The Roopkund Diaries - Chapter 1

Aagaz

It has been exactly a year since I finished (well ..... nearly finished) the most gruelling (mentally and physically) endeavour I ever embarked upon in this short existence and it is a shame that I waited this long to document it. True, I have been busier, but chronic procrastination probably had a bigger role. Such a long time has now elapsed since that trip that I wanted to pen it down before I lose any more of the small, little precious moments from my memory that made this trip a life-altering experience for me.  

So last year, in an effort to make my life a bit more exciting, and a little less moronic and monotonous, I took quite a few baby steps. A giant leap towards that goal however, came exactly a year ago, when I jumped on the opportunity to join two of my school friends for a trekking expedition in the Himalayas. Actually, it was more of a self-invitation. It was a rare, impulsive, carpe diem moment for me. I very well knew another opportunity to go on a trek like this might never come, and I sure as hell wasn't going to create one on my own, so might as well latch on to this one presented on a silver platter. Thus, without knowing anything about the trek or even the place where we were going, I agreed to go with them.

Briefly, the trek in question lies in the Himalayan range in the Indian state of Uttarakhand. The end point of the trek is the Roopkund or the mystery lake, a shallow pond surrounded by glaciers and snow covered Himalayan peaks like the Trishul (7120 m) at a height of approximately 5000 meters (16,499 feet) above sea level. The reason this place has attracted a lot of attention from travel enthusiasts in the last three-four years is the presence of human skeletons - preserved in all their glory - apparently since the 9^th century, along the edges of the lake. The lake remains frozen for much of the year, and the trek is open for a few weeks in the summer months of May-June and then in September, excluding the monsoon period. A number of companies and groups have started organizing trekking tours to Roopkund off late. With traveling suddenly capturing the imagination of Indian youth in the last few years, a number of them inexperienced in trekking have been making a beeline for Roopkund and other similar destinations nearby. 

Only one of us (let’s call him A) three friends had any prior trekking experience. As the main purpose of this trip was to be adventurous, to challenge ourselves and to find some solace, some peace and quiet and a break from the monotony of our lives, we decided to forgo a packaged tour and decided to do it all by ourselves. Actually, it was all pre-planned that way by A. I just latched on to the trip last minute. The decision to go might have been impulsive, but was followed by hours and hours of research - getting to the place, the myriad aspects of trekking and mountaineering in general and most importantly, the perils involved. Oh the perils! I could have written a mini thesis on Acute Mountain Sickness by the time we were ready for take-off. And suffice to say, the more I read, the more I got familiar with the dangers involved of embarking on a trek of this difficulty for a beginner, the more I began to doubt question the sanity of my impulsive decision.

On June 13th, 2014 we took off on an overnight bus from Delhi to Haldwani, reaching there in the wee hours of next morning, with an entire day of commuting ahead of us to reach our final destination – Wan village - our starting base camp for the trek. A lot of research was done and plans were made on the various possible options for traveling to Wan, but as they say, what has to happen will happen. We had a carefully planned itinerary based on mostly other travellers' blogs. But most of them remained on paper only. The journey from Haldwani to Wan was supposed to take us approximately 10 hours, and was to be completed in short phases with multiple stopovers through many small towns spread across the Uttrakhand countryside via shared jeeps and buses. The actual story however turned out to be much more twisted and infuriating.

