Eyes and Escapes

Arpil 2024

A New Chapter: My First Solo Adventure

Stepping out of my Navi Mumbai apartment in April 2024, I carried more than just a packed suitcase—I carried a heart full of nervous excitement. As I triple-checked the geyser switch and braced myself against the sweltering summer heat, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of anxiety and exhilaration. It was my first-ever solo trip to Tirthan Valley, Himachal Pradesh.

A 5D/4N itinerary including commute days, so in actual it was 3D/2N. A journey from the bustling city of Mumbai to the serene embrace of the mountains awaited me, and with it, the promise of self-discovery, new friendships, and a story worth telling. What followed was a whirlwind of emotions, minor mishaps, and quiet victories that made every moment unforgettable. Here’s how it all began.

Day 1 – Flight to Delhi and Bus to Kullu

My heart was racing when locked my apartment to head towards the airport in Santacruz, Mumbai. Is the geyser switch off? I double checked and took a photo of the switch so that I don’t get anxious on the flight. The anxiety was fed by the fact that I was leaving for a long trip to Tirthan Valley, Himachal Pradesh – ALONE for the first time ever. The stuffy hot Mumbai summer felt sticky and discomforting. Braving through my anxiety and traffic through the beautiful Atal Setu, I reached the airport early and I had plenty of time to board.

The beauty of Atal Setu isn’t just in its ability to seamlessly connect Navi Mumbai to Mumbai, reducing travel time—it’s in the breathtaking views it offers along the way. Stretching over marshlands that kiss the Arabian Sea, the bridge transforms a routine commute into a serene spectacle. It was flamingo season, and the marshes were alive with their delicate pink forms, wading gracefully and pecking at the water’s surface for tiny morsels.

At the distant end of Atal Setu, the cityscape of Mumbai unfolded and the towering skyscrapers etched themselves against the clear blue sky, a sharp contrast to the browns of the marshlands below. The juxtaposition was—a testament to Mumbai’s relentless ambition rising above nature’s quiet persistence. The splendour of Mumbai itself is a rich topic.

After reaching terminal 2, and baggage drop, I checked into the lounge. With the weight of an irrational fear—a lingering echo of past traumas—whispering that all eyes were on me, I sought refuge by the window in the lounge overlooking the runway. Plugged my ears with earphones to distract myself from my irrational fear.

I headed to the food section to serve some food for myself – acting as though I am not conscious or I am not feeling the “irrational fear”. A wise person could see through the mask. I walked passed a menu of yummy dishes and tried to decide what I will eat. I served some Fried rice onto my plate and quickly picking up spoons I rushed back quickly to my table – so that the pretending can cut short. One can see the anxiety on face; though I pretended to not show it up.

Finally the time to board my flight to Delhi arrived. I headed towards the boarding gate carrying my heavy luggage. I had a big trolley suitcase – a whooping 13kgs -which I had dropped at the baggage drop and a backpack. The backpack was heavy as well. Cut me some slack please! It was my first solo trip, I didn’t know how much to pack. Dragging my strained spine from a heavy backpack,  I reached the boarding gate and again the waiting began.

To kill time, I called my sister and confessed how anxious I was feeling. Her response came sharp and swift, cutting through my spiralling thoughts: ‘Akka, you’re a surgeon, for God’s sake! Remember that—you’re smart, accomplished, and resilient. Now stop overthinking and enjoy your trip!’

Okay! Fine…

If the plan goes well I would reach Delhi and leave by cab to the pick point by 5.30 pm, so that I get a 2 hour window to reach Majnu Ka Tila – the starting point to my Trip to Tirthan Valley. As luck would have it, the flight was delayed by an hour! And I m a person whose anxiety shoots up when my plan is upset even by a minute. My leg bounced restlessly – restless leg syndrome- as I waited for the plane to finally take off, the restlessness refusing to settle.

A brief, light-hearted exchange with my seat-mate provided some comfort, grounding me momentarily in shared humanity.

But my reprieve was short-lived. Note: never, “ever” carry a sipper bottle on a flight. As the plane ascended, I naively flipped it open, only to send a rebellious jet of water soaring through the straw—straight onto an unsuspecting passenger behind me. I apologised to her and to others to whom the water spray settled on. On my “towards” journey clumsiness took the centre stage. Since the clumsiness was at its peak (I might drop the small ear pods down), and also because I get migraines I just left the earpods in my bag and napped in the reminder of the journey. Anxiety, I’ve learned, often lends itself to moments like these—messy, humane, and oddly humbling.

