Let Go

And this isn’t just a metaphor.

An imaginary seam across the rich Asian landscape, a bridge and some signposts informed me that I had crossed the border to India. The hot plains didn’t feel any different: the Indian heat gave me the same queasy feeling as the one I had felt for so long in the Nepali Terrai; the people, sharing countenances and features that I love and admire reveal the same pearly-white toothy grin I’ve been welcomed with all over Nepal. And the sing-song Nepali and Newari languages have been replaced with the chirpy Hindi and other thousands of dialects between which I can’t tell any difference. After all, just like someone once told me, the common denominator of all the languages Nepal and India share is ‘ek’ – one; and it’s as good a start as any.

But the scorching plains revealed the dwellers’ character, that cunning sense of trying to pinch a little extra off the ignorant westerners, a skill employed discreetly at any purchase, regardless how small: the water bottle with its official price stamped on is sold to a westerner with at least a 50% service charge, the seller adopting a charming innocent smile that would reassure the customer.

I couldn’t handle it straight away so, after a first hot hour in India I hopped on a jeep to the hills. Darjeeling, I thought would be a good start for this new Indian odyssey: hills, clouds and tea would surely make me forget about that strange feeling I had, which could only be described as having a sense of loss leaving Nepal, feeling sad, missing it.

And that’s when I had to let go. Let go of old customs and the Nepali ways I had come to know, let go of those strange feelings of attachment to a place I only knew for a couple of months, let go of firm convictions. I would soon discover I could even let go of any handhold in the jeep and embrace the way of the mountains, swaying gently along my fellow passengers on this new jeep ride.

The mountain way is simple: get as many people inside a jeep as humanely possible and start negotiating the steep, narrow hairpin bends up the road, disregarding the fog and rain that is emblematic for this area and this season. A tiny thought crossed my mind once we started and I noticed that all the people inside the jeep were chanting little prayers to their respective gods and only later, once we hit the real mountain roads that would be better tackled on a cross bike, I realised that the prayers might have been welcomed by the gods. The steep road uphill got every heart pumping faster each time another car passed us and the driver slowed, viciously pressing the break and getting us to an abrupt stop, so that the other jeeps would have enough space to pass. But the main feeling I had while sitting in between a portly businessman who had a lot in common with a slightly deflated balloon, a small man with a big packet in his lap, and a quiet fellow plastered onto the window – the main feeling was that of being in the mosh pit at a rock concert, only without the tossing and turning: I tried really hard to take up as little space as possible, so I experimented with trying to make my shoulders touch each other while crossing my arms, so that I’d be somewhat closer to giving myself a nice, warm hug. And all the while I was hoping that someone would get off so we’d have a little bit more space or something that might be considered normal, man-sized space.

And finally, someone did get off… only to be replaced seconds later by someone else. But I did manage to get a better seat, mainly a nice place close to the window; a nice place where I would be pressed only from one side towards the dripping wet window, my body taking the shape of the door panel on one side, and the shape of a monk’s shoulder, elbow and shinbone on the other. 

Upon reaching Darjeeling, I soon discovered that I didn’t have all that much to let go of, seeing that the language spoken in this area locally known as Gorkhaland is Nepali and the people’s character is still the one I got used to in Nepal. Yeah, letting go is not that hard.

Front seat of a jeep, built for two, let's say two and a child in the middle...