The Escape

I was alone, paragliding over the glaciers. Not ‘I’ exactly, and not alone either. The cold wind found many ways to get through the airtight suit. And the sun, being closer to me than it ever was, was not helping too. It was a strange, piercing feel of heat and chill. When you are invaded down to the veins and arteries, you don’t know where you ended and Nature began. There was no brooding, no luxury of time to be alone and worrying about the ordeal. With the skies above and the ground below, all I could do was to keep flying.

Flying? I turned around, looked at myself…I am here, glued to my garden chair and enjoying my evening tea. Funny that I thought about flying! Maybe a little bit of football on weekends with the village children to deceive myself that I am still strong but nothing this wild.

Now that the glider had considerable momentum, I relaxed to look at the grazing sheep. And the deodar trees seem so tiny. 

Wait. Why am I having all these visions? Glaciers are supposed to be vast expanses of white. Did the wind get the better of my vision while gliding? 

But I am not gliding; I am just out for a walk while the sun is setting over the valley. The sheep are being herded back to the villages and the evergreens are standing tall, as if in guard against the advancing darkness. This is my hamlet in an inconspicuous hill-station in India, nowhere close to Denali.

The last orange kiss of the day on the peak of Denali seems so dear. From above, I can clearly see the sunset hues criss-crossing the whites. But the cold is getting harsher, even the numbness has ceased to exist. I need to get past the peak and land on the other side where the National Geographic expedition team is waiting for me, with warm blankets and hot food. Probably wondering why on earth they agreed to the idea of me gliding over the Alaskan ranges. 

I pulled the blanket closer to me…but the cold doesn’t go away. A few more knots, then a descent of a few thousand feet and I will be safely back with my team, after a week of hiking and flying in the wilderness.

I twist and turn on the bed, rub my palms together. The cold is very stubborn. I need to steer the glider correctly during the descent. Am I dreaming?

Rubbing my eyes, I left the bed and took a seat near the telephone. It was a cold, new moon night; nothing to look outside of the window. Except for the stars that do not wax or wane. They are always here to look out for us, till they burn themselves out.

The warmth and light came with the ringing of the phone. ‘Daddy, I did it. I flew over Alaska.’

I didn’t understand whether it was the voice of an exhausted adventurer or a little girl. I cannot remember why I was feeling cold or having all those visions. Everything seems confusing with the Alzheimer’s. But I think I was living the dream. And now I can sleep.