Hari is a handsome nineteen year old. He is tall, has a ready smile and speaks both Hindi and English much better than the other Nepalis. He is a porter and is doing this job for the first time in his life, but he stands out among the Nepalis.
My first interaction with him was on the bus to Arughat Bazaar. Finding the seat next to me to be empty he jumped in. He talked about his parents being farmers, his brother studying in Kathmandu and the financial pressure of this on the family. He also said that he dropped out of school after SSLC (10th grade) to work and support his parents. He talked to me about wanting to find a job in the US so that he could earn more. Before long, our guide Tika, came along and sent Hari to the back of the bus. Turns out Hari was just not "senior" enough to be sitting next to a "tourist".
In Baseri Hari was in and out of Tika's house, he was often found playing the drums - "maadal" in Nepali - and occasionally dancing with others. At times he would insist that we, the tourists, dance - he would press us more than the other Nepalis. I often wondered if he was doing this to show that his dancing was indeed superior to ours.
A couple of days later Gopal comes up to me to say that Hari's grandfather has passed away and that he might have to leave the group. Sure enough, that evening Hari was missing. Later that night Hari was back! Not only was he back he was drinking "rakshi" - the Nepali vehicle for alcohol - along with the other porters. The next morning I asked Gopal about Hari's grandfather. This clearly opened the floodgates.
Gopal's story: Hari appeared for his SSLC (10th grade) exams but failed (as an aside, his failure was nothing to be ashamed of. Most of porters had not even studied until 10th grade). He then ran away from home to escape work and his parents' nagging. Hari was not interested in any kind of work and that he could not hold a couple of jobs that were arranged by relatives. And, in Gopal's mind, Hari did not respect his grandfather's memory when he came back before the funeral and started drinking with his mates.
As we trekked on, Hari was one of the few porters who would have a bath from time to time. We would see his clothes hanging on the clotheslines next to ours. One of the days the line was just not long enough and he had to take his clothes off the line. I noticed he kept a diary. He was writing in Nepali but from time to time he would note down a new english word he heard. He would ask us what it meant and would write that down too. Of all the porters he was also the only one who complained of a hurting back and light-headedness at altitude.
Hari's case intrigued me tremendously. I was uncomfortable with him. Towards the end of the trek, well after he had been dispatched, I had my answer. Hari alone among the porters was like us and unlike the other Nepalis. He was conscious of how he looked and how he spoke and carried himself. He was keen to show himself in a good light. And most of all, he was interested in the money that portering gave ($5/day) to the point that he would rather be carrying 60lbs bags of rice than be present at his grandfather's funeral.
Haven't we all sacrificed time with family as we pursue our careers? Haven't we all embellished our past to look good in front of others? Haven't we all attempted to imitate another person who talks or dresses better than us? Weren't we tired and light-headed at high altitude?
So Hari, in a very subtle way, was a mirror to my own self.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
6. Nepal: Baseri
One and half days of our trek was spent in a little village called Baseri. Being an agricultural area the village actually quite spread out. But the people know each other, they drop by each other's place without calling and often walk away without saying good-bye. So it feels small.
Baseri is where Tika and Gopal are from. Their parents still live and work here. Many of their relatives still live here. They are predominantly farmers and they usually own some livestock - a couple of cows, a couple of (water) buffalos and a few goats. A day in the farm earns them Rs 50. A liter of kerosene costs Rs 60. One dollar gets you Rs 70. Once harvested, the produce must be transported on their back to Arughat Bazaar - a four hour walk and an elevation change of two thousand feet. There is no electricity or plumbing. The pit toilets are detached from the house, shabbily constructed and very poorly lit. The school is only until the seventh grade and the classes are held in some very ramshackle buildings. Beyond that, the kids have to be sent away to Kathmandu to study at very high cost. Life, in short, is not easy and the future, bleak.
The day we spent in Baseri was an auspicious day in the Hindu calendar. On this day the sister treats the brother to some goodies and the brother promises to protect her - financially and otherwise. In the evening people form groups and go around the village dancing and singing.
We had a rather large group of our own. We did a lot of dancing too. But we noticed that it was mostly the seven of us that were dancing. It was pretty clear that they wanted us to dance. It is still not very clear what they thought of us. At times we felt like performing monkeys. At other times I could see that they were just very happy to see a bunch of foreigners who didn't mind performing the local rituals (while laughing at themselves).
In a village where there are innumerable relatives, the social strings are often quite intricately tied. It appeared that we were expected to visit many of the relatives and neighbors. Once it got dark we had to be very diplomatic and let Tika know that we would not be visiting all the people - even if it meant we did not heed the tug of some of those strings.
