Shambho in the Chaos: My Running Journal from Kathmandu to Kailash

Dispatches from Kathmandu: Day 1 and 2

It has only been thirty hours since I landed in Kathmandu, but it honestly feels like three full days.

The moment I stepped off the plane, I knew exactly where I had to go first: to see Linga Bhairavi Devi. I was right here three years ago when she was consecrated, and it only felt right to pay my respects to Her before anything else.

Once I checked into the hotel, the logistical gears immediately started turning. We received our official allocated duffel bags, met the rest of our group, and sat through an intense orientation briefing by the sherpas. More than anything, it was a beautiful moment to finally meet up with my uncle, the same uncle from the crazy sequence of events I wrote about in my last post.

There are thirty-three of us on this journey, accompanied by a dedicated team of sherpas. Funnily enough, it turns out I am the youngest one in the entire group! Naturally, when you put that many pilgrims in a room, everyone has a million questions about stays, exchange rates, and gear. I tried to mostly keep to myself and not socialize too much, silently chanting Aum Namah Shivaya throughout the day. I honestly had very few questions. My heart has been throbbing with Shambho all throughout anyway, and those beats seem to be getting louder with each passing day.

I have already decided that I will not be doing the full 52-kilometer Parikrama around Kailash. But I do deeply long to have a darshan of the North Face at Dirapuk, which is a 12-kilometer trek from Yam Dwar on the West Face.

Still, there are so many variables at play. If there is one thing I am realizing, it is that nothing goes exactly as expected when you enter the territory of Adiyogi. We like to think that governments, country regulations, and border checkpoints dictate the terms, but it appears to me that a completely different kind of force is operating through them. To be honest, it internally feels like this territory doesn't even belong to this planet. It feels like a different world entirely, but that is just an internal glimpse for now. I can't say much more yet.

Today was a very long but sacred day. We had a beautiful darshan of Pashupatinath, Guhyeshwari, the powerful Shaktipeeth where Her hips fell, and Doleshwar Mahadev, which is considered to be the head of Kedarnath. I woke up at 5:00 AM on barely four hours of sleep, did my exercises, some Kalari practice, and my Kriyas, and I was good to go.

By the evening, I managed to steal a short nap and finalise my packing. I easily have the lightest bag in the entire group. I always travel incredibly light, and yes, I still take a bit of pride in my planning! Those countless hours spent tweaking tabs on my Excel sheets have to count for something, right? ;)

But as I sat down for an early dinner tonight, the spreadsheets and logistics just melted away. I was suddenly flooded with this immense, quiet wave of gratitude. Just looking at the beautiful food on my plate, I couldn't help but think how amazing it is that we are here, staying at a comfortable hotel, eating well, and how I somehow ended up here against all odds. I just felt overwhelmingly blessed. It was a completely different kind of emotion.

The yatra seems to have truly begun, even if we haven't crossed the border yet.

We leave at 3:00 AM tomorrow morning to make the border crossing near Kyirong. It is going to be quite an adventure, and I am completely unsure if I will have any internet access once we pass through. But I promise to keep writing daily, logging these moments into my notepad whenever I can.

The mountain is waiting.

Shambho.

Border Crossings, Broken Ceilings, and Pizarrias: Day 3

Imagine being awake for twenty-two hours straight on just two hours of sleep. Imagine spending four hours off-roading across brutal Himalayan terrain that breaks your back and shoulders, followed by three hours at Chinese immigration, and another three hours just to reach your room, only to find the ceiling cracked wide open and water dripping all over the floor.

That pretty much sums up my last twenty-two hours. Welcome to Day 2.

It all began for me at 2:30 AM this morning. I woke up for a quick shower, did some last-minute packing, and offered a Guru Pooja before checking out. With our breakfast packed, four of us hopped into a Scorpio. Out of the entire fleet parked at the hotel, my friend intuitively picked this specific one, and we got comfortable as the journey commenced. Our driver was on a absolute mission to reach the Nepal border in record time. Even though we started near the back of the pack, he raced to the front in no time. I sat in the back, did my kriyas, ate my breakfast before anyone else, and watched the sunrise pierce through the gorgeous mountain peaks. The Trishuli River gave us stunning visual company the entire way.

There were virtually no pitstops or bathroom breaks, and we actually arrived first. However, there was absolutely no point in making it there in a record four hours instead of the usual six or seven, because we had to wait for the rest of the vehicles anyway. To make things more complicated, Chinese immigration wouldn't open until after their lunch break, and we were hitting a two-and-a-half-hour time difference.

