Life is unpredictable and full of twists and turns, some of which can alter the course of our existence in unimaginable ways.
I am a 39-year-old who has faced many challenges in life, but none as profound as the three major accidents that almost took my life. Yet, here I am, sharing my story-a testament to resilience, fate and perhaps a touch of the extraordinary.
South Africa, 2009
The year was 2009, and I was in South Africa, far from home, soaking in new experiences and chasing opportunities. Life felt vibrant and full of potential until one night when everything took a terrifying turn. It was between 8:30 and 9 PM, and we were driving back to Midrand from Kempton Park. The road was dark, the usual hum of evening traffic all around us. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a car from the other direction veered into our lane on K101 Johannesburg Road. Raj, who was driving, tried desperately to swerve, but there was no time. In an instant, our car slammed into a light pole, and we began to spin once, twice, maybe three times before we finally came to a shuddering stop.
As the car spun, a chilling thought crossed my mind: Is this it? Is this how it ends? I could see flashes of my life, my family back home, so far away. I wondered how they would ever find out, how they would cope with the news that their son had died in a distant land. I’m sure the same thoughts must have crossed the minds of my companions as well.
But then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The world stopped spinning, and an eerie silence settled around us. I don’t know if it was sheer luck or the strength of that Toyota Camry, but somehow, we were still alive. We sat there for a moment, stunned, our hearts pounding in our chests. When we finally managed to climb out of the car, the reality of our situation hit us like a wave. The front of the car was completely wrecked no one would believe that we had just walked away from that crash without a scratch. Well, except for Raj, who had a minor injury. But the rest of us? We were completely unharmed.
As I stood there, looking at the twisted metal that had once been our car, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of disbelief. We had come so close to the edge, yet somehow, we had survived. It was as if fate had decided that our time wasn’t up just yet.
Kathmandu, 2017
In 2017, my family and I were preparing for a trip to Australia, where my brother Suraj had invited us to visit. We went to Kathmandu for a biometric appointment, a step in the process of obtaining our visas. Along with me were my mother, my wife, and my son, Swapnil. After arriving in Kathmandu, I left them in Koteshwor while I went to meet my friends Sanjay and Govinda at the United World Trade Centre in Tripureshwor. Sanjay was soon to be engaged and needed to shop for suits.
After we finished shopping, Sanjay and Govinda called a taxi to leave, and I called my brother-in-law, Sabuj, who was nearby, to see if he could pick me up if he was heading in the same direction. He agreed, and I bid farewell to my friends and joined Sabuj on his bike.
As we rode through Maitighar, out of nowhere, a car slammed into us. The impact was sudden and violent, throwing both of us off the bike. The next thing I remember, I was waking up in the ICU of Norvic Hospital. I had been unconscious for hours, and the doctors informed me that I had a head injury. A CT scan revealed a blood spot at the back of my head. I was kept under direct observation, and though Sabuj was injured as well, his injuries were less severe. He had managed to get us both to the hospital in time.
When I finally woke up, I was disoriented and confused. I remember asking repeatedly, “Where am I? What place is this?” My questions kept coming, and I could see the worried expressions on the faces around me. Sabuj and the others thought I had lost my memory. Their concern was palpable, and I could feel the fear in the room.
Later, Sabuj carefully described everything from the moment we had arrived in Kathmandu, the people I had met, and how the accident had occurred. He recounted who I was with and where we had been when it all happened. His detailed account slowly brought the pieces back together in my mind, and I began to remember the events leading up to the accident. It was a relief for everyone when I finally started to recall the details myself, but those initial moments of confusion left a lasting impact on all of us.
Dolpa, 2021
The mountains of Nepal have always called to me, their beauty and serenity offering a respite from the chaos of daily life. In 2021, I embarked on a trek to the breathtaking Shey-Phoksundo Lake in Dolpa with my team. The journey was both a spiritual and physical discovery, but it would soon turn into something far more harrowing.
After our trek to the lake, we decided to visit the district headquarters, Dunai, and the revered Tripurasundari Temple. To make this journey, we hired a Jeep. The driver, a young and chatty fellow, greeted everyone we passed on the road. His exuberance was apparent, but his driving made us uneasy. It quickly became clear that the Jeep was not in the best condition, and his tendency to drive recklessly added to our concern. Despite our repeated requests for him to slow down, he seemed more focused on socializing than on navigating the rough, unpaved roads.
Before heading to the temple, we instructed him to take us to Dunai first, where we asked him to get the Jeep checked at a local garage. We made it clear that if the Jeep wasn’t in good shape, we wouldn’t continue the journey with him. He assured us that he would take care of it and suggested we explore the area while he went to the workshop.
After nearly an hour, he returned, confidently telling us that the Jeep was now in perfect condition. Though still sceptical, we decided to continue our journey, but not without sternly reminding him to drive carefully, especially since the roads were rough and the terrain unpredictable.
As we made our way to the Tripurasundari Temple, the road grew more treacherous. It was winding and carved into the mountainside, with sharp drops just beyond the edges. Despite our warnings, the young driver’s enthusiasm and carelessness got the better of him.
Interestingly, as we were nearing our destination, my friend Ramesh, always the adventurous spirit, suggested that we should keep trekking until we were 80 years old. Everyone laughed, and I decided to add a touch of humour to the conversation. I put on a serious face and said, “Sorry guys, I won’t be able to join you for the last seven years.” Naturally, they were curious and asked why. With a mock solemnity, I replied, “Because I’ve been told I’ll die at the age of 73.”
The laughter grew louder, and one of them asked who had told me such a thing. I responded with a grin, “A renowned astrologer who reads palms and predicts the future.” Ramesh, a bit annoyed but still in jest, pointed to a nearby hill and asked, “What if you fall from that hill?” Without missing a beat, I replied, “I won’t die.”
As fate would have it, just moments later, the Jeep lost control. We tumbled down a steep 20-meter slope, the world spinning around us in a blur of dust and terror.
When we finally came to a stop, the silence was overwhelming. We had fallen, but we were still alive-battered, shaken, but breathing. In those heart-stopping moments, it seemed as though my offhand remark had been tested by the universe itself. Miraculously, not only did I survive, but so did everyone else in the Jeep. For a brief, terrifying moment, we thought Bishnu might not have made it, but he, too, emerged from the wreckage alive.
It was a moment that underscored the fragility of life and the thin line that separates us from the unthinkable.
Surviving three major accidents that could have easily ended my life has left me with a profound sense of purpose and a belief that perhaps there is something more at play-something beyond our understanding. Each experience has taught me the value of life, the importance of resilience, and the power of the human spirit to overcome even the most dire of circumstances.
I am not immortal in the literal sense, but these experiences have given me a sense of invincibility, a belief that I am meant to be here for a reason. Perhaps it is to share my story, to inspire others to cherish every moment or to remind us all that even in the face of death, life finds a way.
As I continue my journey, I do so with a renewed sense of purpose and a deep appreciation for the life I have been given. I am not afraid of what the future holds, for I have faced death and emerged victorious. And that, in itself, is a kind of immortality.
