South India's toughest trek.! Kumaraparvatha trek

I began this journey the way many meaningful journeys start — with a restless heart and a mind searching for something more than routine. Life in Bengaluru is fast, beautiful, and busy, but sometimes, in the middle of city traffic, work calls, and everyday obligations, our souls start craving silence. Not just silence of sound — but silence of mind. A silence that nature alone can offer. That silence is what pulled me toward Subramanya, a place famous for one of South India’s toughest and most breathtaking treks.

The idea started small, like a whisper inside me: “Go.”
Not for fitness. Not for records. But for myself.
For my mind. For my heart. For the version of me I wanted to meet.

So, I packed my bag, tied my shoelaces, and left Bengaluru behind. The journey from Bengaluru to Subramanya was not just a physical travel, but a transition — from noise to calmness, from edges of stress to the centre of peace.
Subramanya welcomed me with a softness only village air can offer — cool breeze, earthy smell, misty roads, and mountains standing tall like silent guardians. Even before the trek began, the place already felt sacred.
And then, the journey truly started.
The trail wasn’t kind in the beginning, and it didn’t become kinder later. The terrain was steep, slippery, uneven, and demanding. South India’s toughest trek has that title for a reason. It doesn’t just test your legs — it tests your lungs, your stamina, your patience, your willpower, and most of all, your mind. One step after another, my feet started feeling the struggle. My body kept asking, “Why are you doing this?”
But my heart kept answering, “For this. For moments like this.”

Every step forward was a reminder that there is a world beyond deadlines and responsibilities — a world that breathes, grows, and listens. I realised how small we humans really are, and how grand nature feels when you stand inside it.

Hours passed. Legs started hurting. Sweat dripped like rain.
Breath became heavy. But not once did I feel like stopping.

When we finally reached the higher altitudes, everything changed. The air became cooler, the world became quieter, and suddenly the forest opened like a curtain revealing a new stage. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t looking at clouds in the sky — I was walking through them. They moved around me, touched my face, settled on my skin, and made me feel like I was inside a piece of heaven.

I didn’t just see the clouds. I felt them. I breathed them. I lived inside them.
This wasn’t just nature. It was healing.

At one point, I stopped walking and simply stood still. Silence everywhere. White clouds covering the mountains. A gentle cold wind brushing against my cheeks. My lungs filled with the freshest air I had tasted in my life. My soul felt like it was being washed clean. The pain in my muscles didn’t disappear, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. That pain was worth every second because this moment, this view, this feeling — was priceless.

That’s when I realised something important:
Some journeys don’t give you comfort. They give you change.

The trek continued — higher, steeper, tougher. There were moments when my legs trembled and my breath became short. There were times when I wanted to rest longer but had to push ahead. Every rock and every slope felt like a reminder that nature rewards only those who keep moving.

But every struggle was followed by breathtaking beauty — wide-open valleys, mountain ranges folding into endless green layers, sunlight breaking through clouds like golden arrows, and a sky so close it felt like a blanket above my head.

The journey down was just as challenging. Descending tests a different kind of strength — careful steps, balancing, watching for slippery rocks. My knees began to ache, my toes hurt inside the shoes, and my shoulders carried the weight of the backpack. But despite the pain, there was a quiet smile on my face. Because the mountain had already given me what I came for — peace, clarity, and a reminder that life feels meaningful when we step outside our comfort zone.

When the trek finally ended and my feet touched flat ground again, I looked back at the mountains. They stood tall, calm, and beautiful — like they were proud of everyone who dared to climb them. I was tired, sweaty, dirty, and exhausted, but inside, I felt renewed. It was as if nature peeled away the stress and filled me with something pure and light.
I came back with sore legs, but a lighter heart.
I came back with muscle pain, but a peaceful mind.
I came back with memories that will stay forever.

And now, whenever life feels heavy, whenever stress builds up, whenever I forget how strong I can be — I close my eyes and see those clouds again. I feel them on my skin. I remember how the mountain taught me one powerful lesson:
The pain is temporary. But the experience stays forever.

This trek gave me more than a journey — it gave me a story.
A story of strength, struggle, beauty, nature, and soul.