Little children can teach you a lot about the benefits of being in nature, themselves and how we can mould to be the best version of ourselves in the right environment.
“Hold my hand, please,” said a tentative 11-year-old.
We were on a small trek to Asherigad fort with fledgling scouts sometime in January, before the winter wound up. This was Zal’s first trek with a bunch of boisterous pre-teenagers who were happy to simply be out of the house in the midst of a global pandemic, taking in the scent of the earth at 5 AM. While most arrived at the pick-up point with their parents, regaling one another with stories of the last time they went on a hike, Zal cautiously soaked in the moment with trepidation, the weight of his backpack balanced by the ponderosity on his face.
We packed a dozen kids in two minivans and drove off as the morning breeze brushed our faces – something I relished as a child and still do. We jaunted an hour towards Palghar and witnessed the city waking up to the bustle of another prosaic morning, vegetable vendors laboriously lining the pavements to make their living that day. While the other kids revelled in their banter, Zal picked a window seat, both his hands holding the rolled-down window handle, and stared out the entire 2-hour journey.
We reached the foothills of the village where locals treated us to sizzling chai brewed on a wooden flame. The joy of drinking fiery tea on a frosty morning amidst sprawling nature is comparable only to few other pleasures, and when you dip Parle-G in it, nothing else really matches up. Before we started the climb, the boys took a collective leak in the open field under a ginormous banyan tree, playfully marking their territory with their jet sprays, while Zal waited for everyone else to finish before meekly taking one himself.
You can tell a lot about children from the way they hike. Some like to lead the trail, while others like to lumber and need some goading. Most stay happily cushioned between the two, ensuring they don’t get lost. After navigating rocks of various sizes and tiny streams and swinging from some solid branches, we took a little break to replenish ourselves. “Eat some bananas,” the scoutmaster instructed, as everyone merrily shared fruits and other scrumptious nashta that their mummies had packed for them. Zal, pulled out a little plastic box and munched on a sandwich before we took off for the steeper part of the climb.
We stumbled upon seeds planted in concrete with verdant green plants blooming from them, intriguing insects that scuttered from under boulders, and unearthed crystals from the earth’s core that we took back as memorabilia. And then we came across a rickety handmade 30-feet ladder that rested on a huge rock, which we were required to traverse to continue. We all looked up at it, then at each other, and took a deep breath. The ladder creaked as each one gingerly stepped on it, its iron contemplating, with each step, when to give way. Zal refused to take the first step. “It’s too steep and too high. I’ll wait here; you guys go and meet me back,” he insisted.
With a little bit of prodding he finally agreed. “Hold my hand, please,” he urged, but there was only enough room for one person at a time to fit on the steps. I helped him from behind as we both climbed together, staring below into an abyss into which both of us could fall if the ladder collapsed or we slipped. I tried to distract him with small talk, but he was quiet. I could see his legs tremble, and when we took the final step, he dropped to the ground, both exhausted and exhilarated by the sweeping vistas that greeted us. After over 2 hours of climbing, we had reached the table top whose gorgeous views made every step of the climb seem worth it. We opened up our snack boxes once again and everyone pecked into each other’s nourishment after having conquered a peak, albeit a little one.
Hiking is an activity that children must be encouraged to indulge in. It strengthens friendships, bolsters camaraderie, and develops personality. It allows you to explore your potential and test your limits safely. You are not in the shadow of your parents, and while there are elders to guide you, you have to decide where to place your foot next, every single time. Some rocks will hold solid, some will move. Some branches will take your weight, others will give way. Sometimes you lean, sometimes you support. You learn how to continue with a twisted ankle, a bruised knee, and other people’s body odour. You learn to make do with the water you have because there’s only so much you can carry. You learn to pace yourself. You learn balance. You learn to get up every time you fall.
After having rested adequately and replenished our energy reserves, it was time to make our way down in the sweltering heat of an early afternoon sun. While its sultriness parched our skins, its radiance strengthened our bones. Going down a hill requires a different skill set from climbing up it. I remember monsoon hikes where we as scouts would slide down 20-30 feet at a time on mucky terrain, leaving our behinds sore and our thighs chafed for the entire week. But this was dry ground, and it was steep, rough, and filled with boulders. While the other kids were making progress, Zal was lagging behind.
I decided to hold his hand and literally galloped down. He was scared of the pace but as I gripped his hand firmly, brown sweat oozing from the gaps in our palms, he gained some confidence. Nimble footed we trotted, breezing past the other boys. I could see his fear transform into faith and then I let go off his hand. Without looking back, he continued to dash down past all the other boys. I stood still watching him run down at such a speed that the others only saw him whooshing by and finishing first. We treated ourselves to chilled juices and drove back merrily with Zal singing and cracking silly jokes with the other boys as they all gently nodded off onto one another after a Sunday well spent.
Sometimes, all we need is a hand to hold for a while before we can make it on our own.
