Of Mountains, Madness, and Yogi - My Trip to Manali

They say the journey is more important than the destination. I say they have clearly never taken a 14-hour overnight Volvo from Delhi to Manali with two drama queens, Mohini and Maya, who brought more snacks than luggage and more attitude than sunscreen. But hey—somewhere between the caffeine-fueled pit stops and the dodgy dhabas, we found something we didn’t know we were looking for: magic, mayhem, and a little mountain-induced madness.

This is our story. Our crazy beautiful escape from the chaos of Delhi to the dreamscape that is Manali.

Chapter 1: Of Sleepless Roads and Hilarious Loads

We boarded our bus from Majnu Ka Tilla, which, if you’ve never been, is the spiritual home of lost tourists and momo stalls. Maya, armed with a playlist titled “Hills Vibes Only,” promptly played 90s heartbreak songs. Mohini tried to flirt with some random dude across the aisle until she realized he was asleep and drooling. And me? I was wedged between a bag of Kurkure and Maya’s constant commentary on how slow this bus was moving (we were stuck at a red light).

Cut to 4 AM—somewhere near Mandi—we hit the twisty mountain roads. The bus took a turn so sharp, my soul left my body, did a somersault, and re-entered with a mild headache.

“Are we dead?” I whispered dramatically.

“No, but your breath might kill us,” Maya replied, munching on chips.

So yeah, besties.

Chapter 2: First Glimpse of Heaven

We reached Manali at 9 AM. Sleep-deprived, mildly dizzy, and extremely underdressed for the 5°C welcome. The air was different—crisp, pine-scented, and completely devoid of Delhi’s charm (read: pollution). Our Airbnb was tucked away in Old Manali, a little wooden cabin that creaked like it had secrets. It had a fireplace. A real fireplace. Not a Pinterest one.

As we freshened up, the view from the balcony hit us—snow-dusted peaks that kissed the clouds, the river Beas humming in the background, and cedar trees whispering sweet nothings in the wind. I wrote a quick poem in my journal (yes, I carry one—I’m that guy):

Silver peaks and skies so blue,

A world untouched, a dream come true.

The winds may chill, the roads may bend,

But in Manali, hearts transcend.

It felt like we’d stepped into a postcard—one where the photographer was high on mountain air and maybe bhuttas.

Chapter 3: Maya, the Yak Whisperer

Our first real adventure took us to Solang Valley, where people go to fly in the air (paragliding), fall in the snow (skiing), or pose with a yak (Maya’s personal Everest). I opted out of the whole “risking my life for adrenaline” thing and stuck to snowball fights.

Mohini, naturally, screamed her lungs out during paragliding and made her pilot record the entire flight like an Instagram reel. #ContentQueen

Maya befriended a yak named Pintu, who looked like he’d seen better days. She spent 15 minutes petting it and whispering affirmations like “You’re valid, you’re beautiful, you’re more than just a ride.”

Meanwhile, I was just busy losing sensation in my toes.

Chapter 4: A Brush with the Mystical

No Manali trip is complete without visiting the Hadimba Temple. Built in 1553, this wooden marvel is surrounded by deodar trees that look like they belong in a Studio Ghibli movie. The air here didn’t just feel fresh—it felt wise. Like it had seen empires rise and fall and watched generations fall in love and out of network coverage.

Inside, something strange happened. As I stood before the deity, a quiet warmth spread through me. The noise in my head—the deadlines, the chaos, the “what am I even doing with my life”—just stopped. Maya later claimed I stood there frozen for ten minutes.

“It looked like divine possession,” she said.

“Or altitude sickness,” Mohini chimed in.

Either way, it was beautiful.

Chapter 5: Café Crawls and Hot Chocolate Epiphanies

Old Manali’s cafés are straight out of a hipster’s daydream. We went café-hopping like it was a sacred ritual. The Lazy Dog, Café 1947, and Drifters’ Inn—each had its own soul.

One evening, sipping hot chocolate by the fireplace in Café 1947, I caught Maya staring out the window, eyes dreamy.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“Imagine falling in love here,” she said.

And just like that, the room changed. We all fell silent for a second. Maybe it was the weather, the cocoa, or the fact that the guitarist in the corner was playing “Tera Yaar Hoon Main” in a soft unplugged version—but everything felt... poetic.

In the land where snowflakes dance and sigh,

Love arrives with no goodbye.

A glance, a laugh, a spark so small,

Yet here, even silence feels like a call.

Chapter 6: Romance, Real or Imagined?

Okay, confession time. I might have developed a mild crush on the bookstore owner in Mall Road. Her name was Arya, and she had curly hair, slim glasses, and a mystical charm. We talked about Rumi, swapped recommendations, and I left with a second-hand copy of The Little Prince and a third-hand flutter in my heart.

“Did you get her number?” Mohini asked, elbowing me.

“No. But I got a bookmark.”

“Wow. So basically, eternal love.”

Still, there was something magical about it. Not every romance needs a follow-up. Sometimes, a smile, a shared quote, and a missing dog-eared page are enough.

Chapter 7: The Final Sunrise

On our last day, we woke up at 5 AM (not voluntarily; the neighbor’s rooster was clearly unhinged). Wrapped in layers, we sat on the balcony watching the sun rise behind the Pir Panjal range. Gold spilled onto the white peaks. The river sparkled like it had a secret to tell.

There was no music, no noise, no filters—just the three of us, shivering, laughing, and making memories we didn’t even know would become core moments.

Manali, your charm is wild and free,

A frozen poem, a melody.

We came as three, left as more,

Pieces of you in our very core.

Epilogue: Back to Reality (Ugh)

The return trip was less glamorous. Maya had motion sickness. Mohini lost her AirPods. I had a cold and a heart full of nostalgia. But Manali stayed with us.

In the end, this wasn’t just a trip. It was a pilgrimage to laughter, love, and a little lunacy. Somewhere between the snow and the soul-searching, we discovered that the Travel Gods aren’t always crazy—they just have a wicked sense of humor.

Would I do it all again?

In a heartbeat.

With Maya, Mohini, and the Yogi.

#ManaliMadness #BestiesInTheMountains