The proposed itinerary

Confessions of a Compulsive Sharer

Just a few minutes back, for some reason I was in quite an agitated state. Working on an eight year old relic of a desktop was certainly not helping. Even the 'unresponsive plugin' dialog box was 'not responding'. And suddenly my playlist decided to play this particularly angst-ridden song, the actual lyrics of which had no particular resonance with my current state of mind, but the general feeling of bitterness, anger and angst was a pretty neat fit. So as one tends to do in such a scenario, I kept playing the song over and over again. Even now as I am writing and after a few drastically contrasting upbeat songs, I have gone back to it and playing it on loop, to sustain that angst, even if only in spirit. But I digress. So after hearing it a couple of times, my first impulse was to stop what I was working on, move on to the browser and share on Facebook that I was listening to this particular song. But I checked myself in time, as I realized, what good would that accomplish? It won't put across what I was actually feeling to anyone. Even if it did convey something, it would be something totally different. And it would definitely be of no use. So I stopped and moved on. But this was more of an exception than the norm. The fact that I had just shared a video of baby sloths squeaking from a science-themed page on my wall just a few minutes before this incident is testament enough - of the fact that I am a compulsive sharer. Or more specifically, a compulsive 'social-network' sharer. And I admit it with every ounce of shame possible. Not that its a new realization. I have always known it, and admitted to it. And the co-inhabitants of this cyber network of mine have been by and large very kind and tolerant of this rather irritating and annoying habit of mine. Apart from a comment here and there on how overactive or overzealous a 'Facebooker' (and now a 'Google Plus-er' - ??) I am, or that how whenever they open their FB, all they see is a series of contiguous posts shared by me and nothing else, I have never really heard too many complaints. Either people are really patient or tolerant, or they hardly use FB, or the most likely explanation - they have discovered that they can block or reduce the frequency of a person's posts on their wall by a simple settings change. Well that was the case, until a couple of weeks back, when one of my oldest friends told me, over Facebook chat - where all of our communication nowadays is limited to anyway, that she is removing me from her 'closest friends' list, because doing that sends you a notification for each and every activity of the concerned person, and the tsunami of notifications for my all too frequent unleashing of information on the world was simply too much for her to handle. 

Appreciating her honesty,

 I just told her, 

I am sorry but I can't help myself, 

for I am, but a compulsive sharer.

Mind you, I am not the stereotypical social networking junkie that abound in all those memes floating around the Web. I don't share pictures of my meals, or cute kitten and puppy videos (sloths are a one off exception!), or check-ins of every step I take, every move I make, and not even random musings spouting in my brain as status updates (that's reserved for this blog). I do however, HAVE TO share every beautiful piece of music I happen to listen to, or any pair of striking, fascinating, eye-opening, resonating lines put together and set to music, or an article highlighting a pertinent issue I feel strongly about, or maybe just a goofy write up that I couldn't help LOL-ing at, or the latest accomplishments of my favorite tennis player, or the latest, potentially ground breaking study in the field of biology. Basically, anything that I enjoy, get excited about, or anything that touches me, concerns me - I have to share. Its like my enjoyment or indulgence in that particular piece will not climax, as it were, if I did not unleash it upon all my friends and acquaintances. And this phenotype's expression is not confined to the realm of the virtual world. During my masters, a few of my classmates had nicknamed me the 'storyteller'. Because I couldn't help but narrate seemingly unending stories of incidents that happened to me or others, in excruciating detail, and would only stop until I was finished or it would get clear from the audience's facial expressions that they are longing for the second they can walk away from that 'conversation' (goes totally against my general reputation of being shy and reserved though). Its just that in the virtual world, you don't have access to that instant feedback a.k.a. the 'speak-one-more-word-and-I-will-blow-my-brains-out' look! So basically, in order to truly enjoy something, I just have to share it with other people. Of course, I am not naive enough to think that everything I enjoy would also tickle everyone else's imagination, but that is not a compulsive sharer's prime concern when he strikes gold. He just has to disperse it, as far and wide as possible, and it may or may not reach the appropriate destination. Its the recipients' choice to ignore it or receive it. In case I am assured of the likelihood of a particular entity being definitely enjoyed a specific person, I in fact even tend to personally share it with them and not the whole bunch on a social network. I am confused if this is a manifestation of an attention-seeking personality as people might tend to call it, but that is definitely not the intention. As I say, its a compulsion. I am sure that in the current society, where every out of the ordinary personality trait or quirk is quickly labeled as some sort of a disorder (for good reason though, more often than not), they have a specific term or word for this kind of insanity which doesn't allow me to fully enjoy something without sharing it, and that there would perhaps be hundreds of thousands others like me out there. But I would like to believe that it is not out of an attention-seeking habit, or self-esteem issues, or lack of a life (though the latter might be dangerously close to the truth). Once the deed is done, I don't constantly keep checking or hoping that someone would read it or listen to it, like it, comment on it. Nah! But if someone does tend to tell me that they really loved the song or artist I shared, and they look forward to more music - it does make my day. Dispensing incredible music gives me an inexplicable high. Now this has begun to start sounding like I am justifying myself for some reason, so I will abruptly stop. Huh! .. what do you know, isn't it ironic that for a compulsive sharer, I have so little material for my own blog!?

