Page 12 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

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WALKING ON GREAT HIMALAYAN TRAIL

The greatest joy in my life has been travelling—especially trekking alone to unfamiliar places,
listening to people, observing landscapes, and later writing about what I have seen and heard.
Over the years, I have been fortunate to travel widely, both within Nepal and abroad. Travel has
given me perspective; writing about travel has given me meaning.

I enjoy crafting travelogues—capturing conversations, gestures, mountain light, and the quiet
strength of ordinary lives. I have written some pieces, but far fewer than I once imagined. The
need to work—to earn a living, to support family, to remain professionally engaged—always came
first. Reports, academic articles, and institutional documents largely consumed my writing energy.
By the time I finished writing for work, little creative space remained for writing from the heart.

For a long time, I was drawn to the idea of walking the Great Himalayan Trail—a 1,500-kilometre
route stretching across Nepal’s high-altitude Himalayan region, crossing high passes and moving
through landscapes of immense cultural and ecological diversity. The trail is not merely a physical
route; it is a living archive of languages, livelihoods, faith, and resilience.

I imagined walking slowly along that vast arc of mountains—carrying a camera, speaking with
villagers about their daily struggles and aspirations, listening to their reflections on life, recording
their words, and later shaping them into essays accompanied by photographs. This kind of travel—
immersive, reflective, unhurried—had been my quiet dream since youth.

When I was growing up in Pokhara, I watched foreign trekkers pass through our town on their way
to the mountains. What I envied was not simply their economic comfort but their freedom: the
ability to roam without immediate obligation, to stay longer in a place, to move at their own pace.
In some subtle way, I was drawn to a near-ascetic life—walking lightly, owning little, living with
minimal needs.

Yet life required something else of me.

The necessity of earning a livelihood shaped my choices. Professional commitments demanded
time, energy, and continuity. I often told myself that after completing certain responsibilities—
after securing work, after saving enough—I would finally do what I truly wanted. But new
obligations kept emerging. Responsibilities multiplied rather than diminished. Practical life steadily
displaced contemplative life.

Now, at sixty-two, I find myself at a stage when society expects a more settled, comfortable
rhythm. The Great Himalayan Trail still calls to me, though more softly than before. For a time, I
looked for like-minded companions who might join me. Such a journey would require several
uninterrupted months—perhaps six or more. I found no one who could spare that stretch of time,
and I too hesitated to detach completely from ongoing commitments.

Gradually, I have begun to loosen my attachment to the idea. High altitude, cold winds, and long
days of walking demand physical endurance. I am no longer certain that my body would respond