The Man Who Was All Heart: Tribute to a Friend

Life has a strange, almost cruel, way of guiding our memories. I was catapulted back into the heart of my past when Facebook, with its digital nonchalance, threw up Bassy’s image, suggesting we connect. I stopped everything and just stared. There was his familiar, radiant smile, the intricate landscape of his tattoos clearly visible on his forearms, and that unmistakable, reckless sparkle in his eyes—the kind he always carried. In an instant, I was back in the past.

Bassy and his sunshine smile

I vividly remember that first meeting. Sanju and I had just started dating, and he was eager for me to be vetted by his inner circle. This was 2013. Prashant, Sid, and Bassy were the trinity of his closest friends. The moment Bassy walked in, I was struck. It wasn't just his open, warm smile, but the pure, unedited essence of him—a no-holds-barred honesty that poured out in his banter. Here was a man who was all heart, all the time. His very first words to me were a classic Bassy move: "Sanjay, I was actually supposed to meet Su before you. But we never got there.” That set the tone for everything. Over the next few months, we were woven into each other's lives—at Sanju's or my place, loud parties, and quiet dinners.

One memory glows brighter than the rest. When Sanju and I moved into our new, empty shell of a home in HSR Layout, it was Bassy who arrived like a force of nature. "What’s this, Su!" he exclaimed, genuinely exasperated. "You have so many amazing pieces of art and you haven’t done a thing with them!" He didn't just offer to help; he commanded an operation, dragging two other friends with him. He moved through the chaos with purpose, orchestrating the unpacking, finding the perfect spot for my beloved wall carpet, and grounding our new beginning by gifting us our first potted plants. He didn't just help us move in; he imbued the house with warmth and soul.

He was the patron saint of every gathering. Bassy was always the first to arrive, his booming laugh echoing down the hall, and the last to leave. He wasn't just a guest; he was the co-host, ready to cook, clean, or charm. There was seemingly nothing Bassy couldn't do, and he did it all with that signature, boisterous energy. If he was present, there was no silence, no dull moment; only a stream of stories and anecdotes. He truly loved to nurture his friends through food. I remember one party where the food plans had utterly imploded; Bassy, without a moment of drama, transformed into our angel, conjuring up a feast for the entire crowd seemingly out of thin air.

Bassy held a singular, precious place in my heart. Whenever Sanju and he would clash—which they often did, being equally passionate—I would always take Bassy's side. "You can't be angry at Bassy," I’d tell Sanju. "He never means any of it seriously." And it was true. He would promptly forget the fight, a smile on his face, calling again as if nothing had happened. You simply could not hold a grudge against him for long. His loyalty was a force field.

When we made the big move to Hyderabad, who else but Bassy came along for the drive with Sanju and Kadey, our pet? He was a constant, a fixture in our narrative. We shared beautiful, sprawling trips together—he drove down to Kolar to meet my parents, took my aunt around to see the Ganesha idols all around the town during the festival (she has the pic they had taken framed), and our Hampi group trip was one long, glorious cabaret, thanks to his non-stop singing and banter.  

He extended his huge capacity for love to his furry friends, adopting Penny and then Miffy, right after we got our dog. He adored his pets, he loved his friends fiercely, and his family—whose faces were permanently etched into his skin—was his anchor. He lived loud, he loved to party, and he chased life with an urgency few possess.

The absolute best part of Bassy was his singing. When he sang, it wasn't just a performance; it was a revelation. He sang with life, with an unmistakable soulfulness that cut through the noise. No party was complete until he burst into song, belting out his favourite regulars. He was boundless, always ready for the next adventure, be it cycling, running, or a spontaneous road trip.

The more I muse, more memories tumble out. We stayed at his home in Siliguri on our trip to Darjeeling, and spent time with his parents. Birthday celebrations of special friends at his place, the sessions of face painting, and so on. Each of these lead to a lump in the throat too. 

I stayed connected to him until the end of my relationship with Sanju. After that, the thread frayed. His circle shifted, and with Sanju out of the picture, coupled with my own inertia, I drifted away. I invited him to a couple of gatherings after returning to Bangalore, but he never came. I knew then that his world had grown complicated, perhaps dark, and the loud whispers about the weed saddened me. Words of advice seemed to fall on deaf ears. His abode slowly turned into a den of dope heads.

We exchanged messages, the usual "we must catch up," but the only time we finally did was at a friend's party. He had just recovered from surgery and was back in Bangalore. “I’ve found a new job, Su,” he said, giving me a hug that felt both warm and desperately fragile. He promised he was cleaning up his act. We promised to meet properly. It never happened.

