Onwards
I must have been 13 or 14 when I first decided that I was going to climb to the Everest Base Camp. I must have learned of Everest a few years prior to that, but I remember talking to a friend who told me that Base Camp was something you could do without being a mountaineer or having years of practice. I have always looked for monuments, places or things that can help me mark my existence in relation to them. Over those years I did some camping and outdoorsy stuff and found a liking to it. I was set for the trip in 2020, but had to cancel due to the pandemic. For the next few years, I focused on building a life in the US, with EBC taking a third-row seat. In 2026, I found myself on the first row seat of a rickety Soviet-made plane flying to Lukla. Life had taken its turns, and I had imposed my will.
Throughout the trail you don’t see much of Everest, it eludes you even when you’re at striking distance. I understand that apart from its height there is little that makes Everest special. There are peaks which are far more beautiful, far more difficult, and far more treacherous. But I think very few must be as elusive as it. For starters, the Khumbu glacier and Lhotse work to hide the peak, forming a 270-degree cover. And as it is surrounded by other 8000+ meter peaks, it doesn't stand out anyway. Then for a place that thousands of pilgrims flock to, something that the Nepalese government considers a matter of national import, it refuses to put on a show. Its height leads to an atmospheric phenomenon that forms cloud covers at the peak. There were many who did not get a single glimpse of it. Some who only nodded, without recognizing, when their companions excitedly pointed the mountain out. And of course, all of this is heightened by the stories. The deaths, the articles, the books, the IMAX films. We love a story, and Everest makes for a good one.
My story is like most others. It was an amazing journey, with unprecedented vistas, and adequate challenges leading to Base Camp. The highlights, however, like one always hopes, were the people. I absolutely loved our travelling bunch. Shout out to Aayush (Trek Lead), Dawa Dai (Sherpa), Prem Bhai, Meet, Sina, Sachin, Pavitran, Aman, Dhawal, Sabartho, and my brother, Manas. Probabilistically, the odds of a random group where everyone gets along with everyone, and doesn’t lose their shit, are low. And even lower when you take into account the circumstance. I had the opportunity to find new friendships, and discover new lives. The travelling bunch also encountered many extraordinary individuals. The awesome people who run the lodges and restaurants, the indestructible porters, and on one fine evening, another travelling bunch, filled with the best sherpas in the world. Pasang Dai and his group are tasked with rope fixing the route prior to the season. They climb in the hardest way at the hardest of times. We were lucky to sit around a fire with them, chat for a bit, and listen to some of their stories. In their stories, and attitudes of the people of the Khumbu Valley in general, there is a throughline: a deep sense of confidence, emerging from proven competence. Their lives have been tough, and they know it. For most, there is no other choice, so they lean into it. They lean into the difficult, their men pride themselves on their ascents, their women on their cultivation. And over time they have built a life around executing hard things.
I think that’s what I was there for too. As difficult as life can be, it is mostly devoid of clear, indisputable results. You are in a constant state of pursuit, and any indication of progress, higher salary, more revenue, feels like a stepping stone, not a final destination. The trek offered a hard thing with a clear destination. Or so I thought. We reached Base Camp on a sunny afternoon, surrounded by happy faces posing in front of the famous rock. We had all made it, the group was all good. Tired, but good. We took several pictures, and then sat down to just observe the glaciers. I had fulfilled my promise to my younger self, completed my story with Everest. It remained elusive, barely visible above the Khumbu icefall, but its presence dominated. I was hoping to feel proud, peaceful. Instead I felt relieved, and then, surprisingly, motivated. This did not feel like the destination. It felt like a stepping stone. I am still annoyed by this realization. But I am glad to at least know, truly know, that this is how it will always feel. Every victory, a stepping stone. Every story, an excuse for another.
Onwards.
