#local noodle rants at a child

[witch-sweets]

Snatcher loses it

(I spent a week of my life on this)

For anyone wondering the audio is from SnapCube's Shadow the Hedgehog FanDub

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. 🥹

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Fifty Five

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

October 27th, 2019

“Hey, Jack,” Logan said, catching his boyfriend’s attention.

“What’s up, baby?” Jack asked.

Logan ignored the way his heart flew into his throat at the pet name. “What do you think we’ll do if we wind up being together for a whole year?”

Jack paused in scrolling his phone and hummed. “Well, I imagine that there’s gonna be a lot of kissing, but outside that I don’t really know. And I don’t really care, either. As long as I get to be with you and celebrate, it’s all good to me.”

Logan turned crimson. “Jack, stop it!”

“Never,” Jack vowed.

September 23rd, 2020

Logan fiddled with the bow tie he was wearing at Dee’s suggestion. He felt a little ridiculous, but he had to admit that a regular tie would have been too formal for his and Jack’s date. He slicked his hair back with a little hair gel, and gave himself a nervous smile. It didn’t seem like it had been a year that he and Jack had been together. It felt like forever and yet no time at all. It felt...right.

The doorbell ringing brought Logan out of his musings, and he hollered through the house, “I’ve got it!” He dashed down the stairs and opened the front door, to find Jack standing there with a small bouquet of duct tape flowers. “Duct tape?” Logan asked.

“They double as pens,” Jack explained, pulling one out of the small container they were in, revealing a pen cap on the bottom.

“I love it,” Logan laughed. “Thank you.”

Jack offered Logan a shy grin as Logan put the flower pens on the small table by the door. “I will tend to those after our date,” he said with a little laugh. His voice had stopped cracking by now for the most part, and his voice wasn’t super deep, but it definitely wasn’t what it used to be. He felt like a guy, and honestly, the fact that he was with Jack just made the experience that much better. Because Jack never ruined the illusion. He didn’t treat it as an illusion at all. “Where are we going, anyway? You never specified. Just that it was dress-casual.”

With a smirk, Jack gestured to the car. “You shall find out when you get in the car, Mister Picani.”

“I hate you sometimes, I hope you realize that,” Logan said with a laugh as he got into Jack’s new-to-him car. “In a joking way, of course.”

“‘Course,” Jack said, getting in the driver’s seat and setting off down the road. “Your clue is in the glove box.”

Logan sent Jack a glance when Jack grinned like he had made a particularly good pun. He opened the glove box and found two tickets for the local theatre’s production of “Clue: On Stage.” Logan was speechless for a good minute. “I...wow. That was a terrible pun, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack said with a grin. “But worth it.”

“If you say so,” Logan replied with an eye roll.

“I do say so!” Jack laughed, grabbing Logan’s hand with his free one. “I love you, I hope you know that. And I know you love me, because you put up with my puns.”

Logan shook his head. “That’s it? That’s all you see that says ‘I love you’?”

“Is there anything else?” Jack asked, glancing at him.

“Well, I always figured that you knew I was saying ‘I love you’ when I sent you pretty pictures of space that I found, or when I found a song that reminded me of you,” Logan said with a shrug. “And then there’s when we send each other selfies, or you’re upset and I send you a meme or three about the situation. Or when we hang out after school in drama club, laughing at all the younger techs who are trying so hard to be cool but have no idea what they’re doing.”

Jack smiled softly. “That’s you saying you love me?”

“Well, yeah,” Logan said. “I’m not much one for words, so I try to do smaller gestures that show you that you matter to me. I thought your love languages might be quality time and gifts? So I sent you stuff and I hang out with you whenever I can.”

“What are your love languages?” Jack asked. “So I can know what I can do to help you?”

“I generally receive love in acts of service or words of affirmation,” Logan said. “But quality time is also important to me, so I’m not sure how to rank them.”

“That’s okay, Lo, you don’t have to, I was just curious,” Jack said. “I guess neither of us are big on physical touch, huh?”

“It can get overwhelming,” Logan said. “And I know you just like to respect people’s space.”

Jack grinned at Logan as they pulled into the parking lot of the theatre. “Here’s some words of affirmation: I love you, and there’s nothing I would rather do than spend the night watching this play with you.”

