India happened because Dylan wanted to quit his job and asked me to travel with him. I usually don’t like travelling with friends, but I told him if he really wanted to go with me then I had to choose the destination. So I chose India. It was my second time there, but the first time I had to plan everything myself, and I still remember getting diarrhoea on the first day even though I hadn’t even touched any local food. All I ate was a Domino’s pizza at the airport. India didn’t wait long to remind me she always does things her own way.
There were moments I won’t forget, like being chased by a crazy guy near the Taj Mahal. Maybe it was because my hair was yellow back then and I stood out too much. I ended up jumping into a tuk-tuk, and a stranger actually punched the guy so I could escape. It was scary, ridiculous and very India all at once.
We went to Rishikesh, swam in the upper Ganges, saw real yogis that looked like they stepped out of another lifetime. Then we headed to Jammu and Kashmir to meet Yikkai, and continued toward Leh Ladakh—the place I used to tempt Yikkai with back when we were still at home watching YouTube. The drive was rough, mountain roads for hours, and some tunnels were still half-built. Traffic stopped for a long time at one point, but the bus in front of us was full of people celebrating a wedding. Since no one could move, they took out drums and started dancing on the road. And because there was nothing else to do, we joined them too. It was random and chaotic, and somehow it made perfect sense for that place.
Looking back, that trip wasn’t only about India. It was also about saying yes to something I don’t usually say yes to, about sharing a journey that felt messy and strange but right, at least at that moment. And when I came home, Dylan kept asking me to go on another trip with him, but something in me had shifted. I didn’t reply. I just felt like the next journey was something I needed to take quietly, on my own, without telling anyone.