Rain & Sun
Being born in a tropical climate, I've always been more fond of rain than sun—until that day in the mountains. Though I love trekking in the rain, especially in the Sahyadris (Western Ghats), the Himalayas showed me a different side of nature, one that I wasn’t prepared for.
It was the second day of the Tarsar Marsar lake trek in Kashmir. We had just packed up our campsite near the Lidderwart River and started our ascent to the next destination. After a while, I looked back and saw the meadows where we'd camped the night before—a breathtaking view that felt like it could hold me there forever. But the sky was growing darker, heavy with clouds. Our trek leader predicted rain and advised us to reach the next campsite as soon as possible.
As expected, halfway through, the rain began. We quickly took out our rain gear, but I was underprepared—no poncho, no gloves, just a thin rain jacket that didn’t even fit me properly. Within minutes, I was soaked.
From childhood, I’ve loved the rain. I never liked singing "Rain, rain, go away." I used to go up to the terrace, welcoming the rain with open arms, getting drenched in pure joy. Monsoon treks had always been my favorite. My happiest moments have always been in the rain.
But this time, it was different. We had been trekking in the rain for almost an hour, navigating the trail's ups and downs, crossing ice bridges, and walking beside gushing, freezing streams. It was bone-chilling cold. My hands, wet and numb, barely functioned. Water seeped into my jacket, and the raindrops felt like cold, sharp needles against my skin. There was no shelter—just open grasslands. The only option was to keep going, hoping to reach the campsite soon.
As time passed, the numbness took over. The heat my body generated was no match for the cold. Our trek leader said we still had 2 or 3 kilometers to go. I started questioning myself—would I make it? I silently pleaded with the mountain to take back the rain, praying to stay alive until we reached the campsite.
And then, to my relief, I saw it—far below, our campsite. I ran toward the kitchen tent. Even inside, the warmth wasn’t enough to stop my shivering. I desperately needed to change into dry clothes.
They set up a tent for me, and I slipped inside, locking myself away from the rain. My hands were numb, and I was shivering so much that changing clothes felt like a monumental task. But I had no choice. Once I was in warm clothes, I felt a little better, though the cold still lingered. I lay inside the tent, listening to the hard raindrops hitting it, we had camped near a stream, but the rain was so loud I could barely hear the water's flow.
As I lay there, I thought about how ancient humans must have struggled to survive in such harsh conditions. It made me realize why we’ve built so much shelter to protect ourselves. Nature is majestic, gigantic, and we, in comparison, are so small, living humbly in its arms.
Gradually, the sound of the stream grew louder, and the tent became warmer and brighter. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining. That moment inside the tent is something I’ll never forget. I sat there, soaking in the sun’s warmth, and for the first time, I truly understood how vital the sun is to our existence.
I stepped out of the tent, and the view was indescribable. The clouds were retreating from the mountains, and the peaks stood tall, basking in the sun’s glory. From that day on, every time I step out into the sun, I remember that moment—soaking in its warmth after the cold, understanding its life-giving importance.
It was the second day of the Tarsar Marsar lake trek in Kashmir. We had just packed up our campsite near the Lidderwart River and started our ascent to the next destination. After a while, I looked back and saw the meadows where we'd camped the night before—a breathtaking view that felt like it could hold me there forever. But the sky was growing darker, heavy with clouds. Our trek leader predicted rain and advised us to reach the next campsite as soon as possible.
As expected, halfway through, the rain began. We quickly took out our rain gear, but I was underprepared—no poncho, no gloves, just a thin rain jacket that didn’t even fit me properly. Within minutes, I was soaked.
From childhood, I’ve loved the rain. I never liked singing "Rain, rain, go away." I used to go up to the terrace, welcoming the rain with open arms, getting drenched in pure joy. Monsoon treks had always been my favorite. My happiest moments have always been in the rain.
But this time, it was different. We had been trekking in the rain for almost an hour, navigating the trail's ups and downs, crossing ice bridges, and walking beside gushing, freezing streams. It was bone-chilling cold. My hands, wet and numb, barely functioned. Water seeped into my jacket, and the raindrops felt like cold, sharp needles against my skin. There was no shelter—just open grasslands. The only option was to keep going, hoping to reach the campsite soon.
As time passed, the numbness took over. The heat my body generated was no match for the cold. Our trek leader said we still had 2 or 3 kilometers to go. I started questioning myself—would I make it? I silently pleaded with the mountain to take back the rain, praying to stay alive until we reached the campsite.
And then, to my relief, I saw it—far below, our campsite. I ran toward the kitchen tent. Even inside, the warmth wasn’t enough to stop my shivering. I desperately needed to change into dry clothes.
They set up a tent for me, and I slipped inside, locking myself away from the rain. My hands were numb, and I was shivering so much that changing clothes felt like a monumental task. But I had no choice. Once I was in warm clothes, I felt a little better, though the cold still lingered. I lay inside the tent, listening to the hard raindrops hitting it, we had camped near a stream, but the rain was so loud I could barely hear the water's flow.
As I lay there, I thought about how ancient humans must have struggled to survive in such harsh conditions. It made me realize why we’ve built so much shelter to protect ourselves. Nature is majestic, gigantic, and we, in comparison, are so small, living humbly in its arms.
Gradually, the sound of the stream grew louder, and the tent became warmer and brighter. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining. That moment inside the tent is something I’ll never forget. I sat there, soaking in the sun’s warmth, and for the first time, I truly understood how vital the sun is to our existence.
I stepped out of the tent, and the view was indescribable. The clouds were retreating from the mountains, and the peaks stood tall, basking in the sun’s glory. From that day on, every time I step out into the sun, I remember that moment—soaking in its warmth after the cold, understanding its life-giving importance.
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