Skip to main content

The Ascent to Sandakphu

IndiaHikes - Sandakphu
Man originated somewhere deep in the jungles of Ethiopia. And then, he walked, and walked, and walked; to become, arguably, the most dominant species in the history of the planet. Walking then, is the most natural thing in the world, and as old as the hills themselves. And yet, today, walking is an archaism. We live in the era of Uber and Amazon, of the remote and the elevator; all designed to not just make walking unnecessary but also unfashionable.

Trekking then, inhabits this curious corner of contradiction, natural and unnatural at the very same time. For the first time trekker, this contradiction is all the more magnified; accustomed as he is, to the warm comforts of luxury travel, the lure and excitement of trekking is nonetheless elementary, almost primal even.

As the first timer treks, flat terrain is his friend, all so familiar and so very comforting; if at all, monotony is the only damper. The descent is a trickier beast, with dangers potentially lurking behind every corner and cunning pitfalls never too far away. Complacency here, can be a rather expensive mistake. And yet, it is fair to say that, caution, rather than exertion, is the chief concern.
The soul of trekking though resides in the ascent. The urge to scale peaks and conquer challenges strikes at the most central chord of human spirit.

The 27 of us, a rather motley group of trekkers, stood there, collectively contemplating the final ascent to Sandakphu. Sandakphu, to us, was the promised land, having lured us from different parts of the country and having given us a common goal and purpose. For that one week, we were to be a family, sharing the same concerns, combating the same challenges, and most importantly, having a common aspiration.

After one final sip of water, I stood up, slung the rucksack over the shoulders, tightened the straps, and took a hard good luck at our destination, far and high up in the mountains. And so I began the ascent, one step at a time. Very soon, I began to pull away. 12,000 feet above the sea level is not an easy place to be trekking in. The air is thinner, the temperature colder and each and every exertion requires extra effort.

As I zigzagged across the torturous mountain trail, one step up at a time, everything else began to fade away. It was no more about the enchanting scenery, no more about the elusive red panda and no more even about the 26 others. It was all about me, myself and the mountains. The mountains asked for greater discipline, deeper resolve and stronger will. I responded. Taking deep breaths and short steps, I placed one foot after the other, with the green bamboo staff, having become an extension of myself, a third limb in fact. The monotony, rather than being belittling, became exhilarating. The distance of the destination and the steepness of the ascent ceased to matter. It was all about that one moment, that one next step and that one next breath. Pain itself became the greatest motivation and exhaustion the greatest strength. And so I surrendered myself to the mountain and became one with it. The destination now did not seem that far away.

But alas, the mountains are cruel friends, and do not grant access all that easily. Even as the steps accumulated, the pain became sharper and the exhaustion greater. I stumbled and the rhythm was broken. I was no more one with the mountain. I looked up now and the destination seemed forbiddingly far and the path impossibly steep. The resolve began to break and the mountains seemed to have won. But yet, I had one last trick up my sleeve; companionship. When all seems lost, humans fall back upon their one greatest strength, the other human beings. Solidarity is the greatest and the defining character of humanity.

And so I drew upon this companionship. It was three of us now, ahead of all the others. All three of us were battling the same challenges, buckling under the weight of the backpack and the greater weight of the mountain. Even as our individual resolve began to fail, our collective resolve came to the rescue. We spoke hardly a word among ourselves, but for that short while, we were one, united by pain and ambition alike. We walked together and rested together. As one began to tire, the other took up the lead, silently motivating the other two. I was once again back into the rhythm and zone, but this time, there were three tiny set of steps being taken, three set of breaths and three wills fighting together.

And so finally, the challenge (never the mountain), was conquered. What couldn’t be achieved alone, was achieved together. We had earned the majestic view of the Kanchenjunga and the Everest that beheld us. And also, we had earned the respect of ourselves, of each other and perhaps hopefully the respect of the mountains themselves. The friendship forged may or may not last, even the memory might begin to fade with the cruel, inexorable passage of time, but the experience shared and earned will remain on, even if deep within. 

Lastly, never did Maggi taste better, with our feet up, three spoons in a bowl, and the mountains looking, benignly now, down upon us. We could afford to smile and smile we did.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Just how much did Sachin mean to us?

Aspiration for success is the single most natural thing in the world. It is not a trait unique to human beings alone; it is the very fundament upon which nature exists. It is what gives rise to evolution and results in life as we know it. And yet there are times, when even before you begin, you not just suspect that you will not succeed, but know that you are doomed to, and, will fail. Nonetheless, you go ahead and do it anyway. Because it is not a choice, but a call to duty; like a mountaineer attempting to scale that one last impossible peak, a surgeon trying to perform the miracle that will not happen or even a letter of infatuation that you know will never be reciprocated. Failure is merely a meaningless by-product. And so I attempt to put in words, the emotion that cannot be explained but only be felt, the phenomenon that cannot be understood but only be experienced and a love that cannot be rationalized but can only be succumbed and surrendered to. I attempt to both understa

Of Federer and Nadal; of Sport and Us

There were 13 players on the field. But one stood out. And he knew it. There was a swagger to his walk, poise in his posture and his entire demeanour was of a man who knew there were a million eyes on him; who not merely was aware of and acknowledged it, but also courted the attention, craved for it and feeded of it. As the ball soared off his bat, 50,000 rose off their chairs in unison; but even before the triumphal act was concluded, the smiles were wiped off their faces and there was tension in their eyes. The fielder settled under the ball; it was to be a regulation catch. But, was it to be? The floodlights shone down upon him, almost sinister in their intensity, but that did not matter; he has done this a thousand times before. What mattered though was the thousands of eyes boring into him, the unnatural silence, the searing hostility of strangers, the expectations of teammates and most of all the stature of the man of whose bat the ball has soared from and was now hurtling

57 Tabs: The Joys of Wiki-Hopping

It is 10 minutes past midnight. To my left, I have a box of refrigerated chicken popcorn from KFC, and to my right, I have my phone. In my phone, I have 57 tabs open; Wikipedia pages, they are.  The missus has abandoned me gone for a sleepover to a friend’s place and I have the house to myself. I snuggle under the blanket and reach for a book; ‘My name is red’. The data is switched off and the phone is a safe distance away, or so I think. Alas, no. I come across an intriguing word, reach for my phone and switch on the data. Google recommends Wikipedia; good friends they are. I read intently, for all of 3 minutes. Then, I long press and click on ‘open in a new tab’. Thus, begins the hopping; perpetual in scope and orgasmic in pay-off. Soon, I have 57 tabs open.  When I was growing up, during my primary school, there was a library in the neighbourhood. It was big, it was free and it was welcoming. Many a childhood hour was spent there; lost to the world and yet, at the same tim