A Life in Full Stride: A Dad’s Odyssey of Defiance and Determination

The Journey of a Man Who Walked His Own Way

When I first heard about the longest walkable route in the world, I nearly choked on my coffee.

Picture this: a jaw-dropping stretch from Cape Town, South Africa, to Magadan, Russia—a staggering 22,387 kilometres of uninterrupted land. No planes, no ferries, no boats—just you, your trusty shoes, and enough grit to rival a marathon runner on caffeine. 

And who came to mind for this epic trek? My dad. 

Yes, my dad—the self-proclaimed undisputed champion of the 10-kilometre morning walk, armed with an insatiable zest for life, a slightly overenthusiastic passion for edible plants, and the stubborn resolve of a toddler demanding toffees for breakfast.

But his love for walking wasn’t just a quirky hobby. It was born from a life-or-death decision. 

Years ago, Dad found himself staring down the barrel of a grim ultimatum. His doctor, as serious as someone announcing a worldwide chocolate shortage, told him he needed an urgent open-heart operation. Without it, he wouldn’t survive the year. But Dad, being Dad, decided surgery wasn’t his style.

Instead, he opted for a lifestyle change so dramatic it could’ve inspired its own reality show: “Extreme Makeover: Cardiac Edition.”

Out went greasy food and lethargy; in came naturopathy, fresh herbs, and a walking regimen so consistent it could rival the sunrise. 

So when I heard about this cross-continental route spanning 17 countries and six time zones, I couldn’t help but imagine him striding confidently along it, waving at strangers like he was campaigning for “World’s Friendliest Man.” 

Of course, Dad’s version of the journey wouldn’t have been a straight shot. Oh no, Dad’s walks were never *just walks.*

Day 1 in Cape Town? He’d probably stop mid-stride, spot some random shrub, and declare it the “South African Elixir of Eternal Vitality.” By the time the baffled tourists recovered, he’d have hosted a full-on herbal seminar, complete with free samples.  

By Day 10 in Botswana, he’d have befriended every roadside vendor within a 20-kilometre radius, probably organizing a local herbal appreciation club and exchanging curry recipes.

Fast forward to Month 3 in Kazakhstan, and his trek would’ve turned into a global goodwill tour. He’d teach locals how to brew turmeric tea, invent yoga poses named after wild herbs, and pose for selfies with goats under captions like, *“Beetroot: Nature’s Cardiologist.”* 

But here’s the thing: Dad wouldn’t have cared if he ever reached Magadan. For him, it was never about the destination; it was always about the journey—the people he could befriend, the leafy plants he could admire, and the joy of simply putting one foot in front of the other. 

Life, though, had its own plans. Nearly two decades after defying his doctor’s grim prediction, Dad was still walking—alive, vibrant, and annoyingly full of energy that could power a small town.

And then, one day, as he was walking through Kochi International Airport on his way to my sister’s shop, he sat down, leaned back, and quietly passed away. No fuss, no drama—just like that, he walked into the next realm. 

And while it’s an irony that a man so passionate about walking passed away mid-stroll, it’s also profoundly fitting. He defeated his illness, laughed in the face of mortality, and lived a life brimming with purpose, plants, and an unshakable belief in the power of a good walk.

Dad may not have walked the Cape Town-to-Magadan route, but he walked his own extraordinary path—a path filled with resilience, laughter, and a whole lot of leafy greens. 

And now? I like to imagine him in some celestial garden, strolling along, waving at angels, lecturing on mint leaves, and convincing everyone that fennel tea is the cure for all eternity’s woes.

Because for Dad, the journey was never about where it ended—it was about the sheer joy of walking his own way.