Baseri is where Tika and Gopal are from. Their parents still live and work here. Many of their relatives still live here. They are predominantly farmers and they usually own some livestock - a couple of cows, a couple of (water) buffalos and a few goats. A day in the farm earns them Rs 50. A liter of kerosene costs Rs 60. One dollar gets you Rs 70. Once harvested, the produce must be transported on their back to Arughat Bazaar - a four hour walk and an elevation change of two thousand feet. There is no electricity or plumbing. The pit toilets are detached from the house, shabbily constructed and very poorly lit. The school is only until the seventh grade and the classes are held in some very ramshackle buildings. Beyond that, the kids have to be sent away to Kathmandu to study at very high cost. Life, in short, is not easy and the future, bleak.
The day we spent in Baseri was an auspicious day in the Hindu calendar. On this day the sister treats the brother to some goodies and the brother promises to protect her - financially and otherwise. In the evening people form groups and go around the village dancing and singing.
We had a rather large group of our own. We did a lot of dancing too. But we noticed that it was mostly the seven of us that were dancing. It was pretty clear that they wanted us to dance. It is still not very clear what they thought of us. At times we felt like performing monkeys. At other times I could see that they were just very happy to see a bunch of foreigners who didn't mind performing the local rituals (while laughing at themselves).
In a village where there are innumerable relatives, the social strings are often quite intricately tied. It appeared that we were expected to visit many of the relatives and neighbors. Once it got dark we had to be very diplomatic and let Tika know that we would not be visiting all the people - even if it meant we did not heed the tug of some of those strings.
5. Nepal: Children
Once we left Kathmandu, seeing the children and the way the go about their day would qualify as my greatest culture shock. It took me several days on the trail to get used to the notion that I would encounter children with no parents in sight.
On the bus from Kathmandu the driver picked up an eight year old girl. He obviously knew her. With a lot of confidence and ease she spent eight hours with nearly forty strangers. The locals took care of her like people take care of their tennis rackets or running shoes. There was no one sitting by her side entertaining her. However they made sure that she had a place to sit and food to eat.
This casual approach towards kids initially surprised me. As days passed, I found that the kids here are growing up in a very different way. They are not taught phonics and reading before they reach first grade; they are not carted from swimming lessons to drawing lessons to gym classes; they are not taken to the library to pick various books or educational DVDs; no one is pointing out interesting flora and fauna by the side of the road to them.
They look at strangers and approach them fearlessly. They are not told to stay far away from strangers. It was nice to see that people were assumed to be decent, unlike here where a stranger is a sick wierdo unless proven otherwise. That they beg for pens, candy and money is another matter. The rest of the time, the kids are running around playing with other kids. While they are not learning the alphabet and math, they are learning critical social skills. They are figuring their strengths and weaknesses. They are figuring out which fights they should get into and the fights they should stay away from. They are learning how to evaluate people and how to choose friends. They figure out how to make rules when there are none. They learn to invent games and keep themselves busy.
The kids by and large were poorly clothed and very dirty. As we went higher up they got dirtier. There is no shortage of water but basic sanitation is lacking. I don't know about mortality rates and general health conditions. But it is pretty clear that most of these kids are none the worse for all the snot, dirt and bruises they carry on themselves. This is probably where the fittest are still the ones to surive.
On the bus from Kathmandu the driver picked up an eight year old girl. He obviously knew her. With a lot of confidence and ease she spent eight hours with nearly forty strangers. The locals took care of her like people take care of their tennis rackets or running shoes. There was no one sitting by her side entertaining her. However they made sure that she had a place to sit and food to eat.
This casual approach towards kids initially surprised me. As days passed, I found that the kids here are growing up in a very different way. They are not taught phonics and reading before they reach first grade; they are not carted from swimming lessons to drawing lessons to gym classes; they are not taken to the library to pick various books or educational DVDs; no one is pointing out interesting flora and fauna by the side of the road to them.
They look at strangers and approach them fearlessly. They are not told to stay far away from strangers. It was nice to see that people were assumed to be decent, unlike here where a stranger is a sick wierdo unless proven otherwise. That they beg for pens, candy and money is another matter. The rest of the time, the kids are running around playing with other kids. While they are not learning the alphabet and math, they are learning critical social skills. They are figuring their strengths and weaknesses. They are figuring out which fights they should get into and the fights they should stay away from. They are learning how to evaluate people and how to choose friends. They figure out how to make rules when there are none. They learn to invent games and keep themselves busy.
The kids by and large were poorly clothed and very dirty. As we went higher up they got dirtier. There is no shortage of water but basic sanitation is lacking. I don't know about mortality rates and general health conditions. But it is pretty clear that most of these kids are none the worse for all the snot, dirt and bruises they carry on themselves. This is probably where the fittest are still the ones to surive.