Logan turned beet red and buried his head in his hands. “Jack, no,” he murmured.

“Jack yes!” Jack said with a laugh, getting out of the car and helping Logan out as well.

The two walked into the building and Jack held Logan’s hand as they showed their tickets and got to their seats. They leaned back and relaxed as the show started. Logan kept his hand intertwined with Jack’s as the characters showed up, one by one.

Slowly, as all the suspects were investigating each other, Logan let his grip on Jack’s hand grow lax, as he was completely sucked into the story. He only came back to himself when Jack stretched and wrapped his arm around Logan’s shoulder. Logan looked at Jack and rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out. Jack grinned, held a finger to his lips, and pointed to the stage.

When the play ended, with Colonel Mustard using the lead pipe in the observatory to kill Mister Boddy, Logan and Jack clapped along with the rest of the audience as the curtain call came. Logan whistled at the end when they all took a bow, and Jack laughed, nose wrinkling up and all his teeth showing in his pure joy at Logan’s enthusiasm.

They headed out of the theatre as slowly the lights came back on. “That was so much fun!” Logan exclaimed to Jack, once they were outside again. “This was a great night!”

“It’s gonna get greater,” Jack said with a grin. “Because we still have dinner to go to.”

“Oh! Right!” Logan had forgotten about that. He was supposed to come up with a place where they could have dinner. “I know it’s not five-star cuisine, but we can head back to my house for some chicken alfredo? I made sure that Dad and Ami got all the ingredients we’d need.”

“Sounds perfect,” Jack said, kissing Logan’s nose and getting into his car.

Logan squawked indignantly and fell into Jack’s car, going on a rant about how he was a very serious man, and as a very serious man he did not get kissed on the nose.

“You do by me, so suck it up, Buttercup!” Jack said with a grin.

Logan scoffed and crossed his arms with a huff. “I’m a very serious man,” he grumbled.

“Of course you are, baby,” Jack laughed. “But I have to let you know I love and trust you somehow. What better way than that? Doing something that I wouldn’t be caught dead doing otherwise because germs and trust issues and I don’t want to get slugged.”

Logan glanced out the window. “You could just use words of affirmation and acts of service.”

“Kissing your nose isn’t an act of service?” Jack teased.

“Well...no,” Logan said, frowning.

“Really? Because that nose of yours is practically begging to be kissed,” Jack said. “I’m doing a service for every man loving man out there by kissing it.”

Logan groaned. “Stop,” he whined.

“Never,” Jack declared as they pulled up to Logan’s house.

They got inside and Logan promptly picked up the flowers and moved with them into the kitchen. Logan checked the fridge, pulling out chicken breast, before pulling pasta from the pantry, ignoring Jack’s confusion all the while. When he had retrieved all of the ingredients, he said, “Now we’ve entered the cooking part of the challenge.”

“Logan, no,” Jack laughed.

“Logan yes,” Logan retorted. “We’ve gotta figure out how to be domestic with each other eventually, hopefully before we have to worry about moving in together. And after such a fun play, don’t you think it would be fun to cook dinner, and share it, just the two of us, somewhere in this house?”

“I guess...” Jack said hesitantly. “I’m a little worried about your brothers running in on us, though.”

“We’ll be eating chicken, Jack. Not...you know?”

Jack turned cherry red in embarrassment. “Logan! Don’t talk like that!”

Logan winked at Jack before pulling out a pot and filling it with water. “A little innuendo now and again won’t hurt anyone, Jack. We’re seventeen. My dads will understand.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Jack hissed, walking over to Logan and watching him fill the pot with water.

Logan rolled his eyes and put the water on to boil. “Pretty sure my brothers wouldn’t get it, Jack. Only Roman might, and he wouldn’t tell the others.”

Jack glanced around nervously, and Logan rolled his eyes, murmuring, “C’mere, you,” and kissing him softly.

In an instant, Jack was kissing him back, and Logan had to lean against the counter because Jack was making him weak at the knees. He wrapped an arm around Jack’s back to try and help himself stand again, but Jack grabbed Logan by the hips and hoisted him onto the counter. Logan shrieked softly before dissolving into a fit of giggles, Jack kissing all over Logan’s face as the water started to boil. “Okay, so, noodles?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” Logan said, watching as Jack put noodles in the pot with a pinch of salt. “We need a pan for the chicken.”

