Wild or messed up? – A look back into life after wanderlust happened

Written by Prachi Shrivastava

When I turned 25 in August last year I promised myself a five-year life plan to “play the big hand” without bogging myself down with aims for the “winnings” I collect or “losses” I make out of said hand. I resolved to go for the kill in every possible way and live life queen size without worrying about the actual “queenly” possessions I amass in the process.

And boom exactly two weeks later the universe picked me up and dropped me at the smoothest gateway to accomplish this life plan. Out of the blue I was put on a hike through a strange jungle, in the company of chronic wanderers, and the universe said: “Here child, I give you one ground to learn how to go for the kill. Go fulfil your resolve!”

I was gifted the jungle and I was gifted the company of the chronic wanderer and today, a little over nine months and countless literal “into the wild” excursions later, my heart has been cut open to receive risks and unseen possibilities like never before.

Through several beautiful yet painful scars on my heart, mind and body from these last few months I have learnt important lessons of spontaneity, adaptability and letting go. But the most important lesson of all that I have learnt is to honour myself before honouring those who teach me new lessons.

In the wanderers I met since August I befriended, loved and shared intimate and exclusive corners of life with a certain species of living organism which likes to call itself the “Not a tourist but a traveller and an explorer” (NTTE). By repeatedly throwing ourselves into the wild, I believe, we gradually become the wild. Now since the NTTE and I both pride ourselves on this innate “wildness”, it was but natural that I very quickly grew an inspired awe for the NTTE and felt a deep connection to the NTTE.

Consequent to this deep connect with the NTTE I learnt new ways of life, and consequent to getting to observe the NTTE so closely I learnt how much I value certain age-old things about myself.

The NTTE has a remarkable ability to “move on”. I have a remarkable ability to “add on”. While NTTE men and women shed friendships and relationships like snakeskin as they move ahead in life, my life is one big never ending Ferris Wheel where the party keeps on growing in size! I have learnt from the NTTE how to bid adieu with a smile instead of blood tears, but I have also learnt how much I value “deep attachments” moving on the highway to “deeper”.

In my travels, I collect souvenirs, and bring them back and decorate my home and hearth with them and carry them with me in suitcases to new homes, where I again take them out and decorate them and watch them rust beautifully, lovingly adoring their age.

The NTTE implores me to “think less” and “question less” in life. I am impressed by the number of places thinking less takes him or her to, and the variety of things questioning less has helped him or her try. Sometimes shutting my eyelids and numbing my brain to looming questions has helped me let go and experiment, even when there was no hand to hold in case I fell.

However, I’ve learnt that in seeking the truth experiments are only the allergens that help uncover the most optimal atmosphere required for us to survive. It is not the mountain peak which changed my life. It was my perception of the climb up that mountain that I carried home.

Also had I not deployed my “habit of thinking and questioning” to understand a different kind of intellect, the NTTE and I would never have become friends in the first place! Travel has taught me to open my heart and mind to different tribes’ ideologies, instead of just sticking to my own.

I think therefore I am.

The NTTE is brazen about his or her sexual pleasures, I, on the other hand, am brazen about wearing my heart on my sleeve! To the NTTE, nights of passion are possible keeping one’s flow of emotions gated and restrained. I applaud the NTTE for unapologetically connecting purely from the body with people who watch the moon from the other side of the planet. But I contrast this with my own bravado to take an emotional chance on people who watch the moon from the other side, and I give myself a pat on the back.

I trust, and I trust again, and I paint and I paint a beautiful picture again, of that scenery which shook me and scarred me and almost demolished me – because I am wild enough to!

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too.Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” 

.... Terry Pratchett

Getting lost in the mountains..

Written by: Prachi Shrivastava

Way up to Churdhar

I am sending a guardian angel – basically my present day self – to the three-day old me who got lost in the mountain jungles this Sunday when she hiked alone for the first time in her life. I hope the guardian angel is able to offer comfort to her when she starts feeling like a truly lost cause.

These are the things the guardian angel has to say to the “Me” of Sunday past:

This hour lost searching the forests for your trekking trail, is not really lost. It will add up. It will one day get you out of an “actual” life-threatening situation of course, but for today it will put into motion a sequence of mis-happenings that, eight hours from now, will lead you to the perfect bus.