4. Nepal: Bus ride to Arughat Bazaar
The locals have a way of not talking about distances but about time to get to a place. This is a rather clever thing when interacting with westerners who have some strange notion that distance is real, time is relative. The bus ride was supposed to be 130Km. Tika promised us that we would do it in eight to ten hours. The distance, you see, is hardly the issue. The road-conditions, the bus-condition, the number of friends of the driver we encounter on the road are all to be taken into account. We picked up little kids travelling alone, we picked up a school teacher, we lost a poter at a stop (he was later found - he had boarded another bus), we hit some pretty bad stretches of road where the surface was more like play-doh than like any road that I had ever seen.
On the bus when a young porter, Hari, wanted to sit next to me, I had no problem with it. He spoke better Hindi and better English than most of the other porters. After chatting with him for a while, I saw that he left and Tika sat next to me. I learnt much later that there is a very distinct hierarchy among the porters. Only those at the top are allowed to sit with the tourists. Hari, on the other hand, was at the very bottom of the totem-pole, since this was his first trek. At times, the bus got stuck behind another bus that broke down. The simple solution of going around the broken down bus could not be implemented for two reason. One, the road was not wide enough and two, the bus drivers don't let other drivers down. We waited until the other bus was repaired.
A word about these buses is in order. The buses are boxes of tin with wheels and motor. Inside the bus, the seats are steel frames welded onto streel rails that run along the bottom of the tin-box. A thin piece of foam covers a ply-wood board becomes the seat and the back-rest. The window may not open if closed and may not close if open. Many of the fittings are either broken or patched-up in a rather unconvincing manner. However, the music system always works. The base is set to low, the treble is set to high and is capable of playing the most popular Nepali songs. In our case we were treated to a hundred repetions of a love song whose opening bars were greeted with the same gusto by our Nepali friends - every time.
On the bus when a young porter, Hari, wanted to sit next to me, I had no problem with it. He spoke better Hindi and better English than most of the other porters. After chatting with him for a while, I saw that he left and Tika sat next to me. I learnt much later that there is a very distinct hierarchy among the porters. Only those at the top are allowed to sit with the tourists. Hari, on the other hand, was at the very bottom of the totem-pole, since this was his first trek. At times, the bus got stuck behind another bus that broke down. The simple solution of going around the broken down bus could not be implemented for two reason. One, the road was not wide enough and two, the bus drivers don't let other drivers down. We waited until the other bus was repaired.
A word about these buses is in order. The buses are boxes of tin with wheels and motor. Inside the bus, the seats are steel frames welded onto streel rails that run along the bottom of the tin-box. A thin piece of foam covers a ply-wood board becomes the seat and the back-rest. The window may not open if closed and may not close if open. Many of the fittings are either broken or patched-up in a rather unconvincing manner. However, the music system always works. The base is set to low, the treble is set to high and is capable of playing the most popular Nepali songs. In our case we were treated to a hundred repetions of a love song whose opening bars were greeted with the same gusto by our Nepali friends - every time.
3. Nepal: Kathmandu
As the trip date appeared closer, there was practically no chatter on the email system. The system was humming like a well-fed Nepali. The day arrived, we met at the San Francisco International Airport. The baggage was checked in. The inevitable butterflies in the stomach came alive. It was hard to sleep on the flight. We found ourselves standing around at the common areas and coming to terms with the enormity of the hike. After a seemingly unending sequence of boarding and alighting exercises were were in Kathmandu being garlanded and received by a bunch of friendly faces. I had no idea who the guide - Tika - was. Before long, they loaded our things in to a rickety van and all of them started asking us for money. This is when Tika asserted himself and told us that we need to pay $10 to one of them and that was it. Miraculously they all heeded his word and as soon as the money was handed over, they vanished in the Kathmandu Airport parking lot. The van took us through the streets of Kathmandu and everything looked so similar to the streets in India. I was surprised to see that many Nepalis, especially the ones in the trekking business, speak better English than Hindi.
The guesthouse in Kathmandu was called Kathmandu Peace Guesthouse. Nepalis seem to like to use the word peace to be added to guesthouses, restaurants and the like. While the intention is noble, Kathmandu is no place to go looking for peace. It is a vibrant, modern city. The constant flow of western tourists has had a significant influence on how people live, eat and dress. The city has a touristy center called Thamel. However oppressive it may seem to a tourist who wants to get away from the western style of eating and living, Thamel is really the place where one can still get a decent coffee, buy magazines that one can read, ask for directions to practically any place in the world, make travel arrangements etc.
A walk at night after a heavy downpour was a pretty harrowing hazing ritual. The drains were clogged and the water collected on the streets. In very little time we were in shin-deep water. The fancy Gore-Tex of our recently acquired hiking boots were no match for this kind of treatment. Off came the shoes, and we started wading through the water praying all the time that we do not step on an abandoned razor or into a manhole whose cover was doing double duty elsewhere.
