Back to Pindari After Fifteen Years
The Himalayas are so vast that
reaching them even once is a privilege. The winding roads, multiple modes of
transport, physical preparation, and unpredictable mountain conditions mean
that many things have to fall into place before a trek can happen. I therefore
consider myself extremely fortunate to have trekked to Pindari Glacier for the
second time in my life.
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| A view of Nanda khat |
My first visit to Pindari was in
2011, when I accompanied a school group as a chaperone. My son was then in
Grade 7 and was one of twenty-three students on the trip. The experience
remains one of my most cherished trekking memories. ( You can check that blog here)
This time, my companions were two
experienced trekkers—my husband Vinay and his IIT Bombay friend, Nitin.
Initially, I planned to follow the same route as before. However, when I
contacted Kumaun Mandal Vikas Nigam (KMVN), I was surprised to learn that a
motorable road now reaches Khati village. The trek would therefore be
significantly shorter, leaving us with time to explore nearby areas such as
Bajalingdhar or even the Kafni Glacier.
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| The team- From the left- Vinay,Gauri and Nitin |
7 May 2026: Delhi – Kathgodam – Almora
We boarded the Shatabdi Express
from New Delhi Railway Station. Its large windows offered excellent views, and
before long the crowded suburbs of Delhi gave way to lush green fields and
forests. Breakfast—cutlets and bread slices—was served on board, and the train
reached Kathgodam at 11:50 a.m., a few minutes ahead of schedule.
Our pre-booked taxi driver
arrived about an hour later. Fortunately, we did not mind the wait and spent
the time sipping tea at the IRCTC canteen.
After lunch at a rooftop
restaurant, we began the drive through winding mountain roads lined with pine
forests. A few hours later we approached Kainchi Dham, the famous ashram
associated with Neem Karoli Baba. Although Steve Jobs was influenced by Neem Karoli
Baba's teachings, the two never met in person. We had hoped for a quick
darshan, but our driver was reluctant to stop. As we neared the temple, we
understood why: a serpentine queue stretched far beyond the entrance. The
ashram's popularity has grown enormously in recent years, helped in part by the
devotion of public figures such as Virat Kohli and Anushka Sharma.
A large statue of Swami
Vivekananda stood there, accompanied by his famous exhortation:
उत्तिष्ठत जाग्रत प्राप्य वरान्निबोधत।
क्षुरस्य धारा निशिता दुरत्यया दुर्गं पथस्तत्कवयो वदन्ति। कठोपनिषद
(1.3.14)
Arise, awake, find out the great gurus and learn of them; for sharp as a razor's edge, hard to traverse, difficult of going is that path, say the sages. Looking at the setting sun over the hills, the words seemed particularly appropriate.
After a beautiful sunset, we
retired early because Almora's Mall Road was surprisingly quiet. We wanted to be
fresh for the long journey ahead.
Originally, we had planned to do the trek entirely on our own. While researching online, however, Vinay came across the contact number of Dhyan Singh through a YouTube video on the Pindari Glacier trek. After several conversations with him, we realised that hiring a vehicle to Khati would save considerable time and effort. During my earlier trek, we had started from Loharkhet and walked to Khati via Dhakuri—a demanding first day of nearly 17 kilometres. Following Dhyan Singh's advice proved to be a wise decision. He even arranged for a local driver to pick us up from Almora the next morning.
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| Almora at dawn |
8 May 2026: Almora to Khati
Early in the morning, we stepped
out for a short walk, assuming the driver would arrive only after breakfast. To
our surprise, Guddu from Khati reached the KMVN guest house at 6:45 a.m. We
hurried back, packed up, and left by 7:15.
Mountain traffic can be
unpredictable. Even at that early hour we were delayed by a traffic jam in a
small market town, where a large vehicle was unloading goods. In the mountains,
something as simple as this can bring traffic to a standstill.
Soon the road climbed higher
through pine and deodar forests. We stopped at a charming restaurant perched on
stilts at the edge of a cliff. The owner greeted us warmly and invited us
inside. Bright sunlight illuminated a roof lined with neatly arranged potted
plants. Running a restaurant in such a remote location must be challenging, yet
the lady of the house was already busy preparing fresh aloo parathas.
As we enjoyed our breakfast,
Guddu tucked into a plate of Maggi noodles. We had made a conscious effort to
eat local food during the journey, but many locals seemed to prefer instant
noodles, chips, and aerated drinks.