Four years ago, a week before his birthday, Bassy bid adieu to his life, leaving a gaping hole in the lives of his family and friends. Even after all this time, the memory of him stays as vibrant and fresh as flowers in spring. His laughter still rings in my ears, and his memory brings that disarming smile to my face, even as it pulls at a raw ache in my heart.

I didn't know that would be our last hug. Bassy has been so much in my thoughts and my dreams ever since. I see that unbelievably disarming smile, and I know he must be smiling wherever he is. It was not his time to go. The only way I can honour him now is by celebrating that fierce, infectious zest for life he shared so freely.

See you, Bassy. Loads of love to the most life-loving person I have ever known.

Kailas Yatra: Your True Guide to Moksha!

 Your Concisely Chaotic Guide 

So, you want to do the Kailash Yatra. Excellent choice! My inbox has been flooded with questions—Which package? How much? Will I eat dirt?—and I realized I needed to condense this wisdom.

Brace yourselves. This is the Sharp, No-Nonsense, Slightly-Humorous-Because-We’ll-Need-It guide to keeping your sanity (and your knees) intact.

The Tour Operator Dilemma:

There are scores of operators out there, all offering a package that looks suspiciously similar. (Yes, even Jaggi Vasudev offers one, complete with extra-cost, mumbo-jumbo meditations. You decide if spiritual enlightenment is worth the premium.)

Here's the secret: most operators book the same hotels, hire the same cooking teams, and probably even buy their identical numbered duffel bags from the same shady warehouse. Honestly, there's little to choose one over the other based on logistics alone.

 * The Government Route: The cheapest and arguably best-organized is the Government of India Yatra. The catch? It’s 22 days of serious walking, and your participation is determined by a computerized lucky dip. You literally need to win the lottery to walk 22 days. Choose wisely.

 * Private Operators: Based on observation, look into Jai Manas Holidays (our crew), Namaste Nepal, Max Holidays, and Nature Wings. Their rates are typically within a few thousand of each other—it's less about the price and more about finding a group you might not secretly resent by Day 3.

Jaimanas Holidays offers you packages from Kailash Vision Treks (based in Nepal) and it has perfect 5 rating on google reviews!

Cost and Inclusions: The Wallet Shock

We paid ₹1,35,000 INR and $1,400 USD. Was it steep? Yes. Was it because we were a tiny, precious group of 14, less than half the standard 30? Also yes.

This covered our journey from Lucknow and back. Think of it as a starter pack for sufi-walking.

What the money includes:

 * Logistics from Lucknow to Lucknow (Innova, flights, and the necessary helicopter drama from Simikot to Hilsa).

 * Hotel stays in Nepalgunj, Taklakot, and Darchen.

 * Basic stays (read: shared everything) at Mansarovar and Parikrama halts. Don't expect a spa.

 * All meals from Nepalgunj and back. (Yes, you will survive the food. Strictly veg. Usually tasty, but short on variety). 

 * Visa charges (They call it a travel permit, because China is keeping us on a very short, sacred leash).

What the money does NOT include (aka the hidden costs):

 * Getting yourself to Lucknow. (That’s your first hurdle.)

 * Weather Calamity Fund: Extra hotel stays if the weather decides you need a few bonus vacation days.

 * Pony or Porter: Consider this a necessary investment. Porter-cum-pony is about $600. A porter alone is $180–$200. Seriously, read the next section before you get macho.

 * Emergency Exit Vehicle: $70/person. For when you realize the sacred walk is also very long.

 * Carry Chinese Yuans for your local requirements as your cards may not work. Also, exchange at even Taklakot works. Do not buy yuans in Nepal as you’ll not get a good exchange rate. 

The Non-Visa Visa

China doesn't give you a fancy stamp. You get a Group Travel Permit—a literal hall pass only for the Yatra route. You cannot wander off to buy souvenirs in another province. Or imagine that you can also club a quick detour to the Potala Palace, Lhasa. The entire group on that permit must enter and exit together. Think of it as a very intense, high-altitude field trip where no one can ditch class.

Packing: This is a Pilgrimage, Not a Photoshoot

Rule 1: Leave your excess baggage (and your drama) at home.

This is not a fashion trip. Wear your clothes multiple times. Your goal is to limit your entire kit to 15 kg. Why?

 * You ditch your main luggage in Nepalgunj and only carry the operator's numbered duffels. And their backpacks. 

 * Those small flights will weigh your bags. You pay for extra kilos. Don't be that person holding up the plane for a fifth pair of shoes.