Then, the anxiety set in. One of the vehicles, carrying four yatris including my uncle, hadn't arrived, and they were completely unreachable by phone. It was well past their expected arrival time. An hour and a half later, they finally rolled in. It was a bit scary, especially with no cellular network in the gaps. By then, the queues at the Nepali immigration were growing longer, and our impatience even longer.

Eventually, we moved toward Chinese immigration. After another long wait, most of us cleared it quickly, except for two yatris who were detained due to a passport issue. Communication was scarce, and we had no clue what was happening inside. All we knew was that if they didn’t make it out by 5:00 PM, they would be sent back.

We all hoped against hope that our entire group would make it through together. Finally, at 5:15 PM, they walked out smiling. It was a sight to behold. It turned out there were slight discrepancies between their old passport photos and how they look now, hence the intense interrogation.

From the moment I reached the border until many hours later, I just kept the Shambho chant going steadily in my mind. Our group visa required us to stand in a very strict, specific numerical order. I was number twenty-four. As we moved toward the manual luggage screening, the two yatris ahead of me were incredibly excited, talking loudly, moving around, and clicking pictures. To be completely frank, it was bothering me, but I just kept chanting through the annoyance. There is a certain etiquette to follow at international security, and I was irritated that Indians were being stereotypically chaotic.

As if someone read my mind, our Chinese tour guide, who was managing the paperwork, walked straight over to us, grabbed me by the hand, and said, "You, come here. Stand in the immigration line."

There were two lines. On the left was the official order starting with number one, who joined after getting their hand luggage manually checked. On the right was me and a line behind me who hadn't been checked yet. The moment I handed over my passport, a guard realized my line hadn't finished the baggage check. The entire line behind me was pulled out to go back, and the guide told me I would have to wait.

But then, the immigration officer approved my visa anyway and opened the gate. I turned to go back to the luggage check, but the officer pointed forward and said, "No, just go through this gate."

And just like that, a minor miracle happened. I didn't have to take a single thing out of my bag. It went straight through the automated X-ray scan, and I was out in seconds.

The administrative waiting game continued for another three hours. By the time everyone was cleared and we boarded the bus, it was already 6:00 PM. Our destination, Kyirong, was an hour and a half away, but the drive took significantly longer because the roads were entirely under construction. When we finally arrived, we had to go straight to the local county police station to have our passports verified and collected one more time before we could even see our rooms.

We finally reached a great hotel, and everyone began checking in. My roommate and I walked into our room, flipped on the lights, and stared in utter disbelief. The ceiling right above the sink was cracked completely open, and a steady pool of water covered the floor. We immediately went downstairs to see if we could swap rooms, but the hotel was completely full.

They promised they would try to fix it, so we dropped our bags and decided to head out into the town for dinner, since the food being prepared by our sherpas was going to take a while.

We ended up at a local place and spent the next two hours waiting for our food there, too. It was honestly hilarious. The shared exhaustion actually turned into a beautiful bonding moment for the group, allowing us to laugh and get to know one another much better.

By the time we walked back to the hotel, the temperature had plummeted to a biting six degrees, a massive contrast to the daytime heat. We walked into our room to find the floor cleaned up, but now, the electric sockets and charging points were completely dead. We marched back downstairs to call the maintenance guy, who looked just as bewildered and confused by the room as we were.

It is now well past midnight, and I am far too exhausted to try and solve the mystery of the dead sockets. We will deal with it tomorrow.

Good night from Tibet.

Shambho.

Monasteries, Strangers, and a Moving Sangha: Day 4

The day started late, giving everyone some much-needed time to rest and recover. After a lazy breakfast, we stepped out onto the streets and headed to a nearby monastery. It was a beautiful, intimate little space where I spent some time meditating in absolute silence. We also managed to take a few photographs. I have found myself the absolute nicest roommate over the last four days, and we have developed a perfect, silent mutual agreement on the exact cues for when to take photos of each other.

Both of us walked around the town to buy a few remaining essentials for the trek, and after a while, we decided it was time to try some authentic local Tibetan food. While we were seated at our table ordering, a few locals sitting nearby took a keen interest in us. They walked straight over with their phones to take a selfie with each of us. One of them even used a translation app on their phone to tell us, "You both are very beautiful." It was an incredibly sweet, genuine moment.

When the food arrived, it was delicious. At one point, I stuffed a piece of tofu into my mouth with chopsticks while trying to pose for a photo, and I ended up badly burning my tongue. But it was all part of the fun.

Once we got back to the hotel, we decided to try our luck one more time to get a room with working sockets and a functional ceiling. In the process of negotiating, I befriended a Tibetan girl named Drolma at the reception desk. We conversed back and forth entirely through her translation app, laughing the whole time.