Jack reached between Logan’s legs to get to the pan...right as Dad and Ami walked in. Logan stiffened as Ami choked and Dad grew red. “This is not what it looks like!” Logan assured.

Hurriedly, Jack pulled out the pan to show to the stunned parents, and began greasing it up. “Just...just needed a pan to cook, nothing untoward was happening, or will happen tonight!”

“I should hope not, considering Logan’s room isn’t soundproof,” Ami deadpanned.

“Logan, off the counter, please,” Dad choked out.

Logan complied and scratched the back of his neck. “...Sorry.”

“Just...don’t let it happen again,” Dad said. “Especially when your brothers are in the house.”

Logan hurried to assure them that wasn’t going to be a problem, and the two adults left quickly. “...That was terrible,” Jack said.

“Agreed,” Logan replied.

They stood in silence for a bit as Jack stirred the noodles and Logan watched the chicken. Then, Jack turned to Logan and kissed his cheek with a chuckle. “This is kinda fun,” he admitted.

“Thank you,” Logan said softly. “I thought you might like it once you actually bothered to try it.”

“Cooking?” Jack asked.

“Domesticity,” Logan said.

“I resent that,” Jack grumbled.

Logan laughed and kissed Jack’s cheek in return. They plated the food once it was done and Logan looked around. “I guess...we can use the dining room? High chance of brothers, though.”

Jack shrugged. “With this kind of messy food, I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere that there’s a risk of making a mess.”

“Fair enough,” Logan conceded, and the two sat down at the table in the next room over to eat.

They ate in semi-silence for a minute, before Logan said, “I think we did a good job.”

“Agreed,” Jack said. “I’d do it again.”

“You mean that?” Logan asked, voice soft and hopeful.

Jack looked at him fondly and nodded. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Logan smiled. “That’s what I like about you. You know to get to the point with me, even if the point is banter.”

Jack laughed. “And that’s what I like about you. Always looking for a silver lining in the clouds.”

“What can I say?” Logan shrugged. “When I lived under so many clouds all my life, the best part of my day would be finding a silver lining. At this point, it’s just a habit I don’t really feel inclined to kick.”

“I don’t want you to kick it,” Jack said, grabbing Logan’s free hand. “You’re amazing just the way you are, Lo. You don’t have to change anything about yourself if you don’t want to. Not here. Not with me.”

Logan smiled softly. “I know.”

[lumateranlibrarian]

Angela Ziegler

Her workspace in the medical bay is pristine and organized. Every pen has its place, every syringe and scalpel have their drawer, sorted by size and color-coded. Everything is orderly, labeled, and in perfect, square corners.

Her living quarters, conversely, are an absolute mess.

The only things that are actually hanging in her closet are a backup Valkyrie suit, a lab coat from when she graduated medical school, and a formal pressed suit for scientific conferences and the occasional UN summit.

She still has her medical school textbooks, which are now more than a decade out of date. They’re stacked in a cardboard box under her bunk. She keeps them out of nostalgia, rather than using them as any sort of reference these days. She considers taking them out and flipping through them from time to time, but she hasn’t actually opened the box in years.

She loses track of pens and styluses all the time. She sticks them in the hair between her ponytail and her skull, and then promptly forgets about them until she has to scratch an itch on the back of her head.

Angela may be a physician, but when left to her own devices, she lives off ramen noodles and pre-packaged meals unless someone drags her out to grocery shop. Returning to Overwatch, with its meal duty roster, was something of a blessing.

She has a sweet tooth to rival Hanzo’s. 

Genji has absolutely used this as a way to get them to bond.

Angela and Jesse are the same age, though she joined Overwatch a few years before him. They weren’t immediately friends, but bonded over the fact that Overwatch just loves their child prodigies, don’t they?

Whenever they were stationed at the same watchpoint, they’d make sure to spend at least one night on the roof, drinking the local beer and ranting about all the shit their respective COs had pulled on them since the last time they hung out.

