Sagarmatha National Park
I am fascinated by the stories that Sagarmatha National Park holds. These are stories about lives well lived, lives that chased dreams.
There are understated glories of the local Sherpas mingled with fever dreams of the first ascents. There are tales about the boisterous feats of Nims Dai, and one about Conrad Anker finding the body of George Mallory, 75 years after Mallory disappeared on the Northeast Ridge of Everest. And on the subject of Mallory, did he and Andrew Irvine really climb Everest three decades before anyone else could? What about the Yetis though? Did Reinhold Messner really see one?
Everyone has their story about visiting this place. It can be about finding enough passion to brave the intense cold and exhaustion to catch the last light on Everest from Kala Patthar. It can also be about grieving the loss of someone who introduced you to this place, and you are intent on knowing if, having fallen out of love with that person, have you fallen out of love with this place too?
For someone like me who grew up in the dry and rocky plains of Rajasthan, it is a bit surreal that these mountains have come to feel like home. When I took these photos in Sagarmatha National Park, it was a dream for me to put up an exhibition of those very images in Namche Bazaar. That little dream has been fulfilled. I have left some of these prints behind in the various tea houses and hope they will also become a part of this place’s story.