Q. What happens when a shy, high sensitive introvert is in human company non-stop for 8 days?

A. She grabs the first chance to find some quiet to recharge.

Today was the day to go to Rainbow Falls – a 1+ hour climb. I’m physically in no state to climb. And I’m psyched at the idea of climbing back up from Nongriat, anyway. And physically in no state to be away from a loo for more than a few hours, for sure.

So, waved the others goodbye and stayed back. I lazed in the room and read. Sat at the breakfast table and read. Sat at double decker bridge and read. Sat at Loretta’s cafe and read with Maggi and tea and a wee doggie for company. Sat on a foresty path and read with dappled sunlight and another dog for company.

I looked up from my book when I heard footsteps, saw a big strong man walking, swinging an axe – and was disarmed by his huge, friendly smile! A smile that seemed to say, “I know I’m big and scary but I’m harmless. See?” and to prove it, he said good morning, in very cultured tones, and trotted away double quick, and disappeared down the path. Wow, Monica Pillai. Look at you, being all fearless and strong in Meghalaya. Sometimes, it’s the place that gives you strength. It was surely the case here. In a place full of such polite people, and 500m away from the general protection of Byron, I felt safe.

When the hordes arrived: 3 Aussies, a New Zealander (all with hilarious tales of their pets and pictures to show around), some Indians,  few Israelis, etc., I was charged up enough to be coherent.

A worshipful moment in appreciation of dinner at Byron’s:

“Dinner will be common for all, vegetarian, and served at 7.30pm”, say the house rules tacked to the kitchen wall at Serenity. Byron missed mentioning that dinner will be such an affair that it will make you genuflect. That night, it was a brilliant dinner (potatoes done like french fries, banana flower veggie, gourd dal, papad). It’s served family style in the vessels in which dinner’s been cooked. Dinner preparation starts at 5pm. Byron and the wife are in charge. They often have one young man (one of their cousins) who comes by to help. At 7.29pm, the last of the food is being arranged on the table, along with plates, spoons, glasses, and jugs of water.

There is much bonhomie among the assorted United Nations of people that we see at such places. It is like Gokarna in the mountains.

Someone talks of a bonfire the day before. Byron asks us to bring firewood. So the trekkers to Rainbow Falls come back with loads of it. And voila, bonfire! Suddenly, it stats to rain! Not your tame city rain. It rains like something far more elemental. My city sensibilities were quite shaken!

This thing happened earlier today: a girl, boyfriend/ husband came up and aggressively asked for a room. Byron (baby in sling) said how he’s full up here and will find a place in the village. The girl threw a tantrum, said a bunch of very ugly things and the guy threw in a “this is MY country, asshole”. Byron’s responses were even toned, measured and all he asked was, “This is not my country?”. He said how he’s seen too many of these kind of people and that once they badmouth him to the village, the others also won’t give them lodging. We were clearly on the side of the homestay owner with quiet dignity. But I just don’t understand the loud entitled Indian.

After doing all this, he sensed it’s going to rain, and the two people would get stranded climbing up in the dark, and spoke to a cousin with an upcoming homestay, and asked him to let these two stay back for the night. It’s too much to hope that the couple might actually feel happy or thankful to the people who gave them shelter. I hope they did feel general gratitude for the fact that they were dry and out of the rain.

I realised that Byron is assessing what kind of people should stay here. He does a good job of that assessment. So when temperamentally similar types come together, there’s camaraderie among strangers and hugs as we part.

The other realisation I had was: artists, sculptors, writers and other “liberal” types were hanging out in places like these, from around the world. The capitalists are still at Polo Club, Cherrapunjee, I suppose. Oh well. This homolog (get it?) is unnerving and comforting, all at once.