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A walk to remember

By  Abhijit Dutta April 17 2020, 6:19 AM
Abhijit-NCF

It was a cold December morning in Delhi and I was rushing towards the Metro station to attend a crafts fair, where women form Spiti were displaying beautiful woolen products made by them. The walk was a long one and thus lots to observe on the way. The images sweeping through both the flanks were typical city scenes- swanky cars breezing past in the freezing weather, shady bars yet to be opened, migrant laborers sipping tea and quivering in the death cold morning, a cobbler shivering and a dog wearing a sweater and blocking the footpath like a cow- it was a walk to ponder about the life and times we are living in.

The crafts fair was a rather dull affair. Due to strikes in the city, very few people visited the stalls and the people who visited seemed indifferent to the conservation story that the women from Spiti were trying to present. A chance encounter with an organizer, who happened to visit our stall for a few photographs for their social media, said it was the same with everyone in the fair. Participants from all across India were finding it challenging to inspire the visitors with their social and environmental stories- “maybe, because people in today’s world, including me and you, are lacking what is known as empathy,” she said and signed off - getting me into a thought spiral.

A week later, I was in Kibber, a small village in Spiti. It was twenty degrees below freezing point and the only feasible thing to do was to slip inside layers of blankets in front of the bukhaari - the traditional fireplace. One of my colleagues wanted to sight a Snow Leopard and we tried venturing out a few times with Lamaji. On the penultimate day of our stay, as usual, I was sleeping, one of my colleagues was reading a book and the other was sitting beside the fireplace, probably contemplating about life. One of our field coordinators came running and informed us about a Snow Leopard sighting that is just ‘two minutes’ away. It took me a while to realize that I was not dreaming. All of us put on a few layers of sweaters and jackets and set off with cameras and binoculars. The ever-helpful Lamaji also accompanied us to guide us to the place of the sighting.

It was already fifteen minutes and we had reached only halfway. This walk was the most difficult walk of my life. We were walking on a downward slope, with knee deep snow. One of my colleague, who has worked extensively in these landscapes was miles ahead of me accompanied by Lamaji- the layer of snow was just like an Olympic sprint track for them. While, the other colleague, who was visiting Spiti for the first time, was way behind me struggling to find a firm footing in the quicksand-like snow. It was my second visit to the place and I could see the correlation of time spent in this landscape with the distance covered by each one of us on this ‘two minute’ walk that we were engrossed in. I lost count the number of times I slipped and fell flat on the snow. In this process, I could feel, taste, smell and hear the snow apart from only seeing it. Finally, when we reached the edge of the cliff, the first thing we could see was the last thing we wished to see - a crowd of unruly people – some of them talking loudly, some laughing, a few smoking and others shouting at us to come quickly and see the Snow Leopard across the cliff.

I stood for a while and took a deep breath to regain my senses. Slowly, I realized that there was snow inside my shoes, my socks were wet and my feet had turned blue. Nevertheless, I went to the edge of the cliff and for ten minutes I was staring dumb at the rocks on the cliff across- all the fancy equipment - the binoculars and the zoom camera were like a bad workman’s tool - totally useless. Finally, I managed to spot the Snow Leopard, which was so far away that it looked like a pale blue dot from the voyager. After a few more efforts, my pupils were exercised enough to calmly locate not only an adult Snow Leopard - but also three cubs with her - all comfortably napping one besides other on the edge of a dangerously dangling cliff and were. I soaked in into the blissful moment and again went into a thought spiral- about life, wildlife and life with and without wildlife.

I stood silently for about half an hour after which I thought I should head back and put my feet near fire so that I can feel my feet again. As I turned back, a village guide signaled me to stand still and be quiet. There was more in store - an Ibex family emerged from the opposite side of the slope we were standing on. They stood twenty feet away, watching us in Zen mode, posing for a few clicks and then moving closer sideways of us towards the edge of the cliff. One of them sat right on the edge, just fifteen feet away from us. Someone had surely informed them about the Snow Leopard sighting! Surprisingly, it followed the same exercise as I did - only without any fancy equipment. Was it having a telepathic conversation with the Snow Leopard across the cliff? Or challenging the Snow Leopard by turning it’s ‘Catch me if you can’ mode on? Surely, scenes that I was lucky enough to witness and scenes I am sure, I will never be able to witness again. This walk was the most difficult walk of my life yet the most fruitful one.

On the way back, a few local people empathized with us seeing our ‘successful’ ‘walking the way up’ effort and offered us lift in their vehicle. After returning, some more local people along with our colleagues from the local community were waiting for us to get ‘menthok’ (treat) from us for our Snow Leopard sighting. Conversations over tea brought to light the fact that the wildlife, mostly the Ibex and Blue sheep have become comfortable of human presence over the years as humans have stopped hunting them due to various conservation schemes and economic opportunities. The women have also played their part and were part of this transformation. We continued our discussions till the sunlight faded and till the sky gradually turned into a black canvas full of starts and constellations glittering joyously.

Days passed, I was taking a regular evening walk in Mysore after returning from Spiti and thinking about the walk in Kibber and the walk in Delhi. What is it that makes the two worlds so different? What makes the people from such cold and ‘deserted’ landscapes, to have hearts filled with unmatched warmth? And do people like you and me, cuddling in luxuries of the urban life, genuinely lack empathy? Well, let’s not get into a thought spiral again…

Kibber