Stories from a backpack

What happens when a guy takes off on an impromptu backpacking trip across the country?

India, in its vast elegance, can either serenade a traveller, or can put on its daunting face, posing challenges that, for better or for worse, have become synonymous with the country. I’d like to think that I’ve travelled quite a bit, and during all those travels, have picked up nuances and signs to be able to handle any kind of situation.

That theory was put to the test recently, when a five-day trip to Kasol and Malana turned into a three-week expedition. I’ve always wanted to be spontaneous; I’ve read stories about travellers listening to their inner selves, leaving behind their inhibitions and embarking on journeys that would change their lives forever. Call me a Walter Mitty character, or someone that has always believed in the sanctity of the unknown; the prospect of stumbling upon such a realisation led me to explore a few places in India.

The man with the plan, sort of

When I hopped on the train from Hyderabad to Delhi, I had planned the entire trip. I would go to Delhi, travel to Kasol, quench my Thoreau-esque thirst of a moonlight tryst with nature, and then return to Hyderabad. Everything went according to plan: I reached Delhi, and after travelling for 34 hours in a train, I immediately had to catch a bus to Jari. From there, it was another hour or two in the local bus to reach Kasol.

While many travellers carry their camping equipment, I have always relied on Airbnb. For a traveller, it is important to be flexible; I always remember the advice I picked up when I was 22, when a friend told me that if I couldn’t adapt to my surroundings, I wouldn’t go far. In fact, it is still a mantra I live by, which has helped me immensely during my travels.

After spending two days in Kasol, visiting the pristine village of Malana, I returned to Delhi, and as I sat in the bus, wondering if those two days would be the final vacation I would have for months, postponing the idea of watching my footprints on untrodden land, I remembered an inexpiable mistake I made during my two-year stay in Delhi. I had never seen the Taj Mahal.

After a day’s rest, I had purchased a bus ticket to Agra, with my traveller’s instinct taking over. The next two weeks would make it the most memorable backpacking experience I’ve ever had.

It was in Agra that I met Benjamin, a Danish conquistador who had embarked on an audacious journey, to cover India on foot. He had been walking for four months, and we ran into each other in a hostel. Over the next week, we visited all of the major tourist attractions in Agra, exchanged stories, and on the night before we parted ways, we, in Benjamin’s words, ‘lived to have a good time’, watching the lull city sleep quietly at midnight from the roof of a five-star hotel — a view he had seen on the hotel’s pamphlet, which, as you’d expect, had been exaggerated.

On the itinerary

The next day, I packed my bag and left for Jaipur, while Benjamin set off on his mission to reach Delhi. The trains in the northern part of India are notoriously late, and as I waited for five hours at the station, I started making plans for what I would see in Jaipur. However, it was in Pink City that I truly realised that no matter how much you travel, there are things that would still surprise you. I dropped my bag at my hostel, which cost about Rs 150 per day, and set off to see the magnificent palaces and the breathtaking scenery.

It was a struggle to travel around the city for 10 hours, with the sun relentlessly beating down, but my window was small. I had to leave for Jodhpur on the same night, and by evening, I had covered most of the places, and decided to do some shopping at Amer Fort. As I would later learn, you can get conned by anyone, including the government authorised local guides. I was taken to this historic ‘market’, where, in an effort to buy some souvenirs which I was told would be sent to my residence, I spent most of the money I had left for the trip. Looking back, I still cannot understand how I believed their words; perhaps, they were the best salesmen that I have come across.

I rushed back to my hostel and left for the train station to catch my train to Jodhpur. And as I tried to sneak in a quick nap at 2 am, I was reminded of the absurdities one can find themselves in, especially in Indian trains. After a brief ruckus, I was woken up by a group of women, interrogated if I was in my seat, and was later requested to take one of their seats. As I tried to slip back into my dreams, I was woken up once again and was requested to go to the other end of the compartment. I obliged without a second thought — at least, I could get away from the commotion, but before I could get a quick nap, I had reached Jodhpur.

The hostels themselves were very affordable; spending around Rs 200 a day isn’t as bad of a proposition. A day in Jodhpur quickly passed by, and I had to catch an early morning bus to Udaipur. After spending yet another tiring day visiting places, I finally boarded the train back to Hyderabad.

Lao Tzu put it aptly: ‘A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving’. The unknown is the most intriguing aspect for a traveller, for you find the most amazing things in the most unusual places, and more often than not, you come out of it a better person.