This perfect bus has every comfort your body deserves after this hike. It is heated, has cushioned seats, and goes straight to your end destination instead of first dropping you off at a connecting port. The bus is fully booked, but for one last seat which is coming to get you, but baby you’d have missed it had you been on your target schedule and reached base point without the lag of this hour.

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The dhaba-owner’s family at the base point today will fascinatedly listen to your tales of climbing down the mountain alone, and will ask, “Didn’t you feel scared being alone in the forest?”  Acting cool as a cat, you’ll lend the finishing stroke to your staged performance with a “Not at all guys! What is there to feel scared in these beautiful mountains?!”

So, why not be brave now girl, in order to stay true to your performance a few hours later. Have faith that you will rescue yourself, really try not to feel scared and overwhelmed!

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Stop. Freeze right there! Why do you think you will brilliantly succeed in finding the correct route through the middle of this forest when, in fact, you ended up losing sight of an ALREADY established trekking route an hour ago? Stop going forward, turn back immediately, and find the point from where you first took the wrong way.

I can feel your inertia, but honestly, is this the best time to be lazy about having to exert climbing uphill again? 25 minutes after you start tracing your steps back you will come across a stony trail that will rekindle your faith in your right to survive.

This stony trail, curved steeply down towards the left, is your track! The correct track you didn’t even notice existed. 

At the beginning of your trekking expedition you were prepared to analyse and choose carefully whenever two choices of paths presented themselves to you. But in your hurry to complete your time targets you failed to even notice when the choices appeared an hour ago!

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I know you are physically unable to control your gigantic sobs because you feel you have the thoughts of absolutely no one with you in this trying situation, but look at me! You’re not alone. I am still there with you and always will be. 

Infact come, let me tightly hug you to give you a tangible belief of never being caught alone.

Though let me be clear. My hug for you is not meant to stop you from crying from your belly. In fact I am grateful that this deep crisis situation has come as an excuse for you to let out all the tears that used to get stuck in your throat from all those years of growing up and hardening. 

Blocked emotions are not so conducive to enjoying life to its fullest, you know. It is great that the mountains heard your hearty sobs today!

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You are convinced this is the end and all you really want at the moment is a fragrant hug by mum’s belly one last time before you’re taken away by a wild jungle bear? That hug, which seems so out of reach now, is all you need to prepare you for slipping down and hitting your head on a tree trunk or to fall straight into the valley to put you out of your misery?

That is just the lack of proteins and carbs in you talking, and not your giving up on your will to live, believe me you! Do you remember when you last had a proper meal? 36 hours ago! And the last bite of any food? 18 hours ago! You’re extremely thirsty from drinking water judiciously on this bright sunlit trail that you’ve been climbing down at full speed without a break.

10 minutes from these thoughts now, you’ll throw your 10 kg backpack to the ground, sit down and drink lots of water, and try your phone and your laptop dongle internet connection to reach a friend and let them know you are lost. Your attempts at connecting would fail (The jungles don’t have network range), but the 15 minute break it will afford you will calm you down and get your brain working again.

10 minutes after that break, you’ll find the blessed correct track.

But do remember to take this intensity of your craving for mum’s hug, back with you. Never forget what it felt like to have your birth-right so out of your reach at a point in life.

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The aesthetics of lostness

Finally, do take a moment to enjoy this hour. You’re going to terribly miss it when it is behind you. Miles of perfect crispy golden dried leaves beneath your feet, An opal shaped crystal ball of sun peeking out from between the fragrant tall pines and oaks that are all around you, your lungs are full of pure air that breathes so light and its chill is pinching your nose and flushing your cheeks red.  Tiny fiery orange alpine flowers make timid clusters in the brown barren wintery landscape one last time before the snow sets in.

Don’t you just enjoy being left alone with the sound of only your writing ideas for hours? Well, here you are! Relish this beautiful, beautiful setting for that luxury baby – gazing meditatively into the blue deep valley.

And look! Here comes a Monaal! And in a rare event, it is sitting quietly by your side, enjoying your vibe when infact all it does on sighting any human is run away!

Tell me now, how often and how many city journalists have this kind of weekend bliss? Lucky you!

These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do!