Productivity: A researcher's Everest

 Alternatively titled - Laments of a 'Sciency' part II

Are you one of those people who measure a day's success/worth at the end by how productive it was? Well then, welcome to the "My day sucks, everyday!" club. Being a researcher, I am no stranger to deadlines and pressures of short term targets, even if they come few and far in between. But when they do come, more often than not, after a long period of lethargy and complacence, they seem all the more like the proverbial gun to your head or sword at your neck. And its not just me. I have seen many of my lab mates, current and former, grappling with this. Often enough, for days on end, we end the day looking at the time, and bemoaning the lack of productivity that day. Regretting the hours spent in the canteen over cups of tea, the longer than usual lunch 'hour', and most of all, the hours whiled away surfing the Internet, and not looking for publications. Then all you can do after the realization strikes is to curse yourself, promise punitive action, and vow to come in early tomorrow, work your derriere off, and not leave the lab until you get some productive data. Only to do it all over again the next day. Rinse and repeat. And this is just one of the average days during the long periods of inaction, exploration, or as I like to call it, literature survey. And being a computational biologist, I am more prone to face such periods frequently than an experimental biologist. But what happens when those deadlines strike and immediate goals rear their ugly head? How does one used to taking time in figuring things out cope with the sudden and urgent requirement for action? While a few righteous ones rise to the challenge, shrug off the complacence and deal with the task at hand head on, others follow a more convoluted route. I have often seen people, friends rather (and myself included), initially trying to the best of their ability to go down the above mentioned idealistic route, and 'man up', but then unable to sustain this initial blast of fuel combustion and the resulting drive, determination and optimism, and ultimately failing to the see it through to the desired conclusion in the given time frame. Instead, once the initial explosion of drive has fizzled out, the exponential growth of productivity plateaus, and one gets into a mundane, dog-chasing-its-own-tail-in-circles routine. The results stop, and the exasperation grows, resulting in an eventual inversely proportional relationship with productivity. The more one gets stuck, the lesser time one spends working, and finds refuge in checking their e-mail or Facebook every five minutes. Then either you give up or leave it all up to fate, with a firm belief (or rather, a desperate optimism) that things will work out - eventually. It HAS to work out. The principle of 'something's gotta give' will kick in. You just hope its the God of negative or no results who gives in before you do. And if you think about it, more or less almost every time, don't things DO actually work out? The universe has a peculiar way of sorting itself out, or at least that's what I'd like to believe, cause usually when you find yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place, its imperative that a miraculous, third way out does appear out of the blue. Now that might be your own perseverance and/or desperation at work, but it helps to believe that a guardian angel was at work while you were busy 'liking' (and cursing) the weekend getaway pictures of your friends' in other professions on Facebook. Meanwhile, if you come up with better ways to deal with these low-on-productivity phases while you ponder over it over a cup of coffee in the canteen, do let me know.

