2am stories

As we got out of the cab that took us from Cherrapunji to the small village of Lum Sophie, we had our first glimpse of the Khasi Mountains. It finally felt like Meghalaya. We had a 2000 feet hike down to the village Nongriat, famous for its living root bridges. As we got closer, the landscape began to change. It was green as far as the eye could see.

About 2 hours after we had started from Lum Sophie, we arrived at the first living root bridge in Nongriat. It seemed unreal at first. Like an animator had digitally pulled out roots of a few trees and made a bridge out of them. We spent about half an hour sitting on the bridge, feeling like characters from Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings. Hundreds of trees stood around us, most of them hundreds of years old. The bridge was wide enough for a tent, so the thought did cross our minds. But that would not go down with the villagers, and if asked to leave, we were in no condition to hike back up the same evening. So somehow, we picked ourselves up and got to the village rest house.

We were in the heart of one of the remotest villages of India. The northeast region is one of the most untapped, most ignored and least understood regions of India.

That night, there was an Irish & a French couple staying at the same rest house. And there we were, two homegrown Indians, feeling like strangers in our own country. We did not know what to expect. But mostly, we thought it would be indifference. The others had been living at the rest house for the past few nights, which made us feel like strangers even more. Also among us was a middle-aged man from the village. His name was Byron. Being the only one in the village who spoke English, he would often hang around the rest house. After a while, everyone demanded that the guitar be brought out. Immediately agreeing, Byron made a quick run back home and got back within a few minutes with his guitar. As he sat down, he offered me a beedi (a thin, indian cigarette). I accepted his offer and poured him a drink from my flask. He took a swig of the rum, a drag of his beedi, and started playing a Beatles song. He played for about 2 hours that night. The two of us were so involved in our music, that we did not realize when the others had excused themselves and gone off to sleep. It was only when we took a break that we realized the number of common favorites we had. Byron looked at me and smiled. He said, “A few hours back, you were a stranger. Now, you are a friend”. I was home.