Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 2: Mulling to Kara

I Continue From Here: Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 2: Kafnu to Mulling

Day 02: Mulling (3,200 m / 10,700) to Kara (3,600 m / 11,800 ft) - 6km / 4H

5 July 2026

When I woke up at around 5:30 a.m., I saw Abhi and Ajith Mathew already outside. They too were early birds like me. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I struck up a conversation with Abhi.

Coming from the small town of Karnal in Haryana, Abhi has a strong desire to explore the world and seek out new adventures whenever he can. He owns a retail shop that sells ladies' footwear, but from our conversation, it became clear that, like me, he dislikes monotony and constantly looks for ways to keep life interesting. He had recently travelled to Thailand to experience Songkran, the famous water festival, which he compared to our festival of colours, Holi. It is his favourite festival because it allows him to meet complete strangers and share moments of joy, united by the infectious energy of the celebration. He admitted that trekking, in itself, isn't something he particularly enjoys. What excites him is the sense of adventure, and once he has experienced one activity, he quickly looks for the next.

Harry and Puneeth, on the other hand, told me that they had spent a sleepless night. They were not enjoying the trek and found it rather boring. Harry, in particular, was visibly restless. He kept repeating the same complaints, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that returning was the right decision. He disliked the lack of freedom that comes with an organised trek. He had imagined trekking privately with a close group of friends at his own pace, stopping wherever and whenever he pleased. He was determined to head back.

Puneeth, despite not particularly enjoying the trek either, wanted to stay because he had already begun bonding with new friends, especially Divyesh and me. Left to himself, I think he would have continued, but Harry's decision had already been made, and Puneeth chose to accompany him.

Over the past two days, I had also noticed that Harry had several concerns that would make this trek difficult for him. He was extremely conscious of hygiene. He would even wipe down the switchboards in the hotel rooms before using them. Adjusting to the basic toilets and the rough conditions of a high-altitude trek would undoubtedly have been uncomfortable for him. Considering all this, I advised him to do what he felt was best rather than forcing himself through an experience he clearly wasn't enjoying.

I, too, had been a little put off by Pankaj's behaviour and by what seemed like the rather lethargic pace of the trek. But I felt it was too early to judge. In my experience, it usually takes a day or two on the trail before people truly begin to know one another. Only then does a trek start becoming something special. We had barely completed a day together and were only beginning to understand the personalities around us. Every group needs a little time to settle into its rhythm.

Dhaval's two friends were also considering returning. They found the slow pace boring. They wanted to keep moving instead of spending long breaks relaxing in the mountains. Their idea of trekking was very different from mine. I prefer to walk slowly and spend as much time as possible in the wilderness. Trekking isn't a race to reach the destination; it is an opportunity to savour every moment before returning to civilisation.

Pankaj tried his best to persuade them to stay, but Harry remained firm in his decision. Eventually, they signed the necessary documents stating that they were leaving on their own accord, paid ₹1,000 per person, and were escorted back to Kafnu by a local guide. It was sad to see them leave so early, but I knew it was probably the right decision. Harry simply wasn't going to enjoy this style of trekking.

Before they left, we sat down for breakfast. Just when I thought I had finally burned enough calories to feel a little lighter, our trek organisers presented an elaborate spread—sandwiches, toast, bread with jam, poha, pancakes, and cornflakes. It was difficult to resist.

For some reason, there was yet another long delay before we finally left the campsite. We started walking only at 10:45 a.m. The sun was already high in the sky, and in my opinion, it wasn't the ideal time to begin a day's trek. It meant we would spend most of our walk under the harsh afternoon sun.

Fortunately, nature had other plans. The scenery that unfolded before us was spectacular and more than compensated for the disappointments of the morning. We took frequent breaks, not because we were exhausted, but because we wanted to absorb the beauty surrounding us.

