One way down to the ground

A thrilling ride through the foothills of Everest. Wanderings #1

There we go, we now have another section called “Wanderings”, a much needed section for me, personally. Among all the crazy stuff happening around the world, there must be a place to talk about light-hearted stuff- this is my place to do just that. Wanderings will have stories from my travels, some fun incidents, travelogues and at times travel advice.

I am starting this off with a story from the Everest Base Camp Trek which I walked with a friend. At a time when Nepal had changed its law to make it compulsory for hikers to walk with porters, we decided to walk the Everest trail which was the only region who was defying the Nepalese laws. Our goal was to walk in the footsteps of Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay who started off their trek from the mountainous region of Jiri, which is a few hundred kilometres east of capital city Kathmandu. We had almost walked for a week by the time we reached the foothills of Pikey Peak, where my companion started having pain in his knee-joints. The right thing to do was obviously to walk back down and call it a day. Everest could wait for another time, only if we had good health. Thus started off the rescue ride from the top towards the valley. Here’s how it went.

Wires sparked and a dimming white light blew up and turned off again. The guy on my right, drunk off his guts on rakshi, fell down from his neck the umpteenth time. The thin old guy with Nepali hat and khukri lit up his seventeenth cigarette, refusing to open the window which turned the car into a hotbox. A drunk couple got that cigarette and they puff puff passed it to the guy sitting next to the drunk on my right. A sadistic version of some old Bollywood song was playing on a phone whose speakers were out of touch with any tune known in the world of music. The fat guy sitting in the front seat shouted at the the guy in the back to play songs more loudly and fell off on the gear box. Sanjib, the drunk driver used my head torch once again to check the wires. Spark. Lights on. Lights off. Spark. Lights on once again.

All this while we stood on a huge curve on a reverse gear at 3700 m. If the gear fails we are all one way down, no barriers, no one to see us, no rescue missions. Plain dead. 

This is somewhat the context under which yesterdays ride down from Lamjura to Kinja goes. One of the worst life decisions that will pain me to eternity. The drunk driver had reminded me to ‘close my eyes and sleep’ even before I entered the car. We were sitting in a hostel at the top of the mountain where he sat in front of the fireplace, eating boiled potatoes, in a very calm spirit after being 6 hours late and no, it wasn’t even a free ride! Dawa the sherpa boy ran up to me to hand me a mask just before I stepped into this car, ‘It will smell of alcohol and cigarettes, here, keep this’. 

None of the sherpas had any idea of how drunk this car was before they let us in. It was the usual, “oh, they are drunk”, “it should be fine-talk”.

 Sanjib folded the middle seat in half to squeeze my ass into the last seat of this 4x4, my walking partner squeezed in too. I was absolutely quiet the moment I entered in. Lhakpa, the middle aged sherpa who owned the hostel, gave us some confidence, “dont worry, you will be fine”. I remember that I haven’t even stated the time so far. It was 9 pm. Pitch dark. Stars and head torches were the only support system if something went wrong. 

“Nepali chha?”, the drunk guy had asked me when my left leg was hanging mid-air, and I was trying with my other leg to adjust my balls so they don’t get crushed when I squeeze myself in on the seat. 

“Sorry. No Nepali”, I said with a smile so I don’t hurt anyone’s drunk sentiments on the way down. “Hindi?”, he asked.

“Yes. Hindi”, I said with a sense of relief.

The fat guy shouted an old hindi song, “Bambai se aaya dost. Salaam karo”.

A huge fake laugh to keep everyone happy. Here goes the drive. Shit. The cars moving downhill without lights and the driver is outside, pushing the car down. Am I drunk? or is this happening for real?

Sanjib proclaimed, “now this, my brothers, is how we start a car”.

My heart was racing. I was on the back seat, with no window or door to open if we were in an emergency and our backpack had packed up the space next to my legs. I had no way to move in any direction, nothing to hold onto. Lights! Lights! I shouted. “There’s no lights”. He sparked the wires and lights were on. Even the drunks were concerned. “It will be fine, we are going further than you”, they said. Everyone was in unison on this. 

There were three sober people in the car. Me, my friend and an old Nepali guy who sang soothing songs throughout the ride. I later realised that the songs were actually a praise to the Gods, to keep everyone in the car safe, hoping that we don’t fall down. 

The lights were on, the car was off. On the first curve, we almost reached the edge of the cliff. Brakes. The car was at a standstill. Sanjib put the car in a reverse gear. The car went a tiny step further before moving back. My heart was in my mouth, praying that we don’t fall down. Sanjib sang along with the old guy. I guess he was scared too. However drunk he was, he was the only focused person in his car. Maybe more focused than us. He knew where he was going. A sharp left and we were on the bumpy road. Road. Should I even call that a road? It was a horrible mix of mud, fallen rocks and mostly pits. The car rushed downhill, singing continued and the drunk guy continued making loud noises as if rap-battling with the old guy. Maybe it was the worst duet in the history of mankind. I wanted to say to him, “Shut up! and let the old man sing”, but I stayed quiet. All I knew was, yes, I have made a mistake but I will have to reach Kinja, now be it through the worst ride in hell. More sharp turns, more heart drops and more shouting. I thought to myself, “how can our experience turn from pleasant to dreadful in a matter of mere seconds?”

On this very day, Dawa, hostel-owners son, and his cousin had walked up with me next to Pikey Peak. We sat there eating wai wai, watching the entire Mt. Everest range. I think, its the most beautiful sight I had seen in ages. They were picking sage on the top of that mountain. I sat there with no internet, no thoughts. I was watching a crow come eat some left-over biscuits that we had eaten. He went flying all the way to the next peak. It would have taken us at least 5 hours to walk that distance and he flew there in a few moments. Everest! Its a dream that I have had for a long time. To climb Mt. Everest, its no joke. Nevertheless, its something that I have had in mind for a long time, and if you think enough, you end up doing it. At least, that’s what Pre-Socratics say about our human condition. No thought is random, if its there, its part of reality. Similarly, no experience is extreme. Good or bad doesn’t matter. 

That’s exactly what I thought when I relaxed and saw outside the car window. Shut your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and let Sanjib do his thing. You fucked up. You should have walked down. Now, this this the punishment you get for not listening to your gut. There was nothing I could have done. Getting off wasn’t an option, there were no teahouses for another 3 kms and walking in the night through these snaky roads meant stupidity. I just wanted to be in Kinja, resting on the bed with a warm blanket over me. Gelje Sherpa and his wife had already fixed dinner and made beds for us, thinking that we would be there in another half an hour. 

Car was rushing past a teahouse in Dakchu when Sanjib decided to put the breaks. He and his pals needed some more Rakshi. 

to be continued.. 

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Thankyou and I’ll write the further story soon. You know for sure that I came down alive because I am writing this, but lets maintain some suspense for some time- as if we don’t know what will happen next. :)