Baba Zohran stopped me in mid-cycle in a customary aside that generally lasts for a few moments depending on the potency of his last drag. This time, the encounter – not entirely adventitious – began with a courteous palm-clasped namaste and quickly segued into a jeremiad about his aching back and ailing cash reserves. The Croatian national in his 50s sported a black-billed fedora over his straggled, salt-and-pepper hair, and his serpentine smile produced a drawn-out hissing that trailed his speech. His trademarks have made him a fixture in Thamel, the Kathmandu tourist hub, where he has idled in and about for years.
Characters such as Baba Zohran, whose epithet conjures the likes of an ostensible sadhu on a pseudo-spiritual quest, are ubiquitous in Southasia. Like clockwork, he can be found under the shade of a canopy at a garden guesthouse off Thamel, smoking up and drilling out fatuous dictums with likeminded folk, such as a Dutchman who snorts and injects ketamine (a high-powered tranquiliser meant for horses) like candy and carries a feather-duster as an accessory, and an American creationist whose conspiracy theories about 'liberal' Western intelligentsia have impelled him to flee to Nepal to author a trilogy on intelligent design. Unsurprisingly, that same American has incurred massive debt, overstayed his visa and subsequently been forced to barter his belongings, including a laptop and a digital camera, for room and board. But who am I to judge?
For the last two years and counting, I have played nomad. Resembling many a washed-up hippie, I have refused to cut my hair. It is the only tangible reminder of how long I have been away from home. My travels have brought me far and wide: traversing Siberia on the legendary railway, yachting in the South China Sea, horseback riding on the Mongolian steppe, among other idyllic expeditions, easily romanticised and commodified.
Writers have long codified the voice of travel literature, from the time-honoured such as Ibn Battuta and D H Lawrence to the more contemporary like Bruce Chatwin and Alain de Botton. Their compositions paint pictorials of fanciful excursions and transitory crossings. Their subjects are incidental and their objectives often hedonistic. Their tales serve as reason for the millions of us who venture across geographies for exploration and diversion.