In medicine, we are trained to control outcomes. We intervene. We stabilize. We measure life in vital signs. But in the thin air of the Himalayas, this illusion of control evaporates. Life is measured differently there. It is counted in steps taken. In breaths rationed. It depends on the permission granted by the mountains themselves.

Our group of five consisted of Dr. Dinesh, Rajesh, Prashanth, Vijay, and myself. We set out for Everest Base Camp (EBC) in April 2025. But in truth, we were a group of six. Guru, our friend, philosopher and photographer, had passed away just months prior. His absence was a heavy silence walking beside us. It reminded us of the fragility of the life we work so hard to preserve.

Humility in the Himalayas

Years ago, Guru offered me a piece of advice that defined this journey for me. We had trekked together to Gomukh in 2022. He had told me, “Never think you are going to ‘scale’ or ‘conquer’ the Himalayas. That is not possible unless the mountains allow you to do so.” He was adamant. “You must kneel before them. Pray that they accept you.”

We took this to heart. Before leaving Kathmandu for Lukla, we visited the Pashupatinath temple to seek blessings. Later, standing at the trailhead in Lukla, looking up at the Himalayan peaks, I remembered his words again. I knelt. Physically and mentally, I offered a prayer for permission. This was not intended to be a conquest. It was a request for safe passage.

Physiology and Perseverance

As we ascended, our group interactions became a study in human physiology and temperament. Dr. Dinesh paced his steps to his feeling of breath rate and heart rate. He was the epitome of endurance. Rajesh had a high cardiovascular reserve and used to surge ahead and reach our destination before anyone else. Prashanth provided the psychological buffer. He used self-deprecating humour to keep our morale oxygenated even when the air got thin. Vijay was full of humility, just absorbing things around him.

For me, the ascent brought an unexpected return to an old habit. I had stopped drinking coffee completely after my Gangotri-Gomukh trek. Yet, just before Namche on the way up, I felt a sudden pull. The cold bit hard. The ascent was getting steeper. I ordered a cup of black coffee. The warmth, the caffeine, and the ritual of the coffee felt like a necessary concession to the chill. There, at 4,300 meters, I restarted my relationship with coffee.

The Convergence of Time

The trek did not end just at a physical destination. It ended in a rare alignment of times.

As we reached the vicinity of Base Camp, we celebrated Vijay’s 50th birthday. This is a significant milestone in the Gregorian calendar. By a stroke of cosmic coincidence, that same day marked my own birthday according to the Indian Panchanga (lunar) calendar.

There, at the foot of the world’s highest peak, two systems of time converged. Solar and lunar. Western and Vedic. We cut a cake at the “World’s Highest Bakery.” We celebrated life in two different dimensions simultaneously. It felt like an auspicious sign. We were exactly where we were meant to be.

The Shadow in the Snow

The most profound moment of the journey arrived near the Khumbu Glacier, just before reaching EBC. We pushed through the final, grueling part of the trek. A mountain dog appeared. It started walking with us.

In the barren beauty of that region, logic often gives way to intuition. The dog did not behave like a stray. It was a companion. It walked with us. It was calm and present. It even allowed me to pet it with my gloved hands. A quiet understanding passed through the group. Rajesh glanced at me, and we shared a knowing look. This was Guru. He would have been the one photographing this moment. In his own way, he was there to shepherd us through the final mile. It was a moment that defied medical explanation. It made perfect spiritual sense.

A Chant at -12°C

Reaching Everest Base Camp is often described in terms of altitude. It is at 5,364 meters. The subjective experience is far more intense. The air was thin. My pulse oximeter read a precarious 74% SpO2. Back home in Udupi, that number gets you a bed in the ICU. Here? I wasn’t in the ICU. I was just on ICE. The temperature was -12°C.

Amidst the “huff and puff” and physical exhaustion, I had one promise to keep to myself. I had learned the chanting of Soundarya Lahari, a hymn dedicated to Devi, the Mother Goddess, from my sister Suma. I had told my wife Shashi that it was my sankalpa (resolution) to chant 21 specific shlokas from it when I was at the base camp. My breathing was heavy. The wind bit at my face. Snow flakes from the blizzard were sticking to my face. I recited the verses. Words came out thick. It was a test of lung capacity, yes. But more so, it was a test of will. To chant ancient Sanskrit verses at the base of Everest felt like bridging a gap. It connected the physical grandeur of nature with the internal grandeur of the soul.

Departure and Closure

Our return journey was a transition from the physical challenge back to the spiritual. After the helicopter trip to Lukla and return to Kathmandu, we went straight back to Pashupatinath, this time for thanksgiving. We had come a full circle.

Since our helicopter plan saved us a few days, we also went to Jomsom via Pokhara to visit the Muktinath temple. We even spent quiet moments “hunting” for Shaligram shilas in the Gandaki river. Standing there offered necessary decompression. It was a space to offer gratitude for the safety of our journey and the memory of the friend who walked it with us in spirit.

I returned to the hospital with dust on my boots. I carried a renewed understanding. Medicine prolongs life. Friendship, memory, and meaning sustain it.