Can a eye surgeon be that clumsy? I suppose we have a double life. A life where we strive hard to keep up precision – which costs our mental health and an another life where we are just very humane and could be clumsy. After all we are humans too.

The journey from Mumbai to Delhi was quick, and I landed around 6.00 pm. Knowing I was running late, I rushed towards the baggage carousel. Damn! The wait to find my partner for the trip – the 13kg trolley bag, seemed endless. I could see my fellow passengers pacing with impatience, just like me. Delay like this had never happened with me before, but of course it had to happen on this day – my bad.

Finally, after a nerve-wracking 45 minutes, my bag arrived. Without wasting a second, I dashed out and jumped into the cab I had booked during the agonizing wait. 

“Bhaiya, jaldi jaana hai!” I urged the driver. 

“Try karunga, madam, lekin saare routes traffic se bhare hain. Google Map toh pura red dikha raha hai,” he replied apologetically. 

Great. Stuck in peak Delhi traffic on day 1 of my first solo trip!

It was 7 pm. I quickly dialed the trip captain to inform him about my delay, hoping for some reassurance. Instead, I was met with curt words. 

“We’re leaving without you,” he said flatly. 

Wait, what?! 

“You told me 7:30 PM yesterday, and now you’re saying 7:00? Are you serious? My flight was delayed, and the city is gridlocked. I’m only 25 minutes away! Please wait for me,” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice steady. 

To make things worse, the original itinerary had mentioned an 8:00 PM departure. The last-minute preponing to 7:30 PM was frustrating enough, but this sudden shift to 7:00 PM was plain unfair. My mind spun with frustration and disbelief!

Panicked, I called Mohith, a friend and seasoned traveler who’d encouraged me to take this solo trip. 

“Mohith, the captain is being unreasonable! They’re threatening to leave without me. What should I do?” I vented. 

“That’s bad,” he said sympathetically. “Don’t worry—they won’t actually leave without you. Sometimes, these companies do this to rush everyone. Ask them to stop at a point ahead where they’ll refuel, and you can catch up there.” 

His advice gave me some hope. I called the captain again. 

“Where are you now? Please send me your location—I’ll catch up.” 

“We’re slightly ahead of the pickup point. Tell your driver to drop you there,” he responded, less harsh this time. 

Relieved, I asked the cab driver to head towards petrol bunk. The kind Driver Anna dropped me to a petrol bunk. I thanked him profusely for being so patient and helpful amidst the chaos and then he left. I stood there at the petrol bunk entrance with my luggage adjusting my heavy backpack over my shoulder and wondering “why hasn’t the bus turned up yet!”

As I stood there, taking small strides, waiting and trying to ease the pain of carrying the heavy backpack which was digging my spine, the heavens opened up and heavy winds and rain slashed Delhi. The tender coconut vendor beside me witnessed the mess, as I scrambled to find my umbrella. The winds were so turbulent that my umbrella was about to turn inside out! Waiting uncomfortably, I looked into the distant fog – looking for the bus named “Indian Traveller”. To my delight, finally, I could see the headlights in the fog, of my bus. The bus “Indian Traveller” arrived. Phew! Such a relief.

Feeling tired and relived I boarded the bus. I waddled to the back of the bus with my bags, where our seats where book. I found a seat beside a fellow female traveller and the journey began!

Meeting My First Travel Buddy 

The bus wasn’t a private vehicle for our group but a third-party service, with seats booked for 13 of us and a travel captain. I found a spot beside a solo traveler from Delhi – Krithika. She welcomed me warmly, and as we struck up a conversation, I felt some of my nervousness melt away. 

She offered me snacks, including homemade spicy makhana. It was delicious, and I even asked her for the recipe—though I never got around to trying it myself because life as a medical fellow rarely leaves time for culinary experiments.

The Night Journey

The bus was a semi-sleeper, and though it wasn’t the most comfortable ride, the real beauty of the journey began as we entered Himachal Pradesh. I drifted in and out of sleep, my body tired but my senses alive.

Each time I opened my eyes, I caught glimpses of the magic outside: towering mountains silhouetted against a sky dusted with stars, a misty river running alongside the winding road, and clouds weaving in and out of the peaks. It was as if the universe had conspired to make me feel small, yet significant.

My first solo adventure began! Little did I know this hectic start was just a prelude to the adventure that lay ahead.

Day 2-Arriving in Kullu and transfer to Homestay in Shoja

Arriving in Kullu and Shoja felt like stepping into a dream. As our bus stopped in the early hours, the rhythm of the river greeted us—a melody of water meeting rock. Above, the deep indigo sky reluctantly gave way to dawn, with stars fading against the cold mountain air. It was a magical welcome.