For lunch, the driver stopped in Bharadi. We ordered a thali with rice, fulka, sabji. There was a black-white curry without many spices. It was called bhatt ke dubke. It is made with coarsely ground black soybeans and was very tasty. The lady running the hotel was stunningly gorgeous. She came and sat chatting with me. Her husband was probably in armed forces. Her daughter had finished 12th exams and son had finished 10th. She was curious about our trekking plans and was sharing the fun that she had at a wedding with enthusiasm.
While returning I wanted to eat bhatt ke dubke again and luckily Dhyan Singh served us when we came back! He also sevred the tangy "bhang ke beej ki chutney" that did not have intoxicate us.
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| Bhatt ke dubke and bhang ke beej ki chutney (P.C. Nitin) |
After couple of hours we reached Nanda Kot Homestay in Khati at around 3 p.m.The road reaching Khati is undoubtedly a luxury, but it has come at a cost. We saw evidence of soil erosion, landslides, and increasing plastic waste along the route. At a forest check post near Khati, officials recorded our details and collected a refundable deposit of ₹1,000 against plastic waste. They assured us that the amount would be returned if we brought back all the plastic we carried into the valley. I carefully tucked away the receipt.
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| Dinner at Nanda kot home stay |
After tea, we walked to the KMVN rest house where I had stayed fifteen years earlier. Seeing the freshly painted building filled me with nostalgia. Memories of that trek with my son and his friends came flooding back.
9 May 2026: On the Green Trail (Khati to Dwali – 13
km)
After breakfast we set off on the
much-awaited trek. Fortunately, our guide Mohan carried my main backpack,
leaving me with only a day pack.
Soon after leaving Khati, we met
a team of forest rangers. Among them was a young ranger named Dolly, who
stopped us to check our plastic-waste deposit receipt. After verifying it, the
team photographed and filmed us as part of an awareness campaign. We encountered
them several times over the next few days.
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| Along with forest rangers- (P.C. Nitin) |
The Pindar River flowed beside us as we walked. A large new bridge now spanned the river—a structure that did not exist during my previous visit.
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| On the new bridge with guide Mohan |
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| A view of a small tributary of Pindar |
About five kilometres from Khati,
we stopped at a small eatery run by Khadak Singh. I was delighted when I
spotted a vegetable called linguda on Dolly's plate. The last time I had eaten
it was during a trek to Dodital nearly seventeen years ago.
Linguda, a wild Himalayan
fiddlehead fern, is highly prized and rarely seen in urban markets. Since I
still had half a paratha left from breakfast, I decided to pair it with a
serving of linguda sabzi. It felt like the perfect way to honour a local Himalayan
delicacy.
Khadak Singh lives in Khati and starts his day before dawn. Along the trail he gathers linguda and sisun (nettle), which he serves to trekkers and road workers. While many visitors order noodles, I was delighted to find traditional mountain food still being prepared.
On our return journey a few days later, we stopped again at his shop for sisun ki sabzi with rice. Nettle(Urtica dioica), also known as bicchu ghas, grows abundantly in moist mountain soil. Curious despite knowing its reputation, I touched a few leaves and paid the price—the sting lingered for almost a day. Yet when properly cooked, the plant transforms into a delicious and highly nutritious dish. Later I learnt that the 11th century Tibetan monk Milrepa survived on nettle for years. That is why his skin is shown green!
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| Bicchu ghass (nettle), linguda and rice at Khadak Singh's hotel |
As we continued toward Dwali, the final kilometre felt particularly demanding. Dwali sits on a small ridge, with steep slopes dropping away on either side and streams converging from different directions. In 2011 there had been only a KMVN rest house and a tiny noodle shop. Today there is also a PWD rest house and several small eateries.
I distinctly remembered a broad
grassy bugyal where our school students had run about freely. Now it
appeared much smaller. When I asked Mohan about it, he explained that a major
landslide had occurred during the 2013 disaster that devastated much of
Uttarakhand. He himself had been stranded there with nearly two hundred
trekkers and villagers and had escaped using an alternative route across the
opposite slope.
The scarred mountainsides were a sobering reminder of the immense forces that shape the Himalayas.By the time we climbed the final stretch into Dwali, we were exhausted. We checked into the first room shown to us and collapsed onto the beds.
Our cook, Anand, turned out to be
a lively and cheerful host. Single-handedly managing the kitchen,
accommodation, water supply, and cleaning, he seemed capable of doing
everything. That evening we sat beside his wood-fired stove, sipping hot
vegetable soup while he prepared dinner. Mohan joined him in rolling rotis, and
the warm kitchen became the perfect place to end a long day on the trail.
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| Chatting and chapatis near Chulha |
10 May 2026: Dwali to Phurkiya (5 km)
We decided on a slightly late
start, as our destination for the day was only Phurkiya. Although the distance
was just 5 km, the trail was steep in several places and involved river and
glacier crossings.
