How it all began?
The idea of trekking Sandakphu had been sitting quietly in the background of my life for almost a year. It wasn’t loud or pressing, just something that made my heart flutter every time I thought about it. I first heard about it at the end of my last trek, from Ankit. And ever since, it lingered. The prep had started months ago with strength training, early morning runs, and the usual gym hustle. Tickets were booked, trek slots confirmed, bags slowly getting filled up; but somehow, it still hadn’t sunk in.
And then one chilly morning in Darjeeling, it did.
There was something strangely poetic about how it all came together. Darjeeling, with its lazy charm, misty lanes, the overdose of chai, and clouds that felt like they were resting on your shoulders. It wrapped me in this bubble of nostalgia even before the climb had begun. That day before the trek was full of jittery energy. Raj and I were balancing between bursts of excitement and a quiet nervousness. Our bags were overstuffed, and our hearts were probably underprepared. We ran around picking up last-minute things like moisturiser, chapsticks, woollen socks, and another fleece layer (pretending like those would be enough to hold everything we were feeling).
And somewhere under all of that excitement was a tiny voice carrying the fear from my last trek. That trauma still lingered. More than anything, I was manifesting a happy, healthy trek this time. One where my body didn’t give up on me.
The drive to Sepi felt like the first real shift. As the car wound its way up the hills, we met a few fellow trekkers. Strangers for now. Conversations started easy, then drifted into silence. Phones slipped out of network, and just like that, the outside world began to fade.
Sepi felt like a soft landing. The wooden tea house, the warmth of the fire, the quiet buzz of people getting ready. It all felt oddly familiar, like a place you haven’t been to before but somehow already know. We had our health checks and the briefings and exchanged quick intros. And then came the challenge of falling asleep while butterflies were cartwheeling in my stomach.
The next morning, I stepped out and paused. The sky was glowing. That kind of sunrise that makes you stop mid-sentence and just watch. I clutched my tea, let the warmth settle into my fingers, and took a moment. This wasn’t a holiday. This was something I’d been slowly moving toward.
Quietly, steadily. And now, it was here.
Also, I have to say! One of the most unexpected highlights so far was the stunning homes scattered across the hills. Bright, colourful, and full of character. Every single one felt like a little postcard. I found myself quietly collecting them in my mind, like tiny bookmarks from a place I already didn’t want to leave.
So far has just been the beginning. The real journey started when our boots hit the trail, when the forest closed in around us, and when strangers slowly started feeling like something more. What came next was a mix of misty mornings, aching legs, shared silences, and the kind of magic only the mountains know how to offer. And trust me, you will want to hear all of it.
The next part? Coming soon.