It’s true, when it comes to travelling for pleasure, we, Indians, have always had a fancy for quantification, always measuring “Wahan kya hai?” in English which translates to “What’s there to see?” but actually meaning “You’re wasting your time!” Even when this trip was in conception, the baby was declared to be born with a disability. Kasauli—a quaint little hill station in the Solan District of the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh—as it was laid down upon us countless number of times, was just not a child you’d like to be a proud parent to. Shimla, Manali, Srinagar, and the likes were the popular ones, delivering the goods, scoring well, immaculate in their beauty, no doubt, but bustling with more footfalls than the natural order can afford to bear on its chest.
Granted, that time may not always be at our leisure, and that, in our superfast paced lives we’ve got so accustomed to human company that no matter where we go, it finds us. Moving outside the crowd to in its lap again, such is the irony.
But if quietude is what you seek then take a left (towards Kasauli), instead of a going straight (towards Shimla) and you’ll know the things you’ve not known before, see the sights you’ve not seen before, come across a valley flourishing amidst the sheet of clouds as if God himself put forth to hide this land from the exploits of more waiting-to-be-parents, waiting to turn this virgin piece of strip into a moolah making chaperone.
For here, ravens roam about and caw as if they own the land, and cottoned clouds bequeath their thrones to come down to mingle with the commoners, whispering sweet nothings. Here, a tender rustle and playful chirps weave a sense of calming duality, where you feel altogether content, and yet are impregnated with a keen desire to go places, conquer it all.
And here, at this Misty Wonder, you just be; closer to earth, closer to yourself; if only you’ll give silence a chance to sing its melody, and have ears to listen to the wonders that go beyond.