What I still remember of that day is the smell of sweat. Sticky, sweet, with an underlay of week old socks. Sweat pouring off my body and being soaked up by my jacket, dripping off of my hair and into my eyes. Sorry people! This isn’t the beginning of a crime novel nor am I remembering anything grotesque, only what was a punishing, yet rewarding trek to the famed Living Root Bridges of Meghalaya.
Nestled in the lush and fertile valleys of Meghalaya, the Root Bridges are a lifeline for these rainy mountains which are lashed with the highest rainfall in the world and where flooded streams are a part of daily life. Bridges made of stick, metal, stone and concrete tend to require constant, repetitive and costly repairs and reinforcements. Root bridges are part of nature and quite unlike such bridges. They are not “built” but, rather “grown” from the roots of the Ficus elastica, commonly known as the Rubber Fig. The people of Khasi and Jaintia tribes of the eastern Khasi hills of Meghalaya have been growing their footbridges for centuries. Each root bridge requires approximately 15 years of loving care by the tribal families to be fully functional and they can, in principle sustain for hundreds of years, as long as the trees whose roots make up the bridges stay healthy and upright. The art and science of growing these bridges is passed on from parents to children through generations of the tribes. Due to their astonishing and unique nature, the root bridge has been recognised as an UNESCO World Heritage Site.
On a wet April morning, our group of five set off from Cherrapunjee, hoping to see one of the best known examples of sustainable, living architecture in the world: The Double Decker Root Bridge of Nongriat.
The Bridge is a 3 km descent from the village of Tyrna , a punishing trek of 2500 steps, up and down steep, slippery stairs surrounded by vivid green forests. Apart from the occasional fellow climber, our descent and the subsequent climb was mainly made in retrospective silence. I’m not sure what the quiet can be attributed to- our urban naivete in recognising wild sounds, or perhaps the birds were themselves still and hushed, or the animals were more active at night rather than the day. But, the forests were calm and serene, not buzzing with the calls of animals or birds; quite unlike our earlier treks of the Western Ghats.
The sounds were all water: streams gushing, rain falling, water dripping off the ledges of huts and waterfalls bellowing in the distance. The air smelt fresh, brisk and crisp, the colors all shades of green, soothing and reassuring.
The trek is memorable for all these reasons and more. We had to cross two other bridges before we actually reached the root bridge. These non-root, wire and concrete bridges seemed incomplete, somehow unfinished.
I, for one, was not prepared for the challenges that came with tiptoeing on a bunch of metal ropes. The heavy torrents of water rushing underneath my feet, the frightening sway of the wires in the wind when I got to the point of no-return are stories worthy of my future grandchildren. No matter how many times my out of shape self has cursed my dear husband for enticing me into the arduous climb, these wonderful moments make it all worth it.
Climbing down through the jade forest, we rounded a cluster of houses and found ourselves at the top of the last flight of stairs leading down to our destination. Unkempt dreadlocks hanging hither and thither, covered with thick moss, looking for all the world like the famed Jack Sparrow, the Double Decker hung across a mini waterfall. The water was cool, inviting you to drag off your clothes and jump right into the middle. But, with propriety riding on my shoulders, I restricted myself to pulling off my shoes and splashing my feet in the refreshing stream underneath the Double Decker. Meanwhile my niece dragged my hubby across our journey’s end shouting with all her teenage glee and I sat, tired, but content. The sounds, smells and the moisture ridden breeze of Meghalaya soothed my sores and calmed my senses. The thought of the as yet unaccomplished climb, back up to Tyrna only a tiny little worm at the back of my mind.
So, here I sit, all these months later, perspiring in the midday heat of a Sunday afternoon, tapping away on my keyboard and smelling my perspiration all over again.
Author : Aarbhi
Photography : Vasistha
On a wet April morning, our group of five set off from Cherrapunjee, hoping to see one of the best known examples of sustainable, living architecture in the world: The Double Decker Root Bridge of Nongriat.
The Bridge is a 3 km descent from the village of Tyrna , a punishing trek of 2500 steps, up and down steep, slippery stairs surrounded by vivid green forests. Apart from the occasional fellow climber, our descent and the subsequent climb was mainly made in retrospective silence. I’m not sure what the quiet can be attributed to- our urban naivete in recognising wild sounds, or perhaps the birds were themselves still and hushed, or the animals were more active at night rather than the day. But, the forests were calm and serene, not buzzing with the calls of animals or birds; quite unlike our earlier treks of the Western Ghats.
The sounds were all water: streams gushing, rain falling, water dripping off the ledges of huts and waterfalls bellowing in the distance. The air smelt fresh, brisk and crisp, the colors all shades of green, soothing and reassuring.
The trek is memorable for all these reasons and more. We had to cross two other bridges before we actually reached the root bridge. These non-root, wire and concrete bridges seemed incomplete, somehow unfinished. I, for one, was not prepared for the challenges that came with tiptoeing on a bunch of metal ropes. The heavy torrents of water rushing underneath my feet, the frightening sway of the wires in the wind when I got to the point of no-return are stories worthy of my future grandchildren. No matter how many times my out of shape self has cursed my dear husband for enticing me into the arduous climb, these wonderful moments make it all worth it.
Climbing down through the jade forest, we rounded a cluster of houses and found ourselves at the top of the last flight of stairs leading down to our destination. Unkempt dreadlocks hanging hither and thither, covered with thick moss, looking for all the world like the famed Jack Sparrow, the Double Decker hung across a mini waterfall. The water was cool, inviting you to drag off your clothes and jump right into the middle. But, with propriety riding on my shoulders, I restricted myself to pulling off my shoes and splashing my feet in the refreshing stream underneath the Double Decker. Meanwhile my niece dragged my hubby across our journey’s end shouting with all her teenage glee and I sat, tired, but content. The sounds, smells and the moisture ridden breeze of Meghalaya soothed my sores and calmed my senses. The thought of the as yet unaccomplished climb, back up to Tyrna only a tiny little worm at the back of my mind.
So, here I sit, all these months later, perspiring in the midday heat of a Sunday afternoon, tapping away on my keyboard and smelling my perspiration all over again.
Author : Aarbhi
Photography : Vasistha