During my first trek in April
2011, our entire group had reached Phurkiya, but only a handful of us had
ventured beyond it. There was a great deal of snow that year, and we had used
crampons while crossing snow-covered glaciers. Just a couple of kilometres
beyond Phurkiya, we had found enough snow to spend time playing before
returning to Dwali the same day.
During one of my earlier
conversations with Dhyan Singh, he had confidently told me that we would be
able to reach Zero Point without crampons. At the time, I found it difficult to
believe him, but his assessment proved remarkably accurate. In 2011, Zero Point
had been considered beyond our reach because of the heavy snow. Now the glacier
had retreated dramatically, leaving behind a rugged landscape of rocks,
streams, and patches of hardened snow. The impact of climate change was
impossible to ignore.
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| Challenging snow filled slopes |
We reached Phurkiya around
lunchtime and met Pindari Baba. Dressed in a thin saffron jacket and a simple
lungi, Swami Dharmanand—popularly known as Pindari Baba—is a revered ascetic
who has lived near Zero Point for almost three decades. He maintains a small
ashram and a modest temple dedicated to Goddess Nanda Devi, constructed partly
from stone and partly from wood.
That day, Baba was returning to
Pindari after spending four months away during the winter. We spent some time
talking to him about life in the high Himalayas. A disciple of Pilot Baba, he
lives alone in his remote ashram. Every day he fetches water from a stream
nearly a hundred metres away, cooks his own meals, and maintains the temple.
With a smile, he remarked that many young spiritual aspirants who visit him are
unable to endure even a fraction of these hardships.
The following morning, Baba left
at around 5:30 a.m. and reached his ashram in barely ninety minutes. The same
journey took us nearly four hours.
That afternoon, we walked part of
the route towards Zero Point and returned to Phurkiya. The short excursion
served as acclimatisation for the next day's trek. Along the way we crossed
beautiful bugyals and steep moraines where we spotted mountain goats and
colourful Himalayan monals.
11 May 2026: To Zero Point and Back to Dwali (17–18
km)
We started early from Phurkiya,
around 6 a.m., though the sky was already bright. It was a demanding day with
numerous ascents and descents, along with several glacier crossings.
The trail began amidst blooming rhododendrons and a variety of colourful alpine flowers. Gradually, as we crossed the tree line, the landscape became increasingly barren. The grassy patches grew smaller and smaller until only rock and moraine remained. Ahead of us rose the magnificent peaks of Nanda Kot, Changuch, Maiktoli, and Panwali Dwar
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| A view of the peaks on the way to Zero point |
Vinay and I stopped at Pindari
Baba's ashram, while Nitin continued farther ahead towards Zero Point and
returned with some spectacular photographs.
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| Zero point captured by Nitin |
Although the sun was shining
brightly, the wind was fierce and the cold penetrated every layer of clothing.
Just before reaching the ashram, we passed a small locked shelter belonging to the Wadia Institute of Himalayan Geology. I found myself wishing that someone had been there to explain the research being conducted in such a fascinating location.
The return journey was
challenging as well, but the predominantly downhill route made it easier. We
reached Phurkiya by around 1:30 p.m. and enjoyed a hot lunch before continuing
down to Dwali.
The final few kilometres felt
endless. A light drizzle began to fall, adding to our fatigue. Fortunately,
Mohan had gone ahead and secured accommodation for us. We were delighted to
find ourselves back in the same cosy room where we had stayed two nights
earlier.
12 May 2026: Back to Khati (12–13 km)
After breakfast—Anand's inventive
version of an egg quesadilla, essentially an omelette sandwiched between
rotis—we began our descent towards Khati.
We paused several times to
photograph the log bridges and familiar stretches of trail. As promised, we
stopped once again at Khadak Singh's shop. My left knee had begun to trouble
me, and I was walking more slowly than before. Yet there was no hurry. I wanted
to absorb every detail of the valley—the mountains, the forests, and the
ever-present sound of the Pindar River.
Just before reaching Khati, the
weather changed dramatically. Dark clouds gathered and a sudden hailstorm swept
through the valley. Although we were wearing raincoats, the hailstones struck
with surprising force. Fortunately, we found shelter in a horse shed and waited
until the storm passed before continuing.
By the time we reached Nanda Kot
Homestay, I was thoroughly exhausted. Vinay and Nitin, however, seemed to have
endless reserves of energy. The very next day they set off for another trek to
Bajalingdhar while I stayed back in Khati to rest.
