 "Two little girls wear a look of suspicion reserved for city-bred tourists")
It’s Day Two at Wildrift’s camp in Shaama and the sun falls on the mighty Nanda Devi. The somnolent peak lights up in a pink blaze. Our group of seven loses control. Whoops of delight waft into my ears as I lie frozen in my stone hut. Cameras click in a frenzy. The sun moves on quickly to warm Nandakot, Trishul, Panchachuli and the rest of the ice-caked mountain tops. I stir lazily and take a photo or two from my dying cellphone. It’s not even 7 am.
We are in heaven. To be precise, on a flat piece of ground
