Years ago, I went on a trek in the Himalayas. It was one of those treks which are planned because a bunch of lonely people decides that they have had enough of life and it’s time to trek. I joined them because I wanted to go out of the city. I was feeling suffocated. When I stay at a place for more than six months, I often feel suffocated. I don’t think this condition has a name. I wish it had because then I would have a conversation starter at the parties. Hey, I have this condition called sickophobia. I would suddenly be the hot topic in the room. People would show interest in me. People show interest in anything which has a name. They empathize. Most of the time, their empathy is fake but they try. Trying is enough. Expecting anything more is pointless.
So, I was suffocated and impulsively I booked this trek. It was a two-night-three-day trek. Everyone had to reach Shimla on their own and then our tour guide would take us from there. I reached Shimla a day earlier thinking I would explore the city. I didn't explore it and ended up spending most of my day in a pub. Wise choice. You feel lonelier when you explore a city alone. The next day, the group assembled. Most of the people were of my age, so that was a relief. Not that I was gonna talk to anyone. Except for this one couple, all of them seemed lonely. In fact, they seemed lonelier than I. Loneliness was almost dripping from their faces. The couple was like a sore thumb. This couple was talking so much that I had started missing the awkward silence. I can turn any situation into an awkward silence. That’s my superpower. It’s unintentional, of course. Like if you would ask me my name, I would say it and then forget to ask yours and then both of us would stare at each other awkwardly. I wish this condition also had a name. That way I could have broken awkward silences at the parties. Hehe.
Our tour guide was this very fit guy in his 30s. Little did I know then that I would be writing about him years later. His name was Tenzing. Tenzing had a backpack smaller than ours. It felt like the backpack had seen many treks. Tenzing’s face was quite ordinary. Nothing was out of shape. His nose was fine, teeth were like ours, ears weren’t sticking out. Everything about his face was ordinary except eyes. His eyes were something else. It’s as if they were a separate entity. Like they had seen something that the nose hasn’t. Tenzing was a quiet person. During the trek, he knew when we got tired but he also pushed us to our limits. That way we covered more distance. A perfect leader. When we would stop to rest at the tea stalls, he would not sit. He would instead stare at the Himalayas as if it’s his home. On the second day, I asked Tenzing how long has he been working here. Tenzing looked at me and smiled. In broken Hindi, he said, “why, do you want to complain?”. “No no”, I said, “just curious”. More than three years, he said. “And before that?”, I asked, not entirely sure why.
“I used to be a Sherpa”, he said. His eyes indeed have seen things. “Have you climbed Everest then?”, I asked. By now I was genuinely curious about this man. “Once”, he said. I couldn’t believe I was walking with someone who has climbed Everest. I chatted with him for hours and the trek didn’t seem difficult now. He gladly answered all my queries. To talk to him, I had to keep up my pace with him as he was the leader. This made my feet ache but somehow I kept going. We had reached the top of the mountain before time and the next day we had to climb down. The view was mesmerizing. That night Tenzing cooked dal rice for all of us which we ate happily. I went to Tenzing’s camp and told him he was a great cook. He thanked me for these words of appreciation. He was opening his sleeping bag. The zipper got stuck so I joined in to help him. It was at this moment I noticed marks on his hand. The self-harm marks. He noticed me seeing that. I got out of his camp and stood there for a second. He joined me and lit a cigarette. “I enjoy it”, he said. “Enjoy what?”, I asked. “Harming myself”, he replied.
“I have seen death sir, very closely. There is nothing like it. The thrill of knowing that there is a chance you might not live the next moment, it’s second to none. These marks are nothing. I play with death to get that thrill. Sometimes I would go to not-so-steep cliffs and jump.”
“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”, I asked.
“I will jump only if I think that I would survive it. I do things as per my intuition. I don’t want to die. But for people like us, there is not much in living either. Sometimes I feel like this body has employed me and I am working for it. And till I complete my quota of life, it won’t let me go. It feels like I am trapped”.
I didn’t know what to say to him. It will all be okay, I said, knowing that my words are meaningless to him. He nodded. I went back to my camp. For the next two days, we climbed down the mountain. I never saw Tenzing again.
Yesterday, I was watching a documentary about Sherpas. And suddenly I remembered Tenzing. Does he still feel trapped inside his own body? I don’t know. Some questions are better left unanswered. I wish I had said more things to him that night. But then again, it would have been fake.
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The imagery in your writing is so spot on. Reading this felt like a trip in the mountains. Thanks for this muft ki savaari ❤️
Love it