Nothing Changes in the Hills

Bipin

The fluorescent green board nailed to the first tree on each side of the plantation’s gate shone in the hover-jeep’s headlight:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPinus roxburghii
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤचीड़ का वृक्ष
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLongleaf Indian Pine

The hover-jeep glided across the plantation to reach the century-old cerulean building of the National Centre for Himalayan Cash Crops. Bipin, seated in the back of the jeep, rolled down the window and inhaled a lungful of the future. The entire staff of the centre, researchers and accountants alike, stood in front of the main pine-wood gate of the building. All in formal clothes.

“Isn’t it too late to stay back at work, Singh saab?” Bipin asked the scientific officer tasked with picking them up from the airport.

“It’s okay, saab. Everyone wanted to make a good first impression.”

“Huh, half of them must hate me already.”

Dr Bipin Lal Negi, dressed in a khaki waist-length kurta, black pump jeans, and green camo Crocs, hopped down from the hover-jeep. A flurry of four senior researchers surrounded them right away, with garlands made of locally grown materials. First, hot pink rose flowers. Second, leaves of various medicinal plants. Third, foxnuts and dried apricots. And lastly, carefully sorted one-inch pinecones. All of them must have mentioned their names but Bipin’s 24-hours-old headache stood Gandalf-like, not letting any information pass through the barrier of cognition. Only one high-pitched voice got through to them, “You can eat this one as snacks!”

After shaking everyone’s hands, Bipin was finally guided to their quarters, two blocks from the main building. A two-floor bungalow with its own private kitchen, a garden, a pair of magnolia trees, and the peaks of the Dhauladhar range forever inching closer to the moon. Unable to take care of any executive tasks at hand, Bipin stumbled on the staircase to the first floor, dropped face-first on the twelve-inch foam mattress, and fell asleep.

Tomorrow, they start their first day as the director of the centre.

Pragnya

The night before the arrival of the centre’s new director, Pragnya had drowned themselves in chhaang. With every beefy burp, they felt prouder of this new batch. After all, the ingredients used to brew it were either invented or grown by them. Even the aconite, with half its usual purple panicle, looked at them despicably from the windowsill. This was the perfect occasion to savour every last bit of it.

Until now, Pragnya’s life had been any academic’s wet dream. They had three papers and a patent in their bachelor’s that helped them skip the formality of a Master’s degree, and directly enrol into a PhD program in Amsterdam. A postdoc in Berlin and a few years of research in Uppsala later, they had been recruited by the government of India to pioneer a pine research facility in the country. But much like heartbeat after years of smoking tobacco, life in academia can be a fickle thing. Without one’s knowledge, the tendency to compare, to want the best, to get the highest influx of grants and outflow of papers, sets in. Even in people like Pragnya. So even if they wouldn’t admit to anyone, not even themselves, they were the best candidate in the country to become the centre’s new director. After all, half its funding came through solely because of their research. For how many years more do they have to serve as the puppet post of the Department Head of Pine Research?

Sitting on the rust sofa just under the windowsill, they mumbled to the aconite, “Ah, who knows, maybe this new director really is… better?”

Thud!

Just saying that thought out loud made them laugh so hard that they rolled over from the sofa and fell on the floor.

“Ow, what a mess.”

They commanded their personal medical service companion, a Medic.Me, “Hey, Kangana, help me get up, will you?” The robot whirred in from its cabinet, giggled, and helped them get back on the sofa.

“I heard you giggle, you know?”

“That was quite the intent. Is there anything else you’d like my assistance with?”

“No, it’s alright, go back.”

Kangana whirred back into its cabinet, “Good night, then.”

“Now let’s see what this new douchebag director is made of. Mikky, give me a summary of this Bipin fellow, will you? And links to all their socials too.”

Mikky blinked awake. “I can definitely do the former but highly advise you to not do the latter. You know how sloppy your motor system gets when you’re inebriated.”

“Shh, just do as I say.”

“Warning you is my system default. You should remove it if you don’t want me to do so.”

“You’re in some mood today.”

“I’m a result of your programming, after all.”

“Ha! Good one, Mikky. Now, let’s see what you’ve got there, Negiji. Um, molecular rubber specialist, agroforestry specialist, and a mechanical engineer? Leave something for us, you show off! What a towering research-score! Nice social score too. Okay, that’s depressing. Look at all these photos though. All up to date. Let’s scroll back to find some dirt on you, shall we… Oh! Oh shit!”

“What did you do? That’s one of the oldest mistakes in the history of--. Ah, never mind. You’re a certified stalker now.”