Angela almost always fell asleep halfway through their conversation. McCree would finish her beer and wait a while before waking her up - partly to let her get a few more precious hours of sleep, and partly to take advantage of the quiet and solitude he so rarely got anymore as part of the Blackwatch Ops team.

It was Fareeha watching Angela do her first tests on the Valkyrie suit in an Overwatch testing facility with her mother and a handful of other Overwatch brass that first gave Fareeha the idea of taking to the skies.

Angela quietly considers saving Genji’s life, building his prosthetic body parts, and successfully coaching him through physical rehabilitation to be one of her greatest scientific achievements. She worries, sometimes, if this makes her a little too much like Moira O’Deorain. But then Genji does something so breathtakingly alive and human that Angela knows it’s okay to be proud of rebuilding his body, if it gives him the chance to live again.

Then Genji does something dumbass like dare McCree to shoot at him so they see if he can deflect a bullet with his sword, and Angela questions her sanity and life choices for the millionth time.

[chefbarry]

The Foodie Files, Chapter Two: The Misadventures of Zucchini Bellpepper, Righter of Wrongdoing, “Slappin’ Pappy in His Nappy”

I was relaxing on one of those oversized lounge chairs with the wide plastic bars that somehow get stuck in your undershorts every time you get up for another drink. I was on an unnamed island in the Caribbean (it actually has no name) drinking whiskey sours at ten in the morning, thinking about my future. I was in witness protection, of sorts��I mean the federal government had nothing to do with it—I just had a run-in with a bad seed from the neighborhood, too long of a story to tell here in my normal rantings. But anyways, it happened in the alley after hours. It was a case of he said, he cried, he fell, he sued, but I escaped just in time, and practically shut down the office. The federal government was after me for other things, which I can’t get into here, and they suggested I leave town for awhile anyway. My Uncle Vincenzo worked for one of their clandestine branches, and he said he’d try to sort things out.

Speaking of the office, well the burned-down-abandoned-warehouse-turned-trendy-lofts that burned down again, and was now abandoned, except for my office on the second floor rear, that surprisingly was still intact, (I had nothing to do with it!) burned down again, so I had to move this time for real. I found a back room in an old Danish factory, where my on-again-off-again girlfriend, Raspberry Cardamom, worked as a pastry girl. She used to tour with the Allman Brothers as their concierge/handler/caterer until one day she served an unripe fruit and stinky cheese Danish and was banished from the road. She was the youngest student to ever graduate from the Johnson and Wales Pastry and Pudding Academy in Bismarck, ND. I met her through mutual friends of mutual friends and she actually helped me solve a couple cases back in the day, when girls actually liked to be called dames, didn’t mind earning pennies on the dollah, wore a too-short skirt and knickers now and then, and enjoyed an occasional slap on the patootie, when they got out of line! I actually paid her wage and a half, respected her opinion on world events, and enjoyed her company quite a bit. We were taking a break, but I got a good deal on the Danish back office. It was close to the back alley where I could come and go when I pleased, and I had my own landline.

So, after I moved offices, I hired Avocado Toast to run things in my absence until I figured things out, and felt safe returning to the neighborhood. Raspberry and Avocado got on well, and became fast friends, and probably enjoyed me being out of town for the while. I was returning to my uncomfortable lounge chair with another drink when my phone rang. I didn’t answer and let it go to voicemail. I needed to think. That incident from the alley really got to me, I don’t like to fight and I don’t like confrontation too much. I like to solve puzzles in life. I like simple things like watchin’ the Lone Ranger TV show, baked beans from a can, and Saturday nights at the drive-in, when a dame would bring you a sody-pop and ask you questions while chewing gum.

My phone rang again, I pulled the plastic bar from my tush out, and readjusted myself to a sittin’ up position more or less. It was from my office landline, so I answered. Avocado sez to me, “Zucchini, you gotta come back! Things are getting out of hand here!” I was having Avocado handle the occasional walk in customer, someone who might need simple private detection services like finding a lost child at the mall or needing help writing a fake resume. She continued, “I know you said to not be disturbed, but I gotta disturbs you! It’s my friend, Kali. Kali Flower.” I sat up straight and tossed my drink, straightened my cap (that was made of recycled gumshoe) and put the phone on speaker. “Talk to me”, I said.

