My Sojourn in Solitude at the Foot of the Himalayas

A New Dimension of Self-Nurturance!

Here I am…. To share with you, one more experience of my solo trip!

This time, the trip was unlike any I had taken before. I had not gone for sightseeing, leisure, or even “taking a normal break.” It was not a journey across cities or landscapes, but across the subtle layers of my own being. For days, I lived in an almost monk-like rhythm—raw, real, and stripped down to the essentials.

Waking at 4 a.m. with the stillness of dawn. Sleeping by 9 p.m., not out of exhaustion, but from a fullness of the soul. No screens. No noise. No indulgences.

Just Satvik vegan food, clean and intentional, each meal infused with prana.

Just silence, service, stillness, and a way of life that mirrored nature’s gentle but firm rhythm.

Even with the most basic of amenities, I never felt a sense of lack. If anything, I felt more richness, more clarity, more presence.

Life there didn’t feel like a routine. It felt like a rhythm, fluid, sacred, like the river Ganga herself. Walking barefoot along her banks became a ritual of cleansing, not just of the body but of the mind. Her waters cooled not only my tired feet but the heat of long-held restlessness.

Meditation in ancient caves helped me understand and become one with silence, and long hours of dialogue beneath tin roofs brought insights not from books, but from the depth of lived experience.

Every moment felt like a lesson. Not taught, but revealed. Every act became a way to be part of something greater than myself. There was no indulgence, and yet, no emptiness. Instead, there was a strange abundance. A richness born of simplicity. A fullness in stillness.

Self-nurturance took on an entirely new meaning. It wasn’t warm baths or quiet evenings with tea. It was waking up before the sun, eating for clarity instead of craving, and choosing silence over stimulation.

It was like learning the art of “Titiksha”

I chose solitude, not because the world was overwhelming, but because my soul longed to breathe without interference. In that solitude, a different kind of connection blossomed, first with myself, and then with others.

Not superficial conversations, but meaningful exchanges where masks fell away. We were all beyond our tags and identities, no professions, no backstories. And in that space of anonymity, the essence of each human began to shine.

People from different geographies, with different languages and customs, revealed new ways of thinking, coping, and believing. Each person carried a world within them. And by truly listening, I began to realize that no single perspective is absolute. Every viewpoint is a doorway into another facet of truth. Exposure to such richness stretched my soul, softened the rigidity, and made room for a more nuanced understanding of life.

In this space, listening became a sacred act. Not listening to respond or fix, but simply to understand. To witness. I began to meet others soul to soul, not role to role. Each face became a teacher. Each encounter, a mirror. Not to fix, but to reflect. Not to help, but to honor.

Even children became my teachers, pure, present, curious. And those who faced physical challenges or material lack shone with an inner radiance that came not from abundance, but from alignment. Their strength was not of circumstance, but of conviction.

And all the while, the silent fire of transformation kept burning.

Let the gold be cast in the furnace,

Do not fear the hungry fire,

With its caverns of burning light,

The gold shall return more precious,

Free from every spot and stain.

This was the fire. Not cruel, but cleansing. It stripped away excess, softened inner noise, and brought forth something quieter, more luminous. Not a new self but perhaps the one that had been waiting beneath the noise all along.

There is a kind of love that isn’t soft, but steady. It wakes you up before dawn. It feeds you simplicity. It invites you into silence. It asks you to serve, to reflect, to let go. And in doing so, it gives you back to yourself, not as an idea, but as an experience.

I feel that I didn’t come back the same. There is a new kind of stillness in my breath, a different softness in my gaze. More compassion. Less urgency. Not the performative love of the self, but the kind that simply says: I’m here. I’ve got you.

And perhaps that is the real gift of such a journey, not that it gives answers, but that it clears the space within for the right questions to arise. The ones that lead us home. The ones that make us wonder:

What would change if we treated every person we met as a sacred text?

What if we listened not to reply, but to receive?

And what might shift in us if we embraced the unfamiliar, not just in others, but in ourselves?

Some journeys take us to distant lands. But the most transformative ones?

They bring us back to where we’ve always belonged. Inside. Awake. Real.

Let your life be that sacred walk. Not always soft. But always true. Because sometimes, the most powerful kind of love is the one that sits with you in silence – And simply smiles.