Bipin

At six thirty sharp, Bipin is woken up by the thrum of a cello. What the fuck? They shuffle out of the bed, walk to the balcony, and are taken aback to notice snow on the peaks of the mountain range frozen in distance. After a while, the depth of the cello fills their room again. This time they’re a bit more in their senses to notice the direction of the sound. Bach? Live? In the Himalayas?

In the middle of the plantation, on a thick orange-brown carpet of fallen pine needles at the cusp of ignition, they see a slight figure with its back to the bungalow’s windows, facing the now snow-capped mountain range.

“How the fuck is this possible?”

The slipped expletive, the cold breeze laden with the scent of pine refreshing their face, and the presence of the mysterious cellist, all together shock Bipin awake. Shouldering the aftereffects of yesterday’s headache and a pulled neck muscle, they rush outside, towards the cellist. By the time they reach a good enough vantage point, the cellist disappears.

Damn it, I should have studied the map of the institute beforehand!

They wait to catch their breath. After letting out a dry cough, they walked back to their allotted space in this new manufactured wilderness.

Breakfast was ready by the time they reached their quarters. Their personal chef, Devilal, had cooked a light poha, drizzled it with Bipin’s favourite less-oil less-masala crushed potato crisps. If nothing else, they could at least depend upon Devi’s intuition and the taste of his preparations to put a smile on their face.

After finishing the meal, they started walking towards their office in the main building, turning their head every ten seconds to look at the mountains, as if waiting for something to change. That’s when they bumped into a boulder and fell.

Pragnya

Pragnya’s usual routine after a disastrous night was to take out their cello, named Prabhjot Sacher-Masoch, walk to the middle of the pine plantation, their pine plantation, and play until they ran out of breath. It’s a habit they picked up during their postdoc days in Berlin. There, a different kind of pine, a different kind of Pragnya. The only thing that remained constant throughout the years was Sacher-Masoch. They bought it from a centennial music professor, who had gotten his hands on it via methods he wanted to take to his grave.

Feeling better and well-settled after playing for nearly an hour, they decided to go for an impromptu run. They kept the cello case back on their personal outdoors assistant Follow.Me called Shahi Tukda, and instructed it to return home.

They loved to run inside the campus. Especially in this season. A nip of chill in the air made their face go just the right amount of numb. They could even increase the porosity of the tracksuit to feel as if they’re one with the wind. There were all those varieties of trees and birds to glance at too. They especially loved going through the patch of eucalypti. One sprint across its scented field made them feel as though nothing was wrong with the world anymore. While running through the patch this time around, they spotted a rare western crowned warbler at the corner of their eye. That momentary distraction led them to stray from the running path, and right into an unsuspecting Bipin.

Bipin and Pragnya

Bipin stumbled while trying to get up. All this trying to reach the office early, and for what. Their brain fog cleared up in a few seconds and they saw that it was a person, not a boulder, who had possibly broken one of their bones. That person was still lying flat on the ground.

“Hey!” Bipin crouched and patted Pragnya’s cheeks a couple of times. They also looked around only to find deserted paths and no Medic.Me stationed around. They rang Mr Singh, the only acquaintance they had made at the institute so far. Twice. To no avail. They heard a grunt and darted their gaze to look at the listless person. Fuck, finally, yes. “Hey, are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Ungh… Water.”

“Yes, of course, here.” They took a bottle from their backpack and poured out a cup. “I’m sorry, my brain was muddled with the thoughts of joining the office and I wasn’t paying attention to the path.”

What’s this person saying? It was the warbler. Pragnya thought but somehow, couldn’t make themselves say it out loud. Only the sound of a hummingbird’s wings escaped their mouth.

“Would you like to try and get up? We should call a Medic.Me to take you to the clinic.”

“Nough. Okay. Walk. Home.”

While they were having this rich discussion, a Medic.Me reached their location out of nowhere and advised Pragnya to sit on its attached wheelchair. “Ungh. No. Take me home.”

“Protocol to take you to the clinic already set in motion.”

Bipin looked up to notice a security drone hovering just above their heads. Looking at this person now firmly seated in the Medic.Me, Bipin said, “Please visit the clinic. May I know your name?”

Before Pragnya could reply, the Medic.Me started whirring in the opposite direction, towards the centre’s clinic. Pragnya, still in a daze, replied to the question, only in their thoughts.

Bipin

Trying not to pay attention to their pulsating right ribcage, Bipin reached their office and took a generic analgesic.

“Saab… you… okay?”

A gasping figure manifested itself in front of Bipin. A middle-aged man, white striped shirt, half blue-green chequered pullover.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? Please sit down, have a glass of water.”

