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Close to 15 years ago, my wife, Radhika, fancied buying a treadmill for home. I went along; it sounded better and more convenient than going to a gym—a handful then. We bought one.                                      

We began our workout regimen, walking and jogging without further ado. In our eagerness, we sometimes got carried away and pushed ourselves to the limit—only to end up with sore muscles and aching legs. After a layoff of a day or two, we resumed with a vengeance. Radhika lost tidy weight, too. 

With each passing year, the earlier enthusiasm waned, followed by frequent time-outs. But we did not quit and kept wearing thin our trainers on the treadmill belt. As age caught up, we settled on walking alone.  

Then, some eight years later, my wife developed lower back pain. Her work-out on the treadmill came to a grinding halt. The doctor prescribed some pills, recommended some stretches, and suggested cutting down on her weight as her BMI (body mass index) was high.  

Then, to my great surprise, she quit using the treadmill. She said a friend told her it was ‘terrible’ for the lower back and the knees. She further said she heard the same story from someone else and suchlike. That baffled me. 

I was sure she was misled. I tried to convince her the other way round, bringing up some study I’d done—but she stood her ground, and the matter was dropped.  

Our treadmill took a longish respite as I’d developed a passion for cycling and spent more time on it. Then, one day, Radhika raised the issue of disposing of the machine. Begrudgingly, I gave a yes to it; I’d my cycling to cheer me up. There were no buyers.  

I never gave up using my trusted old machine; it worked wonders during the monsoon as my cycling rides got cut down. Radhika never took kindly to the treadmill, however. Her knee problem and back pain stayed on. Her outdoor walks became erratic, and she put on weight.  

I thought it was high time that I convinced her to make a comeback. I buried myself in the Internet to learn more, especially the downsides of it—if any. 

The benefits of walking, whether the traditional way outdoors or on a mechanical treadmill, are a mile long. Following my research, I found some disadvantages of walking on a treadmill. Hang on! Those drawbacks came in the way only if done improperly, though. Here are some tips I gleaned from my research:  

1. Maybe you are overdoing it—always stick to moderation. Start at a slow, easy speed to gradually work your way up to a moderate pace without the support of the handrails. 

2. Proper trainers are a must; use closed-toe athletic shoes for comfort, grip, and better cushioning for those with back or knee problems—no high-impact exercises like running to avoid jarring and pounding.  

3. Treadmill walking, by and large, is better than walking on the asphalted surface like roads as the belt offers extra cushioning.

4. Are you maintaining a natural gait on the machine as you walk outside, including arm movement? A sine qua non. Keep the machine's incline flat while recovering from back pain. Go for a trusted brand with the minimum belt rebound. 

5. Poor walking posture can lead to lower back pain. Leaning on the treadmill bars or walking with your body hunched forward causes lower back muscles to work harder.

6. Avoid taking long strides; walk on the center of the belt, strike the belt first with your heel, roll through the step from heel to toe and push off with the toes. Look straight ahead.  

As a bonus, the treadmill offers an unparalleled cardio advantage over walking outdoors; it allows retro/reverse or backward walking, enabling your heart to pump faster than moving forwards and a metabolism boost. 

Reverse walking burns 30-40 percent more calories than walking forward and works as a therapy for knee problems and lower back pain; it improves gait and mobility in the lower extremities. And science backs this theory. 

There is an old saying in Nepali: Kasai le, Kag le Kaan lagyo bhanyo bhane, Kag ko pachhi daudane hoina, afno Kaan chamne (If somebody tells you the crow has snatched your ear away, you don't run after the crow but feel your ear. No?)  

That said, it still remains touch-and-go. Convincing Radhika would be like moving mountains. 

Disclaimer: Those with lower back pain or knee problems need to consult a health care provider before starting walking/reverse walking on a treadmill. 

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Every now and then, our political leaders, civil servants, policymakers and planners fly to near and far-off shores with different agendas.

Chances are that if our political leaders are not smearing each other, they are on foreign trips. For one thing, our leaders are always in dire need of medical treatment of all sorts.

Is it the result of having to fight too long and hard for democracy, human rights, secularism, federalism and what not?

Does it not mean that time has come for the old guard to retire instead of burning themselves out? Anyways, what significant gains has their supposed hard work over the decades brought to the country? Are we doing better in facets of national life like the rule of law, national security, good governance, living standards, corruption control and financial health?

Is there more to it than meets the eye when it comes to these engagements?

Who would know? Medical professionals? Political pundits? Astrologers, perhaps?

The VIPs and VVIPs of this country will always get numerous opportunities to go abroad for state-funded medical treatment.

But what about the members of the general public? At private medical facilities, services cost a small fortune. This means the people in general have to rely on a public health system not in the pink of health. Even treatment at public health facilities does not come cheap. An ‘ancient’ joke telling how those lacking money end up exiting Bir Hospital through a labyrinth without getting treatment is but a mild satire on our public health system.

