Life as a Local

I wheezed my way to Butit’s place, which was going to be my home for the next 3 nights. Two months of Yoga doesn’t necessarily prepare you for a hike at 4200 m.

Is the darkness due to deficiency of light or of oxygen in my body? I wondered.

The entrance to Butit’s house was a small green door that struggled to accommodate an average built Indian man. All the winter layering only added to the woes. The door opened to a dimly-lit passage, which smelt of spices, dust, and cow-dung. Bending was the only way to avoid banging my head with the ceiling. Heavy backpack and bent back made me gasp for air. The passage seemed overcrowded with 3 adults and 4 backpacks.

“Please don’t expect any luxuries in the homestays. Houses in Demul are basic. That’s how you live like a local in Spiti.” Ishita Khanna, founder of Ecosphere had warned us before we left Kaza.

Cheap stays on my travels aren’t new to me. Whenever my accommodation crosses the 3-digit mark, ‘traveler-not-tourist’ inside me feels betrayed. Yet that unending passage, which though only a few meters long, rattled me. I was reminded of my Economics class, where I would check the watch every 15 minutes, only to find merely a minute had passed. Time never stood still before or after that course; that is till I had traversed this passage.

This is what claustrophobia feels like. Or is it paranoia? I was confused.

Screaming and running out of her house loomed large when Butit turned to climb the stairs and arrived in yet another passage – roomy and well-lit. Man! I was relieved.

In the front was Butit’s room.

It was not only her bedroom but also the kitchen, study, dining, and living room, all combined into one, as I would come to know later. Cushions were spread across the length of the floor on three sides. At the center was a stove, which was also a room-heater. The ropes with an overload of clothes were tied along bright yellow walls, which were beautified by two Shahrukh Khan posters often found in road-side barbershops. The window served multiple purposes, primary of which was communication between people on the inside and those on the street.

To my right was dry toilet.

‘Basic homestay’, remember?

The dry toilet was a tiny room with a door, no windows, and a hole on the floor. You were expected to have a good aim to ensure your business passed through that hole. The skylight lets the warm gases exit the toilet.

To my left was my room.

The only indulgence I yearned for was a place to straighten my back. I had surrendered all hopes of a comfortable stay. But when I opened the door, what stared back at me was heaven!

The room was several notches above my expectations: two beds, with thick blankets and real mattresses, unlike what lay in Butit’s room; neatly tucked floral bedsheet and matching pillow-covers; two chairs and a table – with a jug and a flower pot; pink walls and blue ceiling; half the walls covered with bamboo mats; the only window opening to the view of fields.

Gazing at my room, I would have beaten Buddha in experiencing gratitude. For a person, who constantly grapples with thankfulness, this emotion was an epiphany. I never appreciated my fully-furnished 2000 sq. ft. flat in Gurgaon. Forget appreciation, I never even noticed it.  But at Demul, something novel happened, and I wasn’t sure why!

Was it because I was tired?

Or was it because I was far from home – traveling – and expecting a transformation that comes with it?

Or was I not grateful – simply relived looking at a clean room after a long day?

Answer to those questions eluded me. Probably, the answer wasn’t what I looked for. I was in an inebriated space: slightly overwhelmed and happy high. Before that feeling ebbed and was replaced by something mundane, I wanted to cherish it. In an all-knowing world, I wanted a few mysteries to stay: mysteries, which were pleasant! Mysteries, which were entirely mine.

I dumped my backpack on the floor and crashed on my bed. My tired limbs were rested but my mind was hyperactive, absorbing the Spiti I had come to acquaint myself with. Butit brought Maggi and tea, which I wolfed down in minutes. I slept a happy and contented man.