“Thank you, saab.”

He gulped down the entire glass in three seconds and burped as loud as a lion.

Well, great first impression, at least.

“Saab, you don’t remember? We met last night. I’m your personal assistant. Of course, you met so many people. How will you remember me? It’s okay. Let me reintroduce myself. I’m Laal Singh Praveen Rai Kant. You can call me Laal or Singh or Kant. Even PA will do. Whatever you are used to. In the morning, I saw you met with an accident with another staff member. How are you feeling now? Why did you not go to the clinic?”

“Wait, was it you who sent the Medic.Me?”

“Yes, of course. I was just doing my usual early morning check-ups of all drones and cameras. I saw two bodies lying on the path to the main building and took a prompt action.”

“Wah, thank you, Kantji! I’m alright. Seemed like the other person needed more help.”

Saying his name aloud like this reminded Bipin of kanji, the remains of rice gruel their biological mother used to feed them in childhood. It’s extra nutritious for children who want to grow as tall as a pine tree, she used to say. But back to the present, as Kant was leaving the office, they interrupted, “Wait, Kantji, you said that you looked at the security feed in the morning?”

“Oh yes, saab. This saffron tilak you see on my temple, it connects me to the security system of the entire centre. Only the guards and your PA have direct access to them. In case of an emergency such as this morning, anyone viewing can act on it. The AI monitoring system is being repaired at least six months of the year. Ha-ha.”

“That’s not a laughing matter, Kant ji. We should get it fixed asap. Anyway, I was interested to know something different, though.”

“Haanji, saab?”

“There was a person playing an instrument in the pine plantations this morning. Do you know anything about them?”

“Oh, you mean the cellist? That’s Dr Pragnya Rao. They work here in the centre only. They’re the head of the Pine department. In fact, the other person in this morning’s accident was them. If you want, I can arrange for a meeting with them tomorrow. I suppose they shouldn’t be disturbed today.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I’m just surprised to see, to hear a cellist live, here.”

“Arrey, don’t worry, saab. These parts hold a lot of secrets and surprises. It’s just your first day. Ha-ha.”

Pragnya

Much to their chagrin, Pragnya was taken to the clinic and not allowed to leave until the end of the day. This is preposterous!

“Yet needed. For your own good.” Medical in-charge of the centre, and Pragnya’s only salve in a radius of five hundred kilometers, Dr Santhosh Oomen got up from their seagreen metal stool across the room. Pragnya raised their eyebrows.

“How did I know what you were thinking? Once again? It’s written all over your face, darling. And please, your neck is stiffer than you from last night. And now you’re wondering how did I know. I have your bloodwork in my dear miraculous hands, you know.”

Pragnya was finally given a chance to speak.

“Mikky told you, no?”

“It’s always the best of our creations that turn on us when we need them the most.”

“I’ll have to tweak that sweaty old assistant’s code very soon.”

“Oh, give it a rest. You love that garbage code of yours.”

Pragnya’s heartbeat finally turned normal. They smiled a genuine smile after what felt like a lifetime.

“Now, will you tell me who or what did this to you?”

“Come home tonight. I’ll ask Kangana to cook mutton curry, in your father’s style.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. I’ve got a date in a nearby town. How about next week?”

“Works.”

After being discharged at the end of the day, Pragnya sat on a Medic.Me that took them home. They asked Mikky to inform the Administration Officer that they’ll be on a leave of absence for the rest of the week.

Bipin

A week went by rather innocuously. Bipin got busy with work and healing their rib cage. It was finally Monday again, time to formally introduce their work to everyone and give a presentation about their vision for the centre’s future.

Everyone gathered in the hundred-seater circular hall, at the centre of which stood Bipin. They took out a green chip from their pocket and connected it to the 3D projector jutting out from the floor. Before starting the projection, Bipin asked the now comfortable audience, “How many of you have read One Hundred Years of Solitude?”

Half of the audience looked at each other. The other half went blank.

“I believe it’s been a part of all graduate studies for a century now?”

No reply from the audience. Tough crowd.

“Alright, then. Let me tell you another story instead.”

Bipin immersed the audience in pine trees throughout the ages. The first British introduction. The later local encroachment. The incrementally destructive fires. The multiple failed restoration attempts. Finally, their nuanced mechanical intervention and advancement.

Everyone clapped. Only one person raised their hand. All other ninety-nine pairs of eyes cursed Pragnya for trying to raise a doubt and delaying the end of the presentation, when they all could have already beelined for the director’s special dinner. Bipin noticed the dissonance and suggested, “Maybe we could talk over dinner? I’m sure everyone must be famished after my rather self-indulgent talk.”

