I Continue From Here: Manali | Himachal Pradesh
12 July 2026 – Manali to Kasol
In the morning, we took it slow and delayed our checkout until 11 a.m. We then went down, hired a taxi, and headed to the main street to meet our driver. He was a gentle Himachali man. We requested him to stop so we could buy some apples along the way. He happily stopped at a series of roadside stalls selling apples, plums, and other mountain fruits. I ended up buying a box of plums.
The drive from Manali to Kasol took about two and a half hours. Our riverside hostel was lovely. We had booked a four-bed cottage. The other two beds were occupied, but our dorm mates were out when we arrived.
Divyesh and I had lunch at the café attached to the hostel. The food was good, though the portions were rather small. Right beside us, the Parvati River flowed in full force. It drizzled on and off throughout the afternoon. After lunch, we took a long nap to make up for the sleep we had missed over the previous few days.
Later that evening, I walked alone to the town centre and visited Offlimits Coffee, which is known for being one of the first cafés in the area to serve hemp coffee and hemp-based products. Naturally, I tried their hemp coffee. It wasn't anything extraordinary.
Back at the cottage, I sat outside and simply relaxed. Having slept all afternoon, I found it difficult to fall asleep. That was when we met our two dorm mates.
Pushpit was a young man from Canada. Originally from Haryana, he now had Canadian permanent residency. He had taken a year-long break to travel around India. Praful was from Pune and was on vacation. Like many visitors to Kasol, he had come to enjoy the famous hash brownies and cannabis culture. He was high for most of the evening and occasionally stepped away from our conversation for a smoke.
It was a pleasure talking to Pushpit, who was a genuine explorer. I would describe him as a flashpacker—someone who isn't necessarily travelling on a shoestring budget but enjoys exploring comfortably. He recommended several cafés around Kasol and suggested that I visit the nearby village of Choj. I decided to explore those places the next day. He was equally curious about our trek. Listening to our stories, and later watching my Instagram posts, inspired him to take up trekking himself. We ended up talking until almost 2 a.m.
13–14 July 2026 – Kasol
The next morning, I woke up late. After getting ready, I walked into town, had breakfast, and boarded a bus to Manikaran Sahib. It is only about a fifteen-minute ride from Kasol.
Once there, I walked to the Gurudwara and sat quietly while the prayers were in progress. The Kada Prasad served there was absolutely heavenly. Afterwards, I joined the langar and had a simple but satisfying meal.
Next, I visited the Shiva temple. The hot spring there was literally boiling, and devotees cooked chana dal in it as prasad.
I then visited the public hot spring pools near the bridge. The boiling water is mixed with cold water to make it comfortable enough for devotees to bathe. The bath was incredibly refreshing. I also visited the ancient Ram Temple and Jagannath Temple located nearby.
Afterwards, I returned to the bus stand and boarded a local bus back to Kasol.
On the bus was a drunk man travelling to Chandigarh. He had packed all his belongings into a few bags, suggesting that he was leaving the place for good. Two boys sitting behind me and I helped him lift one of his bags into the overhead rack. The zip of the bag was broken, making it difficult to handle.
When it was time to buy his ticket, he struggled to find his money. Looking apologetically at the conductor, he said, "Baat paise ki nahi hai, majboori hai bas." (It's not about the money; it's simply helplessness.) The conductor remained remarkably patient. He calmly asked the man to settle down first and pay later. Eventually, the man pulled out a couple of ₹500 notes and paid.
We are often quick to judge drunkards as morally inferior. Our so-called moral values allow us to pass judgement without trying to understand what has brought a person to that state. It is easy to jump to conclusions, but an empathetic mind first asks why. That day, everyone on the bus responded with quiet compassion, as though each of them recognised something of their own helplessness in that man. We have all experienced moments of despair. We may respond differently, but the emotion itself is universal.
I got off at Choj village and spent some time wandering around. It is a small village filled with cafés and guesthouses. Many cafés openly advertised magic brownies. By the way, Kasol is also famous for its bakeries.
Earlier, I had tried a Bhagsu cake—something similar to a cheesecake, except that instead of a cheese layer, it has a rich chocolate topping. I also sampled a few chocolate balls, though they were fairly ordinary.
By then, both Praful and Pushpit had checked out, leaving the cottage entirely to ourselves.
In the evening, Divyesh and I went into town for an early dinner. We found a restaurant offering Jain food. I decided to order the Jain meal as well, and Divyesh seemed happy. I wondered why I had never done that before. I would usually order something different while he ordered Jain food, when we could simply have shared the same meal. The food was excellent, freshly prepared from scratch. After that, we stopped at a local bakery for some desserts.
