It took agonizing words betrayed by the person I loved heartily to start an inconceivable journey—sent to recover debris of lost esteem and self-love. My mind was abuzz with bitter thoughts when he yelled at me, “I had the pleasure of knowing the most toxic person on this planet. And it was you.” My life was unravelling like an “unsinkable” Titanic; his words felt like a menacing chunk of ice. And then, one night, I missed my train and boarded another. No one I know takes the unreserved coach—the class that carries almost 65 per cent of the passengers on Indian Railways unless an event is unplanned or economic compulsion forces, someone. While the Mangalore Express left Platform No 6 sharply at 5:00 pm from the Chennai Central Railway Station, the next train available for my destination was the Bangalore-Jolarpettai Express slated to arrive at 5:55 pm. Anyone can get an unreserved ticket as it is the cheapest. You are even lucky even if you get a place to stand with more than 100-200 people cramped in a compartment. Contrary to my expectations, I hogged space in a ‘Lady’s Only’ general coach. I sat underneath the upper berth occupied by three school girls, their hair adjusted into neat ponytails and their spontaneous conversations tuned to a well-rehearsed puppet ensemble in a theatre show. Yelagiri, at about 282 km from Chennai, is a small and charming hill station nestled amidst four mountains. The hairpin bends on the ghat road drive from Jolarpettai railway station offer a visual respite, providing an ideal weekend getaway from the hustle and bustle of the city. The meandering path to the Swamimalai Temple trekking base point from Silentwaters Homestay in Yelagiri was lined by eucalyptus trees. The brick houses of Mangalam village, painted in spirited blue, green and yellow colours looked like cubist paintings. I drew closer to the fields filled with grasslands that rippled with yellow flowers visited by bumblebees. As I ambled across the muddy tracts for 5 minutes, my inner Bilbo Baggins screamed in exuberance, “I am going on an adventure!” The breathtaking view of the clouds playing merry-go-round the Swamimalai hills stretched into the distance. Condensed water trickled down the leaves of tall ebony trees into silken spider webs. The dew-spangled spider webs presented a creepy sight-a vision triggered by the fear of cluster of small holes. I was determined to stay focused and not look up at the trees. The one-way path had been cut with proper directions to guide you to the summit. The distance uphill was 3 km interrupted with hurdles of uneven patches. Climbing awkwardly laid stone stairs, I was leaping and navigating over rocks covered with roots of trees. Clomping down soggy mud when the path became even, I met three villagers collecting forest produce. The uphill trek had thrown my lungs into despair already. Panting heavily, I asked one of them, “How far is the summit?” He slyly remarked, “ You have another 2 km to go. With the pace you have picked up, you will reach in another 3 hours. “ I felt forlorn and abandoned. The flora became dense as the road grew narrower. I relapsed into a torpor induced by the rustling of the winds and the chirping of birds. I was roused into sudden fear as I saw a snake slithering into the smattering of bushes on rocks. In order to distract from the inescapable fear, I drew my attention to the constant babble of monkeys gliding overhead. The final stretch was steep, punctuated with boulders. Instead of just clinging on to loose rocks with fingertips, I scrambled on all fours, relying on both hands and legs for support. I arrived at the Swarmimala summit that is marked by a tiny temple docked in the rocks after a 6-hour treacherous climb. The 4338 feet-high summit of a perilous scramble was rewarding-warped cumulus clouds descending on the grey and blue mountains at a distance. Closing my eyes against the overcast sky, I felt like crying but I didn’t. From that moment, the phrase the most toxic person on this planet didn’t exist anymore.