THIS WEEK, DEAR READERS, I attempt a travelogue of one of my recent trips to Nepal, the wonders of trekking in the Himalayas and the cheap thrills of trying to flee the country somehow. This column has only as much law as there was in my life these last two weeks. Rest is devoted to life and existence.
The column, however, is not about the mediocre self-discovery from a lone walk in the woods or the sad parallels between litigation and an uphill climb. I promise to not do that to you. There’s enough of that slop being spewed on LinkedIn.
The hill I will die on – small rebellion
Immigration at the Delhi airport makes sure to put me on the defensive. A distrusting young official looks me in the eye and goes – “Are there no treks in India that you need to go to Nepal?” After I smile coyly (by now I know not to respond to these baits), he asks why I am travelling alone.
Better sense does not prevail anymore. I launch into a retaliatory offensive – “Yes, I just murdered my uncle and now I’m fleeing to the Himalayas to take refuge in the shrines like those European white ladies who shave their heads and disappear. No one can tell where they came from. Or maybe I’ll don saffron robes as a baba ji and spend my days as a refugee on the ghats of Pashupatinath. Better still, I may get on the millennial bandwagon and set some hotel on …”
A distrusting young official looks me in the eye and goes – “Are there no treks in India that you need to go to Nepal?”
The official doesn’t take this well. I get away with a sharp look. I apologise and make it out. And so I get to Pokhara via Kathmandu, without incident – almost!
Aloof on Wi-Fi
The charming things about a trek in Nepal is not just the extremely good-natured humans and their tea houses, but also the accessibility to the internet – wifi everywhere (wee-fee as fellow French trekkers are calling it – Bonjour!).
In the formal group introductions, I try to tell fellow trekkers I am a professional stand-up comic. What else will justify the over familiarity and bullying they shall have to bear from the get-go. The lie, much like my comedy career, doesn’t last too long. The phone begins to ring continuously and the façade falls. Calls from anxious clients who need personal updates pre and post hearings, and enthusiastic colleagues who have by now understood the need to keep the boss informed!
Mentor is advising me to go on flight mode. The mandatory trek etiquette. Client with a demolition threat may disagree. As always – no right answers.
Hell is other people
My friends often joke that the reason I trek solo is so I can befriend “new people”. Well, to be truthful, I do have an insatiable appetite for discovering new acquaintances, learning about their lives and telling them about mine. The journey of exploring another mind is indeed beautiful and, in my case, an addiction I feed off. I do move on quickly though. From one new acquaintance to the next - barely giving the relationship an opportunity to thrive or go sour. It also satisfies my unflinching thirst to psychoanalyse different people in difficult settings. What better laboratory than a trek?
And so here it goes, a small ode to the eight people I came to know and spent time with these last two weeks. First person I see and meet is C, the Bangalore based techie who timed a trail run from the summit while most of us muddled our way back huffing and puffing. Doing so, C humbly doused the simmering egos of those who mistook their anglicized accents for superiority.
Then there is the Iyer-Iyenger couple that glides - together. And yet carries themselves so lightly – together. Goals for a happily married life.
I meet S, man with a camera, a vision and a good heart. He speaks fondly about his daughter and his mother. I can't help but give him all the benefits of all the doubts.
The ladies in their 50s who charmingly trek through their surgeries and supposed womanly limitations, smashing old times’ patriarchy – one hike at a time. Horse-Power, I am told! Their inspiration obviously the NRI sexagenarian marathoner whose lungs and agility are giving us all a run for our money.
The most charming of the lot is the young lawyer who admits law doesn't move him the way diving does as he narrates the nerdiest things about botany et al. in ways that make you want to listen. R tells me about the life of lichens and tales of scientists who died in relative obscurity. He also ends up becoming the emperor of this trek group's malady – the common cold.
Mother Mary Comes To me
The days are warm but tiring. Rocky terrain tests our ankles at every step, loose scree sliding underfoot. Evening chills arrive like clockwork, turning the trail difficult as we approach dusk. We scramble over wet boulders, negotiate narrow ledges, and make way for mules and porters as they carry our loads. Camaraderie makes it easier – shared groans at steep ascents, collective relief at flat stretches, someone always ready with trail mixes when you’re flagging.
I go to bed with Roy these cold nights. Being lulled to sleep by her new book - Mother Mary Comes To Me. I cannot help but put it down occasionally.
I go to bed with Roy these cold nights. Being lulled to sleep by her new book - Mother Mary Comes To Me. I cannot help but put it down occasionally. It's heavy. Violence with words – and yet so beautiful. I have reached the part where she is describing the affliction as a young girl with an older married man. Women in love – if only they wrote more about them!
She describes the ordeal of an unplanned pregnancy and the unnerving journey of handling the abortion alone – because what would the father have done anyway? He was too busy handling perils of his own. She manages it all within a day and returns to work as well. If this isn't peak feminism – I don’t know what is. Fellow radicals will understand. The pride of suffering alone – price we pay for autonomy.
Nine long days in the mountains can be overwhelming. We manage to live it out. We walk through rhododendron forests – trees that become shrubs as we go uphill, fill water at streams, joyously gape at the snow peaks that appear and disappear from clouds every now and then, wake up at 4 AM to observe lovely sunrises, sit close together around the firewood to lessen the effect of the chill, prefer the potato fries and popcorns over the sunset some days. We use Indian toilets as much as possible to avoid risking UTI.
Occasionally, a helicopter crosses the skies going up to Mustang or some such in a bid to rescue someone, situated similarly. Descent is the only option we are told – for an immediate rescue. I can’t help but imagine – if, and when my time comes – how it will go. Another harsh reminder of mortality.
We descend without incident though. And so, it ends.
Cheap thrills hit harder
It's the last day of the trip but it’s raining relentlessly in Pokhara. I am back at my desk in spirit anyway. Rains however mean flight disruptions and uncertain outcomes. We had to take a call then. Cab to Kathmandu directly or wait for the flight? Cab takes 8 hours, on those roads. And so, we take our chances with the flight.
It turns out to be a bad gamble. Flight gets cancelled and we are constrained to take the cab. An undulating drive down to Kathmandu into the night. Finally, the mediocre metaphor for life I have been avoiding this entire time.
Cut to cut is always a bad idea. Onwards flight needs to be rescheduled. I rush the Indigo lady on the other side of the call. Only my juniors know what that’s like. She’s trying very hard to grapple with this urgency. My juniors don’t. Not anymore. She’s asking me for consent to cancel. One too many times she asks for my consent. I say “Qubool hai” three times! She doesn't get the joke. Says “Ma’am, please say you consent.” Done! A promise of full refund.
Meanwhile, urgent matters are being filed and mentioned. “Ma'am, clients are asking when are you back! What do we say?” Ugh! Tell them I'm back. I'm almost there!
A colleague from the bar calls for help. He closes the call with – “Tumhara sahi hai, peak court days mein peaks ghoom rahi ho!” (Loosely translated to - All lawyers hate each other). I try to defend myself. Doesn’t help. Let it go.
As the plane lands in Delhi, and I take a fresh breath of the toxic air, I feel at peace. I am home!
Thank you for everything, Nepal! I'll be back.