If there's one dilemma at the end of every year, it's this — what to do during the shutdown. I wasn't going to waste this one lying in bed and endlessly scrolling through reels. So I decided I wanted to go somewhere. I had always loved the idea of solo trips, but I hadn't really done many. This felt like an opportunity to finally do a long solo trip.
Before starting this trip, I was very scared. I wasn't scared of flights, trains, or places. I was scared of being alone for too long. Scared that I would get bored. Scared of the awkwardness of being a solo person in places full of couples and groups. Scared of sitting awkwardly at a café all by myself, hearing the chattering of groups and noticing the intimate conversations between couples.
Scared that I would keep asking myself, why did I even come?
But at the core, I knew I had to do this. So I booked the tickets anyway. Once the flights were booked, there was no easy way out. Otherwise, I would lose my money.
Mussoorie
The journey, the walking, and the hills.
And the D-day finally came. I started my journey with mixed feelings — a bit nervous and a bit excited.
The journey itself started normally.
Bengaluru airport was calm; it was an early morning flight. Terminal 2 is actually very nice, and even the lounge felt peaceful.
When I reached Delhi airport, it was a bit crowded and noisy. Spent six hours waiting for my connecting flight to Dehradun. The flight itself was quite short, about 40 minutes.
Dehradun was where things started feeling real. The moment I stepped out of the airport, the cold winter breeze of Uttarakhand hit me. Getting to Mussoorie from Dehradun airport wasn't smooth at all. Taking a standalone cab was too expensive, so I waited for quite some time to find people willing to share a cab.
While waiting, I was having a conversation with one of the cab drivers. He said, "Mussoorie akele kyu jaa rahe ho? Waha toh poora couples se bhara hua hai. Tera kidhar hai?"
I joked, "Mera partner nahi hai bhaiya, mai akele hu. Waha pahunchne ke baad bahut bura lagega mujhe."
Eventually, I found people who wanted to share a cab till Dehradun. We had good conversations throughout the drive. I met Saravana — he was also travelling from Bengaluru. He was visiting a cave that had been visited by his favourite actor, Rajinikanth, and he too was travelling solo. We spoke about career, life, and his experiences. And surprisingly, I was the one holding the conversation. It didn't feel awkward.
The scary part of the drive was that the cab driver was drunk. He was driving right in the middle of the road on mountain curves. We had way too many close calls. Someone kept guiding him from the back seat. At one point, I genuinely thought of taking the wheel myself. Anyway, we got down early without thinking twice and took another auto to the Dehradun bus stand.
The vehicle changed, but the conversation with Saravana kept flowing. Then I bid farewell to him — a short but cherished friendship.
From Dehradun, I took another shared cab to Mussoorie. This time, met a group of young teens from Delhi. Another good conversation. They were actually travelling in their own Scorpio, but they had met with an accident near Dehradun and still decided to continue the trip anyway. I remember quietly wondering — if I were in their place and my vehicle was completely damaged, would I have continued the trip?
As if the day wasn't long enough already, the old Ambassador we were travelling in stalled midway due to overheating. By the time I finally reached the hotel, I was exhausted. Took a hot bath and went straight to sleep.
But while riding up to Mussoorie, I remember thinking quietly to myself — this has been a good and new experience so far.
The first day in Mussoorie started slow. I walked a lot, maybe close to 10 kilometres in a day. Mall Road had a really good vibe — people walking with their families and partners, happy and in their own zone. I sat in cafés alone for long hours, reading, watching people, soaking in the view. And it felt quite similar to Ooty, being a hill station.
And by evening, I was quite tired. It had been a long journey, a lot of walking, and too much to take in at once. I walked back to my hotel, which was quite far, and called it a day early.
Rishikesh
Expectations, settling, and quiet mornings.
The next day, I travelled to Rishikesh. And Rishikesh felt a bit different in my head compared to the reality.
Too commercial. Too many yoga boards. Ayurveda everywhere. Cafés full of foreigners. Spirituality packaged neatly. I couldn't tell how much of that was the place and how much was me. Still, the river was there.
I walked from Laxman Jhula to Parmarth Niketan through the narrow lanes near the river. I was clear in my head that I would walk as much as possible on this trip. There's a good feeling in walking through lanes like these — observing different kinds of people, street vendors, babas sitting along the sides, foreigners in their hippie attire, couples on rented Activas.
One underrated upside of sunglasses is that you can observe the world quietly — people, expressions, moments — without making it awkward. Sometimes it's nice to just notice things.
Later that evening, I attended the Ganga aarti. It was good. After the aarti, took a cup of tea and sat near the ghat by the river. The feeling was quite nice — the slow sound of the river, the bhajan chants from nearby temples, and the distant noise of the crowd from the busy lanes.
