Fiction Park
An escape into Shangri-La
Christo was exhilarated by the thought of being considered eccentric. He had come to Nepal to experience and observe, not to seek comfort.
Sugam Gautam
A warm rush of air swept his long hair, and Christo hand-combed it to ensure his blonde hair was parted to one side. He rubbed his eyes and glanced westward at the skyline obscured with haze.
Though the clock chimed ten in the morning, there was no sign of sunlight, and it would be just another gloomy day. Having spent two days in the sweltering heat of Chitwan, he had assumed that Pokhara’s pleasant weather would lighten his foul mood, but the city of lakes was no reprieve either.
Right after he set foot in Pokhara, a horde of young-looking but hideous men chased him, asking where he was going, whether to Dharan, Kathmandu, or somewhere else.
Thanks to the school he volunteered at in Kathmandu, he understood what the conductors talked about in Nepal. “I have just landed in your city. Brothers, I’m not going anywhere,” he said playfully.
The conductors were intimidated by his frankness and the wink he threw at them as he walked away.
Christo manoeuvred the busy streets of Prithvi Chowk, dodging sweaty pedestrians and expectant vendors along the way. As he walked, his eyes ran everywhere—to the statue in the middle of the road, to the road intersection that led to different destinations, and to the hoarding boards perched on top of the buildings.
Is this city any different from Kathmandu and Chitwan? In Christo’s observation, Kathmandu was like a house, with every room distinctly identified to perform a particular pooja. As for Chitwan, he couldn’t form any images, and he passed the city as an unremarkable place where life dragged on with mundane affairs.
Even if it were a sunny day, he preferred to take a bus to Lakeside, where he had booked a hotel just the day before. He had heard highly of this city called Pokhara, particularly of Lakeside, so he was hopeful that the city’s grandeur would strike him sooner or later.
In Surrey, where he had to nod his head or flash a smile to acknowledge, he didn’t like walking and always opted for public transport. Compared to Kathmandu, the traffic in Pokhara was slightly more manageable, and the smiles people wore didn’t have an unworldly vibe.
He remembered eating momo at a small outlet in Naxal. The person in charge of the shop had acted so rudely that Christo had developed hateful feelings for the man. He had yet to interact with people in Pokhara, but he could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren’t as sulky.
The map on his phone showed that he was in Srijana Chowk now, and it would still take around forty minutes to reach the hotel. When he reached the hotel, the owner would probably think about how crazy a foreigner this man was to walk from Prithvi Chowk to Lakeside.
Christo was exhilarated by the thought of being considered eccentric. He had come to Nepal to experience and observe, not to seek comfort.
He had just paused on the steps leading to the overhead bridge when he saw a middle-aged woman carrying a bamboo-made doko on her back. He had already seen this in Kathmandu and Chitwan.
The woman was approaching him with short strides. He knew that she was going to ask him to buy the contents inside the doko. Although he didn’t want to buy anything, he remained on the steps, thinking it would be rude to walk away.
He wiped his sweat beads and waited for the woman to come. Not only was she carrying a doko on her back, but her hands also carried a substantial weight, perhaps bags containing apples or other seasonal fruits.
“150 rupees, this bag!” She lifted the lychee bag in front of Christo. He noticed that the woman was no older than his mother, who was now probably sitting on the couch of her spacious living room, switching TV channels and sipping her favourite coffee.
The woman's weathered towel wrapped around her head reeked of sweat and something indefinable. Her skin was coarse and dark, and she smiled a toothless smile.
Christo couldn’t deny the woman, so he bought a bag of lychee, handing her 500 rupees extra, to which the woman didn’t thank him or say something nice. He thought that she was used to tourists giving her extra money.
But it didn’t hurt Christo to display an act of kindness, especially if the generosity was directed at someone who looked diligent and needy.
By the time Christo reached the hotel, it was already midafternoon. The five-story hotel, just inside street no 6, boasted an ample garden with chairs placed sparsely around.
His room had all the features he wanted, and it even offered a view of the imposing hills and mountains, something that people visiting Pokhara always bragged about.
After a quick shower, he settled at the study table to do some chores on his laptop, a task related to the school he had volunteered at in Kathmandu. Lately, his life had seen more downs than ups, and in the quest for happiness, he was now in Nepal, dedicated to making the most out of this sabbatical.
At 27, he was already an established teacher at Surrey High School. Growing up, he dreamt of being a doctor, but as he aged, he recognised that his interest was in arts and history. During high school, he used to assert that going to university was a total waste of time and money and that one could devour as many books as they wanted in the library.
This firm mentality never changed, and as a result, he started teaching kids while spending long hours in the library.
Sally, his girlfriend, was initially thrilled by his views on the futility of a university degree. But her perception changed as life progressed, and she met more people.
When she started going to graduate school, realisations sank in, and she regretted having spent years under the influence of her aimless boyfriend. Christo cried his lungs out when he first heard from her that she no longer wanted to be with him.
“But why would you want to go away from me?” Christo had asked this between episodes of his relentless sobs.
“Because you think you are doing great. But you have no purpose in life. Why can’t you just be a little practical? I’m done with you anyway.” Her words stung him, and his chest tightened. The cold tears escaping his eyes gave him nostalgia, reminding him of those nights his parents fought while he lay in bed, pressing his ears.
The following week, when he spotted Sally with another boy in the theatre, the ground beneath his feet shook so intensely that he thought he would faint and never get up.
To erase it all from his memories, Christo decided to fly off to Nepal, the country whose stories he had listened to from his grandfather.
His grandfather, who now lived in Yorkshire, had a knack for recounting anecdotes. When Christo visited him in August every year, the grandfather, once a hippie, always explained to him about Nepal being a hemp haven and how an inexorable force of hippies had occupied the alleys of Kathmandu, smoking and singing in such a way that gave the impression that they were just made for it.
His grandfather didn’t do much all his life apart from singing and drinking. In his heydays, he, along with other musicians, had formed a musical band that toured across continents, and now, in his eighties, he basked in his success as a guitarist.
Christo’s parents were divorced, and the break in their marriage spurred a hollowness in his life.
Adding to his frustration was the breakup with his girlfriend, and it was only with his grandfather that he could break this devastating news. The grandfather, a high-spirited man, had suggested that Christo go to Nepal, and later, the grandfather might join him there. Christo’s parents, whom he barely talked to, were unaware that he was now on a different continent, in the country of the Himalayas.
Looking out the window of his room, Christo wondered about his life and the incidents that had made him the person he is today. His grandfather, who had been through a rough patch like this, had restored peace and happiness in this Shangri-La some fifty years back.
Now, to verify his life’s purpose, Christo stepped out of the hotel into Lakeside's vibrant yet calm streets. As he took a right turn from the mouth of the alley, he murmured to himself that this stay in Lakeside would bring some big changes, not just in his life but in others, too.