It has been a year since I went there. I was still a college student in Guwahati, trying to eke out most of the last semester before bidding farewell to college and friends. A trek plan for three cut down to two when Yash had to leave for a delegation to Sri Lanka. It’ll be my second Himalayan trek, shouldn’t be too hard for us. Our flight to Bagdogra was canceled and we chose to take a connecting flight via Kolkata, given that Sayani lived there.

We reach Bagdogra with a certain resfeber. Bagdogra is warm and dusty with a certain sense of rush and chaos in the air. Meeting new people isn’t my forte, and I’ll be meeting a dozen new faces in a couple of hours. Nabarun called me up at the airport and we meet him and Akanksha outside. A typical corporate guy, Nabarun was with a pair of sunglasses, a blue shirt, and an air of confidence paired with a wanting for a break from the monotony of daily life. Akanksha was more of the gregarious kind. She had traveled solo straight from Mumbai after quitting her regular job as a CA looking for a break as well. We soon hop in a car and drive past the commotion of a restive town through some hills into the heartland of Sikkim. The farther we drive the easier, more familiar this place becomes. There’s a spirit in mountains that brings people together; through hardships, for the local dwellers, through escape from busy city lights for the bored employee, and through the challenge for an adrenaline junkie.

It’s getting colder as we ascend the hills and we jolt down at a place for some hot coffee and a light meal. The neat tea plantation across the road hides some sweet-sounding birds and the bright white clouds kept spilling over. Loud cheers and big bear hugs gave off that another jeep with the rest of the group has arrived and I chose to retract into the comfort of capturing some snaps of the plantation. Soon we drive off and the roads became bumpier with dark clouds looming above. Shall it rain even before we have arrived at the base camp? Apparently so. The driver halts at a place eventually saying that the base is just down a flight of makeshift stairs. We get off amidst the pouring rain and rush off into a half-finished building and don our rain covers. We arrive at the base camp eventually and were greeted by Krupa, our trek leader with sharp eyes and a commanding voice. Eventually, the rest of the team arrives and Hiren starts discussing the track ahead for the next day. A tall and polite guy with pair of binoculars and a mountain hat, Hiren was fit for a middle-aged individual exuding the energy of a youngster. I delay meeting the rest of the crew, not until we were called for the tea, a formal introduction, and eventual dinner. After a briefing about the next day, we head off to pack up and get some sleep.

In contrast to the first impression of Jaubhari, the skies stand vacant today with a fleeting lone cloud and a bright sun. Amidst some distant news of people getting stuck at Phalut under six feet of snow, we gear up for the day ahead which would be the toughest day of the trek or so said Krupa. Buddhaji, with a pair of serious eyes and a wholesome smile, would be leading just another group encompassing wary first-time trekkers and seasoned travelers. We march on straight into the forest. There’s something about the conifers that have kept me hooked on to them since my early school days, unabated by time and energy. The criss-cross of slanting sun rays piercing the pines, chirps of some distant exotic bird, and the mushy, earthy breaths of the forest emanating from deep within paralyze my eyes for a moment. There are a lot of things worth living for; exploring the wonders of nature is surely one of them. In a trek, it’s always the first break, the first pit stop where we truly meet each other. Everything before that is a version of ourselves still in the comfort zone. I immaculately remember our first break on the Hampta pass trek, when I met Jenie, a sales manager from Pune. She started conversing with me to know more about myself, something that doesn’t happen very often. She went ahead and behind conversing with everyone. Taking a page from her book, I start conversing with people around me. I meet Maneesh and Varun - old friends of Nabarun from Kolkata, three fellow engineering undergraduates from Kharagpur, and again back to Hiren. Every single one of them wanted to create a memory; have moments in life that are worth reminiscing.

Amidst the mired shoes, concrete stairs, and constant wind, I keep finding myself going back to the wild pink flowers lining either side of the trail. Tumling soon welcomed us with a wave of vociferous tourists on noisy jeeps, slushy roads, and muddy patches of snow all around. We land in a hotel that seems to have been patched up floor by floor into a giant conglomerate structure holding together a restaurant, several rooms, and a dormitory. After a set of pedestrian games, we head off to the dormitory which would be alive pretty soon with nostalgic memories and fun-filled peals of laughter of a crowd spanning three generations of men who have fought, are fighting, and would fight.

The warm dormitory and sleep-deprived eyes couldn’t hold my excitement to capture the rising sun striking a shimmering orange glow across the Kanchenjunga. Albeit the flowing crowd, the constant buzz of cell phones, and endless cameras did disappoint me a bit, I captured an image or two. We bid adieu to the busy thoroughfares of Tumling and head into the Singalila National Park. Krupa says on a solo hike across this trail, she once spotted 11 rare birds. Amidst the loud thumps across solid ice and guys hurling snowballs, I could spot none; I wouldn’t have been able to identify them nonetheless. I haven’t been able to comprehend the joy of sighting birds yet. We soon clear off the trail and hop into a bamboo forest. The deep dense bamboo forests keep reminding me to witness the treasures of Kyoto prefecture. Soon, very soon. I start conversing with Krupa as well and mentioned my plans for deciduous forest expeditions and she, in turn, tells about her journey of quitting a regular job, going against family, and picking up the lesser-explored territory of becoming a trek leader. How often do you meet people who have taken the leap and lived through happy with their decision every single day?