A meeting with Suman Dahal, the owner of the trekking company that got us our permits and insurance was another noteworthy event. His goal was to get more money out of us. His modus operandi was to talk us to boredom and get the money out if only to shut him up. The plan almost succeeded. Most of us, jet-lagged, started nodding off. But not Rick. Suman railed about how he had to hire more porters, about the Maoist extortion money that he had to pay and so on. We did not pay him anything extra, but the whole episode left us with a very negative impression of Suman.
The guesthouse in Kathmandu was called Kathmandu Peace Guesthouse. Nepalis seem to like to use the word peace to be added to guesthouses, restaurants and the like. While the intention is noble, Kathmandu is no place to go looking for peace. It is a vibrant, modern city. The constant flow of western tourists has had a significant influence on how people live, eat and dress. The city has a touristy center called Thamel. However oppressive it may seem to a tourist who wants to get away from the western style of eating and living, Thamel is really the place where one can still get a decent coffee, buy magazines that one can read, ask for directions to practically any place in the world, make travel arrangements etc.
A walk at night after a heavy downpour was a pretty harrowing hazing ritual. The drains were clogged and the water collected on the streets. In very little time we were in shin-deep water. The fancy Gore-Tex of our recently acquired hiking boots were no match for this kind of treatment. Off came the shoes, and we started wading through the water praying all the time that we do not step on an abandoned razor or into a manhole whose cover was doing double duty elsewhere.
A meeting with Suman Dahal, the owner of the trekking company that got us our permits and insurance was another noteworthy event. His goal was to get more money out of us. His modus operandi was to talk us to boredom and get the money out if only to shut him up. The plan almost succeeded. Most of us, jet-lagged, started nodding off. But not Rick. Suman railed about how he had to hire more porters, about the Maoist extortion money that he had to pay and so on. We did not pay him anything extra, but the whole episode left us with a very negative impression of Suman.
2. Nepal: Planning
Our group consisted of Rick - the leader, Anup, Jose, Lisa, Eric and Bobby. Rick was the only one among us who had been to Nepal and done any trekking in the Himalayas. Rick was organizing the trek with his guide from the previous trips.
We would meet at the various Nepali restaurants in San Francisco. Not that it helped us in any way with the preparations, but it just seemed appropriate. We talked about weighty matters such as which cameras to carry, our respective abilities to control and release gas, how many meals of dal-bhaat could we eat before we couldn't eat anymore. We tried to guess how many unique instances of diarrhea could we possibly come down with on a 21 day trek. We talked about how many times Lisa would wash her hair - at this point we digressed and talked about why we should not all go for a rastafarian look. We decided that the men would not shave, that we would carry biodegradable soap. It was suggested that we should not even carry toothpaste, this idea was summarily brushed aside!
We would meet at the various Nepali restaurants in San Francisco. Not that it helped us in any way with the preparations, but it just seemed appropriate. We talked about weighty matters such as which cameras to carry, our respective abilities to control and release gas, how many meals of dal-bhaat could we eat before we couldn't eat anymore. We tried to guess how many unique instances of diarrhea could we possibly come down with on a 21 day trek. We talked about how many times Lisa would wash her hair - at this point we digressed and talked about why we should not all go for a rastafarian look. We decided that the men would not shave, that we would carry biodegradable soap. It was suggested that we should not even carry toothpaste, this idea was summarily brushed aside!
1. Nepal: The Motivation
In 1997 I spent several weeks in Ladakh. Ladakh is a high plateau situated between the Kashmir valley and Tibet. In many ways the people, religion and the culture is very similar to that of Tibet. While travelling there and ever since, I have wanted to do a long hike in the Himalayas.
The dream became a reality when one of my friends informed me of a plan being hatched by his officemate. The plan was to do a three week trek in Nepal. It would involve going around a mountain peak named Manaslu (8150 metres). I was interested but not sure if I could do it. Especially since my wife, Geeta was training for the marathon at the same time. In an exquisite exhibition of marital resonance we decided that we could indeed realize both our dreams.
From then on, it was a matter of dividing time for training towards our individual goals, acquiring suitable gear, egging each other on to do better than their best.
The dream became a reality when one of my friends informed me of a plan being hatched by his officemate. The plan was to do a three week trek in Nepal. It would involve going around a mountain peak named Manaslu (8150 metres). I was interested but not sure if I could do it. Especially since my wife, Geeta was training for the marathon at the same time. In an exquisite exhibition of marital resonance we decided that we could indeed realize both our dreams.
From then on, it was a matter of dividing time for training towards our individual goals, acquiring suitable gear, egging each other on to do better than their best.
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