Two hours later, right around 5:00 PM, I finally decided to shut my eyes for a quick nap.

Naturally, that was the exact moment Drolma came running excitedly up to our room, proudly dangling a new key card. It was the absolute cutest gesture, so we packed up and officially checked into our new, fully functioning room. I did my daily exercises, gave my mom a quick update on my phone, took a warm shower, and headed down for dinner.

Looking around the room during dinner, I felt that a certain group connection and synchronization was lacking among us. I approached our group leader and asked if it would be alright to gather everyone after the meal for a collective chant.

We all sat together and chanted Aum Namah Shivaya. It was incredibly beautiful. The energy in the room shifted so profoundly that once we finished, everyone seemed to want more, asking if we could do this more often. It was so moving to see their response. Afterward, they wanted to know more about my own sadhana journey, which naturally evolved into a late-night conversation among a few of us who stayed back. We sat together sharing deep stories about personal healing, spirituality, and kriyas. It was deeply inspiring, and before we broke up the circle, we all decided to meet again at 7:30 AM tomorrow morning to repeat it.

It is 1:00 AM now. I need to be up by 5:30 AM to finish my own personal practices before I guide the group through theirs. We also have a very long drive to Saga ahead of us tomorrow morning right after breakfast.

Good night for now.

Shambho.

Altitudes, Oximeters, and the Threshold of Kailash: Day 5

Good morning from Kyirong! Started the day with the morning meditation, which set the tone to the day!

We were supposed to pack up our things and leave the hotel for Dongma by 9:00 AM. However, we tried reaching out to our tour guide for the longest time only to find him completely unreachable. Finally, after a two-hour delay, a message came through informing us that we wouldn't be leaving until after lunch. Not only that, our destination had changed. We were heading to Saga instead of Dongma, as Saga comes first along the route.

Since we had to vacate our individual rooms to make way for an incoming group of yatris, all thirty-three of us gathered into one large room to wait out the hours. We used the unexpected time to sit together and meditate.

After grabbing a quick lunch, we finally piled into the vehicles and began the long drive toward Saga, arriving around 8:00 PM.

It is important to remember that Saga sits at a much higher altitude than Kyirong. We made a massive jump of about 2,000 meters in a single afternoon, and the thin air hit the group almost immediately. Many of the yatris began experiencing breathing difficulties, severe

headaches, and the classic, draining symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS).

To make matters worse, we had barely eaten anything all day. The sherpas and cooks had to set up their mobile kitchen to prepare our dinner, but that process was going to take at least two extra hours. By the time we checked in, I was beginning to feel a strange, fuzzy sensation creeping into my own head. I knew I couldn't wait for the kitchen to start cooking, so I ordered a quick bite directly from the hotel restaurant instead.

One of the yatris in our group is a doctor, so I spoke to him about the fuzziness. He suggested that I eat something warm immediately to stabilize my energy. The hotel rooms here come equipped with oxygen concentrators, so I got myself connected to an oxygen pipe for a bit to assist with the acclimatization. The doctor checked my SpO2 levels with a pulse oximeter, and thankfully, the numbers came out perfectly fine.

I was so physically exhausted by the end of it that I didn't even bother unpacking my bags or changing out of my heavy clothes. The rooms here are well-heated, and after a while, I was actually feeling quite hot.

The logistical plan for tomorrow is currently hanging in the air. We do not know yet if we are heading to Lake Manasarovar, staying back in Saga for another day, or driving directly to Darchen, the closest base to the mountain. The discussions among the organizers are ongoing, and we will only know the final decision tomorrow morning.

The underlying problem is that heavy snowfall has hit Manasarovar, Darchen, and the Kailash region. Because of the weather, many groups of yatris who traveled ahead of us have been unable to catch a darshan of the peak, meaning they haven't moved out of their accommodations. As a result, room availability up ahead is incredibly tight.

Ultimately, my oxygen levels are stable, and my only real intention tonight is to get a deep, restful night of sleep to allow my body to fully adapt to this elevation.

It has been a very intense, testing day. Yet, beneath the headaches, the delays, and the altitude, there is only Shambho throbbing steadily within me. The mere thought that I might have my very first glimpse of Kailash tomorrow is completely overwhelming.

Good night from 15000 ft.

Shambho.

Endless Drives and the possibility of My First Darshan: Day 6 (June 8)

Last night, I had the deepest, most restful sleep I've experienced in the past six days. I managed to get almost seven hours of solid rest, which felt completely unbelievable given the altitude. I woke up feeling fresh, re-energized, and mentally prepared for the grueling ten-to-eleven-hour drive ahead of us today.