And the next morning, I woke up very early. Walked through empty, eerie streets in crazy cold. No cap, freezing ears. Had tea near Laxman Jhula. Then went and sat by the river and watched the light slowly flood the land and the water. The river kept flowing. The cold wind kept hitting. The day slowly became visible.
That morning felt right. And no camera can ever do justice to the beauty of nature — nowhere close to what the eyes can actually see and process.
In the evening, I travelled to Triveni Ghat. You know how solo travellers don't get preference in shared rickshaws — like a low-priority bug that no one wants to pick up. It's demotivating sometimes.
At Triveni Ghat, while I was sitting by the river, I met a small girl, must be around nine or ten. She was selling fish food — small balls of atta, covered in some powder. She was quite extroverted, striking up conversations with almost everyone — an essential skill for a salesperson. I ended up having a really nice conversation with her.
Her name was Rajkumari. She doesn't go to school. She sells whatever people need — flowers, aarti items, fish food. She kept pushing me to buy something. I bought the fish food even though I didn't see a single fish there. I just wanted to help her, didn't think too much about it.
Later, I attended the Ganga aarti. The slow setting of the sun in the far sky, the music and chants during the aarti, and the devotion of the people — it all felt surreal. And it's quite amazing how we pay respect and express gratitude to Maa Ganga, who is essentially one of the living symbols of the Pancha Bhootas, representing water. That deep sense of gratitude for nature is something I truly admire about our people.
The next day in Rishikesh was planned to be a slow one. The Beatles Ashram surprised me the most. I had thought it would be small and overrated, but it wasn't.
It's such a big place. The ruins. The forest. Graffiti everywhere. And the weather complemented it perfectly that day — no sun, foggy even in the middle of the day.
I walked through the broken buildings, stepping into abandoned rooms. Everyone else was in groups, and I was walking alone, but I didn't feel out of place. By now, I was completely okay being alone amidst groups of people. Just me, walking, feeling the place. I sat on a bench inside the ashram, sipping tea. Did nothing. Alone with my thoughts, and it felt completely okay.
I left the Beatles Ashram only when they started throwing people out. Then I walked all the way back to the Trimbakeshwar temple. It was quite a long walk, by the river and through the bustling lanes beside it.
One more thing. As I was walking along the riverbed, I found myself talking to myself. Not silent thoughts in my head, but out loud, so I could hear. It felt natural. It felt good. Of course, not in public, only when no one was around. I was talking about my job, life, how I felt. It wasn't long. I know many people do this, even if no one really talks about it.
Then I climbed all the way up the temple, about ten floors. My legs were hurting badly. And the weird thing about this temple is its structure. On each floor, you have to walk through a commercial complex, complete a full circle of the entire floor, and then find the staircase to the next one. Quite a climb.
The good part was the view — the river and Rishikesh from that height.
I wanted to kill some more time, so I went into one of the popular cafés. It was full of couples, and there wasn't really a suitable seat for me. So I left, found one of the quieter cafés instead, and sat there.
Later that night, I took an overnight train to Ayodhya.
Ayodhya
Crowds, devotion, and discomfort.
When I reached Ayodhya, I felt a bit heavy. The crowd was crazy. Security was heavily beefed up because Yogi and Rajnath Singh were set to visit the temple the next day, it being the second anniversary of the Ram temple inauguration. Because of the barricades blocking roads, I had to take multiple detours just to reach my hotel.
Later in the evening, I visited the Ram Lalla temple. It's huge, and the architecture is quite good — clean and well done. I sought the blessings of Lord Rama. A lot of civil work is still going on inside the temple complex. There were many workers in L&T vests, polishing, painting, and working on different parts of the temple. It was very evident how much money is being spent there.
The prasad disappointed me. There were small stones in the roti, and I had to throw it away. I hold temple prasad in deep respect, so that moment affected me more than I expected.
After that, I visited Hanuman Garhi and then retired for the day.
The next day, I took a stroll through the interiors of Ayodhya. And I couldn't ignore the irony. The face of Ayodhya, the temple complex, looks and feels very different from what the interiors feel like.
When you're walking through unknown places, especially alone, it's often better to take bigger, busier roads than narrow, shady ones — even if it means taking detours.
Later, I went and sat by the Saryu Ghat, watching people take dips in the river, which was quite shallow. I also watched young people, probably in their early twenties, finding ways to make money and lead their lives. Some were selling tea and snacks. Some were clicking photographs for money. Some had remote-controlled cars, charging kids for a short ride.
And just like that, my time in the land of Ram was over. I took the Vande Bharat to Varanasi.
