Pausing to catch his breath, Harish scowled at the foursome racing each other. The laughter which floated down on the gentle breeze jarred on his nerves like discordant notes. His wife ambled along happily, a benign expression on her face as she tried to balance her disproportionate weight on wobbly feet. The proverbial tortoise, except that she could not care less if she won or lost the race. Resentment filled his gut; both for the tortoise and the hares. He was the misfit, alienated and uncomfortably at odds with everyone and everything.

When he  told Meera about the tour to the mountains which he had gifted them both, she had been dubious about its suitability at their age. Harish had been quick to rubbish her fears. They were both healthy and in the prime of their lives. It would be fun being with like-minded and like-aged people. One ought to live life king-size. She had acquiesced in the face of his arguments, the way she always did, and gradually graduated from anxious apprehension to excited anticipation. The permanent state of bliss into which she could lull herself was exasperating even though it clinched matters in his favour.

Meera’s pathetic attempts at helping him come to terms with his retirement were equally annoying and  they simply served to rub in the unpleasant truth. He had yet to cross the threshold beyond which playing rummy or scrabble were the high points of one’s day. His eyes strayed to the fine grooves which fanned out from the corners of her eyes. Strange that he had never noticed them before. Were they visible on his face too? He brushed the thought aside. Laughter lines! They had nothing to do with age. The tour would be a welcome escape and would underscore the fact that he was not over the hill or ready to be relegated to the background.
 Six months ago, he had been in another kind of race.... a rat race which had kept him shuttling between home and work, deluded by the belief that he was an indispensable and integral cog of a complex machinery. Even at the grand farewell they had organized in his honour, the fact did not register that they did not need him any longer. That their ship would not sink because of the hole created by his absence.

However, the exuberance with which he had set out on this trip was rapidly disintegrating. The idyllic trip he had envisaged had started off on a jarring note thanks to their guide, Bunty. A huge hunk of a man with bulging biceps liberally tattooed a deep indigo, he was the antithesis of Harish’s perception of a tour guide. Dressed in objectionably distressed jeans slung low over his waist and a T-shirt which contoured his chest, the man had expressed his misgivings about their signing up for a trip which was built around trekking and paragliding. Harish had been quick to admonish him for both his casual attire and the audacity of addressing him as uncle. It was the latter which had rattled him more. The man was a service-provider and they were clients who were funding his cheques. The sanctity of the relationship ought to be maintained. Besides, it was their decision and definitely not subject to his opinion.

Meera had tried to soften Harish’s sarcasm-loaded admonishments by smiling apologetically. To his credit, Bunty had taken it well and thereafter avoided the gross mode of address. It was another thing that he would call Meera aunty whenever he though Harish was not listening. But then she was aunty to all their co-travellers as well. It annoyed his sensibilities but then she had no one to blame except herself. With her baggy clothes and grey hair, she invited the epithet. The worst thing was that it did not perturb her. On the contrary, she seemed quite happy with being a universal aunt.

The second thing which rankled was that even though their fellow-holidayers were like-minded, they were definitely not like-aged. The youngest were a quartet of college students making the most of a term break and then there was a couple in their early forties with two little kids in tow. There were almost a couple of decades between him and the two banking investors who were nearest  in seniority to him and Meera. It pinched. The other day he had caught one of the bankers peering at the grey roots which were visible through his meticulously coloured and groomed hair.  Harish was sure he had caught a snigger on the man’s face. The attempted cover-up apparently afforded the chap unwarranted amusement. A few years down the line he would be travelling the same route, Harish thought waspishly. Except that there would not be much left for him to camouflage by then, going by his receding hairline and stringy locks.

The Awasthi family caught up with Meera and they happily paused to pose for pictures. She waved her hands to catch his attention, but he ignored it as he trudged steadily up the slope. Let her join the enemy camp. He was better off without the others. Not one of them could match his speed or stamina. Even those clowns who had been strutting ahead had flopped down, breathless and exhausted. He strode past them, a supercilious smile on his face and then halted to glance down the slope. His wife and the others looked like colourful dots wavering up the incline.

Another sharp curve and the trail widened into a wide space liberally sprinkled with fir cones and dried pine needles. A girl of not more than twelve was trying to persuade a stubborn goat to leave the bush it was teasing and obey the rope she was valiantly tugging. Her ruddy cheeks were flushed with the effort. Deciding to take a break, he flopped down and closed his eyes.

His mind wandered aimlessly. The new generation was becoming increasingly self-obsessed and insensitive. Casual in their approach and casual in their conversation. Gorging on chips and colas while talking aimlessly about irrelevant issues. Even their music was as loud and meaningless as them. Like that fellow with that ridiculous green streak in his straw-coloured mop. The one they called Chucks. Chucks! What kind of a name was that. At least Meera should have more sense than mingling with those twerps. Did she really think that she could blend in with them? She ought to stick to his side. But to be absolutely honest he had not given her much time in all those years and she had learnt to find her happiness amongst others. The high point of her life was baking cookies for the neighbours or feeding stray dogs across their block. She was evidently enjoying this novelty. He grimaced. At least one of them was taking full advantage of what they had paid for.

A piercing scream broke his melancholy. The stragglers had emerged on to the clearing and the Billy-goat, frightened by the unexpected appearance of so many two-legged creatures into its territory, had broken free and charged forward. With a lightning move, Harish leapt up and planted his foot on the rope which was trailing the animal. The noose around its neck tightened and it was brought to an abrupt halt, the treacherous horns barely inches from Mrs. Awasthi’s lanky frame.

‘Sheeru!’ shrieked the little goatherd and Billy hung its head and stepped backwards, entangling Harish’s foot in the rope and bringing him down with a crash. His head hit the corner of a boulder, and he passed out.
When he came to, his horned antagonist was nowhere to be seen. Harish could feel a painful bruise on his left cheek and a rapidly swelling lump at the back of his head. The solemn faces clustered around him broke into huge grins of relief as he tried to prop himself up on an elbow. Of one accord, they all started clapping appreciatively.

‘You were magnificent,’ Chuck’s voice was breathless with awe. The others pitched in with effusive compliments. Harish watched bemusedly as they arrayed themselves around him and their mobiles went into frenzied overdrive. Hands were placed possessively on his shoulder and arms linked through his. Proximity to the hero of the day was captured and stored virtually.

Bunty shouldered himself forward, saluted smartly and then clasping Harish’s hand in his own, he pumped it vigorously. ‘What speed man! And what presence of mind! You were terrific...sir.’

Harish looked across at Meera as she beamed proudly at him, her eyes moist with unshed tears. Chuck started off a refrain of cheers which echoed spiritedly. He felt light-headed and magnanimous. Chuck’s green streak was just a matter of personal choice. One had to make allowances for the foibles of youth.
They were not a bad lot. He felt his heart lift and his face creased into a contented smile. The hum of voices merged pleasantly into the notes of the breeze.