She went on for about fifteen minutes, and I gotta tell ya, the case was compelling. It seems that Kali, a friend of Avocado’s, was in deep trouble. They met at the local San Antonio AFTER chapter meeting a few months ago. AFTER was a national organization founded three years ago in southern California by a couple tech dropouts. It stood for Annoying Food Trends Eroding Restaurants. People like Avocado Toast, Kale Smoothie, Bone Broth, and Goji Berry felt at home here—no judgement, no questions, no paparazzi. They could speak their minds without feeling threatened by society at large, having to answer to the latest health craze, angry vegans, or inquiring sous chefs. Kali was the newest member, and boy did she have it bad.

She came from a long and rich family of brassicas, going back to the old country. People used to walk into an apartment building and know right away that someone was cooking cabbage on the top floor. The only excitement she ever got was a good steaming or a puree into a nice warming soup. The only other characters she ever encountered outside her sulfurous community was a shallot, maybe some cream, a little salt, maybe on a crazy weekend night, some white pepper or a green onion. No one sent her family any junk mail, they were respected members of the community, and lived quietly among all the normal guys at the farmer’s markets. Once in awhile she would go up on the speakeasy stage and do a little stand-up or spoken word, but life was pretty simple.

Now all hell was breaking loose at restaurants and country clubs across the globe. The chefs and food trenders were going nuts trying to turn everything cauliflower. Pizzas, buffalo tenders, steaks, risotto, purees, fake potatoes, flour, tortillas, you name it, any food out there was game. If you needed it, it became cauliflower. If you weren’t gluten-intolerant (don’t even get me started), well, the cauliflower craze was going to scare you into being. And Kali was furious. She couldn’t go anywhere anymore. The food bloggers alone were giving her grief. They asked about her quiet Eastern European family. “Hey, what about Kale Fritters? Or Cabbage Pizza? Have you heard they’re trying to come up with Broccoli Lasagna Noodles? Did you see what Romesco is up to? Did you see Brussels is hooking up with Bacon?! Hey, how ‘bout a little slow dance when you’re done shaving on salad?” It was meddlesome and preposterous. I had to get to the bottom of this.

I took the first direct flight from my unnamed island to New York. My uncle Vincenzo met me there, and had me sign some cryptic looking document that cleared my name and settled out of court with that lowlife from the alley. It seems I would owe them one day, but for now, I could return to San Antonio in peace. First, we had to meet with the Apple Butcher. He was in New York on business. There was a small hands food purveyors convention and he was the keynote speaker. We went to meet up with The Vegetable. The V, as he was known back in Romania, had a strange mafia-esque tone to his voice. When he spoke, it felt like you were in trouble, even when he said hello. He was a fixer back in the old country, and he happened to be visiting his nephew, who was actually my uncle Vincenzo, long story, don’t want to get into it. I talked him through my case and asked if he could help.

V said, “What we gotta do is this. First, we bring back the pasta. Pasta makes everyone feel better. No matter this gluten thing, what the hell?, we eat pasta, we drink wine, we smoke a cigar, then we go to sleep. That’s how we do it back at home, and no one tries to change.” I said, Uncle V, can I call you that?” “No, it’s just V, Zucchini!”, he said. “Ok, V”, I said, “But cauliflower is taking over every menu item, you can’t order a rice pilaf without the pesky waiter asking if you’d like cauliflower rice instead, it’s pretty annoying, I mean, what’s the big problem with rice?” The Vegetable stood back and thought for a moment and then whispered a few things in my ear so the cauliflower food truck vendor standing nearby wouldn’t hear us. I knew what I had to do.

I met the vegetable purveyors after the convention in their hotel and we made plans to spray all the cauliflower fields in North America with gluten. Slowly patrons of cauliflower delicacies would start to realize that cauliflower isn’t the answer to the world’s digestive problems, and that you might as well eat pasta. Maybe everyone would start bothering butternut squash and his family and give the brassicas a much-needed break. We might be seeing acorn squash dumpling dough, or butternut squash crackers soon. I decided to go to the next AFTER meeting to see if I could drum up any new business.

