When I paint an image of Muhammad Ali Sadpara in my head, I don’t see him caught in the ranges of K2. I don’t see him struggling. I see him thundering on the highest point of the mountains. I see a master of igloos providing supplies to our soldiers in Siachin or saving a foreign expedition. I see him climbing Nanga Parbat, Spantik, Muztagh Ata, Makalu, Lhotse, Manaslu, and every other hellbent ranges he loved climbing.
Ali Sadpara is much more than a mountain climber. In a week or two when the world will start to forget all of this, I hope we recognize the legacy he has left behind. His family, his son Sajid Sadpara, his adventures, and everything he loved doing.
Ali Sadpara is a chapter of a book that includes thousands of people like him. It’s just sad that the world recognizes them as legends only when they’re dead. These unsung heroes who have been climbing these deadly mountains for ages.
Until the world meets you again, Muhammad Ali Sadpara. Rab raakhan.
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