                   3:10:15

SCMM 2015                                                             42k                                                   3:20:31

Source: Timing Technologies India

Currently, every morning at 5AM, Abbas leaves his quarters and heads to Marine Drive. Most days, he runs 10-15 kilometres, some days, he puts in 30 kilometres. On an average he does 80-90 kilometres per week. “ He is good. He has good endurance,’’ Savio said. According to him, the rod and screws don’t interfere with Abbas’ running. Being with Savio’s group – Savio Stars – has helped Abbas address some of his needs in running gear. He also helps Savio with his coaching work.

Although he has run other distances, Abbas said, his preferred discipline is the ultra marathon. He plans to try the 24 hour-run at the 2015 Bangalore Ultra. His participation in events is limited by availability of resources; he doesn’t have much money to spare. For instance, he said, he would like to try the long distance running events in Ladakh. But Ladakh is a high altitude destination and anything at altitude entails considerable expense given the lengthy stay for acclimatization that is required. There is however a faint possibility that one of these years, he may get to participate in South Africa’s Comrades Marathon, the world’s oldest and largest ultra marathon. “ I hope so,’’ said the man from Shikarpur, who now calls Mumbai home because it is in this city that he gets to run.

“ I love running,’’ Abbas said in Bengali accented Hindi.

Abbas Sheikh on the podium after winning the stadium run in Bengaluru, August 2015.

Abbas Sheikh on the podium after winning the stadium-run in Bengaluru, August 2015.

UPDATE: Abbas Sheikh was the winner at the 12 hour-stadium run at Sree Kanteerava Stadium in Bangalore, early August 2015.

According to him, he did 266 loops of 400 meters each covering a distance of 106.5 kilometres in the assigned time.

“ It was quite a difficult run because we had to run in a loop of 400 meters. Loop running can be very tough. At one point I wanted to quit,’’ he said.

Abbas had a fall right at the start of the run. For the last three and a half hours he chose to go barefoot. “ The ground had become hot. At the end of the day I can say I learnt to endure loop running although I prefer linear running any day,’’ he said.

In November 2015, at the Performax Bangalore Ultra, Abbas finished second in the open category for men, covering 151 km in 24 hours.

(The authors Latha Venkatraman and Shyam G Menon are independent journalists based in Mumbai. Where photo credit says ` by arrangement,’ the picture concerned has been sourced from Abbas.)