[travelure]

Bijli Mahadev Trek – Kullu Attraction

A Bird’s Eye View of Kullu from a Viewpoint en route Chansari

From my earlier story titled ‘Travel Photographer Meets Serious Trekkers’ you already know how deeply I hate trekking. But during my recent visit to Kullu for its world-famous Dussehra celebrations (more about it in a later post), I was persuaded to do one short (?) trek to Bijli Mahadev. I was told that both, the walk and the view, would be awesome – a 360° panorama that would have Kullu to the Northwest and Manikaran to the Northeast. They promised it was a 40-minute-trek and accorded excellent photo-op.

You know that I am always game to undergo any amount of hardship for a destination that offers an opportunity to capture nice images. Add to that the story of the temple – that it gets struck by lightning every twelve years and its Shivalinga breaks, which is then fixed by sticking it with butter, and we have a deadly persuasion. So, the bottom-line was I yet again got suckered into a torture.

Well, here’s a glimpse of the climb!

Drive to Chansari Village

After shooting the Day-2 big draw of Kullu Dussehra – Naati (the slow, group folk dance from Himachal), we hurried away from Dhalpur Ground before the event ended to escape the maddening crowd that would lead to an inevitable massive traffic jam.

As we crossed River Beas and drove towards Chansari, we realised the road was hardly tarred, climbed steeply and had just enough space for one vehicle. This drive went on for over an hour. And every time a vehicle would come from the opposite direction, we would be forced to reverse 20-30 metres to find enough space to allow that vehicle to pass.

With every passing minute, steadily escalating sense of foreboding was swelling within. It wasn’t doing any good to my morale. I was getting a strong urge to request my co-travellers that we abort our trip and return. But then, social graces stomped over this feeling and our slow and painful journey continued.

Not too steep, is it?

Chansari – The Trek Begins Here

As we rounded a turn, there was a collective whoop in the car as we sighted the Chansari Parking. The parking was a luxurious 20×30 mt. space – it naturally seemed luxurious, as the road throughout was extremely narrow!

The left of the parking had a retaining wall that supported a notoriously brittle cliff (Himachal is infamous for its landslides and these cliffs suddenly giving way). On the right was a sheer drop that seemed to be at least a few hundred feet. The retaining wall had a sign painted on it – ‘Parking not allowed as this space is for the buses to turn around’. Ironically, that area was completely filled with vehicles parked haphazardly.

Bijli Mahadev – we can almost see it (top right)!

We got out of our vehicle and crossed the parking. And suddenly figured that we had nowhere to go. That is when our local guide, an Indo-Tibetan Border Police (ITBP) jawaan, crossed over a small stone wall and stepped onto a gravelly narrow dirt-path.

The Realisation Dawns

Now we knew we were playing ‘follow the leader’ who, in this case, was our ITBP guide. Given a Hobson’s choice, we too scrambled over the stone wall and started trudging gamely behind him. Within the first hundred metres or so, it became evident the trek was anything but easy. The path was unevenly paved with rocks and boulders – the administration’s magnanimous attempt to provide an easier way for visitors.

In the first couple of hundred metres, we had already climbed a couple of hundred feet – my Fitbit told me so. After every few steps, our guide would gently egg us on. He kept up his refrain that the trek was only 40 minutes.

We climbed all the way!

Every few metres, we would meet the folks returning after their trek. Invariably, we would ask them – “How much more?” And each time, we would get a different answer – “Another 25-30 minutes”; “A couple of kilometres”; “One hour”; Oh, it is quite close now”. We would toil some more and the same story would repeat. Broadly speaking, we remained clueless about the extent of torture that still had to be inflicted on us.

Visitors at Bijli Mahadev

A Welcome Relief

We had not had our lunch. Naturally, we were feeling hungry as breakfast that had been about 6 hours behind us had become ancient history in our memory. After about 40 minutes of a relentless climb, we sighted a café (well, that’s what they call those ram shackled food stalls in hilly areas). Collectively, we parked ourselves there and decided upon gorging on a lavish ‘Maggi Noodles’ meal!

While waiting for food, a dark feeling of self-pity engulfed us as we saw few local women with kids making their way up at a steady pace. They were making good speed. One of them was even carrying a child in her lap! The smoker in me silently cursed.

I wonder how he climbed up here! But then, that’s horsepower!