My morning started with my roommate waking me up to say that a message had just been dropped in our group chat: we were instructed to have our bags packed and placed outside our rooms for pickup by 7:00 AM. I looked at the clock, and it was already 6:15 AM. I quickly freshened up and rushed over to the room where our morning satsang was scheduled, since I was the one facilitating it.

To be honest, I wasn't expecting many people to show up today, considering how utterly exhausted everyone was from yesterday's intense travel and the rough process of acclimatizing to Saga. But to my beautiful surprise, quite a few yatris turned up. Together, we offered Guru Pooja, practiced Isha Kriya, and chanted Shambho before heading down for a quick breakfast and we officially rolled out from the hotel at 9:00 AM and have been on the move ever since.

At one point during the long bus ride, as I was looking out at the endless horizon, I suddenly teared up. The sheer weight of what is happening hit me, and I was overcome just imagining what an absolute, immense blessing it is to be embarking on this yatra. My mind has become so single-pointedly focused on the destination that every mountain peak, every passing cloud, and everything I look at out the window seems to morph and look like Kailash to me. Needless to say, stunning views from here!

It is 1:15 PM China time right now as I type this from the back of the vehicle. Our group leader just informed us that in about three hours, we will finally get to have our very first glimpse of the real peak. The anticipation is building, and I am truly, deeply excited.

More than anything else, this pilgrimage has been an incredibly humbling experience. Even though we have been fortunate enough to stay at exceptionally nice hotels along the way so far, being confined to a vehicle on the road for hours at a stretch demands a different kind of mental integrity. You quickly learn to adjust to the stark realities of the terrain, especially when it comes to rough, impromptu bathroom breaks in the middle of nowhere. I am learning to adapt as I go, and honestly, the process has been absolutely fabulous so far.

Three hours to go until the mountain reveals itself.

The Shambho chant is running steady and my Guru in my heart!

Update 1:

We are drawing closer to our first darshan, and I feel an immense sense of distance from my life back home. Perhaps the actual physical mileage is part of it, but more than that, the person I am back home and the life I lead there are beginning to feel incredibly far away. I used to wonder why people call the journey to Kailash the pilgrimage of a lifetime. While I may not fully grasp it yet, I am finally beginning to taste it.

Vibhuti is smeared across my forehead, Shivaya Parameshwaraya is steady on my lips, and it already feels as though I am moving directly toward my Guru’s lap.

By 5:35 PM, the map showed forty-five minutes left until Lake Manasarovar would appear on my left and Kailash on my right. I couldn't help but smile at the timing. For the last decade, that specific window has held a very deep meaning for me. Sadhguru says he is available to us between 6:20 PM and 6:30 PM, a time known as the Sadhguru Presence. I silently wondered how he had planned this evening for me.

Update 2:

We didn’t make it to the viewpoint by 6:20 PM sharp, but the timing was perfect anyway. I sat in the moving bus and started the Brahmananda Swaroopa chant precisely at 6:20 PM, letting it run for seven minutes.

And then, boom. There it was.

A majestic, unmistakable Linga rose up from a series of surrounding mountains that stood no match to its height. It was a sight I will probably never forget as long as I live. It was incredibly far away, yet it completely dominated the landscape. All I could do was cry out Shambho as tears broke loose. It was the very first time my eyes had ever laid sight on Him.

The bus eventually halted for a short while so we could freshen up. We caught our first beautiful glimpse of Lake Manasarovar on our left, spent some quiet moments there, and then set off to begin the Manasarovar Parikrama by vehicle.

I honestly do not know how to describe the sight of that absolutely enormous, crystal-blue body of water. The lake constantly shifted colors every single time the evening sun struck the surface. Gorgeous white birds cut through the air, and the sun’s rays cast a spectacular, glittering glow across the water. In certain spots, heavy clouds hung so low it looked as if they were gently caressing the lake. I have never seen anything of this scale in my life.

Throughout the entire parikrama, the view of Kailash overlooked the lake like a watchful eye. We eventually stopped at a spot directly opposite the mountain and stepped out of the bus to touch the sacred water. I rolled up my pants, removed my shoes and socks, and bowed down to the earth and the water before slowly stepping in. I looked up at Kailash and prostrated. An overwhelming wave of gratitude washed over me, knowing that this mystical space I had been dreaming about for ten long years had finally become a living reality.