While our luggage was being loaded into the tempo traveller, I found myself answering a question repeatedly: “Why did you come so far?” As the only South Indian in a group from Delhi and North India, my response was simple: “I’m a doctor, and I needed a break. I love the mountains—why wouldn’t I come this far?” This question stayed with me, making me realize how travel spots close to metro cities often attract regional crowds. Here, I felt like the odd one out—not just geographically but also as the only doctor, the only South Indian, and the only one lugging what felt like a mini wardrobe.

Our drive to Shoja was uneventful as most of us were sleep-deprived and dozed off. When we arrived at The Forest Pinnacle & Café, the sight of the cozy wooden cottage against a backdrop of misty mountains woke us with renewed excitement.

The freezing room, the earthy scent of the wooden floor, and the balcony’s breathtaking view—all combined to make me feel both small and infinite. A tiny hut by the stream below caught my eye, sparking curiosity about who might live there.

After a quick hot shower to shake off the chill, me and Krithika, we explored the dining area upstairs. With its low wooden tables like the Japanese “chabudai- low legged dining table”  and glass windows offering panoramic valley views, the space was a haven for weary travelers. As we devoured steaming pahadi maggi and chai, I couldn’t help but think: is it the Himalayan water or the chilly weather that makes pahadi maggi so special?

The highlight of the morning was our impromptu trek to the stream. Despite a slippery trail and a thorn-induced allergic reaction, the experience was grounding. Sitting on a rock in the middle of the stream, I let the icy Himalayan water flow through my fingers. It felt grounded, as though the mountains themselves were listening to my silent musings. In that moment, I closed my eyes and imagined letting go of my grief into the stream, as if the water could carry some part of my sorrow away. There was something comforting, almost mystical, about this connection—like the river wasn’t just flowing past me but through me, cleansing and soothing with every ripple.

After spending a tranquil morning at the valley, it was time to trek back up. This was when reality hit me hard. While Krithika and Tushar ascended with ease, I found myself breathless after just a few steps. My legs felt like they had given up, trembling with every move. I had to stop every two steps, leaning on my knees, gasping for air, and letting my frustration simmer silently. It took me over half an hour to recover fully, and while I tried to stay calm, an unsettling thought crept into my mind: How much have I neglected my body?

As I trudged on, the towering mountains around me seemed to mirror my struggle. They stood resilient and unyielding, as if quietly asking me, When did you lose your strength? Yet, I clung to optimism: It’s just been a long time. I’ll catch up in the next trek. Pushing aside my doubts, I boarded the tempo-traveller, sitting by the window with snacks in hand, watching the majestic hills roll by. Most of my fellow travellers were either sleeping or glued to their phones, so I turned inward, lost in contemplation.

Our next stop was Jibhi Waterfalls, a place I’d been eager to visit. The walk to the falls was relatively easy, but even then, I found myself tiring quickly—a truth I stubbornly ignored to savour the moment. The waterfalls were stunning, cascading gently into a small pond walled off for visitors. Crowds buzzed around, snapping pictures, but what stood out for me was the ambiance of the place—the soothing rush of water, the cool spray on my face, and the vibrant energy of people.

After a few quick pictures, we ventured toward the street-side vendors, which turned out to be my favourite part. Himalayan scarves, caps, and trinkets filled the stalls. I couldn’t resist buying a red scarf, its vivid hue complementing the greens of the mountains around us. I loved it so much that I wore it for the rest of the trip—and every camp trip after that.

Next, we headed to the market for lunch. Before eating, we decided to explore a hilltop where a village festival was in full swing. A stray dog joined us on the way, wagging its tail as if it belonged to our group—an unspoken tradition of the hills. The festival was vibrant and colorful, with children playing on one side while families prepared for a ceremonial procession. I couldn’t help but notice how graceful and beautiful the Himachali women looked in their traditional attire, carrying an air of effortless elegance.

Lunch was at a quaint café where we finally opened up about our lives, work, and travel stories. The captain brought up our late arrival on Day 1, giving me the perfect chance to share my frustration about the constant timing changes. It felt good to be heard.

Later, Tushar and I wandered into the market, walking aimlessly until a cozy café caught my eye—the Pink Panther Café. Drawn to its inviting vibe, we stepped inside. I ordered a sandwich, but just as it arrived, the captain’s call came: “Hurry up, we’re leaving!” We scarfed it down and ran uphill to rejoin the group. Tushar, 11 years younger than me, joked, “You’re a doctor; you need to work on your fitness.” His words were honest but stung harder than I’d expected.