Varanasi
Intensity, faith, and humility.
When I reached Varanasi, it felt overwhelming right from the moment I arrived. Crowds everywhere. It felt like people had chosen pilgrimage over parties for New Year, just like me. I was staying near Assi Ghat, just a short walk away. That evening, I took a brief stroll along Assi Ghat. It was quite busy.
The next morning — the first day of 2026 — I woke up at 4. I wanted to reach the Kashi Vishwanath Temple as early as possible to beat the darshan queue. When I reached, there was already a long line. There are four different entry gates to the temple. I rejected one because it felt like the queue wasn't moving at all. While trying to find another gate, a kid found me.
He promised me an easier entry and took me through a few lanes. That's when I realised it's actually a business. There are flower shops where you leave your belongings and shoes, and in exchange, you're expected to buy aarti items from them. I went with the cheapest option. Then the kid made me cut the queue, pushing me inside. I was hesitant, but I also didn't want to go all the way to the back.
One guy noticed I wasn't confident enough to push in, so he pulled me into the queue in front of him. After multiple security checks to make sure we weren't carrying anything, I finally had darshan.
The darshan was brief, but deep. It struck a chord. The cold early morning, the chants, the positive energy of the people — being a Shiva bhakt, I felt truly blessed. There's no better way to start a year than this. I had decided not to click a single picture of myself during this entire trip, but this was the one place where I wanted one. And I got it. I don't know why, but I was genuinely happy. It felt really good.
Next, I wanted to take darshan at Kal Bhairav as well. It's said that if you don't take Kal Bhairav's darshan in Varanasi, your trip is incomplete. I walked through the empty early-morning streets of the city and reached the temple. The queue there was even longer because there's only a single entry point. This time, I had to join from the back.
I waited for over an hour. I saw people cutting the queue and joining midway. It made me uncomfortable, and at the same time, I was mocking my own irony — because I had done the same thing earlier at the Vishwanath Temple. After a while, someone tried to cut the queue right in front of me. I got pissed and pushed them away, saying we had been waiting for over an hour and this wasn't right. People behind me agreed.
Then I had darshan of Kal Bhairav. I felt fully energised. The experience was powerful, even if difficult to put into words.
I went back to my hotel to rest for a bit. Later, I visited the BHU campus and took darshan at the Vishwanath Temple there as well. I walked through the BHU campus and even through the IIT-BHU campus. I was slightly scared someone might stop me while walking through the academic blocks, but no one did. I probably looked like a student anyway.
It felt good to walk through a college campus again. Banaras Hindu University is spread across a massive area and reminded me a lot of Mysore University. I felt the same nostalgia I used to feel while walking there.
In the evening, I decided to do a full ghat walk — from Assi to Dashashwamedh to Manikarnika and back. Around eight kilometres. I walked till Dashashwamedh Ghat and watched the Ganga aarti there. The vibe was incredible. One of the best Ganga aartis I've seen.
Then I walked to Manikarnika Ghat. Manikarnika is one of the oldest cremation ghats in Varanasi. The funeral pyres there have never gone cold for hundreds of years. What you feel at Manikarnika is very difficult to put into words. I tried to leave the place, but I couldn't. I kept going back again and again just to get another glimpse.
The ghat was mostly quiet. People standing and watching bodies burn. I can't explain what I was feeling. It was mixed, but it was deep. Thoughts lingered. I was quietly chanting Shiva.
I don't usually think of myself as particularly religious. I tend to question things more than accept them as they are. But when it comes to Shiva, I've noticed I don't feel the same resistance. There's something there — that's felt more than understood. And experiences like this only make that harder to ignore.
While watching a body burn, I kept thinking — this person was also someone. Where were they born? What did they do? How did they live? How did they die? And no matter who you are in life, this is where you end. This is how it ends. It made me realise how important humility is. Thoughts kept pouring in.
Eventually, I composed myself and walked all the way back to Assi Ghat. As I walked, I observed everything — people, the river, the babas, all of it.
That day was the most intense day of my trip. And I genuinely feel everyone should visit Banaras at least once in their life.
On the last day, I took a short morning walk at Assi Ghat. Sat there for a bit. Took in one final feeling of being in Varanasi. All I felt was respect for the place. Later, I took my flight back to Bengaluru.
Back in Bengaluru, walking home, I felt something strange.
Not excitement. Not relief.
A quiet sense of accomplishment.
The trip didn't ask for much.
It changed how I felt about being alone.
It showed me that I can be alone in unfamiliar places, that boredom passes, and awkwardness fades.
But memories and experiences stay forever.
And that feeling is enough to make me want to do this again.