Families going broke in the course of treatment of ailing member/s has become a regular affair.

Appeals for funds for medical treatment of kith and kin along the clogged arteries of our metropolises, through mass and social media have started sounding like a cry in the wilderness.

Even after a series of epoch-making changes over the decades, a reliable public health system for treating hearts, limbs, brains, stiff backs and a myriad other aching/ailing parts is lacking. Isn't it a pity?

Back to the foreign trips of our leaders and others in positions of power.

Medical treatment is but a ruse, members of the public feel, and they start speculating about the hidden agendas of impromptu visits, guessing whether this country will lose more pounds of flesh after such a trip.

This is because important agendas are almost always under wraps in our high-level bilateral, multilateral and international engagements. Details of secretive engagements and the prices attached with them coming to light decades later come as a rude shock for successive generations.

At our bilateral engagements in particular, notetakers are always missing. Occasional pictures of our leaders engaged in important discussions taking notes on loose sheets of paper show that the Nepali state needs to act far more professionally, not like a college student attending a lecture that he is least interested in.

Grabs from such meetings show the other side dictating our representatives. The whole idea of this photo-up, it appears, is to show who is the boss/the gangster in this rough neighbourhood that is at the center of a massive global transformation.

During such engagements, our side does not get that much air-time. Even if it does, its concerns do not get due attention. This again brings to notice the unjust and unequal nature of our adjectives-filled relationship.

On the other side of the table, notetakers are always there to keep record of agendas discussed and  understandings reached, thereby boosting institutional memory of the other party and giving them an upper hand in future negotiations.

Our functionaries hardly bother to inform the people about their upcoming impromptu visits, what takes them to those, who take the entire subcontinent as their own backyard (read: fiefdom), the decisions taken after such exchanges and their possible impact on generations to come. These people never feel the need to apprise the sovereign Parliament of their engagements and what national interest they served.

This lack of transparency during such crucial engagements makes a mockery of ideals like democracy, sovereign equality of nations, human rights and a rules-based international order.

‘Powers that be’ are choosing to remain silent on the agendas discussed and understandings reached may be a stark pointer that they, once again, furthered the interests of a clique by selling the country down the river.

Our functionaries lacking the spine to stand for Nepal has been a chronic problem spanning decades. In this context, facilitating and funding medical treatment of our leaders is like treating the symptoms instead of getting at the root cause of the disease. Therefore, national energies should be channelized to strengthen the spine of our subservient political leadership so as to enable it to stand upright and safeguard national interest.

In my family, we have a ritual of drinking the evening cup of tea together, especially during weekends. One on such occasion last week, my parents called my brother and me to fetch our tea cups from the kitchen. I went and got mine. Soon after, I heard my brother shouting in another room at my sister (who doesn’t like or drink tea and was busy watching her favorite TV show). “Can’t you listen at once? Are you so selfish not to see that I’m busy and can’t help get my cup of tea? Will your feet hurt in doing me a small favor?”

My brother’s actions got on my nerves, and I sternly said, “Don’t you even know how to talk to someone properly?” His focus immediately shifted to me, “Why are you scolding me? Did you even need to speak in this matter?” We got into an argument, followed by complete silence for a couple of hours. 

What affected me the most about this incident and led me to react was that I could see the reflection of my younger self in my brother. Reactive. Oblivious of the impact of one’s actions on other people. As a teenager, I grew into the idea that people wouldn't listen to me until I raised my voice to make the other person submit in fear. 

On the flip side, I sometimes completely shut myself down, so the other person felt guilty for their actions. I most certainly believed that other people were responsible for my feelings. So, I assigned blame every time I felt a plethora of unpleasant emotions, and I found others to be praiseworthy when they made me ‘happy’ or anything related. These patterns are what I saw my brother replicating. 

“All problems are interpersonal relationship problems”—is the most powerful phrase I’ve ever read (‘The Courage to be Disliked’ by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga). As I look back at the incident with my brother and all previous times I was dealing with another human (or, let’s say, I was incapable of doing so), this idea has been more than true. It’s not because I was dealing with people who were necessarily different or worse than me. It’s because I lacked the social awareness to handle another human who had similar feelings, needs, objectives, and challenges as I did. 

Had I still hung onto my past patterns of blaming others for my feelings and not considering other people’s feelings and needs, it would have perhaps taken me a very long time to make amends. Thankfully, it wasn’t the case this time. 

I was initially making assumptions about my brother (he only cares about himself), taking his actions personally (he needs an excuse to disrespect me), and not communicating what was important (how his actions impacted my sister and me). After buying my time and space, I realized that these unhelpful habits were not helping me. I then shifted the focus to what was going on for him. 