The Layers of Survival (High-Altitude Chic)

High altitude means cold weather and thin air. Layers are your salvation. Two thin sweaters beat one thick jacket every single time. I wore four layers up top and two below.

Upper Body Layers:

 * The Four Layers: Base thermals - Long-sleeve T-shirts - Long-sleeve sweaters - Outer Jacket. 

 * Pro Tip: Wrap a stole or a muffler around your neck unless you enjoy the unique agony of high-altitude spondylitis (stiff neck).

Lower Body Layers:

 * The Two Layers: Base thermals - Trousers.

 * Pro Tip: Leave the denim at home. They retain cold and make you look like you're trying too hard. Use other trousers that retain warmth.

Footwear:

 * Socks: Either use two thin pairs or go for woollen socks (I preferred cotton due to allergy to wool directly on skin).

 * Shoes: Needs a good grip! If you're doing the full Parikrama, get snow-friendly, non-insulating sport shoes (Decathlon/Columbia). You want light support, not sweaty feet.

  * If you feel you have any discomfort in your knees while climbing, buy a pair of knee sleeves and wear them while walking. 

Essentials Checklist (aka The "Don't Forget"):

 * Sunglasses: Non-negotiable. Sun + Snow = Instant Blindness.

 * Cap: Must cover the ears (or a jacket hoodie). 

 * Raincoat: Because mountains love sudden, dramatic showers.

 * Snow Walking Stick: Buy one on the way before the Parikrama — it’s an altitude-induced miracle worker.

The Toiletry Kit (You will be dry and chapped):

 * Sunscreen: Your #1 cosmetic. Slather it on. Seriously.

 * Lip Balm: Unless you enjoy the rustic look of bleeding, chapped lips.

 * Moisturizer: For the constant dryness.

 * Wet Wipes: Your best friend in crowded, shared facilities.

Warning: Avoid washing hair daily. High altitude + wet hair = dizziness.

Edibles (The Guilt-Free Calorie Zone):

 * Carry chocolates and snacks for the Parikrama. (I carried small protein bars). 

 * Buy local for other times.

 * Bonus Karma Tip: Share what you carry with those doing the tougher kora (full circuit). You’ll earn goodwill, and your bag will get lighter. Win-win.

Breathing and Acclimatisation (It's Not a Sprint)

You are now entering the realm of thin air.

 * Practice: Deep, slow, long breathing. Do it now. Do it later. Keep doing it.

 * If you’re a smoker, remember to leave your cigarettes back home until you’re back from the rigours of mountain climbing. Else, the cigarette might just smoke you up.

 * Diamox: This pill usually helps oxygen absorption. HOWEVER, some people (like me!) react badly. Do not take it without knowing the side effects. If you feel funky, stop immediately. Do not self-diagnose your brain and your body.

 * Walk, Don't Run: Practice gentle walking at Taklakot. Do NOT run. This is not the time for an impromptu jog.

 * Discomfort: If anything feels off during the Parikrama, TALK TO YOUR GUIDE. They are there for a reason. Do not ignore symptoms or, worse, become your own mountain doctor.

Behaviour: Don't Be That Indian Tourist

This should be obvious, but after years of travel, I'm required to state it:

 * Be Nice: The guide and catering team are literally working to keep you alive and nourished. Tip them if you can afford to. Smile.

 * Be Quiet: Be respectful. Not everyone is there to hear your phone call or your life story.

 * Be Clean: Do not throw trash everywhere. Leave every place cleaner than you found it. We are representing our country. Let's make it look less like the inside of a municipal dumpster.

 * Make Friends: You might need them to drag you up a hill. Having each other’s backs is more important than having a perfectly packed bag.

Porter and Pony: The Humility Tax

Listen carefully: If you are older, less fit, or have any health concerns, HIRE A PONY or A PORTER.

Our group suffered because some people struggled, thinking they could manage without help. This isn't a test of willpower; it’s a high-altitude endurance event.

A pony lets you ride when you need to rest. A porter frees you from carrying the operator’s suspiciously heavy duffel bag. Humble yourself. Hire the help. You're there to complete the Yatra, not to star in a low-budget mountain survival drama.

Camera Gear

If you have a decent phone, that's often enough. If you’re a hobbyist, choose a lighter camera (like a mirrorless). Weight is everything. Every extra gram is a personal insult to your knees on Day 3.

Final Wisdom

The Kailash-Mansarovar trek is surprisingly easy on the joints (comparatively). But grab some knee sleeves just in case.

I think I’ve covered everything. If you have any further queries, reach out. I'll answer readily.