The water felt piercingly chill at first, but by and by, it felt like an extended part of my own body. I kept my eyes closed for so long that when I finally opened them, I felt a deep sense of movement, as if I were drifting sideways with the water. In my experience, it felt as though I were sitting right in the middle of the lake, embraced by a chilly wind that tasted incredibly sweet.

It felt like a profound five-element cleansing ritual. Earth, water, wind, ether, and the warm fire of the setting sun were all present. I couldn't have asked for anything more from life. I felt entirely embraced, held, and protected by the space. It certainly didn't feel new to me. Perhaps I have stood on those shores in a different lifetime, or perhaps I have just obsessed over it so intensely in this lifetime that it triggered a powerful sense of déjà vu. It felt like the exact manifestation of everything I had visualized for years.

We spent a couple of hours there, and it was already 9:30 PM by the time we drove away. As the darkness set in, the entire terrain transformed into a strange, foreign land. It felt like another planet entirely, carrying an eerie, potent kind of energy. The sudden realization that this space holds all kinds of beings, both imaginable and unimaginable, excited me, even if it freaked me out a little bit.

We finally reached Darchen after an hour and a half of driving, pulling up to our allocated hotel. What followed was a stark return to the physical trials of a yatra. We were left waiting in the cold lobby for at least an hour, hungry and exhausted after thirteen hours on the road.

Absolute chaos broke out at the reception desk. The Tibetan tour guides had promised us high-quality accommodations, but this hotel did not meet that promise at all. Our group leaders were furious and spent hours trying to arrange an alternative.

Honestly, all the yatris wanted was a bed to sleep in. By midnight, the leaders realized there was no other option but to stay put. Dinner was finally served, but we were all too exhausted to eat much.

To top it all off, my uncle fell quite unwell during the morning bus journey. My immediate priority was making sure he was properly bundled up, fed, and given his medication. We are incredibly lucky to have a few doctors traveling as part of our group, and they kept a close, reassuring watch on him throughout the night.

It is 2:00 AM now, and I am finally heading to bed. Tomorrow, we move even closer to the South Face of Kailash to a space called Ashtapad. I am deeply looking forward to it.

Good night.

Shambho.

The View from the Window and the Symphony of Ashtapad: Day 7

I had a deeply restful night after all those grueling hours of driving. I woke up early, completed my personal practices, and prepared for what was essentially a slow, chill day. Because we had arrived so late in the pitch darkness last night, I could barely see anything out of our room window when we checked in. It hadn't even occurred to me that the mountain would be visible from our hotel.

Yet, the moment I opened the curtains and looked outside, there He was.

It was absolutely unreal. I couldn't believe my luck. We quickly finished breakfast and stepped out for a walk. We had been instructed to buy walking poles for the Parikrama, and even for our trek to Ashtapad later today. As we walked out, I realized that every single street in this town has a direct view of the mountain. It is just mind-blowing.

We wandered around, soaking in the crisp Himalayan sun and exploring a few local shops. I had nothing to buy except the walking poles, though I did spot some beautiful Thangka art at one store, priced quite steeply, of course.

We headed back, had lunch, rested for a bit, and then gathered to head out to Ashtapad. Everyone rushed to the vehicles to secure their seats, leaving my roommate, Vrunda, and me standing outside. A few minutes later, someone kindly offered Vrunda a seat, leaving me by myself.

Then, the tour guide walked over, smiled, and told me I could sit right up front next to the driver. I was thrilled. I climbed in, greeted my driver, and settled into the front seat. After a moment, the driver looked at someone outside and said something in Chinese. I was hoping someone would translate, and luckily, the other guy knew English. Seeing my eager eyes, he laughed and said, "He is saying you are very nice!"

My driver's name was Lohsa. It was the sweetest thing, and we became fast friends without knowing a single word of each other’s language.

A short twenty-minute drive later, we arrived at Ashtapad to the most surreal view of Kailash I have ever seen in my life. There is not a single picture in existence that can capture what I saw there, not even the ones on my own phone. That view has been permanently burned into my eyes, my heart, and my very being. It is captured in my soul, for lack of a better word, and I know I will remember it even if I have to return in another lifetime.

For a long time, I have held a quiet dream to offer Guru Pooja to this majestic mountain. Right there, I was categorically called upon by our group leader to come to the front and perform it on behalf of everyone. The group sat behind me, and honestly, I have no idea how my voice carried so loudly. I usually have a very soft, feeble voice, and you typically have to stand right next to me to hear me speak. Yet, at an altitude of nearly 16,000 feet, I have zero idea where that strength came from. Forget singing loudly, you can barely even talk at that elevation without breathing heavily and struggling for oxygen.