Every now and then, I would slow down to walk with Sudha ma'am and Bhaskar sir. I have always enjoyed unhurried walks, and those moments reminded me of the peaceful hours I had spent walking alone on the Manaslu Circuit trek.

During one of our breaks, Divyesh and I finally had some time to talk. He told me more about Annie's relocation to Israel.  He told me how his mother had reacted to his situation. As he spoke, I noticed how often he drew parallels between the present and the past, revealing how deeply he sought traces of his past in his present life. He was also planning to travel after the trek.

I have seen Divyesh grow from a boy into a man over the last ten years. I have watched him navigate many highs and lows in life. Although our thought processes and ideologies are poles apart, I deeply admire his sincerity and thoughtful nature. Despite our differences in opinion, we have built a strong friendship founded on mutual respect. We value what each of us brings to the table, and to me, that is one of the strongest signs of a healthy friendship.

After the break, we began a steep climb. As I settled into my usual slow pace, I found myself walking alongside Dev and Vivan. They wanted to record a reel with Dev singing, and I was happy to film it for them. Later, Dev and I spoke about his plans for the future.

He comes from a family business that manufactures machines used to assemble pens. He spoke about increasing competition from China and how his father had encouraged him to explore business ideas aligned with his own interests. He also spoke about some of his college projects involving artificial intelligence. Yet, what truly lit him up was music. 

Behind this nineteen-year-old, I saw a thoughtful young man who cared deeply about his parents, was eager to build a meaningful future, and remained fiercely loyal to his passion for music. I couldn't help but think of the delicate balance he was trying to maintain. It reminded me of my own teenage years, when I too was trying to juggle dreams, responsibilities and expectations. Eventually, I realised I couldn't carry all those burdens forever. Looking at Dev, I felt optimistic. He is a thinker, and his generation has access to opportunities and exposure that ours never had. I have little doubt that he will find his own path. I was genuinely impressed by him.

As we completed the steep ascent, Kara campsite came into view. It was a beautiful sight. The meadows around us were carpeted with wildflowers in every imaginable colour. None of us felt any urgency to reach the campsite. Vivan, Dev and I stopped often, taking photographs, recording videos, chatting and simply soaking in the scenery. By then, Ajith Patel had also joined us. Even Pankaj, as he walked past us, seemed noticeably calmer than before. Smiling, he simply said, "Take your time and come slowly." I sensed a subtle change in his behaviour. He appeared to be mellowing down.

Once we reached the campsite, Mahesh, our otherwise quiet trek guide, led us through a warm-down session. He rarely spoke beyond what was necessary, quietly going about his responsibilities. Yet, he was perhaps the kindest member of the team.

Kara was, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful campsites on the entire trek.

Near our tents stood two small stone structures. We were told that the villagers in this region worship a local deity who is carried in a grand procession every few years. During the procession, the deity is placed at designated resting points marked by these stone structures. The markers also ensure that trekkers do not pitch their camps on these sacred spots.

Lunch was served only at 3:30 p.m.—quite late by trekking standards. We had rice, dal and sevai.

One of our guides, Hitesh, had collected wildflowers along the trail and arranged them into a beautiful bouquet. It reminded me that creativity exists in every individual. I often wonder how many such talents remain unnoticed simply because no teacher or mentor recognised them at the right age. A little encouragement at the right moment can sometimes transform a child's future.

After lunch, we had some time to relax. We watched a large flock of sheep slowly make its way across the valley.

Later, Chandni and I found ourselves discussing books. She spoke enthusiastically about the Jaipur Literature Festival, making it sound so fascinating that I immediately made a mental note to attend it someday. We also exchanged ideas about teaching. I was particularly interested in the Theory of Knowledge course that she teaches. I had first heard about it from my friend Siddhima and had always wanted to learn more about it. I carefully noted down the books she recommended. We discovered that we had much in common—our love for literature, our passion for education and our general outlook on life.

