HiGh Attitude

I had a chance to visit Nepal last week. One can describe downtown Kathmandu as the most happening place in the country. If you want to see pot-loving, tattooed, long-bearded, hair braided hippie westerners, welcome to Thamel, the expatriate town. They are quite bountiful here. The political environment in Kathmandu today, ironically, could also be reminiscent of the American 60s when the civil rights movement in the U.S picked up pace, with marginalized communities, women, and subaltern groups in Nepal demanding an equitable representation in the prospective constitution. I will leave my thoughts on this topic for a subsequent blog entry. Here I want to share about the places that I truly enjoyed during my visit: the rural hearts of Nepal.

The hike from Sakhun village to the summit of Nagarkot was definitely challenging. Add to that the monsoon rain flirting with us throughout the way. The moment we thought the haze has cleared to give us a good look at the surrounding valleys and mountains; the dark clouds would ambush and make the steep trails almost invisible. We couldn’t make out if it was the clouds or our sweat that drenches out clothes. By the time we got to our cottage after half a day of hiking, the monsoon rain was pounding mercilessly. But then towards the dawn when, beyond all our expectations—perhaps our prayers were answered—the sky cleared and the pristine Sun rose from the Lantang Mountain ranges we knew we were witnessing one of the most beautiful sights of our lives. We stood at the highest point in Nagarkot, on top of the tallest tower built on a mountain summit approximately 3000 meters above sea level. We just stood there in silence and took in the panorama. The sun rose proudly for a while and then the whole sky, as if by divine intervention, got engulfed in white clouds giving us that rare window of opportunity to witness one of nature’s amazing foreplays. I have seen a few things in life, but this was extraordinary.



As we trail down the mountains, towards noon the Sun had dispelled all darkness, rising up high in the sky, and it turned out to be a beautiful sunny day. We passed along many small villages that offered us a rare look at how people in some of the remotest parts of the Nepal live. Farmers harvesting cauliflowers, and tending their corn fields. Young men fishing, and the women attending to their daily business. What made me extremely happy was to hear the laughter and sound of children in the silent mountains. They were not selling us popcorn, or postcards, unlike on the streets of Dhaka or Kolkata. They were not begging. They were cheerfully playing in the fields with friends, or climbing trees to pick fruits. The older kids in their school uniforms would peek at us from their makeshift type classrooms, where they have been singing their lessons. They asked us for pens and candies, and were quick to communicate with us, say Namaste to us, clap or cry, or wave goodbye to us. These children truly made my visit to Nepal one of the most memorable journeys. Forget the GDP, or other development indicators for a minute. True human development should be measured by our ability to teach, treasure and love our children.



And then my thoughts drifted back to the one question that I have been asking myself for a while. Back to reality I said. The one question that most development practitioners perhaps, at some point, ask themselves: presented with a choice between a lifetime of personal comfort with near predictable returns, and high-risk-high-returns life scenario, which one will you choose? If microeconomic theory of risk-aversion prevails, most people will choose to remain on the safer side, and smooth their consumption, so to say, choosing instead the near predictable trajectory! If, however, there exists some room for hesitation, it points to one possibility: perhaps you may be the risk loving kind.

Now, apart from the pot-loving bunch, I may be biased, all the explorers gathered near the Himalayas definitely possess that risk-loving nature. My thoughts went to those few brave men and women who have successfully scaled the Mount Everest, the highest place on the Earth. At 8850 meters above sea level, the peak is exactly at the very limit of human endurance against high altitude. One could either get to the summit and survive, gloriously, or one could succumb to a terrible death, like many other explorers have. This is at the very edge of our habitat. Isn’t it mysterious that such a narrow gate exists at the very threshold of our planet? One would wonder why should anybody attempt such an adventure in the first place. It is expensive, extremely risky, and remarkably challenging. Well, some famous Everest explorer had once replied when asked that he climbed the mountain “because it is there.” Perhaps that sums it up, somewhat. It seems like there comes a critical moment of choice. To climb or not to climb; now, that is the high attitude question.