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Some journeys begin with a destination. Mine began with an injury.
As I stepped into my 52nd year, I made a promise to myself that I would do something that would stay with me forever, something that would expand who I was. But life had other plans. A meniscus tear in my knee threatened to put that dream on hold. Doctors advised caution, and for a while, even walking felt like a challenge.
I refused to let that become the final chapter of my story.
My recovery started with patience. I followed medical advice, diligently did physiotherapy at home, and celebrated every small milestone. A few extra steps today became a longer walk tomorrow. Then life introduced me to a health coach and a community of people who believed in movement, not perfection. Every Sunday, we walked together. My confidence returned one step at a time.
Soon, I completed my second 5-kilometre marathon with the encouragement of friends and coaches. That’s when I confessed a dream I had quietly carried for years, I wanted to trek in the Himalayas.
Someone smiled and suggested Hampta Pass, calling it a “beginner’s trek.” I later realized the only thing “beginner” about Hampta Pass is the way it politely introduces you before humbling you at every turn.
Preparation became my new routine. I joined a gym, focused on strength training, worked on my cardio, and found a trainer who believed in my goal rather than my weighing scale. Slowly, I stopped training to lose weight and started training to climb mountains.
Before I knew it, I was standing in Manali with a 10-kilogram backpack, insulated clothing for sub-zero temperatures, sturdy trekking boots, and absolutely no idea what awaited me.
At the Trek Yaari base camp, I met 46 fellow trekkers. At 52, I was the oldest in age, but certainly not in spirit.
Our journey began from Jobra to Chika. A delicious serving of rajma chawal after the first walk felt like a feast earned with every step. The evening was filled with music, conversations, dancing, and stories from strangers who were slowly becoming companions.
The real test began the next morning.
The trek leader gently suggested that I start an hour before everyone else because I was slower. Along with our guide, Suraj, I set out towards Balu Ka Ghera. Eight kilometers on paper transformed into ten unforgettable hours of boulder hopping, river crossings, steep ascents, slippery rocks and complete immersion in the wilderness.
There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to quit.
The silence of the mountains forced me into the most honest conversation with myself.
I chose not to stop for long breaks because restarting was harder than continuing. I simply kept moving.
Along the trail, I carried a message urging people to stop cutting trees. Many fellow trekkers and passing hikers asked me what inspired me to undertake this trek despite my age and injury.
My answer surprised even me.
“I wanted to achieve something that no one can ever take away from me. People can take away money, possessions or opportunities. But they can never take away an experience that transforms you.”
That became my reason.
Crossing icy glacial streams left my feet completely numb. After one particularly freezing crossing, I quietly cried, not because of pain, but because I realized how far I had already come.
Then came Day Three.
Hampta Pass.
At 14,100 feet, surrounded by snowfields, rugged mountains and endless skies, I reached the summit an hour later than most of the group. Yet, standing there, time became irrelevant. The overwhelming silence of the Himalayas felt louder than any applause I had ever received.
But the summit wasn’t the hardest part.
The descent tested every hour I had spent in the gym, balance, endurance, strength and mental resilience. Every step demanded complete focus.
When I finally reached Shea Goru camp, something unexpected happened.
The entire group welcomed me with a standing ovation.
It wasn’t because I had finished first.
It was because I had refused to give up.
That night, beneath a sky overflowing with stars and a nearly full moon, I realized some photographs are never captured by a camera. They are etched permanently into the heart.
Our final day led us to Chhatru in the breathtaking Lahaul-Spiti valley, completing the incredible journey from the lush green landscapes of Kullu to the stark beauty of Spiti, on foot.
People often ask me whether Hampta Pass changed me.
It did.
Not because I conquered a mountain.
But because somewhere along those winding trails, river crossings and endless climbs, I conquered the belief that my limitations would define me.
The mountain will always remain taller.
But today, I know my spirit has grown taller too.
Disclaimer: The opinions and views expressed in this article/column are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of South Asian Herald.
