surreal sikkim, and lessons learnt

Sikkim has been nothing short of an absolutely surreal experience that pulls you at wildly
different ends. The breadth of similarities that can be drawn with $ingapore comforts and
grants an otherwise foreign land an air of comforting familiarity. Yet at the same time, my
encounter with nature here in all her majestic indifference awes and humbles me
simultaneously, in a fashion that often borders on the ridiculous.

Spots of Singaporeanisms are evident everywhere; this was particularly so in Gangtok, the
capital of Sikkim. Safe driving signs are everywhere along the roads and rubbish bins, a
rare if not non-existent phenomenon in India, are numerous. There was diversity of ethnicity
but everyone spoke a common language, Nepali. The whole town feels safe with many policemen
wandering around, and touts and beggars are nowhere to be found.

My suspicion that the Sikkimese government must have found inspiration from the Singaporean
government was confirmed after we talked to Kinzong, a member of the Kanchenzonga
Conservation Committee, over tea at Yuksom. The incumbent chief minister has a habit of
learning from the Singaporean government and has imported some Singaporean idas to Sikkim.
Indeed, similar to Singapore, the Sikkimese government is dominated by one party, with only
one opposition party member. Rings some bells?

Peel away from the city and one gets to see a part of Sikkim that Singapore clearly does not
have: abundance of nature.

As I write this piece, I am sitting on a chair in a sun-soaked valley with chilly 2 degree
winds and snowy peaks in the distance. I am literally in the clouds; when the wind blows,
puffs of cloud float and spread through the valley like blankets, obscuring the peaks in the
distance.

This is probably the best I have felt so far along the trek. The sun is shining for once, I
get to dry my clothes and our final destination is close. More importantly, I feel that I
have acclimatised to the altitude, which is currently 3950m and will increase to a maximum
of 5127m at Goecha La.

Exposure to the blunt and indifferent elements of nature is something we Singaporeans do not
get in our air-conditioned nation, and I was caught by the altitude and cold climate. My
previous nights were filled with throbbing headaches and shivers, and an ordinarily
effortless slow climb during the day would easily send my heart racing and my head pounding.

Weather seldom affects ordinary life in Singapore. IF it is too warm, we switch on the air
conditioner. If it rains we hide in a nearby building or the car. Here in the mountains we
are at the mercy of the weather. A cloudy day means the views of the deoralis will be
obscured, and the paths harder to see. A rainy day makes travelling more treacherous and
slower since the paths get muddied and stones become more slippery.

It doesn't help that the inherent vagaries of the weather is coupled with a capacity to
change rapidly and dramatically. As I write this the previously sun-drenched valley before
me is now being rapidly filled with clouds, while further in the distance the mountains
remain basking in the sun.

The weather even dictates the most simple of human activities, and pares what we have down to the most basic needs. I have not showered in 5 days and will not shower in the remaining few
days despite having sweated quite a lot because the water is too cold and hot water is a
scarce commodity that is only allowed to be used in small basins for early morning
face-washing and tooth-brushing. In fact, nobody seems to ever shower in the mountains. It
is simply too cold and uneconomical.

Conversely I am grateful for what can and is provided . Our frequent requests for hot water
to warm our bodies were seldom turned down. The 3 square meals we are fed each day are
nutritious and filling.

The induced austerity of existence has a power to make a person reflect. Each time I
hunkered over a warm cup of plain water at the end of an exhausting day of trekking when the set has set and the chilly wind makes me shiver in my sweat-drenched shirt, I realise that perhaps what man truly needs to live is pitifully minimal. It is possible to pare down and subtract from the list of supposed "needs" we are accustomed to having in our lives, and I am continuously surprised by just how much we can do without.

What is left, what is really important, is joy and spirit. Spirit can stem from a goal, which probably explains why I can still find the strength to go through this chilly torture. Looking around me I see some remarkable insights into what constitutes joy and spirit. The Nepalese guides that followed us along the journey would randomly and spontaneously burst into song as we march towards our destinations. The silent air of yesterday's night spent at Dzongiri was filled with the songs sung by the porters, cooks and guides who have spontaneously decided to start an impromptu singing session, despite the chilly night.

So amidst the gunky, unwashed hair and ghastly toilets, I am grateful to be given another valuable reminder of the essence of life. It is too easy to lose sight of it, especially when one is caught in the selfish rat race of our education system.

It is immensely surreal to be experiencing this, just 2 weeks after sitting for exams in a lecture hall and 6 months after I tore by left big toe tendon. As I finish this piece the guys have just started a game of soccer in the field nearby. I should be joining them now.