Perhaps, to me, it was simply an offering to my Guru. Kailash is my Guru, and my Guru is Kailash; the two have become entirely synonymous. It felt deeply familiar because of that. The moment pierced straight into my flesh and bones.

Ironically, this stop wasn't even on our original itinerary. Given the unpredictable weather, local rules, and sudden border situations, you rarely get to have such a close, unhindered darshan of Him, even during the official Parikrama.

I led the group in chanting Aum Namah Shivaya, and then I just broke down completely. I really could not have asked for anything more from life. Every other desire suddenly felt so futile and small. My heart is overflowing, and my entire being is throbbing with the pulsation of this strange, mystical alchemy.

If you look closely from Ashtapad, there is a beautiful, distinct Nandi-shaped mountain standing right in front of Kailash. People do trek up there to go around it, a pilgrimage known as the Nandi Kora. Nestled between Nandi Parvat and Kailash are the Saptarishi Caves, where the sages are said to have meditated. One can even do a Parikrama around this entire inner space, called the Inner Kora, though I am unsure if it is even open to the public anymore.

Vrunda captured a few photographs of me later, which turned out stunning. I honestly didn't even feel like posing, but I wanted a few frames to share so that others can experience at least a tiny piece of this energy.

We spent a couple of hours frozen in that space before heading back to the hotel in time for dinner. Afterward, we held a group meeting to decide who would be embarking on the official Parikrama. The group leaders had to make some tough logistical decisions. A few yatris have international flights to catch on the fifteenth, and we had to be incredibly mindful of the timeline. We still have two to three days of the Parikrama, plus a night at Manasarovar, followed by the long drives back to Saga, Kyirong, and finally Kathmandu. The goal is to return by the fourteenth.

The main catch is the extreme weather fluctuations. Apparently, a group that went up just ahead of us attempted the trek, made it halfway to Dirapuk, and had to be evacuated because someone's oxygen levels plummeted to thirty percent. It is a very tricky, delicate situation.

Sitting there, I realized that for me personally, there was no intense internal longing to attempt the physical Parikrama. All of us will still go up together as a group to Yam Dwar, and from there, those who aren't trekking will return to Darchen to stay overnight while the rest continue the circuit. I am completely happy with that decision. What happened a few hours ago at Ashtapad was entirely fulfilling for me; it was more than enough. If I get to sit by my window and view this beautiful mountain whenever I wish, I will happily choose that.

So, I officially backed out of the trek. My uncle did the same, and I am glad to report he is feeling much better today. Vrunda is all set to embark on her journey, and I wish her all the strength in the world. The plan is for the trekkers to start the day after tomorrow, which means tomorrow will be a dedicated day of rest for everyone.

My friends are genuinely beginning to think I am losing my mind because every five minutes, my eyes automatically dart back to the peak. You know how when you are deeply drawn to someone, you are intensely aware of their presence and constantly want to steal glances? It is exactly like that.

Lately, everything is starting to look like the South Face of Kailash to me. Every cloud in the sky, every fold on my blanket, every crease on someone’s clothes, everything. When I close my eyes, Kailash is at the back of my eyelids. When I open them, He is there. I am even seeing dreams of the mountain now.

Anyway, it is time to try and sleep. Kailash is resting right above my head at this very moment. It feels like a loud, physical heartbeat shifting back and forth, gently touching me. I am entirely unsure if my mind will settle enough to let me sleep tonight, but I will try.

Shambho.

Snowfall, Chai, and an Unexpected Calling: Day 8 (June 10)

I woke up this morning and, as always, the very first thing I did was look out the window to peak at my beloved. I was greeted by a fresh, blinding coat of white painted all over Him.

Apparently, it had been snowing up on the mountain overnight, and because of the weather, the organizers were still weighing whether the full Parikrama would even be safe or possible. While those intense logistical discussions were happening on the side, it was pretty much a dedicated chill day for the rest of us.

Every now and then, I found myself instinctively peeking back out at the peak. My roommate caught me doing it and captured a photograph of me completely bundled up in my heavy winter layers, because the temperature outside had dropped significantly.

Later in the afternoon, we went downstairs for some warm tea. Just as we sat down, it started to rain. It was so incredibly cold that we watched the rain droplets freeze and turn into tiny pellets of ice right before hitting the ground. It was completely surreal. By then, the storm clouds had rolled in heavily, and the mountain was entirely covered from view.

