(P.S. : Please use google translate icon at right bottom to translate it to Marathi or Hindi)
Yesterday, I went out with one of my oldest childhood friends, Makarand .
I badly needed a break. And Makarand never disappoints me. He knows how much I need them. And he makes it a point to be there with me, for me. Thank you Makarand ! :)
Our outings are usually simple. We drive somewhere around Mumbai, preferably towards a water body or a birding spot, spend a few peaceful hours together, have breakfast somewhere, and return home by noon. Nothing elaborate. Just two childhood friends, a long drive, some photography, conversations, and a little escape from everyday life.
This time, we went towards the backwaters of Morbe Dam. We were hoping to photograph landscapes, some birds, but the weather had other plans. It was cloudy, the sun was hiding, and the light was far from ideal for bird photography. After some time, we decided to forget about the birds and look for some flowing water instead.
That's when we met a villager. He told us about a hidden, relatively uncrowded waterfall. It was about a 15-minute drive from his village and then a 30-minute walk. Naturally, we were interested.
But I had one very specific question. "Is there any ascent or descent on the way?"
He said no. I trusted him. And we set off. For the first 20–25 minutes, everything was perfectly manageable. The terrain was fairly normal and I was walking comfortably. Enjoying the nature on the way. So far so good.
Then came the descent. And it wasn't exactly a small descent. We were practically climbing down the side of a hill. Going down wasn't the problem. My mind immediately went to what was waiting for me on the way back. A few years ago, I probably wouldn't have given it a second thought. Today, things are different. After everything my heart has been through, with its pumping capacity now around 35%, I have become much more conscious of physical exertion.
And at that moment, for the first time, I actually thought of giving up. I remember looking at that descent and thinking, “Do I really want to do this?“. I could have stayed there. Makarand could have continued to the waterfall, spent some time there, and then come back. I could have simply waited. That was certainly an option.
But I didn't. Why?
Was it because I had no better choice? Or because, once I had come this far, something inside me simply said, "Face it." Perhaps it was a little bit of both. At that point, going back wasn't particularly attractive either. I had already walked for 20–25 minutes. I had come all this way. And somehow, I decided to take the challenge head-on, knowing very well that the return journey was going to hurt. So I continued.
And strangely, as I continued walking down that hill, another thought crossed my mind. How many times has life done exactly this to me? Over the last 14 years, especially, there have been several moments when I have found myself standing at the edge of a situation I never asked for. Situations where turning back wasn't really an option. Situations where there was no easy way out.
Cancer.
Relapses.
Heart surgery.
The uncertainty that came with all of it. And so many other challenges that life quietly put in front of me. I didn't always choose those battles. Most of the time, they simply arrived. And I had no other choice but to face them, fight them and move forward. Somehow, most of the time, they eventually resulted in something positive. Maybe that's what I was doing on that hill too. I wasn't particularly brave. I wasn't making some heroic decision. I simply didn't see a better option. So I kept walking.
Still, we continued. Eventually, we reached the waterfall. And then came the second disappointment. There was hardly any water. The magnificent waterfall we had imagined was little more than a trickle. We looked at each other and laughed.
All that effort for this? But honestly, by then my mood had already changed. The bigger question in my head wasn't the waterfall anymore. It was: "How am I going to climb back up?"
And as it turned out, my concern was justified. The climb back was brutal for my condition. I had to stop every 20–25 metres.
Walk. Stop. Catch my breath. Walk again. Stop again.
The villager who had brought us there was now helping me climb. He held one of my hands while I used a stick in the other for the support. Makarand was encouraging too from the back asking to take slowly. Step by step, we negotiated that climb.
Sighhhhhhh…..
Eventually, somehow, I made it to the top. I should have felt relieved. I did. But there was still a long way to go. And strangely, the terrain that had felt perfectly normal while coming in now felt like a mountain. The sun had come out. There was hardly any breeze. The humidity was rising. Every few minutes I had to stop. Makarand waited patiently and kept encouraging me. And eventually, after many more stops, we reached the base.
I remember taking a deep breath and thinking: "Thank God. It's over." What was supposed to be a relaxed Sunday outing had turned into a rather painful one.
But something else happened during that walk back. I started feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed by my own body. Ashamed of how easily I had been exhausted. I kept looking at Makarand. We are the same age. Yet he was walking comfortably while I was struggling, stopping repeatedly just to catch my breath. And for a moment, I felt as if I was looking ten years older. I never compare myself with others especially after my cancer and heart failure episodes. I have accepted my limitations and the fact that I am different than others. but still somewhere, that hurts.
But then something deeper happened. As I walked, the last several years began playing in my head. I started thinking about my body. About the things I had ignored. About the fitness I had taken for granted. About the physical strength I once had.
And I found myself asking: "What have I done to myself?"
I could blame my heart. Perhaps 70% of what happened yesterday was my heart. Maybe another 30% was simply the physical fitness I had allowed to deteriorate. But blaming either wasn't going to change anything. My heart has been through a lot. I have survived things that I never imagined I would have to survive. So perhaps it isn't fair to expect my body to behave exactly as it did before. But that doesn't mean I have to surrender the rest of it. .
My heart may not return to what it once was. But there are things I can still work on.
My muscles.
My stamina.
My mobility.
My strength.
My weight.
My sleep.
My diet.
My mental health.
My confidence.
Perhaps I cannot completely change the condition of my heart. But I can certainly stop making things harder for it. And maybe that is what yesterday was trying to tell me. I don't need to become the person I was ten years ago. I don't need to compete with others. I don't even need to prove anything to anyone.
I simply need to become a little stronger than I am today.
Yesterday, I went looking for a waterfall. We didn't really find one as we would have imagined. Instead, I found something else. I found a mirror. A rather uncomfortable one. It showed me where my body stands today. It reminded me that surviving something is not the same as taking care of yourself afterwards. And perhaps that is the lesson I needed.
I don't want to look back at this day with shame. I want to remember it as the day I finally decided to take my physical health seriously. Maybe the next outing will be easier. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'll have to stop every 25 metres again.
That's okay. I'll stop. I'll breathe. I'll rest. And I'll continue. Because perhaps this is my new journey. Not to get back to the person I once was. But to make the person I am today a little stronger, a little healthier and a little less afraid of the road ahead.
And who knows... Maybe someday I'll go back looking for that waterfall again.
Hopefully, this time, the waterfall will have some water too. :)