Himalaya Rahasyalu Book Review
Compiled by acclaimed Indian author, and co-founder of the Jaipur Literary Fest, Namita Gokhale, The Himalayan Arc: Journeys East of South-East is an unlikely book about travel and experience, about communities and their relationship with their land, and the spectral nature of frontiers. The ramparts of India’s political northern fortress, the geographical shield that blocks the harsh Siberian cold from getting into the country, and a touristic pride for all of us, the massive mountainous strip has, for the longest time, been a battleground of conflicts of all sizes and forms between us and our neighbours. The book spans genres and forms in under 30 individual chapters — fictional and non-fictional accounts, essays, photograph series and poems. There are intimate portraits of places from the insider’s perspective, deeply personal accounts of journeys interspersed with mysticism and suffering, and pieces on diplomacy and espionage. Read my story 'The Prediction,' about an astrologer's prediction about the last days of the Rana regime of Nepal.This story is to be published in the journal Himalaya in November 2013, published out of Yale University.This story is based on a small snippet of an anecdote told to me by my father-who does not believe in astrology, but was goaded into sharing this historical story with me after I pestered him with miraculous stories of astrological predictions which had come true, in my own experience. Our family of Joshis ('Jyotish' means astrologer) were astrologers in the Royal Court of Nepal.
This tradition was discontinued in my grandfather's generation. The young astrologer in this story, however, is not from our family. He is thought to have come from outside Kathmandu.The astrologer was a pleasant young man, with worn down cloth shoes and a dust-coloured set of clothes. Mohan Shamsher was surprised. He had expected someone older, someone more comma. ORANGE PEEL, BY SUSHMA JOSHII did not think I would live to be 75.
But here I am, in 2050, walking through the burning trash piles of Kathmandu, the fine mesh of Super-Medtex face mask failing to keep away the dioxin and the carbon monoxide from my lungs. I draw in that smell of burning plastic with a shudder: I must enter the Pharma Kiosk on the way back home, and take a double dose of asthma spray, and a fifteen minute hook-up to the Easy-Breath Tank. Otherwise I would have to call the ambulance to get me home.The sun sets over the horizon—through the black cloud that hangs overhead perpetually, I can see the sun, like a pale moon, slipping down the mountains. For a moment, the smell feels particularly acrid, as if its weighed down with lead. I feel faint, all of a sudden, and wonder if I panic if I will fall into one of those red, glowing piles of garbage. I can see a body or two, people whose lungs have collapsed as they walked, tossed carelessly amongst the plastic Wai-Wai wrappe.
In a follow-up to his Africanodyssey ( Walking the Nile, 2016), explorer Wood hits the road again on atrans-Asian adventure.Like his earlier work, this bookopens with a bang. In 2001, the author was in Nepal during the Maoist uprising.Just before his scheduled departure, the Crown Prince Dipendra massacred theroyal family, plunging the country into chaos, and Wood briefly went intohiding. The author describes this action in the prologue, noting how he wasyoung and broke. The story resumes 14 years later, when his life was decidedlycalmer. At this point, Wood lived in London as a published writer with littleto prove. Only after much goading from his friend Ash did the author consideranother long walk.
In contrast to the brutal African wilderness, the Himalayas weremajestic and relatively tranquil. Instead of dodging bullets and befriendingwarlords, Wood met with shamans, villagers, herders, and activists. The desire toexplore unfamiliar places is pure and admirable, and Wood is a likable guide.He thoughtfully describes the scenery of places like Tibet, Afghanistan, andBhutan, and he delves into the basic political problems of Central Asia. Yetmany foreigners have trod this region, and Wood’s journey through Pakistanseems less daring after, say, Michael Palin chronicled a similar passage. Givenhis track record of tenacity and resourcefulness, Wood’s talents seem wasted onsuch sentimental sightseeing.
Most of his prose is dedicated to spiritual ritesand friendly chats along the way. The finale feels lackluster, as if he hasbecome bored by his own story. Toward the end, he writes, “ ‘Live in themoment,’ the Dalai Lama had said. ‘Stop concerning yourself with the future.’ ”After so many dramatic experiences, it’s a bit of a letdown.
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The authorcertainly deserved a vacation, and fans will appreciate his ongoing travels,but Wood’s skills are too valuable to squander here.The author’s intentions are genuineand ambitious, but the result is uninspired.