Our final stop was Mini Thailand, a secluded stream hidden under a canopy of rocks and pine trees. The green-tinged light filtering through the forest was enchanting, and the sound of the stream felt like a lullaby for my restless thoughts. While others splashed in the water, I chose to sit quietly, letting the serenity wash over me.

Back at the homestay, heavy rains cancelled our bonfire plans, so we partied indoors instead. Sitting in the attic with the group, tipsy laughter filled the air, breaking the awkwardness of the past two days. Yet, as the night wore on, the excitement dimmed, and most of us retired early.

That night, lying in bed, I reflected on the day. The mountains had shown me their beauty but also reminded me of my own vulnerabilities. Tomorrow was another chance—to explore, to push myself, and to begin making peace with the body I had long neglected.

Day 3 – Jalori Pass and Trek to Serolsar Lake 

The day began with anticipation, as this was the centerpiece of our trip—trekking to Serolsar Lake. After a hearty breakfast, we set out for Jalori Pass, the gateway to various treks such as Raghupur Fort, Bajah Peak, and Serolsar Lake. Our goal was clear: the 5 km trek to Serolsar Lake, perched at an altitude of 3,150 meters (10,100 ft). 

The lake, known for its pristine, crystal-clear waters, is said to have healing properties according to local folklore. Surrounded by dense oak and deodar forests, the setting promised serenity and picture-perfect views. I was eager, yet skeptical. The previous day’s struggle with altitude had left me questioning my stamina. 

My Trek Attempt 

I started the trek, motivated by its reputation as the easiest route in the area. But barely 500 meters in, I was gripped by severe breathlessness. The others trekked ahead, while I lagged, feeling my limitations more acutely with every step. Two fellow travelers and our captain stayed with me, but it became clear I wasn’t equipped physically or mentally for the challenge. 

Reluctantly, I decided to stay back at Jalori Pass. Instead of pushing beyond my capacity, I explored the area, trekking up small hillocks nearby. The panoramic views of snow-capped peaks were mesmerizing. The clear skies, the golden sunlight, and the cold mountain winds created a perfect harmony. Despite my disappointment, I found solace in the beauty around me. 

Returning to the Stay 

As my fellow trekkers were expected to return late in the evening, I decided to head back to the wooden cottage. With the help of the tempo driver, I found a local cab. Initially hesitant to ride alone, I was reassured by the driver’s kind demeanor. “Pahadi log bohot nek hote hain,” he said, and true to his word, the cab driver refused any fare. I insisted on paying, grateful for his kindness. 

Back at the stay, I ordered lunch and rested, letting the calm of the mountains ease my disappointment. My roommate, Kritika, returned around 5:30 PM. We spent the evening bonding over life’s highs and lows, sharing stories until nightfall. 

When the rain began at 8:30 PM, we headed for dinner, followed by a lively party of dancing and music. Tipsy and tired, I later sat on the balcony wrapped in thermals, listening to the eerie yet soothing forest sounds. The mountains, with their majestic and divine presence, seemed to absorb my grief. Sitting there, I let go of the past, as if the dense forest and flowing streams were carrying it away. 

Day 4 – Back to Kullu and River Rafting 

The next morning, we checked out and headed to Kullu for the much-awaited river rafting on the Beas River. The highway leading to Kullu was lined with river rafting agencies, buzzing with adventurers like us. 

We arrived at a rafting station around noon and geared up with life jackets. The icy Himalayan waters delivered an instant shock as we stepped into the raft. But as we acclimated, it turned into an exhilarating experience. Our captain ensured we got splashes of freezing water at every turn, making the ride both thrilling and fun. 

In a calm stretch of the river, we were allowed to dive in, floating on our backs while holding onto the harness. It was surreal, being cradled by the river surrounded by towering mountains. Once we were back on the raft, we paddled to shore, exhilarated and completely spent. 

Wrapping Up the Trip 

After rafting, we stopped at a roadside dhaba for lunch and waited for our evening bus back to Delhi. While waiting, Krithika, Tushar, and I wandered along the highway, capturing the last snapshots of our trip. A friendly stray dog accompanied us, as if to bid us farewell. 

By the time our bus arrived at 8 PM, we were all so exhausted that sleep came easily. The journey back to Delhi marked the end of a trip filled with challenges, breathtaking moments, and newfound connections. As we parted ways, I carried with me not just memories of the mountains but a renewed sense of letting go and moving forward.