Have Feet Will Travel

The air was crisp and clean. Even at that altitude of 14000 feet above sea level with reduced oxygen levels, I could bet my lungs were happier than they would ever be in my urban smog-ridden existence back home. I was happy here. This felt like home too. May be it was, from another time in another life.

His eyes shone like the full moon in a salt desert. And as he held our gaze he said, “There’s a reason why we’ve met. You and I. There’s a reason why I had the honour of welcoming you into my home. You could have stayed the night with any other family in this village; but it happened to be mine…”
His words met a lump in my throat. They were certainly having an effect. I averted my gaze and met another’s; we’d both felt it. Somewhere prayer-flags were fluttering in the air.

Who was this man? Sure, his wife and he’d received 11 of us and we’d spend the previous night at his humble abode; a quaint weathered 2-storeyed home that told a story of simplicity unmarred by the lures of present day’s advancement and of harsh winters endured from the yesterdays gone by – where 11 of us shared a roof and soupy meal with him after trekking 20-odd kilometres.

And now 11 unblinking pair of eyes reflected on his words in the sacred grove of juniper trees. Stillness spoke many a volume.

This same stillness was my staff as we’d trekked, but only after I’d stumbled over my own feet. The trick I gradually learnt was in synchronising the rhythm of my breath with the rhythm of my step. The same stillness became my compass when mountain biking down from 18000 feet at the highest motorable road in the world. And even though I was lagging behind, the trick herein I realized was to learn to be comfortable with my own pace. Almost Zen-like!

Back to the grove, from the corner of my eyes I noticed a rabbit hobbling through the field. But who was he to make this sound all-so-convincing? And why did his words have such a magnetic pull? It was akin to the magnetic pull that only 6 days ago drew 11 strangers from across the expanse called India towards each other on this pathway of creating a shared experience. Or what if they already did share a common mental narrative?

I’ll never forget the day I caught myself signing up for a two week travel expedition to Ladakh (AKA the Little Tibet of India) in the company of, what then seemed like, a random bunch of strangers.

And then again, there is no such thing as random occurrences because we all encounter each other for a reason.