Changing Definitions of Patriotism

Today is the 26^th of January. The day India celebrates its Republic Day – anniversary of its Constitution coming into effect. Years ago, I would have got up early in the morning to watch the Republic Day parade on television. India’s military might and cultural diversity are on full display along the iconic red-sand lined boulevards of the Rajpath. The very idea of this day, and the parade is supposed to make every Indian’s heart swell with pride and patriotism. For me, that effect has diminished over the years. While in school, these occasions are special and looked forward to with excitement. But now, the patriotic songs on the radio all day long, the handmade flags dangling precariously from window sills and rooftops, and the excitement for the colorful tableaux representing different states and Government departments are all relics of childhood. Today I got up at 12:30 pm, and the first thing I did was to switch on the TV, but only to see if Sania Mirza managed to win the Mixed doubles title at the Australian Open, and excited for the ensuing men’s final match between Nadal and Wawrinka. Meanwhile, the radio in the next room was blasting the latest Bollywood hits like any other day, instead of the handful of staple patriotic songs from movies of bygone era, which usually come on the airwaves just twice every year. As I switched channels, I landed on Rang De Basanti, a modern day classic and the perfect movie to invoke the missing patriotic spark on a day like this. I had not seen this movie in a long time, and as I watched it, I found myself appreciating it for the exemplary film making and its technical and aesthetic aspects. I realized that the indescribable feeling of being welled up with patriotic emotions was missing, unlike the first couple of times I had seen it, years ago. I began to wonder, do I not take pride in being an Indian anymore? Do National holidays like the Republic Day and the Independence Day mean nothing anymore to me, especially if they fall on a Sunday, thus robbing me of a guaranteed day off from work?

Patriotism in India is expressed occasionally, including sporting  events, the afore mentioned national holidays, times of war, or a significant achievement on the global stage – like the beauty pageant victories of yore, or the more recent successful launch of the Mars Rover by our space agency ISRO. Though I use the term sporting events at the risk of being too liberal - its only cricket that counts as sport in our collective conscience. But we are so used to winning in cricket by now, that it is no longer associated with the pride of being an Indian, unless it is the world cup, or a match against Pakistan.The jingoistic version of patriotism, often restricted for our dealings with the old time neighboring foe/friend, is expressed time and again, be it on the cricket pitch via bat and ball, or on the high terrains of the Himalayas via guns and mortar, or in our movies (thankfully, on the decline). But in these times of social networking, when everyone is an opinion maker and a self appointed expert on everything, where complete anonymity springs up keyboard warriors in every home, this jingoism has found an unprecedented outlet for expression. These defenders of our country’s pride are forever ready with their fingers drawn, ready to bully and abuse anyone who dares question our country, or even their own political heroes, into submission. On the flip side, when any piece related to India comes up on any social media platform, there are similar detractors who are ready to label India as the country of rapists and hell for women at the drop of a hat, no matter if the article they are commenting on was about the Mangalyaan. One interesting expression of patriotism nowadays is seen when an India – born national of any country is lauded for an achievement of significance. Whether that person is an astronaut, musician, scientist or politician, we are ready to claim him/her as one of our own, and delight and take pride in their success, even if their families left India eons ago, and its inconsequential whether they acknowledge their “Indianness” or not. It’s a pity that we are apparently a nation so starved of heroes that we are ready to embrace others as our own, even though our own athletes, freedom fighters, aging and forgotten artists and other heroes (or even present, when it comes to ‘irrelevant’ disciplines like Kabaddi, or for that matter, any women’s team) are struggling to make ends meet.

Though it can be argued that just like any other emotion, the expression of patriotism will vary for every individual. While for some, it may trigger from witnessing a thumping victory of the Indian cricket team over an arch rival (or maybe even on the tennis court, or hockey field), for others it may come from witnessing the launch of a space mission or nuclear capable missile on TV. I was just trying to contemplate the changing definitions of patriotism for me with age, but digressed. While celebrating and revisiting iconic events in our glorious past, with a show of present strength and a promising future excited me as a child, now it only means a few hours of lost sleep. Later in the day, while still changing channels, I landed on NDTV, airing a feature on the Kargil War, and the perspectives and changes in those war ravaged towns in the present day, with comparisons to the actual days of the war. Watching footage of the first televised war of our country, journalists standing along with the army in line of fire, I rediscovered that spark to some extent, if only for the realization that celebrating these days is crucially important, if it ensures that we remember and appreciate our heroic armed forces once or twice a year at least.

