Personal Journeys
The Call
I didn’t decide to go to Everest Base Camp.
The idea simply showed up one day—and refused to leave.
The first time Ajit mentioned Everest Base Camp in our group chat, something in me responded before I had time to think. I didn’t know what the trek involved. I didn’t look it up. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t know why this journey mattered—only that it did.
The Year of Preparation
The year that followed wasn’t smooth, though it carried the quiet joy of anticipation. Training happened in fragments. Injuries kept interrupting any rhythm I tried to build. Some weeks I felt strong; some weeks I felt like I was fooling myself. Somewhere in all that inconsistency, I ran my first half-marathon. It wasn’t heroic—but it mattered. I trained imperfectly. I questioned my capacity. Still, beneath every doubt, there was a calm certainty: this would happen.
Learning to be Honest with my Body
Eight weeks before the trek, I began hiking again. Until then, my highest climb had barely crossed 1,500 feet, and I kept wondering how I would manage 17,500.
Carrying an 8-kg backpack on local hikes gave me sharp headaches. It became clear I couldn’t approach this trek the way others might. Asking for a personal Sherpa to carry my day pack felt like honesty—accepting the body I had instead of forcing the one I wished for. Deepa made the same choice, and somehow that shared decision made it easier. Once that weight was off, I felt lighter. Less rushed. Less caught up in not slowing others down. Less violent with myself.
Kathmandu and its Blessings
Before the trek began, I arrived in Kathmandu with my mother. We fell in love with the city easily. Its chaos didn’t overwhelm us—it felt alive, familiar. At Pashupatinath, we prayed for safety—for the six of us and for everyone walking with us. I left feeling calm, as though whatever was meant to unfold had already been given permission.
The Pull
The why of the trek was clear: to walk into the heart of the Himalayas like a pilgrim. To listen to stillness. To feel vastness. When people warned me the trail would be rugged, dusty, and cold, unlike the greener treks, I felt drawn even more. I wanted the raw truth of the land.
The Walk
On the trail, I walked slowly. Very slowly. I usually started first and finished last. I stopped often—sometimes for breath, sometimes for no reason at all. Clouds shifted. Mountains appeared and disappeared. Long stretches passed without words. Bhoktha, the Sherpa walking beside me, shared bits of his life along the way. Evenings brought all six of us together over food. Laughter came easily. It felt simple and unforced. Without planning it, we grew close—six individuals walking our own paths, bound by shared vulnerability.
Seeing Everest
On October 20th, at 10:37 a.m. Nepal time, Bhoktha stopped and pointed ahead. “There—that’s Mount Everest.”
I didn’t just see it—I felt it. There it stood. Magnificent. Real. Gratitude rose quietly - for my friends, my family, and all that was unseen that had aligned to bring me to that exact moment.
Life Reduced to What Matters
As the days passed, life stripped itself down to the basics. Walk. Breathe. Eat. Rest. No rushing. No multitasking. Just presence. Somewhere along the way, the noise outside fell away—and so did some of the noise inside me. Roles loosened. Expectations softened. Each night before sleep, gratitude came naturally—for the strength that held us, for the prayers, for the people who believed in us, and for the mountains that accepted us.
Standing at the Edge of Enough
From Day 1 to Day 12, everything aligned. The weather held. No delays. No injuries. And on a bright Saturday afternoon on October 25th, all six of us stood together at Everest Base Camp, hands joined, hearts full, in reverence.
Grace, Observed
What I received from the trek was far more than I had asked for. The Sherpa way of life humbled me—their strength, devotion, and grace. In my heart, I bowed at Bhoktha’s feet. He walked beside me the entire way, steady and alert, like a quiet guardian. Through him, I glimpsed a kind of humanity that felt rare, untouched by ego.
The Journey After the Journey
I returned home with five friends I now call my tribe, and with a deep affection for Nepal—its villages, its people, its unhurried way of being. I tasted another kind of freedom, and something in me healed quietly. For many nights after coming home, I dreamt of clouds and mountains. I woke with my heart full, my soul calm, and a smile.
I know this much now—Nepal and its mountains are not finished with me.
To My People
To my lovely family and friends—thank you for reminding me that you believe in the strength of my mind, and that it would carry me through, no matter what.
To Johny—my friend who mentored the six of us, patiently, generously, every step of the way.
To Ajit (Pattals), Deeps, Hems, Lavs, Navs, and Bhoktha—thank you for those twelve days. For the patience, The laughter, The ease & For letting me move at my own pace, sit with my silences, and carry my quirks without question.
I will always be grateful that this journey was shared with you.
To the Mountains—
for holding me, humbling me; for reminding me how little I need, and revealing to me my inner strength!