Eventually, we reach the arid, vacant Kalipokhri whose best virtue would be the modest cottages and warm food for the defiant tourists who just see this place as a milestone on their destination to Sandakphu. We soon start discussing our dream destinations - a shallow and feel-good question I feel, but it opens a window into the dreams and ambitions of a person nonetheless. I dissatisfy the crowd with a vague answer anyway.

I have been observing the elusive falcons since morning; a couple of them playing in a whirlwind of height and direction, not allowing me to capture them. They keep goading me, getting close when I pay no heed to them and just the moment I bring out my memory machine, they fly off to distant skies. Anyway, we start hiking off to the next destination Aahl. The roads are even worse here and we have left the comforting forests behind; only gravel roads and muddy vehicles are all that faze me. The roads are littered to pathetic limits by the reprobate jeep tourists and I try to clean the roads as much as I can. We constantly hop on and off the motorable roads dodging incoming 4x4 engines with drivers revving the machines to make one last turn before reaching the hotels at the military outpost of Sandakphu. Soon the skies start laying their shroud of clouds upon us and the crowds thinned. My fellow trekkers are hiking in sparse groups as well, with everyone having a general sense of direction. The birds have returned. Now I realize why Krupa cherished witnessing birds on treks. A transient moment of witnessing a carefree creature does bring a pragmatic sense of joy.

We reach Aahl eventually. The place can best be described as tin and wood patched together to form a set of tenacious shacks braving the endless fierce winds on top of a lonely hillock. Not many people stay here, preferring the comfort of more populous Sandakphu but the lack of anthropy suits me. Amidst the cold and fierce gusts of wind, we have dinner eventually. Sounds pretty simple to have cooked food but I witness the hardships that have been undertaken to cook the food: collecting firewood in a place devoid of any vegetation; breaking the ice and melting them to get drinking water and keeping engine batteries to light up a room enough to cook a meal. We had a session of classic Bollywood music and after a helter-skelter excuse of dance, we eventually retire for some rest. But not so soon. I have a shot at fulfilling another one of my wishes. I see Hiren braving the winds to get a clear view of the moon and the mountains. I dash off for my cam and hop along. Cold winds chafe my face and hands while my clothing gives no respite. I lack a tripod but create a makeshift one using some rocks and click the endless stars and the bright wholesome moon. I take a deep breath. I slow down my heartbeat. I relax my hands. I calibrate my camera. I stiffen my hands, hold my breath and click the shutter. I see the silver veneer of the mountain facade cast by the moonlight. But I can’t capture it. Some things don’t allow themselves to be captured. I’ll leave them untouched. Amidst all the lassitude, this is a moment that I cherish.

We get the information that the roads till Phalut have still not cleared and we have to revert to Gurdum instead. We carry all of our traces and move towards the pleasant and quiet village of Gurdum. The clouds are still rushing all over us and we take one last glimpse of the formidable trio of Makalu, Lhotse, and Everest and also the Sleeping Buddha. We face the treacherous meandering trails entrenched with firm snow and rubble. Sayani slipped off a couple of times already. I proposed that we slide the tracks, but Krupa being the responsible person she is, disapproved citing that it was dangerous and not everyone should do it. Nabaraun and I defied nonetheless and Krupa ended up teaching the proper way to do it. She is awesome! We slid down the tracks and before it got any more dangerous we started hiking again. Soon rest of the motley group joined and Nabarun, Akanksha, and Varun start discussing every single Hindi cliche soap opera there is and I decide to hike ahead. The descent hurts my ankles and I have badly bruised one of my toes. Sayani has also got blisters on her toes. We cruise through another set of bamboo forests and arrive at comfortable temperatures. Cobbled tracks, red rhododendrons, and Buddhist prayer flags adorn the way and greet us into the quaint village at the foot of the valley.

The indolent stay at Gurdum has been quite uneventful. I have had plenty of conversations with a lot of people and Hiren has advised and exhorted me to fulfill my goals and cruise on. A businessman who started from Gujrat and is now in Australia, he has traveled to five continents already, witnessing the places and entities that have the sword of time looming over them, threatening their existence. He dreams of going on an expedition to Antarctica, a wish that I foster as well. The 4 days of frank conversations, deep contemplations, ponderous steps, unfilled wishes, and quiet admiration have left deep-seated marks in my memory. At the confluence of engineering students, an accountant, independent businessmen, a couple of sportsmen, and a trek leader, Sandakphu did leave each one of us a moment worth reminiscing. I live by the rule of never longing for the past for you miss out on your present. Late at night when I hear the winds howling outside my flat in Gurgaon, I still wonder if they still break the ice to cook rice in Aahl. Every time I feel the crunch of snow under my feet, I still wonder if it is still snowing in Singalila. Every time I see a rhododendron on Instagram, I still wonder if the flowers still bloom in Sandakphu.