I’ll put it straight: the art of skiing has always been alien to me. Although I did it once, it was because I couldn’t have done otherwise. Honestly.
It was late last December that my colleagues decided to have a taste of sporting adventure in the highest winter sports resort of the world - the Himalayan tourist resort of Auli in India, located at an altitude of about 2,700 mts above the sea level. As I saw some skiing enthusiasts floating down the dangerously steep three-km ice-slope, I knew I won’t be able to do it, and went firm in my decision: ‘I won’t even give it a try...come what may!’
But that was just not to happen. I could clearly see the villain behind the smiling faces of my friends, who were coercing me to do the impossible. After much haggling, I reluctantly agreed to start from the mid-point, where it was half-the-height at the top. With ski-sticks in hand, headgear, and waterproof jackets and over-trousers on me, I felt as if I was about to take off for the moon. I tell you, I had gone pale with fear...closed my eyes...prayed to god...sought blessings of forefathers and showered blessings on my family.
But lo, despite having pulled up all my courage and making some genuine efforts, I was still standing motionless! ‘Take out sticks from ice, idiot, and push yourself forward with it...,’ yelled somebody from the crowd. I realised my mistake and did accordingly. Meanwhile, one of my friends came running and gave me a push. Thus, began my journey, though with a jerk. Soon I was flying...without any effort from my side. ‘Cowards,’ I mumbled looking at the bystanders, who had opted out of the sport. And the last thing I can recall is a loud thud around...
A few moments later, I found myself being physically lifted by four pair of hands. I had dashed against one of the flagstaffs on the slope, I was told, and fallen on my left. All I could do then was thank my stars that I was still there to experience the pain!