What three years of Himalayan trekking have taught me

Travel, they say, teaches more than you could ever learn in school. I would say trekking — especially of the multi-day Himalayan kind — teaches you more than you could ever learn from ‘ordinary’ travel. This post is an attempt to share what I have learned during my brief career as a Himalayan trekker, not it may not exactly be an exhaustive list. 

If I learned one thing from my latest trek in Kashmir — Tarsar-Marsar — it’s the value of a good team, a good team leader and effective teamwork.

A young first-time trekker in the team brought back not-so-happy memories from my own first trek of Goecha La two years back. Ill prepared and out of shape, he was struggling to complete the hike every day — just as I had done in Sikkim in 2013. On Day 1, the fastest ones reached the campsite two hours before the slowest ones, that too after plenty of rest on the way. On day 2, the gap increased by another hour.

The trek leader then insisted that all of us walk together “as a team” and the faster ones slow down because, he pointed out rightly, that the slower ones were simply not in a position to speed up. Some of the experienced trekkers objected vehemently, saying that the team be broken up in two — fast trekkers and slower ones — and the latter be sent out an hour in advance.

The trek leader first tried to reason with them politely, but when he realised some were beyond gentle persuasion, he simply put his foot down and ‘ordered’ that everyone was to walk with the team and any defiant trekker — no matter of what age and how much experience — would be sent back.

“Trust me,” he said, “do what I say and all of you will reach on time.” Though I never argued with him, I doubted that we would “reach on time”. But we actually DID. Maybe not exactly “on time” but no doubt in good time. It gave the laggards more confidence but best of all, it helped us get acquainted with each other and build the team spirit. Very soon, we were all playing games together as part of an incredible age group of 18 to 67.

The Goecha La trek leader had done exactly the opposite in my case. On Day 1, I would have been left behind all on my own had some experienced trekkers not stuck by my side. Then, the trek leader himself started insisting every day that I set off an hour before the others — which I never did simply because I just did not have the energy to do it. Instead of understanding my troubles, he would try to bully me into submission, which never worked either.

We never walked as a ‘team’ in Sikkim, as we did in Kashmir. And I have been fortunate to see and experience the dramatically different results of these two treks. It’s not only about a trek. I can safely say that even in life — especially the workplace — the results will be the same.  

The dwelling of Gujjars — a semi-nomadic community spread across vast stretches of northern India, Pakistan and Afghanistan — is a one-room hut carved out of a side of a knoll, a layer of earth being its roof which is held up by roughly chopped planks of wood and stones coarsely planted in the surrounding mounds of earth. We met several Gujjar families during the Kashmir trek, on the way ahead from Aru, which is 12km from Pahalgam, upstream of the Lidder. In winter, these families migrate to warmer climes and abandon their huts, which are frequently occupied by bears. In summer, they are back, rearing their livestock and making a living out of selling ‘milk-rotis’ — chapattis made of thick cottage cheese — in Srinagar. It’s also what they eat, with salted tea, and what they offer to tired and hungry trekkers.

Yes, humans can survive with just as much. And be happy too. Looking at the smiling faces of Gujjar kids, I wondered if their more affluent, city-bred, gadget-toting comrades are capable of exuding such unadulterated joy. Not that I’m saying everyone should live like the Gujjars, but think. Do we really NEED everything that we possess?

Himalayan trekking teaches simplicity. It teaches us the absurdity of owning all that we do and showing them off, too. A seven-star hotel suite can never give the sheer bliss and sense of freedom a 7ftX7ft alpine tent can give. 

Have you ever wondered what an incredible machine the tap is? Or the geyser? What’s the big deal about a TAP, right? Try to wash your plates squatting by a little stream in the dark and you will start appreciating a tap. Camp in freezing temperatures for a week and you will realise the importance of a geyser. 

Himalayan trekking teaches us to appreciate such little wonders of life that we take for granted — running hot water, the comfort of a bed or a chair, the ‘luxury’ of public transport and all the facilities we city-dwellers enjoy. Hospital 2km away, school 6km away, railway station 10km away, airport 15km away...

There are thousands of villagers in the interiors of our country who have to trudge miles to reach a road that will take them to the nearest hospital. Kids trek 20km daily to get education. We all know this, right? But trekking brings you face to face with these ‘nameless, faceless’ people. And you start appreciating all that you have. 

Anyone who has used a toilet tent for a week will, if not anything else, never complain about any other toilet in the world. All I ask for in any accommodation now is a clean bed and a clean washroom. I don’t even see what else the room has. Everything else looks superfluous.

If my family ever complains of, for instance, fewer water supplies for the day, I just laugh and point out that there are several peoples who do with much less every single day (Ladakh, for instance). 

I have also become a less fussy eater. Everything has somehow started tasting good now!

Himalayan trekking is not easy. It takes regular workouts to keep fit and even then, it’s not exactly a stroll in the park. The terrain is harsh to begin with and it can worsen suddenly in the event of rain or snow. There can be injuries, unexpected detours and unimaginably difficult stretches, testing the ultimate levels of one’s endurance. But I always remember this: Every road has an end if you just keep going.

Trekking is more a ‘mind game’ than a physical sport. It can toughen one mentally and help cope with unforeseen adversities. If you can tell your mind to keep walking, you will reach your destination, no matter how far it is, how tough the path or how painful the going. 

I returned from the Goecha La trek with a sprained ankle, swollen feet and knees, and bruises all over my upper arms. I struggled badly through the eight days of the trek. But the ‘high’ I got from completing that trek is till date unmatched.

“If I could do Goecha La, I can do ANYTHING,” is a phrase I use often. And it’s something I truly believe in. That trek gave me the confidence to do many a crazy thing after that — including leaving my desk job in pursuit of doing something happier.

Mountains teach us to dream and give us the courage to pursue them. One of my favourite scenes in Satyajit Ray’s ‘Kanchenjungha’ is where the unemployed protagonist refuses to accept the job he is offered by the rich, arrogant patriarch. “It’s probably the mighty mountains,” he tells the patriarch’s daughter later on. “Let him be the ‘roybahadur’. I don’t have to submit to his every wish.”

The Himalayas give us confidence and self-esteem. Oodles of it. 

Mr Himalayas is exceedingly good-looking. To people like me, he’s the most handsome man in the whole wide world. But, he’s also incredibly moody and can unleash his fury on anyone on one of his grumpy days. And you don’t want to mess with him on such a day. Bow before him and turn back.

I had to, on my first two treks. He did not let me or my team go till the end. But he was kind to me on the third. So, wait patiently for his benevolence. Love him, stalk him, but more importantly, respect him.

And it holds true for Mother Nature as well. Respect the terrain, respect the weather and respect all living beings — even the tiniest ones — that are a part of their world. I hate it when someone even plucks flowers for worship nowadays. Because I firmly believe that if God exists, he or she resides in nature. And every child of nature deserves to live. That’s what Himalayan trekking has taught me.