Waking up the radiant star of the solar system isn't easy. Had I known, I probably wouldn't have insisted we celebrate our second anniversary at Haleakala Summit in Maui. My sage significant other just nodded in agreement and then told me with utmost calm, "We can't go. It's impossible for you to wake up that early." Granted, my lids don't generally allow light or anything similar to intrude upon my beauty sleep until 9 am, but being presumptuous like this was absolutely ridiculous. I had woken up previously at 4 am (erm...once to stand in line for my US visa), wasn't this what life was all about? Learning from past experiences. "What rubbish!," I exclaimed, "I will most certainly wake up at whatever time we need to set out."
"Ok, then. We leave at 2 am," he replied coolly. All my brashness gushed out like a broken aquarium tank. It lay splattered at my feet, the posse -- gut and jaw mainly -– flipped about like gold fish doing the cosmic dance of death. But, a decision had been made. And the onus lay fair and square on my (rather delicate) shoulders.
September 13 didn't dawn. We woke up before that. While I vigorously brushed my teeth, hoping somehow that violently shaking my teeth out of their gums would consecutively result in opening up of very stubborn eyelids; they only got heavier with each shove of the toothbrush. I swear, I saw the hubby grin like Sylvester the cat who had swallowed a whole nest of Tweeties. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have gotten away, but I was too busy trying to clear the silky threads spun by my dreams.
"Wrap up really warm," he said. "If we don't, we risk our okole's (Hawaiian for derrière) being served as frozen delights." Yeah, right, I thought to myself. One book he reads on what to do in Hawaii, thrown in with some fancy-shmancy foreign words and he thinks he can tell me what to do. Ha! I can take care of my okoles and the rest of myself. Thank you very much indeed! (He should have known. Sleep deprivation is equal to nasty thoughts in his wife's otherwise benign psyche).
The circuitous drive to the house of the sun (translated as Haleakala in Hawaiian) begins at (where else) the Haleakala Highway on 37. As we ascend upwards, swirling clouds try unsuccessfully to swallow the murky night within their folds, while the temperatures fall almost three degrees with every thousand feet. We creep along, ever so slowly, one would think this was rush hour traffic in Mumbai. I am pretty sure almost every car up ahead is driven by a Cheshire cat of a husband with a bleary wife in the passenger seat, in complete denial mode.
I am feeling very smug and snug in my three-t-shirts-underneath-a-warm-jacket-wrapped-tightly-in-a Kashmiri-shawl-combo. Even Egyptian Pharaohs wouldn't be as bundled. But, it is not to be. As soon as I step out of the cozy comfort of the car, the chilly wind cuts and dices me pretty much like a Jalapeño pepper. At 10,000 feet this might as well have been the Swiss Alps in hell. Several horrifying images of Hawaiian tourist guides telling Japanese tourists, "Here lie the frozen nuggies of the over-smart woman who wouldn't pay heed to her wise husband's advice," play havoc in my already benumbed head.
It's a wonder we have managed to walk the small distance from the car to the summit house, without losing important anatomical parts. I check frequently, everything is in its desired place. Our true Mumbai souls take charge as soon as we step into the house. Even before the others have acclimatised themselves to the somewhat warmer house, we, in true Mumbaikar spirit, have captured the "window seat" to watch the sunrise.
Then begins the long wait. We huddle close, our teeth chatter harmoniously in unison, while my husband of two years, frequently blows some of his thermal breath on my refrigerated hands. Several other figures are sardined similarly, some movements are suspicious even, but we understand – when in Antarctica, do what the penguins do.
I see a faint glimmering line and imagine my cold blood has taken to playing mind games by now. A hush ensues. Everyone obviously sees the same thing. We watch, prattling teeth, frozen hands and okoles a thing of the past. Every second makes the dim line brighter, it's as if someone is deliberately lighting a thousand bulbs under the clouds. Only they glow with such ebullience, nothing man-made could ever replicate it. Is the sun really rising from beneath us? This must be how the gods must view it, rising every day – wrapped in this flimsy peach-yellow receiving-blanket. The clouds that were bathed in lavender blues and baby pinks slowly turn warm shades of yellow, red and orange. We rush out of the sun's parlour, capturing this chimerical sight on film is all that matters. The wind whips around without mercy for its pound of flesh. It has our faces, fingers and toes. But, nothing matters, as we watch the magic unfold, our okole's chilled stiff, nevertheless spellbound.
And then it breaks through it's cocoon of ethereal clouds that rocked it in their arms, just seconds ago. In its full golden glory, it rises, tall and sure. Confidently spreading its glowing warmth. Bathing our faces and our souls with a joy so profound, yet so utterly humbling.
We feel like new parents, seeing the face of their newborn child for the very first time. Sure, the midnight labour seemed never-ending and quite the start to our second year together. I did all that I have heard pregnant women do – rage, rage and rage some more. And my husband did all that I have heard expectant fathers do – mostly quite a bit of Lamaze breathing and a whole lot of placating. But, I have to say, they don't call giving birth a life-altering experience for nothing.
For a second chance to behold this spectacle, I would gladly eat humble pie and give up everything in a heartbeat. The warm comfort of my bed, my beauty sleep. Even my precious okoles!
Maui, the sun and 24-hour days
Legend has it that the demigod Maui, hearing his mother complain of the days being too short to dry her tapa cloth, ensnared the sun's rays as it streaked across the sky at Haleakala. The demigod wanted to kill the sun, but when the sun promised that he would walk across instead of running, Maui let him go. As a result of that pact, here we are with 24-hour days!
About Haleakala
The largest mountain on eastern Maui, Haleakala at one time rose 15,000 feet and measured 32,000 feet from its base at the bottom of the ocean. Now at 10,000 feet, the mountain is expected to sink back into the sea because of its own weight.