Recalling my brother’s past patterns, I realized that he usually got scolded for leaving his food and beverages unattended when he got immersed in some task. So, to connect with his feelings, I realized that while he seemed to lash out in anger at my sister and me, beneath that anger was a fear that if he didn’t get his tea before it turned cold, he would get scolded again. 

Once I understood he felt fearful, I could also connect with his deeper needs, which was ‘protection’. He also needed ‘problem-solving’ and ‘empathy’. He couldn’t get his tea from the kitchen, so he wanted help from someone desperately. Later, I even had a conversation with my brother. He verified my guesses about how he felt at that moment and what he needed. 

A natural subset to developing emotional intelligence is that we not only start becoming aware of our feelings and needs but of other people’s feelings and needs as well—it is what we call ‘social awareness.’ A question might arise. Is it possible to fully understand the spectrum of other people’s emotional states? I’ve learned from experience that we won't know until we try. 

The author is Linchpin at My Emotions Matter, an education initiative that helps individuals and teams learn the mindset and skills of Emotional Intelligence. Learn more at myemotionsmatter.com

Following an animated chat with the septuagenarian Dev Maya Tamang at Damdame, Shishir and I headed for Thumki Danda. Before long, a piercing note sounded, which continued unabated. It appeared to be someone blowing a whistle, the resounding drone bouncing off the hills. 

“Bhai (bro), what noise is that?” I asked a guy we met on the way. “They are Ghanti keera (bugs) called Kankuli by some,” he said. I’d a hunch they were cicadas (jhyaunkiri) as I had done a little research on them. They sounded different from those from the Shivapuri forest, though.

You won’t believe it! The male cicada’s chirp can reach over 100 decibels during the mating season, close to as loud as a motorcycle, nay, a tractor, or a subway train! 

After Bhattarai Gaun, the entire area seemed predominated by the ethnic Tamangs: Bhal, Jimba, Thing, and Syangtang. Strange, every time my cycling took me across a Tamang settlement, I ran into a new ethnic Tamang community.  

As we pedaled uphill, my eyes fell on two women; they had just picked tori ko sag (mustard spinach) and tied them up in bunches to take some home and sell some. Shishir suggested we take a little for the night’s camp kitchen—it sounded swell. I took out my wallet to pay, but the Tamang ladies refused payment. We thanked them, and following a brief banter, we left. 

As we hit the road to Thumki Danda, the hills seemed obscure as the fog set in. We arrived at Bhanjyang Pokhari, named after a small pond built by the Rana Prime Minister, Juddha Shumsher. As Shishir stopped by the bazaar, my curiosity drew me to the historic pond. To my horror, it turned out to be a dumping site.  

Darkness crept in as we headed off a stiff hill towards Lama Gaun. The climb was not only grueling but needed lugging our bikes; a recent landslip had washed away the entire hillside and the dirt road. 

With the backpack and the crippling weight of the bike, we had to heave ourselves over enormous boulders—nothing short of a nightmare for me.

We switched on our bicycle lights and detoured onto a single track that cut across a wooded hill. The tall pines shed shadowy figures in the beam of our bicycle light, creating almost a spooky atmosphere—so quiet I could hear my heartbeat in the bargain.

Unawares, Dev Maya’s words struck me: Baghs (tigers) infested the isolated forest of the Mahesh Narayan shrine. The village folks call leopard a bagh. Once, I was a fan of the legendary British hunter/author/naturalist Col. Jim Corbett (Man-Eaters of Kumaon); his stories always recounted how the predators pounced on their prey from behind—and to my misery, I brought up the rear as Shishir led the way.

We soon dismounted as the track got only a foot apart and slippery with steep drops to our right. The trees and underbrush seemed to play tricks on my eyes in the narrow flare of my light. 

We finally arrived at Mahesh Narayan. The night was coal-black with no moon or stars. We did not dare go further to Gupteswor Mahadev as the pitch-dark trail seemed buried under dense brush.

We put it off until tomorrow and hastened to find a spot to pitch the tent. It was already eight, and we’d a pile of work, including the cooking. Shishir signaled and led the way.

“A little above, there is an ideal level spot amid the pine trees with easy access to water,” he said. But he looked disoriented, as he could not locate the access trail; then, for 10-long minutes, he got swallowed by the inky night. 

The sudden hush after he left felt creepy, and I kept looking behind me, a jumble of thoughts crawling across my mind. I felt relieved when I saw the beam of his headlamp inching toward me. 

One look at the track made me almost buckle. It was a near-vertical wall with steps dug into red mud, slippery with rain. Shishir helped me heave up the bike over, though. Next followed a 20-minute punishing shove through pine woods. 

I was gasping for breath by the time we cleared the incline. The site was smack dab in the thick pines, with a large clearing where we could play badminton. ‘Wow, a magnificent spot for pitching our tent!’ I said aloud.

The hush seemed profound, and the noisy cicadas seemed to have turned in for the night. Good for us, I mused and felt at peace.

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