Aum Namah Shivay! (And good luck with the altitude.)

Digital Echoes

Sipping his morning tea, he scrolled through his phone, a routine pilgrimage to the social media feed. His eye caught the calendar notifications, little blue flags marking the day's special dates. "Send wishes; it's..." The prompt jarred him. ‘Too early in the day to wish any’, and he mentally pushed the task away, but the same reminders echoed across his social platforms: three birthdays. One name, however, brought a sharp, cold recognition: Vik. Vik had been gone for a while now.

The digital reminder was a small, cruel trigger. It drew a long, sorrowful line connecting him to the many others who had departed over the past few years—friends, colleagues, and beloved family members. Some had lived full spans, passing from natural causes. Others were tragically young, swept away by accidents, difficult lifestyle choices, or the merciless wave of the pandemic.

He realized then that their names still populated his contact lists; their timelines remained, ghostly active, in his feeds. "Perhaps it's time to sever these digital ties," he quietly mused. With a sigh, he navigated to his friends list, a desire for closure finally nudging him toward the profiles of the departed—more than a dozen faces now fixed in time.

He started clicking, intending to unlink, to archive the past.

But he couldn't do it.

With each profile he visited, a rush of bittersweet memories overwhelmed the practical need for deletion. There were pictures of shared laughter, nostalgic check-ins from forgotten trips, and inside jokes immortalized in comment threads. This was, he realized with a sudden, aching clarity, the last tangible connection he had left to these cherished people. He had loved their company, valued their friendship, and held onto every shared moment.

A new, warm thought settled over the cold intention of deletion. "Perhaps this isn't a flaw in the system, but a gentle grace," he thought, the early light warming his hands around the mug. "Maybe this is the universe, utilizing the very tools of technology, to gift me a simple, necessary task: to remember them on their days of celebration, and to hold their light a little longer."

The contact lists and friendships remained untouched. He closed his phone, a feeling of deep-seated peace and enduring love replacing the earlier discomfort. He couldn’t  send a message to the departed, but he could greet the day in his own way. In the quiet hope that they too acknowledged that they were fondly remembered. 

Hurdles, Heroes, and Happy Tidings: The Kailash Yatra

Time to head back!

Chaos and the Calm

After I reached Deraphuk and first sighted the glorious North Face of Mount Kailash, I called Rambabu to thank him for making this happen. A long-cherished dream of seeing Kailash—even if one cannot scale it—had finally come true. When I asked where they were, their response made me realize they were at least 4–6 km away from the resting place. My immediate thought was: are they truly coming? This meant they were walking unbelievably slowly, and the ladies with him had clearly reached a point of utter, bone-crushing exhaustion. The ever-optimistic man that he is, Rambabu simply told me not to worry, assuring me they would soon make it. He seemed to think 'soon' was a relative term up in the Himalayas.

(Clockwise) Raju couple, Srihari, & Sanjay 

As darkness slowly began to set in, my panic started to rise. Just after the sun had firmly disappeared, the Raju couple arrived, looking like they'd aged a decade on the trail. With them Vinoda’s aunt too arrived. They were the oldest among us. The man, though, is still impressively active and, when not tending to his business, is busy tending to his muscles and setting records at the gym! His wife, bless her, wasn't quite a gym warrior, but she had walked diligently for months to prepare for the arduous trek. She was even egged on by her grown-up children, who apparently believed their mother was secretly an Olympian. Olympian though she was - in different  ways! She was a great sport with a sparkling sense of humor and was her forgetful husband's complete support system.

The Raju couple caused a minor pandemonium when, in a moment of extreme, altitude-fueled fatigue, they managed to get into a spectacular fight with the guide team! It was a classic case of frayed nerves meeting cultural confusion. 

Thankfully, the rest of us were around to resolve the shouting match before everyone's temper flared and caused property damage like it happens in all Telugu (or, for that matter, all Indian) potboilers. A bit of refreshment helped allay the couple’s frayed nerves; we all agreed that the friction was, without a doubt, the result of their sheer exhaustion. Anyone who hasn't fought with their spouse over a map while starving hasn't truly traveled. I also felt - by the looks the couple gave me - that they were secretly disappointed that the fight didn’t go further! 

Venkat. My room partner and now a friend 

The Ordeal in the Dark

We began frantically making calls to Rambabu to find out where they were. It had become pitch dark. After ascertaining their location over the call, even though I could barely see a thing, I set out to wave my mobile torch in the general direction of our camp. After several calls, and with more people joining the search, a completely exhausted Vinoda and Rambabu finally stumbled into the camp.