If you remember, just last evening I had completely backed out of the trek plan. My reasons were simple: first, I didn't feel an intense, driving internal longing to do the physical circuit. Second, local authorities had strictly capped the number of permitted trekkers to just twenty-five people. Third, anyone over the age of sixty was completely restricted from going. And fourth, even if you met the age criteria, your medical vitals had to be absolutely pristine. My SpO2 levels have been consistently hovering between eighty-five and ninety percent, which is considered great for this altitude, yet I had still firmly decided to stay behind.

But Kailash clearly had other plans.

This evening, all of us were called into a group meeting to finalize the Parikrama schedule. The leaders stood up and announced that they had some unexpected news: the authorities had suddenly cleared three more slots for our group. The leader carefully scanned the room, picked out two yatris, and then looked straight at me and said, "And you!"

I honestly stood there not knowing what to say or do. I had spent the last twenty-four hours mentally relaxing, fully prepared to lounge in a comfortable hotel room. I tried to escape the physical climb, but it seems He simply does not want me to chill.

Since the mountain was calling, I agreed, instantly shifting my mind into preparation mode. Because I had officially backed out of the initial list, there was no pre-booked personal porter available for me, nor was there a horse. Apparently, horses weren't being allocated to anyone under the age of forty anyway, which was a bit of a bummer. This meant that one of our group's personal sherpas would have to help carry my main gear.

I rushed back up to my room and quickly began packing for the morning. I painstakingly went through my things, determined to keep my backpack as exceptionally light as humanly possible, just in case the sherpa faced issues and I had to shoulder the weight myself. Those Excel sheets might be useless against the weather, but my minimalist packing skills were about to be put to the test.

The weather forecast for tomorrow doesn't look very bright or forgiving, but at this point, we will just have to see what unfolds on the trail.

Wish me luck.

Shambho.

Stripped Bare in the Abode of Snow and Thunder: Day 9

This has been the most painful, grueling day of my life. It has taken an absolute toll on me physically, mentally, and emotionally, stripping me down in ways I didn't even believe were possible. I feel so thoroughly unburdened and broken open that I honestly feel a few kilograms lighter too.

Let us playback to a few hours ago.

The day began at 10:00 AM with a drive to Yam Dwar. From this point, on the far right-hand side, you catch the stunning southwest view of Kailash. Following the tradition, we did a few parikramas around the gate. Seven circumambulations here are considered energetically equal to one entire physical parikrama of the mountain. After completing them, you walk through the sacred door, ring the bell, and you do not look back.

Right around then, Rajesh, one of our group organizers, introduced me to a sherpa named Bhopal. I had no idea at the time that by the end of this yatra, I would be bowing down to this beautiful man in deep reverence. Rajesh ji looked at me and said that we would probably be the ones walking at the very back of the line, so we had to take care of each other.

With that, I started my walk through the valley. The landscape out there is stark. There is hardly anything around you except vast plains and a little stream running parallel to the mountains. When I first stepped out, I was entirely by myself. I knew Rajesh ji and Bhopal would soon catch up from behind, but for a while, it was just me. I watched the yatris who had arranged for horses swiftly ride past me, but I strictly maintained my own slow, steady pace.

It was almost noon by the time we truly got moving on foot. I knew there was a tea house about three kilometers ahead, and I didn't want to stop. I had built up a good momentum and was determined to keep it going. I kept walking and walking, expecting the shelter to appear, but there was absolutely nothing in sight. All I could see were misty mountains, thick fog, and rain that was slowly freezing into pellets of ice. My raincoat wasn't on me because a different sherpa was carrying it way behind us, but I decided to push forward anyway.

I kept chanting steadily throughout the walk. The trail was a mix of slight inclines and downhills. The terrain itself wasn't terribly difficult, honestly; the real challenge was the weather. The thin air was catching up to me, and I was becoming increasingly breathless and nauseous. I knew my oxygen levels were dipping, and I was desperately hoping to reach the next tea house so I could get my cylinder out.

To distract my mind from the discomfort, I focused entirely on the gorgeous, snow-capped mountains on my left and the majestic, grey-and-white face of Kailash standing so close to me. I buried the chant Shambho under my breath, timing it with every single step I took.

The wind began to pick up aggressively, and Bhopal remained right by my side the entire time. He was incredibly sweet, even helping me fasten my hoodie tight and securely tying my scarf around my neck to shield me from the cold.

Even though the walk was physically exhausting due to the weather, a strange shift occurred in my perception. Every stone I passed felt like an extension of Shambho. Every stranger walking by looked like Him. You truly never know what form He will take to carry you through. Every single time I felt like giving up, a random passerby would look at me and smile with the deepest affection. Someone would come up from behind, mutter a few words in a language I couldn't understand, and walk on. Other times, a flock of beautiful white birds would fly directly overhead, or I would spot a mountain hare, a sparrow, or a crow, and I would use them to anchor my attention away from the pain.