Written by: Prachi Shrivastava

I bruise my silken legs and line my pedicured feet with deep muddy cuts. The soft velvety skin on my tailbone is now crusty crocodile-like, thanks to bristles from my rucksack. My lustrous hair has lost its sheen as it gathers mountain dust. My nails chip, my lips lose several dried up layers and I reek of goat stench. How squarely unladylike!

I am at 12,000 ft above sea level, the mellow warmth of the sun is missing from the scene and wind at 14 km/hr claims my ribs, but I sweat. I sweat and my cheeks flush crimson as I endeavour to make this mountain my own – climbing up the last 2000 ft of the Dhauladhar range to the Indrahaara pass.

My hips’ and thighs’ vulnerable soft curves are perpetually clenched - wary of slipping on the chilling canine rocks surrounding me. Clenched, they stiffen up. Their tenderness transforms into tight muscle – and I gain a defined stride and sure-footedness in this world.

I have left many loved ones behind in the city, but have carried their voices in my head all the way up here. The voices say: “Are you sure you want to do this?” “What is the big need to take this ‘thing’ up?” “You need to give it a good think, these things are not easy!” “Let it go, it is too strenuous, it is not for you!” “What are you trying to prove anyway?” Together the voices seem to share only one sentiment - I am a lost cause!

My heart pounds faster with rage at this sentiment, and my breathing loses its calm rhythm as I heighten my pace.  I put all my energy into drowning those voices through the speed of my moving feet. I am determined to glide through this “thing” I have taken up and find my bliss in my own passion instead of the one handed down to me by societal mores. I fully intend to carve my own niche.

The figurative mountain I wish to conquer sometimes rolls its eyes and sticks its tongue out at me – at my rawness, my weakness – and twice I give up. Snow that has made its way to my untrained trekker’s feet despite many safeguards is like daggers to my toes. I am close to my monthly menstrual cycle and the lack of oxygen at this altitude doesn’t help my stomach cramps. The fact that the gender accompanying me has never known the knife stabs I am dealing with in my abdomen, adds to my woe.

For a moment my rust brown, high ankle trekking boots refuse to budge another inch. But the boon of reaching 99 is that there is no option but to zip up to 100. I hardly have the option to turn back from the last 1,000 of the 14,000 ft I am covering today and so I gather my wits, look around and try to get over myself.

What I see, looking around, tickles my stomach. Here I am, claiming a spot on the mountains which I had earlier only seen from either an airplane or from a motorable road far, far away. And here I am – the sole life on that spot today. My sibling and I always fantasised about sitting on the cotton candy clouds in the sky above, and here I am living that fantasy today. The herb Ratanjot that had enhanced countless mutton dishes of Rogan Josh that I have relished in my life, sits lining my path here. The blinding white snow on the treacherously sharp boulders gives me no leeway to be careless here.

And why am I here? Because I have a pair of feet and I can! I can goddarn be wherever I want to be!

This freedom of being is not the only thing that inspires me to regain my enthusiasm. Warm-blooded hands that reach out to grab mine and get me up to speed have an equal role. The hands belong to a few liberated men, who need hardly any materialism in life to go on – let alone luxury. Their endurance is an example, their faces ever smiling, never flinching in the face of ceaseless physical effort – and all they want today is to help me conquer my mountain. Getting to match my steps with men like these gives me a heady rush!

With my resolve dying and reviving several times in the course of the climb, I finally make my way to the highest point of the trek. Another bout of tummy cramps hits me and I am the only one in the group doubling up in pain – the only woman up there. But nature smiles at my three-hour effort and decides to grant me the chance to be ecstatic at its unexplored beauty. The sun comes out, its mild heat helps my cramps dissolve and I open my eyes to the vast valley beneath the pass.

Opening my eyes I see liberation. There are more possibilities to my life than the petty everyday concerns I often find myself entangled in. In the face of the valley’s vastness I decide that there is nothing to do now but to let go. The hinterland of life, with its unexplored potential for surprises, starts from where we let go.

Why do I burden my weaker womanly frame with trekking-luggage when I can sit pretty and let men do it? To know for sure that I am never alone in this world as long as I wholeheartedly have myself for me! Why do I venture into the freezing, rocky lifeless wilderness of the mountains? Because I am free to do so, I am not bound by anything! Why do I not give up even though there is no worldly possession to be earned in climbing a mountain? Because to the one who can give birth, “giving up” does not exist!