Poor Vinoda was so spent she was practically catatonic, while Rambabu was his stoic self. She was not even in a position to speak. We rushed to tend to her, all of us flying into action: someone massaged her legs to help revive sensation, another brought her scalding hot tea, and everyone hovered with an air of concerned panic. She was also feeling nauseous and had a severe headache. We quickly gave her tablets and electrolytes, knowing this was likely the body's severe protest against dehydration and altitude.

Of Quiet Faith

Along the way, Vinoda’s nausea and exhaustion had reappeared. A little over halfway, she had simply sat down, stating she was done. Finished. Game over. She was out of breath and would stay put. Rambabu knew they had to keep moving. He realized she would have to walk further to retreat to Darchen than to reach Deraphuk, so turning back wasn't the easy answer. He took the bag from her and carried it himself, then coaxed and cajoled her—probably using every line in the book—forcing her to concentrate on just one agonizing step at a time. He realized—correctly—that stopping for a long rest would only make the body seize up. 

When she literally lay down on the trail, however, he had no option but to wait until she could be revived. He made efforts to stop some vehicles that were moving along the way but to no avail.  In a stroke of luck, some fellow travellers from China stopped and, learning of the situation, offered their portable oxygen cylinder. They even fixed a few shots of hydration for her. Oxygen worked its magic. Vinoda could stand up again and continue.

Rambabu with his energy drink at Hilsa

Rambabu stayed absolutely calm through the entire ordeal, gently taking care of Vinoda and allaying her fears. He truly was a portrait of composure in the face of absolute adversity. Several people from the group, on hearing the details, literally bowed down in front of Rambabu, not only for the pluck and courage he had displayed, but for his zen-like belief that nothing untoward would happen. If there was one who could qualify as a true devotee of Shiva, it was him. They say the ‘sea of tranquility’ is found in the moon; no, ma’am, they’re wrong. It was right in front of us, in the human form of Rambabu! While everyone was effusive in their praise, he simply brushed it all aside, turned towards me and said, “Come, let’s go out for a smoke”. 

Up or Down?

The relief that everyone had safely arrived was immense. It also forced us to confront the reality that not all of us were fit to complete the grueling Parikrama. The choices in front of us were clear:

* Split into two groups: One group would go ahead and complete the Parikrama, while the others would head back to Darchen and wait for our return.

 * Return as a full group: All of us would return to Darchen and find ways to head back to India at the earliest. We had also learned of the unrest engulfing the entirety of Nepal and thought it might be safer to return early than to get caught in the riots. Given the situation, we chose the latter. We didn't want to trade the exhaustion of the trek for the danger of riots.

All smiles in Simikot (The Rajus, Vinoda, her aunt, and Sridhar, Rambabu, the Murthys, and yours truly) 

We requested transport back to Darchen. After a simple but welcome dinner, our vehicles arrived and we were back at the hotel by midnight. The next morning, fueled by breakfast and adrenaline, we loaded the coach. While waiting for the driver, our tour members indulged in a brief, frenetic shopping spree for local curios, because nothing cures trauma like retail therapy. 

Saying bye to Darchen!

Back to the Future

Since the riots in Nepal had spread like wildfire, we were forced to stay a day in Taklakot and again at Simikot. Simikot offered what can only be described as "extremely basic" facilities. All ten of us men were huddled in a single dormitory, a situation that might have been miserable but instead became an opportunity to bond over banter, booze, good food, and card games. A few hours in a crowded dorm is all it takes to find out who snores the loudest - and the answer is always everyone. While at Simikot we also discovered some ‘herbal’ tea that made us all happy. Vinod and Sanjay took an initiative to make us all contribute towards the education of children at a government school - the kids received their year’s supply of books and stationery, thanks to this! 

Commendable Concentration 

When things were looking gloomy with Nepal burning, it was time for another hero to emerge. Sanjay worked his contacts across countries like a geopolitical maestro. He made sure we were boarded onto the flights from Simikot the next day, and we crossed the border at Nepalgunj without a hassle. By the time we reached Lucknow, it was almost midnight. The next morning, most of us flew back to our respective towns, with big smiles and bagfuls of memories for a lifetime. Some of us, already forgetting the pain and only remembering the glory, have even begun dreaming of returning to complete what was left unfinished: the Parikrama!

Tailpiece

I plan to write an appendix to this entire sojourn, wherein I will briefly pen about the details you shouldn’t miss should you plan a Kailash Yatra. For those who do not need any further advice or another word about the trip, this is the conclusion!