In retrospect, that quiet day in
Khati was one of the highlights of the trip. Sitting on the veranda of Nanda
Kot Homestay, watching the changing colours of the mountains and sky, felt
almost meditative. The constant chorus of birds and the gentle tinkling of wind
chimes created an atmosphere of complete serenity.
14 May 2026: Khati to Jalna
We left Khati shortly after an
early cup of tea. At the forest check post, we deposited the small amount of
waste we had carried back and happily reclaimed our plastic-waste deposit.
Later, we stopped for breakfast
at Hotel Siddhivinayak on Mount Binayak and found ourselves to be the day's
first customers.
After a few hours we reached
Bharadi, where we transferred to a nine-seater tempo that somehow managed to
accommodate thirteen or fourteen passengers along with numerous mailbags. To
ensure a little comfort, we paid for four seats while occupying three.
The driver appeared to double as
a postal employee. Throughout the journey he repeatedly stopped, climbed onto
the roof, rearranged passengers' luggage and secured large sacks of mail. I
could not help admiring both his skill and his patience. Equally impressive
were the regular passengers, who accepted these interruptions as a normal part
of daily life in the mountains.
By afternoon we stopped for lunch
before continuing towards Almora. Despite my aching knee, I somehow managed the
long and crowded journey. From Almora we hired another vehicle for the short
drive to Jalna.
14–16 May 2026: J. Krishnamurti Retreat, Jalna
After the fatigue of the previous
days, arriving at the Krishnamurti Retreat filled me with a profound sense of
happiness.
We were warmly welcomed by
Abhishek, Shaurya, and Suraj. Abhishek and Shaurya, both in their twenties and
from technical backgrounds, were volunteering at the centre. Suraj, a talented
young cook, ensured that we were exceptionally well fed throughout our stay.
Vinay and I stayed in a beautiful wooden cottage, while Nitin chose a cozy mud hut. There was also a glass room with a transparent roof that offered spectacular views of the night sky. Both Vinay and Nitin spent a night there, though I preferred the comfort of having a toilet nearby.
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| The Glass Room |
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| At the gazebo with Abhishek and Shaurya |
Perched atop a hill, the retreat offers sweeping views of the
surrounding mountains in every direction. Nitin left a day before us. That evening
we managed to do a short trek to see the sunset with Shaurya and Abhishek.
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| With Shaurya and Abhishek at sunset point |
On the 17th morning, while
returning to Kathgodam, we found a small cab which we shared with two ladies.
One was in her fifties but had her sons and daughters married off. She was
dressed in a fine saree and was on her way to meet her sister for a week. The
other one was a modern woman in her twenties who was staying with her sister in
a small village Lamgara. She was a cashier at the local cooperative bank. She
was going to see her mother in Haldwani and was going to return early next
morning to join office at 9 AM. She was sharing her very progressive views
about marriage. It was really encouraging to see their independence!
Reflections
My stay at the J. Krishnamurti
Retreat in Jalna provided a fitting conclusion to the journey. Krishnamurti
often spoke about perception and argued that "the description is not the
described." When we look at a mountain and immediately name it, compare it
with a memory, or fit it into a story, we are often seeing our own mental image
rather than the mountain itself.
As I sat watching the hills
around Jalna, I found myself thinking about the Pindar River. Near its source,
it appeared surprisingly modest—a narrow stream winding through rocks and
meadows. Yet I remembered seeing the same river at Karnaprayag, where it joins
the Alaknanda in a powerful torrent. A river, like a human life, is always in
the process of becoming.
Returning to Pindari after
fifteen years was both joyful and unsettling. I found the familiar mountains,
forests, and trails that I had remembered, but I also saw unmistakable signs of
change—eroded slopes, landslides, plastic waste, and a glacier that had
retreated far beyond where it had stood during my first visit. The experience
left me with a sense of eco-grief.
Yet the mountains seemed to offer
their own perspective. Change and impermanence are woven into the fabric of
nature itself. Rivers shift course, glaciers advance and retreat, forests grow
and disappear, and human beings pass through these landscapes for only a
moment.
Fifteen years after my first trek
to Pindari, I returned not only to a landscape that had changed but also as a
person who had changed. Perhaps the lesson of Pindari is not merely to mourn
what is being lost, but to cultivate gratitude for what remains—and to protect
it while we can. The Himalayas continue to inspire awe, humility, and wonder.
To walk among them, even briefly, is a privilege.
Yet as I sat quietly in Jalna, another thought emerged. Impermanence is woven into the very fabric of nature. Rivers change course, glaciers advance and retreat, forests regenerate, and human lives pass through these landscapes only briefly.
