Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.‘ – Angela Monet

The wind was howling and the 5ft 5 inches frame was hardly able to keep himself standing. “Abi, we need to move fast” – he could hear Bista shouting on top of his voice.

He nodded his head and showed Bista 2 fingers indicating he needed some more moments.

Abi took out the poster from the bag with his trembling fingers. The image was blurred in front of the moist eyes, which could hardly remain open – Vidette was leaning over him in the graduation ceremony snap. It was clicked on the day he had finally managed to finish his geophysics thesis from Tel Aviv University after 4 long years.

Suddenly random images started clouding the mind – the day he resigned from his high-flying job in Edinburgh – Vidette sobbing at the top of her voice – ‘You either select me or run after those stupid mounds all your life.’

The thoughts were interrupted by the vigorous shaking of his shoulders by Bista. He had fallen down on his knees and could hardly feel his right stump. He gave a faint smile to indicate that everything was Ok.

He took the small pole and inserted a hole into the smiling face of Vidette, and planted the flag at the summit. Suddenly the shoulders relaxed, blood seemed to return to his left leg and even the artificial right leg seemed to have got a life of its own. The baggage of the past was fluttering on top of the world.

Both climbers started the descent on the NorthEast Ridge towards the base camp. The storm still seemed far off but Abi’s heart was fluttering at the sight of the peaks, snow and clouds below. He didn’t really care about the fact that he was only the 3rd human with an artificial limb to have reached the Everest summit. Fame was never an excitement nor was the sense of achievement. It was just the howling of the wind, the flock of red-billed chough flying in the backdrop of the snowy peaks. And most of all the metamorphic rocks which were remnants of the collision of the Indo-Australian and Eurasian plates.

Passion is the genesis of genius – Anthony Robbins