In these times of insecurity, increased lawlessness, and complete disregard for human life, one might be forgiven for feeling that the entire concept of patriotism is on its way out. After all, if our populace was proud of its nation, how could a country once a symbol of non violence and morality, be suddenly symbolic of barbarism, inhumane treatment of its own women and intolerance. It’s like we take two steps ahead, to only come back ten.  But I strongly believe, change will come with generations. And the current generation, fortunately, has demonstrated the idea of patriotism which requires change on a daily basis. Patriotism which embodies becoming a better person every day, standing up for what is right, not settling for mediocrity and by not being content with silence and demanding answers. On the surface it may look like everything is spiraling downwards, but change is also happening at the other end, slowly and subtly, but surely. There might be a lot of noise and commotion, but the voice of reason does manage to make its presence felt often enough, and hopefully will eventually prevail. As Indians, I hope we will learn to be proud of and retain all that is good, and at the same time not be in denial of everything that is wrong and resolve to rectify it.

Off to Kashmir!

The previous post was meant to serve just as an opening to my Kashmir trip travelogue, but as usual my rant turned into a full fledged post. This trip to Kashmir coincided with this sudden turn in my professional life, and both were unexpected, to say the least. For those who do not know, the central Government of India has been offering its employees a nearly fully sponsored trip to Kashmir, or the North-East (Sikkim only, I think) - air fare and all, to boost tourism in these trouble-hit regions in lieu of the LTC scheme. So my mother and one of her colleagues thought of availing this scheme, and I had been hearing mutterings since July about this proposed trip. I never took it seriously, because for one, it just sounded a bit too random, and also I wasn't too keen on going on a trip with another family or a group of people I had never known. With friends its a different deal altogether. But these were friends of my mother! Anyway, by September end, the plans actually started taking shape, increasing my discomfort and reluctance. Finally, the second weekend of October was bookmarked, forms filled, advances applied for and it became a concrete reality. I had spent the entire month of October at home, in between jobs, and while the first 10 days were heaven, being completely idle had started to take a toll on me and my sleeping schedule (whatever little of it could still come under the purview of a 'schedule', that is). So I resigned myself to this trip, because lets face it, I was getting a chance to see the paradise on earth, even if via a Govt. sponsored packaged tour, and when else would ma get a chance to go on such a trip!? But due to unforeseen unfortunate circumstances, the trip was cancelled (as I thought at that time). But a few days later, the discussions surfaced again, and now the dates blocked were immediately a week after I was supposed to join my new lab. Way to make a first impression Aditya, I thought, asking for a four day leave as soon as you join! But this time, the flight tickets were booked, and everything set in motion. So I thought. Elections for Delhi state assembly were announced, and brought with them the threat of election duty for my mother and her colleague. We were supposed to leave on the 8th of November, and my mother was assigned her training on the 7th. One bullet dodged. But her colleague was still in the firing line. Basically, till the evening of 7th November, we were in a limbo if we would actually be able to board the flight on the 8th. But as luck would have it, Mother was assigned her next training day on the 26th, and her colleague was spared of it (as last heard) altogether. So on the evening of the 7th of November, I rushed home from lab, we hurried to pack our bags and buy last minute essentials for the trip. Actually I was more fixated on checking out all the places we were about to visit, the weather forecast there for the next four days, the hotel we were supposed to stay in on the Internet, and asking for tips from friends who had already been there. Realizing I had failed to buy a digital camera for the trip as planned (had just a reel wala archaic camera, which apparently now belongs in a museum) amid all the uncertainty about the trip, I rushed to a friend's house and borrowed his Nikon L100 (he had caught the photography bug a while back and moved on to a DSLR). After trying to stuff as many warm clothes into a single medium sized suitcase for both of us, I decided it would be better to carry the heavy jackets in our hands only to save up on space. A lot of arguing ensued, but we finally managed to pack everything required. We were supposed to catch the flight at 11 next morning, and oh! did I mention, it was the first time traveling by air for both of us! It still had not sunk in that I was actually going on a trip to Kashmir (something I had never ever dreamed of as a possibility while growing up in the 90's and hearing of rampant insurgency). So after a standard breakfast of aloo ke paranthe, and debating whether to pack some along for lunch after landing as advised by the other family (finally deciding against it), we were off to the airport and met our co-travelers (pity there is no beautiful equivalent of humsafar in English!) - my mom's colleague, her husband and daughter. And we were off to Kashmir!

