Although we started from home a little before 7:00 am, it was 1:10 pm when we reached Jindabyne and our bus was scheduled to leave at 1:30 pm. My husband Subha and daughter Phutphuti rushed to the shop to collect the boots, snow pants and jackets that were available for hire; my mother and I followed them, pushing the pram while Neelak protested loudly, unhappy about being confined in a small, box-like space. I wished he could understand that we were going to a magnificent town called Thredbo and was as excited about the trip as we were.
The shopkeeper insisted that we try on the clothes to check the size, but, owing to the lack of time, Subha selected them merely on a glimpse. His guess was good as the clothes fitted us perfectly. Clutching two large, blue canvas bags full of hired clothes, we hurried to the bus-stop and promptly occupied the last four empty seats, which Subha had booked several days before. We parked the pram near us, but since Neelak was crying, we picked him up, pointed towards the windows and watched his face lit up instantly with a big, toothless smile. Outside, the pale brown slopes, with their flaky texture, looked like heaps of cornflakes. The hills bristled with snow gum trees, many of their green garbs snatched by the lengthy winter. As we approached our destination, the hills became mottled with small patches of snow that had accumulated between the shadowy tree barks.
Finally, at Thredbo, we alighted from the bus. We walked to the Information Centre, turned right and climbed up a few steps to see the vast expanse of snow, appearing like a thick layer of salt. We wandered across it, careful not to slip, our movements made much easier by the hired boots. The place was teeming with tourists and many of them were skiing. We scooped up some crumby snow, rolled them into balls with our gloved hands and flung them at each other.
When we returned to Jindabyne by bus, it was well past lunch-time. We settled on a bench by the roadside and devoured the sandwiches we had been carrying from home, and although they had gone cold, the paired slices of whole-wheat bread, with a stuffing of ham and cheese, tasted delicious, dousing our hunger, which had been raging since long. Thankfully, we had been able to feed Neelak at Thredbo, positioning his pram beside the lane edging the snowy grounds. After the light meal, we strolled to our car, relaxed at the thought that there were no more public transports to catch and looked forward to spending the evening in the warm interiors of a motel.
It took fifty minutes by car to reach Bunk House Motel at Cooma. There was a small boy at the reception and on checking our names, he directed us to room number three. We passed by a courtyard with a bench and a leafless shrub that had sprouted a mesh of spindly branches. Overlooking the courtyard, there were three rooms and we stepped into ours, instantly comforted by the warmth of a heater and overcome by a homely feeling as our eyes rested on the the three beds, padded with thick blankets, the table and chairs, a flat TV, an electric kettle, a microwave and a small refrigerator. With a kitchen like area, complete with a large oven, a sink and a wooden platform, it was more like a suite. The washroom had a pink bathtub, with a wooden niche for placing the soap, carved into the tiled wall.
The motel did not serve any kind of meals At the reception, there was a stack of colourful leaflets from a nearby eatery. We picked one of them, flapped it open, and on eyeing the menu, we made up our minds to order dinner from the joint, our appetite roused by the description of the various pizzas and other mouthwatering dishes. We chatted, read books, checked messages and posts using the WiFi provided by the motel till it was time for Neelak's dinner. Once he was fed, we dug into the voluminous packet delivered by the eatery. Unwrapping the foils that had kept the food items warm till then, we indulged in the sumptuous meal of pork ribs, chicken wings, garlic bread, boiled corns and a leafy salad strewn with tiny black rings of chopped olive and fine shreds of pineapple. Accompanying all these, there were small bowls of plain yogurt and capsules that had to be pressed lightly to squirt out the tangy sauce within.
With our stomachs full, we crept into our beds and fell fast asleep, snug under the double layers of blankets. However, being away from home with an infant comes with myriad challenges. Neelak often woke up, probably perplexed by the unfamiliar, dark surroundings, and as a result, our sleep got disrupted several times. We busied ourselves in switching the lights on and off, hoping one of the arrangements would soothe him back to sleep. Despite all these, we left our beds in the morning feeling completely refreshed, rejuvenated by the thought of visiting another place draped with reams of sparkling white snow.
After shower and breakfast and Neelak's first solid meal of the day, which, as usual, is accomplished with a lot of singing and dancing, intended to keep him in good mood and cooperative, we stuffed our belongings into our bags and set out for Jindabyne. Unlike during the journey from Sydney, we reached the bus-stop well in time. After a half-an-hour trip along a hilly road, surrounded by slopes that were barren except for a sparse cover of trees, and infused with a kind of bleak beauty, we reached Perisher. Clad in our heavy boots, we made our way down the street, which was wet and slippery with melting snow. After spending a few minutes at the Medical Centre to visit the restrooms and put on our snow jackets and trousers, we stepped onto the grounds that thronged with tourists.
As Neelak was hungry, we parked the pram towards the edge, and took out the assortment of flasks, containers and spoons. Once his second solid meal of the day was taken care of, we roamed across the endless carpet of snow, frolicking and imbibing the essence of the place. Phutphuti and I huddled around a small heap of snow and tried to sculpt something out of it; then we sprawled ourselves under the bright blue sky, our skin protected from the chill by the hired jackets that turned out to be more than adequate. Noticing two punctures in the cover of snow, we made our way towards them and looked down. There was water, dark and creased by its flowing movement, peering at us like a pair of expressive eyes through the eye holes of a white mask. Thrilled by the presence of a waterbody underneath our feet, we sought to discover more of the landscape which rose into gentle slopes, swarming with skiing tourists. The white hills were shaded by the dark brown trunks of snow gum trees, their bare branches bathing in the shimmery blueness of the skies.
Having spent most of our lives in the sultry plains of India, it was a unique experience for us, and we returned to the bus-stop with our hearts soaring in joy. I was relieved that my mother, who is more susceptible to cold than the rest of us, was not discomfited by the climes. Back in Jindabyne in another half an hour, we trooped to an eatery to fuel ourselves for the long journey back to Sydney. I gorged on crispy fish and chips; the others had chicken wraps. It was a little after 4:00 pm when we strapped Neelak into the child seat and sunk into our own seats in the car. Within an hour, the sky slipped completely under its black veil and Subha achieved the remarkable feat of driving for several hours in the dark. Unlike in India, one cannot park the car by the highway. The car can be stopped only at designated by-lanes marked as rest areas. With a few extremely brief, indispensable halts, we managed to reach home a little before midnight, exhausted but bestowed with memories of so many joyous moments that we coalesced them like crumbs of pristine white snow, rolled and kneaded into delightful balls.
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