Tea-time brought cutlets and hot tea to the dining tent, along with an unexpected debate. Dev and Vivan found themselves arguing with Chandni and Ashwini over a topic that seemed surprisingly important to all of them: Which Garba is better—the Mumbai style or the traditional Gujarati style?

Fortunately, everyone involved was Gujarati and knew the dance form well. The younger boys argued that the Mumbai version was more energetic, modern and innovative, while the ladies defended the traditional style for preserving the true essence of Garba. I tried to mediate by pointing out that it was largely a generational difference. I emphasised on the point that we must be happy that the younger generation was still engaging with a traditional art form, even if they preferred a contemporary interpretation of it.

Later in the evening, Pankaj insisted that we accompany Mahesh on a short acclimatisation walk to a nearby hill. Most of us felt it was unnecessary, especially since the following day was entirely reserved for acclimatisation, but we went along anyway.

Just behind our campsite lay Kara Lake, though "lake" felt like an exaggeration. It was more of a small alpine pond. The short climb offered spectacular views of the surrounding valley and made the effort worthwhile.

During the walk, Steven, Chandni and I discussed the Indian education system and our experiences teaching the current generation. As we walked back, Steven and I drifted into a conversation about philosophy, ethics and Indian society.

His wife follows the Baháʼí Faith, and together they often invite young people to their home for conversations over dinner. From these interactions, he observed that many Indian youngsters live in a constant state of contradiction. They speak eloquently about spirituality while simultaneously remaining trapped in superstition and dogmatic beliefs.

His observation resonated with me. I, too, have experienced that conflict. Much of it stems from the clash between the rational ideas we encounter through modern education and the traditional conditioning we receive at home. Only when we learn to question inherited beliefs and let go of those that lack reason do we begin to see the world with greater clarity. Many people, however, never fully resolve this conflict and end up living with deeply contradictory world views.

Steven also spoke briefly about something he had been writing on individualism, goodness and the idea that everything ultimately comes back to the duties we choose to perform. Unfortunately, our conversation was interrupted before I could explore his ideas further.

Later that evening, I spent some time with Ajith Mathew, listening to fascinating stories from his years working with the forensic team of the Delhi Police.

He recounted several murder investigations and explained how seemingly insignificant details often became crucial evidence. One observation of his has stayed with me ever since: "People commit murder, and then they panic about what to do with the body." 

That panic, he explained, often leads murderers into making irrational mistakes. He told us about an ATM robbery, the murder of a lady from Switzerland in Delhi by her boyfriend, and a raid during which the police recovered ₹10 crore in cash hidden throughout a house—even inside a washing machine. Another case involved a body found stuffed inside a rice sack. The particular brand of rice and distribution of that sack eventually helped investigators identify the killer. Luminol was used to reveal bloodstains on a bed that had been carefully washed after the crime.

As a writer, I found these stories endlessly fascinating. Every case revealed not only the science behind forensic investigation but also the unpredictable nature of human behaviour under pressure.

Dinner consisted of rice, dal, roti and a vegetable curry with soya chunks, followed by suji phirni for dessert.

After dinner, Pankaj gathered everyone for another briefing. He began with what felt like an unnecessary criticism, remarking that we had wasted the day wandering through the meadows without observing anything. According to him, we had been too busy taking photographs and making reels instead of appreciating the flora and fauna or asking meaningful questions.

He then started explaining the three different types of alpine meadows. However, after describing only one type, he abruptly stopped. Naturally, questions followed. Someone asked about the remaining two types, and he replied that he would explain them only when we encountered them higher up the trail. Another trekker asked him about a particular flower, followed by someone else asking about a bird they had spotted. This time, he struggled to answer. Ironically, his invitation to ask questions quickly turned into a flood of questions he wasn't fully prepared for. Before long, he ended the session by telling us it was getting late and that we should all head to bed.

Sleep did not come easily that night. I woke up several times and spent the early hours tossing from one side to the other until dawn finally arrived. 

To Be Continued...