The Hindu Business Line : Around Mizoram in three days

Jenny R. Lalremliani — the name may not ring a bell, but she won the gold medal at a World Female Boxing Championship this year. And she is from India — from the north-eastern State of Mizoram. The 23-year-old was received with a joyous welcome by her fellow citizens — the streets of Aizawl were brimming over with fans and banners proclaiming the State's pride streaked above.

Standing in the airport, it struck me that North-East India had made a mark in the global sports scene — a singularly large achievement. After one cancelled flight, a last-minute booking on another to Guwahati, a bus to Silchar, which passed via Shillong, and finally a car to Aizawl — Mizoram's capital, I arrived exhausted and cold.

The fresh air, cheerful locals with their round faces and shy smiles, and the soothing strum of guitars did much to enliven me. The national trekking body, Youth Hostel Association of India, had organised a trek in the State for the first time and I was part of a group of 36 ebullient adventurers who stomped into the State.

We were welcomed by the Chief Commissioner for Scouts and Guides, who gave a moving speech about "being Indian too". He proposed to increase the length of the trek and the number of trekkers to 500, next year. He flagged us off and we plunged into the forests, crossing the State's longest river, Tlawng, around mid-day.

The Mizo youth are sporty and, as one of the organisers put it, "mentally balanced", which enables them to participate in activities such as cave exploration, scuba diving and trekking. The people are a quiet, peaceful lot and can speak both Hindi and English with proficiency. Their genuine excitement at meeting outsiders, and polite handshake while saying "Chibai" (Hello) impressed us.

Walking alongside our guide, a 40-year-old fit-as-a-fiddle man who chewed paan throughout, I sought to understand the peace in their lives — why one did not come across a single face that was in distress, why there were no quarrelling couples, no angry, raised voices, etc. What was the secret to their youthful looks and quiet eyes? It could be the beauty of nature that moulded them that way, said one trekker. Another opined it was the ban on liquor throughout the State (it's true!), while yet another said it was their simple dedication to work that kept them out of trouble. Whatever it was, it has inspired me to turn quiet too, to smile at strangers and reach out, shake hands.

The adventure begins

The three days in Mizo land did not once make me feel that I was in a different universe altogether, nor did I feel I had travelled about 2,500 km from home to walk those streets. The days flew by, and were real, with tangible incidents and many experiences. It is enough to say that my learning curve wiggled out of the plateau that it had fallen into, thanks to routine.

The bunch of trekkers walked — sometimes in groups, at times alone, sometimes tagging along, and sometimes running ahead. We spoke and laughed, and watched the landscape change from a jeep trail to a dense forest and the fabulous Reiek peak ("Natural A/C here, look," said Zoe, a cave climber, as he threw his scarf over the edge of the cliff and saw it twirl back into his arms) and finally back to civilisation.

We endured the climate — from a cool, breezy morning to bright, scorching day, which turns dark by 5 p.m. We shivered through bone-chilling winter nights in our tents, clasping the mug of Bournvita as if it were redemption. We huffed up a peak, and crawled on our bellies in a puk (cave) and stared at spiders the size of our palm, while frogs the size of a coin backed into the mould in the walls of the cave.

Cave exploration is an exciting activity, requiring dexterity and confidence. Some experienced trekkers made it through 500 metres in a dim and slimy cave called Kuangcherapui, which required talent in what is called "chimney climbing", where you push your body against one wall, and your hands and feet against the other and sidle across. The drop is a 40-ft nightmare and since it was the first time this was being conducted in Mizoram, there was no safety harness. The rest of us clambered into the cave from the "exit" and cheered as the `cavemen and women' made it through.

We also had an opportunity to meet the locals at Ailawng village, where we were invited into homes and offered fruits with refreshing hospitality. Dance programmes organised left us awed by the grace of Mizo women and the synchrony of the bamboo pole wielders, who were clapping the poles to a rhythm. On the final day of the trek, the Sports Minister himself came to bid adieu and a party was arranged where Karaoke and dance made us forget our aching muscles. The Mizo dance style is at once simple and complicated. It looks like all you have to do is bend your knees and swoop — keep your arms low and look to your side. The youth did it with grace, but imitation only led to the knowledge that our thigh muscles were not as developed as required, and we ended up looking like crippled ducks!

After much laughter and camaraderie, we loped off to the campfire, and persuaded the kitchen staff to play us a Mizo song. We joined the chorus of a song about celebration and being happy — a harvest song from the mouths of collegians who listen to rock.

It was the morning of my last day in Mizoram. I awoke to the sound of rain. Immediately my brain screamed a warning that the flight could be delayed due to fog. Everyone's face had the same anxious look. But we had learnt to deal with the uncertainty — with peace, the Mizo way. The flight came before its scheduled time, and I was there to see Jenny bring home the world title. It was a wonderful way to spend a week. Kalome (thank you in Mizo).

preethij@thehindu.co.in

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