“Just let India hold you like she wants to.”

“You really need to get it checked out - it looks much bigger than this morning,” my watchman said, shaking his head at my balloon-sized ankle.

“I know, I know. I’m going to see a doctor tomorrow,” I replied as I hobbled toward the lift.

“It’s really swollen.”

“Yeah, I need to get it sorted.”

“You shouldn’t be going out so much. Take some rest.”

I had just come back from a magical week in Dharamkot - a mountain town in Himachal Pradesh - where I found both deep conversations and also deep discomfort.

On my second to last day there, I got lost while on a short-ish hike in the deodar-filled forest near my homestay. I went off trail by accident - i.e. I thought there was a path ‘down there’ where there wasn’t, and then got stuck on a steep mountain. All I could see were trees - up, down, to the side - a blue dot amidst light green, no matter how much I zoomed in.

Every 10 minutes or so, I would bear my weight on something that wasn’t actually rooted - ground that looked solid but wasn’t, branches coming out of the ground that weren’t sturdy - and then fall a bit.

I figured I might hurt myself along the way, and it might take a few hours, but if I just kept ‘sliding down,’ I’d eventually reach the road at the bottom. It was 1pm; I had enough time.

Each time I’d fall/slide a little, I’d hope I could see some sign of progress - the road would come into view, I’d hear cars honking more clearly, or that the landscape would change. Or I’d hope one side of the mountain would finally flatten out enough for me to stand properly.

After a while of both praying and pep talking to myself out loud, my feet completely lost their footing and I flung down further than the last few times. Luckily I grabbed a tree just in time - but it felt like my shoulder almost dislocated itself.

The adrenaline seemed to evaporate with a poof, and I burst out crying.

I remember speaking out loud: “Is it really my time now? WTF. I didn’t think that was the point of coming to Dharamkot.”

My so-called bravery was wearing off, and despair started to show its face.

Then I did what I should have done an hour earlier - but didn’t, because I didn’t want to worry him and also didn’t think there was anything he could have done to help.

Rahul had quickly become a good friend. We’d met at the homestay, and as an experienced Dharamkot hiker, he was always offering tips and advice.

“Hello?”

“Hi Rahul, sorry to bother you. I’m just kind of stuck on the side of the mountain north of Flag Point. I was trying to end up at Gallu waterfall. I should just slide down, right? I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No no, don’t worry, it’s okay. What do you see?”

“Just the forest - up and down. All trees only. I’m west of that Local God Temple - at least that’s what Google Map calls it. I know you said not to use Google Maps. But anyway, I’m off trail and somewhere in the middle of the mountain.”

“Is there any stick near you?”

“No, it’s just those dry leaves that I keep slipping on, and lots of trees.” I was literally hanging from one of those trees.

“Okay - if you can break a branch off one of them, use that to clear the leaves.”

“Then slowly make your way back up to the trail. I would really suggest you do that if you feel comfortable.”

“I just spent an hour coming down though, I can’t imagine going back up. Can’t I just keep sliding down?” I pleaded for another solution.

We went back and forth like this a little bit. When I tried sending him my location or even a picture of the blue dot on the map, the dreaded clock icon didn’t turn into tick marks. I then noticed that my battery was now at 40%.

Luckily we still had phone signal somehow, but I obviously didn’t know how long it would last.

“It sounds like you’re panicking. Just take a few deep breaths. We’ll send a rescue team if we have to.” He remained steady and calm.

“Oh my god are you crazy! Please tell me you’re kidding. Do you think I’ll die here? I really hope not.”

Rahul finally convinced me to try the ‘going back up and finding the trail I came from’ option.

“Just try it slowly. I’ll call you back in 15 minutes.”

I found a small branch and used that to prop me up a bit, then made a ‘sturdier’ stick by snapping off part of a tree. Then I slowly engaged my terrified mind in the puzzle of trying to go ‘up.’ It felt a bit like bouldering, except even the few rocks on the side of the mountain had no grooves. Every time I would get cocky and try to speed up, I’d slip a little. “Slow down, Safia. There’s no rush. Relax.” I literally found myself saying those words out loud too.

Eventually, I made it to a place that looked the same as everywhere before (trees up and down, dry leaves below my shoes), but where I could finally stand with both feet.

I didn’t want to celebrate too early, so I stayed low to the ground and took a few more steps.

Then slowly, the trail became obviously a trail again, and I recognised where I was.

I walked for a while longer, then was back at Local God Temple. Then I made my way back ‘down,’ with a sense of relief I haven’t had in a long time.

I felt like Rahul saved my life.

Later that night when recounting part of this experience to another friend, Diya, she immediately said, “You know, you could have just called me. Or updated me along the way as you were going.”

“I just didn’t think of that. And I felt so embarrassed.” I replied with regret.

“You know my ex boyfriend is a fighter pilot and he said asking for help is one of the bravest things you can do.”

“And he was a fighter pilot!” We both giggled.

***

On my way back to Bombay, before my ankle had visibly swollen, I had a few hours layover in Delhi to meet my therapist for the first time in person.

“You’re not letting India hold you fully. You’ve come here for a reason. Let her hold you.”

And indeed - being in crutches over the last week, in a crowded city where everything is fast paced, hectic, and impatient, I thought Uber drivers, friends, and delivery people would be annoyed by how slow I was.

In fact, when the Zepto delivery guy saw me answer the door in crutches, he offered to bring my groceries to the kitchen, when every other day he’s halfway to the lift before even handing me the package.

The rickshaw driver who saw me crutching over to him insisted I stopped where I was so he could come a bit closer. When I said we’ll have to turn around anyway, he said “So what? It’s not a big deal for me to do that. For you, it’s harder.”

***

Maybe that’s what my therapist meant.

Not that India would magically solve all of my problems.

But that I keep assuming I need to figure things out alone. And maybe part of the point is that I’ve finally chosen to live in a city that (for all its faults and extreme frustrations) also has a lot of humanity and kindness just baked into it. So why not surrender to it.

Especially in a place that keeps offering to hold me before I’ve even figured out how to ask for it.