The meal reinvigorated us and we started moving again at a fair clip (or so we thought till we were rudely jerked back to reality as a couple of locals briskly overtook us). Humbled, we lumbered along.

Mound and More

In a short while, we found ourselves in a thick pine forest with only rising mounds ahead of us. Another 30 minutes of unending undulating terrain, we reached a steep mound. Like in all our previous approaches to such mounds, we couldn’t see what lay beyond.

The pathway leading up to the temple

We continued to make our way forward one weary step after another and soon reached the top of the mound. As soon as the vista beyond was revealed, we realised we could see the meadowy grass top of the ridge that was dotted with some tarpaulin-covered shacks and a hill cottage like structure perched on the top of the ridge.

A warm feeling of achievement stayed with us all through the next 20 minutes of the climb. We were almost there! During these last twenty minutes, we passed by a tiny pond, a few food stalls, and some jaw-dropping scenery.

Trident, just before your enter the temple

Bijli Mahadev – Finally, We Were There

The pathway leading up to the temple offered drop-dead landscapes. We could see a huge trident marking a Lord Shiva temple on one side and a grazing horse and some cattle on the other. The path was saddled with the oh-so-common selfie-clicking fixtures.

A few photographs later, we reached the temple entrance. We took off our shoes and entered the holy precincts.

Nandi (Shiva’s Bull) and assorted Shivalingas just outside the temple

The temple was to our left and some ancient stone idols of Nandi (Shiva’s Bull) to our right. I waited patiently to get some nice photographs here as even this area was filled with selfie-clickers – as always, oblivious to others who may want to make some photographs too.

Bijli Mahadev Temple

Inside the temple, seeing the inconsiderate tourists trying to click a selfie with the idol, I realised why most temples ban photography. These folks were posing for their selfies with their back to the idol. Such a thing is considered disrespectful in any religious place – you just can’t turn your back to the god or his manifestation. I couldn’t resist giving them a piece of my mind!

The shivalinga that gets struck by lightning every 12 years and is then fixed again with butter!

Soaking it in

After paying my respects in the sanctum sanctorum, I stepped out and went to the rear of the temple. The open space had another huge trident towering over the horizon! The place was soaked in bright sunshine; the skies were blue, and the ridge-top, a glorious shade of green. The whole scene was so gorgeous I didn’t mind a bit of distant haze!

Devotees paying their respects to the Shivalinga

Huge trident towering over the horizon at the rear of the temple

We must have spent about 45 minutes there. After which, we decided to make our way back. While we exited the temple complex and were making our way back along the pathway leading out of the temple, the sun suddenly went behind dark clouds and the temperature distinctly dropped a few degrees. But then, these sudden changes in weather are to be expected in the hills!

This is how the weather changes!

Way back

We started our descent. Suddenly, hit with a sudden realisation, my co-trekkers exclaimed that climbing down is more painful than climbing up! I decided to ignore their plaintive wails and moved ahead – increasing my lead over them with every step.

Isn’t the view drop-dead gorgeous?

Seeing that I was walking alone, a handsome, black, hill stray dog decided to give me company. He walked with me for the next half hour. Dutifully, he would lead the way, get ahead and walk for about twenty metres or so, and then wait for me. Overall, the whole experience was that of having a caring companion and it ensured that I did not feel any tiredness during my descent! Check out this short video of my companion.

As I was approaching the shack where we had our lunch, I had decided that I would buy a packet of biscuits and give that to my companion. But alas, before I reached there, he had decided to move on!

After we returned to our place of stay and we reviewed the images, I realised how scenic was the place we had just been to!

A Few Tips – Bijli Mahadev Trek – Kullu Attraction

Bijli Mahadev is a stunning destination (don’t get influenced by my rant about the trek)

If you are a city-dweller like me, and any local from a hilly area tells you the trek is just 40 minutes, multiply that time by 3 to get a more relevant and realistic estimate

If you see any selfie-clicker who turns his back to the idol, do give him/her a piece of your mind

Visiting Kullu? Don't miss out on Bijli Mahadev Trek – Kullu Attraction Bijli Mahadev Trek – Kullu Attraction From my earlier story titled 'Travel Photographer Meets Serious Trekkers'