At one point, the snowfall intensified, and a sudden crack of thunder rolled through the valley. Hearing thunder echo during a heavy snowfall, with a mystical, mysterious mountain looming on one side and you standing exposed in the middle of it, is an experience on a completely different level. It felt like the heavy thud of His feet, His cosmic dance, His Tandav, a roaring reminder that this is His absolute abode. It was terrifying, fascinating, and breathtaking all at once.

After trekking roughly five kilometers, we finally reached the next tea house. I desperately needed to refill my flask with warm water and access some oxygen. Outside, the snow was becoming relentless. The tea house was packed to the brim, but I managed to find a seat in a corner already occupied by a group of Chinese travelers. I hit it off well with a man named Wong, who was incredibly kind and showed me exactly how to operate the oxygen cylinder. We had a nice little conversation, and we bid each other goodbye because we still had another five kilometers to cover to reach Dirapuk.

Despite the whiteout, Rajesh ji, Bhopal, and I decided to forge ahead. As we walked back out, the snowflakes became larger, softer, and incredibly beautiful. I have never been caught in a snowfall like that in my entire life. But the elements were harsh. The wind was cutting sharp, I was getting drenched, my shoes were soaking in moisture, my inner thermals were damp with sweat, and my woolen hoodie was getting completely waterlogged. Even trying to take a single picture of the landscape became an agonizing task. For a simple thirty-second photo, I had to pull off my gloves, fish out my phone, snap the shot, and pack it away again. It felt like an immense amount of work, so I eventually stopped.

I decided to stop looking up or trying to see what lay ahead, especially since the visibility was near zero anyway. I just dropped my head and continued the Shambho chant. Internally, I was wrestling with anger, sadness, and a million questions. I kept demanding to know what it was He was trying to make me understand. Why was I the only girl in our group walking all the way up on foot? Why did He give me such a specific, undeniable invitation to do this trek when I had already received that stunning, fulfilling darshan at Ashtapad, especially now that the snow was blocking Him from my view entirely?

Even though I was silently scolding Him in my head, I knew exactly what was happening. This is a pilgrimage. It is explicitly designed to break you, and that is the entire point. But my stubborn mind kept asking why the others weren't being brought out here to be broken alongside me.

To keep myself grounded, I started mentally sending out waves of gratitude to everyone and everything. I thanked my walking poles, the sturdy shoes I had borrowed from a dear friend, Bhopal, Rajesh ji, my uncles, my roommate Vrunda, and my family back home who have been constantly praying for our well-being. I sent gratitude to every being known and unknown to me.

Finally, after trekking continuously for seven hours, we spotted a sign that read: 650m to Dirapuk. You cannot imagine the sheer relief that washed over me. Yet, that final 650 meters felt like a lifetime. The snowfall had peaked, and even though the guesthouse where the early yatris were resting looked close, the distance felt agonizingly stretched, and each step felt like lead.

I dragged my body through the doors, entered the lobby, and just collapsed onto a seat. My lungs felt like they were actively collapsing, so I took a few quick puffs of my inhaler, which immediately stabilized my breathing. I was then guided to join the rest of the group in their rooms because it was properly heated.

The moment I walked in and saw them, I just burst into tears. After walking in total isolation for hours, simply seeing familiar, kind faces felt like absolute heaven. They were incredibly warm, helping me thaw out as I stripped off all my wet layers and hooked myself up to some oxygen.

They brought me warm chai and biscuits, but my only real concern was whether the clouds would clear enough for me to see the North Face of Kailash.

While we waited, the girls in the room decided to sit together, chant for a while, and meditate. We were waiting for a vehicle to transport four of us back down to the hotel, while the rest of the group was scheduled to halt overnight at Dirapuk. The original plan was for them to continue the full Parikrama and meet us days later, but given the extreme weather emergency, they were ordered to turn back and return the very next morning. Everything up there was completely buried in white.

By 9:00 PM, I was dying to get back to the safety of my room. We finally managed to leave at 9:30 PM, and I realized ours was the very last vehicle permitted to descend from Dirapuk that evening. It was chilling to look out the window and see the exact trails we had spent hours walking up now completely erased under a thick, heavy blanket of fresh snow. It was terrifying.

We finally rolled into the hotel around 10:30 PM. My uncle and friends were waiting to welcome us back, ensuring we had warm food ready. I am so physically and mentally spent right now that I can't even think straight. I have absolutely no idea what tomorrow's itinerary looks like, but we will face it when it comes.

What a day.

Shambho.