Of fresh starts and changed perspectives ...

They say your destiny eventually catches up with you. And so it seems. My indecisiveness has become my defining trait unfortunately, and the fear of missing out on one thing by committing to another has severely crippled many aspects of my young adult life every now and then, the biggest victim being the career aspirations. Though I always wanted (or rather, still want) to dabble in countless professions, the only thing I really stuck to was Science and research. More out of cowardice than some true passion, in hindsight. Going through the last few years with a hit and trial approach, I was fortunate for the most part and my career decisions more or less worked out in my favour. But the last, and arguably the biggest gamble I took in terms of my career ambitions backfired in the most horrendous way possible, leaving me with 22 of the most miserable and least productive months of my life. I had left a project position in a reputed lab to join the first batch of a PhD programme in an institute reputed for excellence in technology, but the particular department I joined was not even a speck on the institute's radar itself, leave alone the giant  universe that is the field of biological research. Needless to say, my worst fears came true, and an impulsive decision taken against the gut feeling (sounds contrary, I know) cost me dear. I was afraid of losing time, falling behind and jumped on the first opportunity to come instead of waiting (and more importantly, working) for better things. After coming close to quitting every single day, I still forced myself every morning to travel two hours to what was proving to my living hell. All out of fear - if not this, then what? I was also aware of the fact that in order to pursue something else, I will have to let go and completely free myself of this trap I had gotten myself in to. But the fear of being left with nothing was all too overpowering. However after 22 months of constant struggle (with myself, the circumstances, and a few others) which led to frequent and fierce seismic activity, something had to give. In response to a threat in the garb of an ultimatum, I had applied for a position determined to get out of there. Five months later, when I had more or less decided to give up and stay on and try and make lemonade of the rotten lemons thrown at me, the opportunity beckoned in terms of an interview for that same position. I reluctantly went for it, and before I knew it, I landed a PhD position in a lab I would have been lucky to get into in the first place! But still, the most difficult part was to actually go through with this decision, of whether to throw the past 22 months and take up this better opportunity, or stay on and make the best of what I had, making these 22 months count. After talking to a lot of friends, teachers, and people I look up to, who all were unanimous by the way in their opinion of ditching that hell hole, I went with my gut and tried not to think too much about it, and just go with what now seems so obviously the right decision. And now, all I am left with is a feeling of vindication. I always felt that I deserved better, and finally got it. All the fears of wasting two years of my life in a worthless pursuit, giving nearly five more years and starting all over again from scratch still persist, but there is also a huge sense of relief. There is also a faint sense of optimism, and a growing belief that try as you might, nothing comes to you before time.

Sikkim, the searcher and the shaman

"Famed for their knowledge of traditional medicine, the Lepchas live in a little country in the North of India, perched high up in the Himalayas, Sikkim. University professors have come to seek the help of the shaman Dechen and the osteopath Mandela, who watch over the health of Saffu's inhabitants.

