An ode to my mountain jaunt
When I tell people that I spent four months of 2021 in a Himalayan village, their eyes widen with wonder.
What made you want to do this, they ask. Aisa idea kahaan se aaya?
As a storyteller with a fertile imagination, I would love to tell people that this idea came to me in a dream. That God appeared before me and told me to book the first flight out to the hills.
But that would not be remotely true. Because the truth is, some ideas take birth on their own. They arrive like the sun, uninvited, to shine a light on dark spots. After the lockdown blues last year, my mind was in one such dark space. So, when I woke up one morning in March with a couple of missed calls from the mountains, I decided I had to get in touch with them - maybe pay them a visit, even.
And that is how I set out for Jagatsukh - a dreamy hamlet on the outskirts of Manali - in pursuit of silence and stories. I carried a bagful of winter clothes, a laptop on which to scribble notes, and a confirmation email from Lagom Stay, whose owner Iâd spoken with but otherwise I didnât know much of.
First, there was a two-hour flight to Chandigarh. Easy-peasy. But then, there was an overnight bus ride from Chandigarh to Manali. Ten hours, not a wink of sleep, surrounded by thirty other passengers - all without masks. Unvaccinated and terrified, I wore two. When the bus stopped for dinner at a highway dhaba, I did not go in with the rest of them. Instead, I bought a packet of Uncle Chipps and spent the next hour sliding the chips one-by-one into my mouth from under the mask.
Yes, I must have looked like an idiot to the others. I did hear the driver snigger. In response, I plugged in my earphones, shivered a little in my seat, and returned my gaze to the window.
When I reached Manali the next morning - nearly frozen, in 2°C weather - and took in my first view of the snow-clad Dhauladhar peaks, I knew that something momentous was about to begin. I could feel the optimism in my bones. There was so much I wanted to do - write my first novella, finish some half-written short stories and resume studying Spanish. But most of all, I wanted to rise above the smallness of existential worries and for once, just *live big*.
I am happy to report that I was able to achieve what I wanted the most. The novella is yet half-baked, the short stories are yet to be submitted, and I still speak Spanish only in the present tense. But I have had considerable progress in the âlive bigâ department - so much so that two weeks after my return, I can still feel the mountain vigour throbbing in my veins.
What does it take to replenish a parched soul? Not much, really. A sunlit room, with a desk facing the fields. Long walks every day, to the meadows and springs. Paranthas for breakfast, with butter every day. A little boy and a baby dog, with endless fun and games.
Thatâs all it really takes, for the fog to lift and sunshine to seep in.
I am back in Amdavad like a bad penny and my mountain jaunt already feels like a distant memory. No more unfiltered water from the tap. No more raw milk straight from the cowâs udder. No more fiddlehead ferns and curried zucchini for dinner. No more waterfall walks or moonlight treks or singing with strangers or gossiping with the villagers.
And yet, my stint in the hills will always occupy pride of place in my life. Among other things, it is embedded into my COVID vaccination certificate! I received my first shot at the Jagatsukh Primary Health Centre, along with a hundred other villagers. I mean, I rodeďżź to the centre on a rented Scooty. Flimsy bike, slope-y streets - I nearly slipped a couple of times en route. Who can forget that?
Iâve put together a little montage of my most memorable moments in the mountains. For those of you who watch, I really hope it inspires you to take off similarly some day, without a return ticket. Even if the virus goes away, letâs never forget what it has taught us - that life comes with no guarantees at all, so if there is something you just have to do, donât leave it for tomorrow.















