“Aloha Kane and Wanine, e Komo Mai”; “Ladies and Gentleman, Welcome to Hawaii” announced the air-hostess as our plane touched down in Oahu, Hawaii. Didi (meaning elder sister in Hindi); my elder sister turned to me and smiled, I smiled back. We were together on the 6 hour flight from Los Angeles to Honolulu; a trip I had planned to celebrate Didi’s 35th birthday.
As soon as we stepped out of the airport, it felt like hitting the reset button. We were surrounded by rugged cliffs, blue water, and green mountains that seemed to disappear into the clouds. Everything moved at a different pace—slow, unhurried. There is a steady rhythm to Hawai’i. You find it in the wind, in the ocean, and in the way people live, connected to the land without making a big show of it. It’s the kind of place that lets you exhale.
Honolulu is on the island of Oahu. It’s the capital of Hawaii and the state’s largest city. We spent the next couple of days there. My strongest memory of Honolulu is visiting the Pearl Harbor Memorial that honors those who lost their lives during the 1941 attack. Centered around the sunken USS Arizona, it’s a solemn place where history feels immediate, and the calm waters stand in stark contrast to the events that unfolded. It is a beautiful understated memorial that doesn’t seek to exploit or capitalize on those horrific events or the emotions that it evokes, much like the 9/11 memorial in New York City.
Next came Big Island; the biggest of the six islands in that region. Big Island is most famous for its active volcanoes. I had planned a helicopter tour for the two of us. It is something of a unique experience to fly above a volcano, the red lava pouring from the black craters into the blue ocean, releasing steam that the pilot must carefully avoid. As we were looking down spell-bound at the scene below, the pilot made a joke over the Intercom “you know how they say; they are not making any more land? Hawaii is the only place on Earth we are still making new land.” Finally, a way to solve the problem of rising real-estate prices!
For Didi’s birthday night, I had planned a very special trip to the top of the Mauna Kea. The tallest mountain in the world when measured from its base, which is deep beneath the ocean. From its base on the ocean floor to its peak, it rises over 33,500 feet making it taller than Mount Everest. Measured from its base above sea level to its summit it is almost 14,000 feet. The most famous thing about Mauna Kea is due to its high elevation, clear skies and lack of atmospheric distortion, it is home to the world-renowned astronomical observatories and the home of the powerful keg telescopes.
I had booked this trip as part of a stargazing group. We were picked by the van at about 3pm. The drive to the Mauna Kea summit from the base takes about 2 hours, climbing from around 6,000 feet to over 14000 feet, so the road is winding and steep and the driver stopped twice for about 20 minutes each time so our bodies could acclimatize to the changing altitude and lower oxygen levels, and avoid altitude sickness.
We reached the summit about 5:30pm, an hour before sunset on Didi’s birthday. The view was breathtaking to say the least; the entire Big Island spread out beneath us, with clear views of the Pacific Ocean on both sides. The horizon seemed endless. At the time I would have said that it was the highlight of our trip but the highlight was still coming. The sun dipped below the horizon. And we saw the massive windows of the Keck observatory open slowly and sleek, metallic noses of the Keck telescopes jutted out, positioning themselves like giant sentinels ready to stand guard & observe the depth of the cosmos. At the time I would have said that it was the highlight of our trip but the highlight was still coming. Our tour guide began to setup his own telescope – tiny in comparison of course.
And then suddenly it was dark. And a hush came over the tourists standing atop the summit, as we all looked up at the sky.
It is impossible to put in words what the sky above Mauna Kea looks like. One learns in science that the universe is full of stars, but I don’t think one realizes HOW MANY stars there are. Above us the sky was a canopy of stars, a canvas of a bazillion shimmering shining dots, there were as many dots above in the sky as there are grains of sand on an ocean beach. The universe is a traffic jam of stars. It is at once a scientific and spiritual experience.
Didi & I stood spell-bound. Then Didi spoke, no she sang; a Hindi song; her favorite love song for her little sister whose name “Swati” means a star; a constellation – “kabhi kabhi mere dil main khayal aata hai, ki jaise tujhko banaya gaya hai mere liye, tu abse pehle sitaron main bas rahi thi kahin, tujhe zameein par bulaya gaya hai mere liye.” – “Sometimes this thought comes to my mind, that you were made just for me. Before this time you were living somewhere among the stars, you have been brought to this earth just for me.”
“Happy Birthday, didi” I said in return.
Didi passed away not long after that trip. Maybe she became a grain of sand on an ocean beach. Or maybe she resides among the stars herself like the words of the song she once sang for me. But the memory of standing next to Didi atop the tallest mountain on Earth, in a place where they are still making new land, on that starry starry night is one I will never forget.
Swati Srivastava is an immigrant and a multi award-winning writer, director, and voiceover artist. A filmmaker & storyteller, Swati turns ideas into experience. She is also the Director of Visual Media for a national non-profit and an environmentalist. She can be reached via Linkedin and swati@TiredAndBeatup.com