Directed by: Werner Kiefer (Germany/France, 2010)"

- (description from the official website of TV5 monde asie)

Image taken from TV5 monde Asie website page linked above

A lazy Friday morning at home, with incredible weather. It almost feels like a rainy day in February, and I am now really hoping for an early onset of winters. At home on a weekday, I usually stay in bed till at least noon. But the wonderfully chilly breeze, and the promise of a beautiful day sans sunshine was enough to make me get out of the bed early morning (well, relatively). After breakfast, I switched on the TV to listen to the commercial free block on Vh1 from 9 to 12, which has some amazing music everyday. I switched the channel when a song I am not particularly fond of came on, and I landed on TV5 Monde asie. A french documentary was on with English subtitles, and I caught a glimpse of a board with Sikkim on it and I stayed. And I am glad I did. The documentary as stated above was titled "Sikkim, the searcher and the shaman". I had missed about half of it, but it apparently was about a researcher from Sikkim University, who travels to the beautiful, remote village of Saffu, nestled in the lap of  the imposing Himalayas, to learn more about the treasure trove of medicinal plants in the Himalayan forests, and how the local healer - called shaman, is keeping alive the practice of traditional medicine. The documentary beautifully explores how these protectors of traditional wisdom are responsible for the well being of an entire village devoid of accessible modern health care, using their profound, vast and irreplaceable knowledge of these medicinal plants and herbs, along with their faith and spiritual beliefs, through the eyes of the researcher, Bharat.

The cinematography is brilliant, and captures the incredible beauty of Sikkim, and the village which though seemingly impoverished, still possesses priceless wealth in the depths of its forests. It traces the days in the lives of the shaman (Dechen), and the healer (Mandela) who collects the herbs and concocts the remedies on the advice of the shaman. They welcome the young researcher, let him observe and teach him their invaluable practices and methods of identifying and collecting the correct plants, and how to prepare and use them for their medicinal benefits. You see patients being administered the remedies, and get better over time, with prayer being an equally important component of the healing process. For instance, the shaman administers extracts from the leopard lily plant to a woman suffering from food poisoning, telling her that he's been using it for 35 years, she should have faith in it, and she will get worse before she gets better. The extracts flush out toxins from the liver, and cause a fever in the process. Of course, the shaman is totally oblivious of this fact, and also of the fact (as pointed out in the documentary) that very recently pharmacologists have identified the active component in this leopard lily plant, which is endemic to this region. It makes you appreciate the fact that what science is just learning now, has been known to our ancestors since ages and forms a part of our traditional knowledge and wisdom passed down by the generations.

The documentary ends with Bharat picking the mind of the shaman, and realizing that though science teaches us to be objective and not trust the supernatural phenomenon, the work of the shaman is based as much on spiritual belief and faith as on the science of medicinal plants. He believes he was chosen by his ancestors and Gods of Nature to become a shaman when he was 12, and prays and chants to ward off the evil spirits possessing his patients - very few of them actually needing medicine to get better. Modern education and science scoffs at such notions, but forms the very basis of this ancient art of healing, which is in danger of dying out, with modern generations moving out to the cities, for jobs and material comforts, and with no interest in pursuing the traditional knowledge which has been passed from generation to generation, without any written records, through observation and teaching. Bharat leaves for his University, vowing to try his best to save this knowledge, and record it for future generations, and to understand the spiritual side of it as well. 

As I gulped in the scenic beauty of the Himalayas along with this documentary, I realized that this is the kind of science that matters. This needs to be pursued on a massive scale. And thankfully, a team of French movie makers got hold of this story from a remote part of India and put it on film, so that more people can become aware of it. It is though painful that hardly anyone in India would see it, or would ever be aware of this incredible phenomenon. Why does it take a French director, or for that matter, people from the west, to explore and uncover the miracles of our country? Does Sikkim even exist in the collective conscience of our nation (other than maybe while gorging on momos), and our news channels? Why do we have to see documentaries made by foreign production houses on Discovery, NGC, and Animal Planet to know more about our own country? Anyway, I am just thankful that I got this chance to see this documentary and learn about this culture, which I might have remained forever oblivious about.

Update: The actual name of the documentary is Sikkim, das alte Wissen der Schamanen. Linking the IMDB page for reference, and its available on youtube too, so embedding it. Watch it instead of reading about it!