That night, I once again sat outside the cottage, enjoying the peaceful surroundings. Since it was the off-season, the hostel wasn't very crowded. A group of young men occupied the neighbouring cottage. They had brought along a small gas cylinder and groceries, spending the evening drinking and cooking their own dinner. It seemed to be a fairly common practice around here.
The following morning, I walked into town for my customary cup of tea and breakfast. A lady had just opened her tea stall and was speaking to her elderly mother on the phone. She even turned the screen towards me so I could see her mother, who seemed to have difficulty hearing and understanding her daughter. After finishing my tea, I returned to the hostel.
Divyesh and I checked out around 11 a.m., left our bags in the storage room, and headed out for lunch.
We ate at Icaros Café in Choj village, a place Pushpit had recommended. It completely lived up to his praise. Their pita bread, hummus, and falafel were among the best I have tasted in India.
Later, we spent some time at the café attached to our hostel. There we met Paras, a young man who had recently cleared his CA examinations and was taking a short holiday. Coincidentally, he too was from Haryana. We had met quite a few people from Haryana on this trip—Abhi, Pushpit, and now Paras.
That evening, we collected our bags and headed to Panjtara, a brewery with an attached café. Paras was already there. Since he was around, I decided to try one of their craft beers. I generally prefer citrus-flavoured beers, and the one I chose was excellent.
Over the next hour, we barely stopped talking. Initially, Paras and Divyesh discussed the stock market. Later, the conversation shifted to life itself.
Paras seemed deeply curious about finding purpose. He spoke about the conflict between his own aspirations and the expectations of his family. His parents were followers of the Brahma Kumaris and adhered to a strict lifestyle and dietary discipline. His brother, too, was involved in religious teachings somewhere in Europe.
"I am the only spoiled one," he joked.
I responded by saying that, if I had to choose between surrender and curiosity, I would always choose curiosity.
He smiled and replied that one day he hoped to surrender—to someone he loved, perhaps.
I found that to be a perfectly natural thought for a twenty-year-old. I wanted to respond, but I held back. Anything I said would have sounded paternalistic. He was on his own journey of self-discovery, and I trusted that he would eventually find his own answers.
Then he asked me a deeply personal question.
His questions were certainly very personal, but they didn't bother me. I remained calm because I understood where they were coming from. Growing up in a household shaped by the Brahma Kumaris must have influenced the way he viewed life, and perhaps he was seeking perspectives beyond those he had always known. I answered him as honestly as I could, while still leaving certain things unsaid.
Paras also wanted to know what my philosophy of life was. I simply replied that I do not base my life on any one particular philosophy. I enjoy reading and studying different philosophical traditions, and over time I have come to realise that no single perspective holds true in every situation. We approach life in different ways depending on the circumstances we find ourselves in. More often than not, this is not a conscious choice. We intuitively adopt the outlook that seems most appropriate for the moment.
Later, he asked me for some life advice. His questions were mostly about relationships. I shared a few thoughts that I felt were important—not as universal truths, but as lessons that had made sense to me through my own experiences.
Unlike Divyesh, I didn't find Paras strange. I found him thoughtful—a young man genuinely searching for answers. Twenty is an early age to begin such a philosophical quest, but I had no doubt he would eventually find his own path. He was an intelligent young man.
Before we left, Paras mentioned that his family owned a dry-fruit business. He told me that some of the finest cashew nuts in India come from Mangalore, my hometown. According to him, Mangalorean cashews have a distinctive texture and a subtly sweet aftertaste.
We finally bid Paras farewell and headed to the bus station. I had booked a FlixBus to Chandigarh. The bus was extremely comfortable.
Sitting beside me was a group of Muslim men from the Mangalore region. I recognised them immediately from their Byari dialect. Ordinarily, I might have struck up a conversation, but after so many conversations over the past few days, I longed for silence.
15 July 2026 – Chandigarh
We reached Chandigarh at around 3:15 a.m. At the Sector 43 bus terminal, we freshened up and waited for my airport shuttle. Divyesh stayed with me until it arrived. After a long wait, the shuttle finally came at around 4:15 a.m. The ride to the airport cost just ₹40.
My flight back to Bangalore was uneventful. Exhausted, I slept through almost the entire journey.
When I arrived, Bangalore somehow looked different. I wondered whether it was the city that had changed or me. It was surely the latter. Spending time in the mountains always changes me, and this trek, in many ways, had moved me deeply and transformed me profoundly.
I was happy to be home after yet another memorable adventure. It was finally time to rest—at least until the next journey called me.
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