Bipin and Pragnya

The first task Bipin had assigned to Kantji was a faux recon mission. They wanted to know the food preference of every staff member. Kant, at the top of his game, had created an interactive diagram for Bipin’s ease within a couple of days. Most of the staff members preferred some form of meat, but mostly ate it outside, not at their homes. The clear winner was chicken, followed closely by prawns. The latter was hard to acquire in these parts although what wouldn’t they have done for a good jheenga ghee roast right now.

The research paid off when they saw everyone’s face brimming with delight as they entered the main hall. Even the closeted vegetarians.

Bipin and Pragnya’s favourites, pine-wood roasted chicken and keema mutton biryani, respectively, were on the opposite ends of the large spread. They picked up a plate each and decided to meet at the table nearest to the exit gate after getting some food.

Pragnya came back with a heap of biryani and a katora of masala raita while Bipin had merely taken four small pieces of the chicken, a little mushroom soup, and a square piece of butter rosemary naan. Pragnya raised their eyebrows.

“Are you telling me that’s your dinner?”

“I can sustain on far lesser.”

“Clearly.”

Unable to read the tone, Bipin diverted the conversation to where they’d left off after the presentation.

“So… you raised your hand after my talk. Did you have a question or a comment or--- but wait, before all that, how are you feeling now, you know,” Bipin clinked the spoon and the fork, “the crash?”

Ugh, small talk.

“I’m all good. You know, the doctor is a good friend. And quite capable.”

“As a friend or as a doctor?”

“Both! And to answer your other question: I just wanted to mess with the people. They’re so incurious, you know? Doing research like just another job. To rise up and up and up without any thought or consequence to others.”

Bipin thought they’d touched a nerve here. And then they saw.

“You wanted to be the director, didn’t you? And I came in your way? Just like on the path last week.”

“Wait. Hold on. Who told you?”

“It’s right there on your face.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that!”

By this time, people on tables next to theirs had started paying attention to the chatter going on between them.

Bipin suggested, “Maybe we should continue this conversation elsewhere.”

“How about a walk down the same path where we first met? Well, crashed.”

Pragnya

Last night, Pragnya took Bipin almost all the way across the 400-acre experimental farmland of the institute, showing some of their favourite spots, which Pragnya didn’t expect to do. Back late, they missed out on going to the office even today. Now seated in the comfort of their home, they look at the last beams of the sun making the aconite plant with one less petal glow maroon, and wonder out loud.

“Am I losing my marbles, Mikky?”

“More like you’re thinking with your genitals.”

“Mikky!”

Mikky made whirring noises, was about to say something, when the bell rang. Pragnya plunged from the sofa towards the gate and let out a sigh after seeing Dr Santhosh standing outside.

“Why are your ears all red? Expecting Dr Negi?”

Pragnya raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll never not be fascinated by how you react.” Santhosh walked inside with a white plastic bag that crinkled as soon as they kept it on the pine table, and continued, “So, how’s my bestie doing today?”

Both Mikky and Pragnya said at the same time, “Fine.”

Santhosh chuckled and jumped back on the sofa, rummaged around the bag they’d just bought and took out two apples, threw one at Pragnya, who caught it with the reflex of a cat.

“At least there’s no brain damage,” Santhosh said, and asked Pragnya to sit next to them.

Pragnya sat with their back glued to the sofa, their head raised up, fixated at the colour rising on the aconite’s half panicle.

Santhosh munched on the apple and asked, “Hello? Is no one going to ask me about my last week’s date?”

Pragnya’s eyes lit up, their two crow feet filled with delight, as Santhosh spoke with the flair of a natural orator, about all the orchards they visited on the other side of the valley. Turns out, the date was the son of an apple farmer. “Think about it, if he becomes a part of my polycule, we’ll get so many free apples every season. Apple pies, murabba, apple puree, stew, peppered apple, glazed…” Pragnya was lost in Bipin’s thoughts. Maybe they could get some spare apples from Santhosh’s future polycule addition, bake a few apple tarts for Bipin.

Kangana broke both of their thoughts when she whirred in to say that dinner is ready. The both of them sat hunched on the sofa, overlooking a heap of basmati, a pot of boneless mutton for Santhosh, bone-in mutton for Pragnya, and a shared pot of cucumber-onion raita. They took their respective steel plates in their hands, inhaled the curry-rice combination’s heady aroma, and dug in with their hands, thinking of the revelry.

____
Lavanya Aurora divides time between Uttarakhand and Bengaluru, India.