The mountain peak in Kudremukh.
| Photo Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto
After a 10-hour, 6,207-foot-high, 34,000-step trek, it took hours to catch my breath. I joined the trek only because one of the regular trekkers, a good friend — I doubt it now — had invited me for a pub hop and a poker night on earlier weekends, both of which I had declined. I didn’t have the heart to refuse a third time. Nor the wisdom.
On the designated day at 7 a.m., our group was a sight to behold. Dressed in top gear — hiking boots, trekking poles, rucksacks and sunglasses — we looked set to move mountains. Then appeared our local guide, ambling by in his flip-flops, with none of the paraphernalia advocated by trekker bloggers. Plus no sunscreen and energy bars or drinks.
The trek was to Kudremukha, meaning horse face. When initially our guide pointed it out up among the clouds, most of us could not see the resemblance. Soon, I started seeing it, and far closer. I also started seeing other interesting animals, both extant and extinct, well within my reach. But it seems the tough ones only stop after mounting that stony horse right up there. So we trekked and trekked.
The adventure which started off with songs and banter soon went quiet. We lost our voice, humour, legs and water in that order. Seventeen friends did that trek that day; some of us are still not talking to each other.
Heroes in Hollywood action movies find time amid danger to call their family to say “I love you”. I made a video call to my family at 4,000 feet. My wife told me to use more sunscreen, my son was upset I was using his hat, and daughter asked me where her earpods were. I forgot to say I love them.
Doing 18 km with a 6 p.m. cut-off on a treacherous terrain demanded stubborn focus on the ground below and every step forward. It is later when my Insta friends, who, instead of admiring my achievement, wowed at the scenic landscape, and pointed out the “breathtaking” beauty of the place from my ankle upwards to the bright blue sky. The rolling hills appeared like waves draped in emerald hues, their peaks kissing the clouds. Sun-drenched glades and shaded woods intertwined, and gentle streams trickled through them. It was pristine beauty.
I have known people to experience deep spirituality and gratitude to no one in particular during such arduous expeditions. I felt it towards the elderly woman selling buttermilk at my 33,674th step back at the base. As I drank it, I looked arrogantly up at the peak I had touched and retuned alive. It looked so far. I couldn’t believe I had done it. Through the cloud of fatigue and pain, my pride beamed. I wanted to feel special, but all the others in my team also had conquered it, some way before and in far better shape. So I simply had to be back among the dainty, lazy, normal mortals to feel special. Love and comfort aside, I had another impatient reason to rush back home.
“Have you tried trekking? It breaks and rebuilds you. You feel a sense of adventure and wonder. It makes you more self-aware and introspective about life and its purpose. Must try it guys…,” I spoke modestly to a bunch of awestruck faces in the very first party after my return and many after. “The last trek I did…,” I went on to reminisce with a flourish. There was, however, a finality to the way I said “last” which I hope no one spotted.
Published – May 11, 2025 03:15 am IST