Me and my husband share the same birthday. Yep — same day. A year ago, around this time, we planned something special. After weeks of dreaming about the cool breeze, the green hills, hikes through pine forests, and just escaping everything for a bit… the day finally came. Rucksacks packed, hearts full — we were off to Kasol, and little did we know, it would become one of our most cherished trips ever.
First Stop: Parvati River & That Himalayan Chill
We arrived and couldn’t wait to explore. The Parvati River was right next to our stay, and honestly, how could we resist? With a quick ask-and-get from the staff, we hopped over the railing and climbed down the rocky slope. It was wild and raw — and the water? Ice cold. We dipped our feet into the chilling stream, laughed at the shock of it, and just sat there, staring at the snow-capped peaks in the distance. It felt like the mountains were calling us closer.
Manikaran Gurudwara
Later that day, we headed to Manikaran Gurudwara — a spiritual spot wrapped in a vibrant little market. It was busy, but in that warm, small-town kind of way. Cafés, local food stalls, little shops — everything buzzing with energy. We wandered, snacked, and soaked it all in.
Challa Village Trek: A Wild Day with Unexpected Guides
The next morning, we were up early for the Challa trek, a route we’d heard was a must-do. We weren’t expecting it to become a whole story of its own. At the trail’s start, a dog started following us. We got excited, fed it some biscuits, hoped we had a new trek buddy — but nope, it bailed on us pretty quickly (traitor 😅). We laughed it off and kept going. But as we entered Challa Village, we noticed a quiet female dog tagging along. She wasn’t asking for attention. Just… there. Walking ahead, like she knew the way. And we’re so glad she stayed. At one point, a group of dogs started fighting right in front of us. We froze — not gonna lie, it was scary. But our girl stood between us and them, growling, standing guard like we were hers. We looked at each other like — did that really just happen? Not long after, another female dog joined. At first, there was tension between the two — growls, sizing each other up. But soon enough, they were running around, playing like old friends. And suddenly, our trek didn’t feel so tiring. With them by our side, it felt like an adventure. We felt safer. Braver. As we left the village, the real trek began — rocky steps, tall trees, the faint sound of a waterfall somewhere nearby. We walked and walked, completely missing the actual viewpoint on the map because we were just… in the moment. Eventually, we stumbled upon a small iron bridge with a waterfall view. It wasn’t the “official” viewpoint — but for us, that was it. We were hungry, tired, and so ready to eat. The dogs wanted to go further (they kept trying to lead us uphill again 😅), but we decided it was time to head back.
Chalal trek trail
Wabi Sabi Café & The Goodbye We Weren’t Ready For
We stopped at a cozy little place by the river called Wabi Sabi. One dog left. But our loyal guide? She stayed. Curled up under our chairs while we ate, like she was part of our little celebration. As we walked back toward the bridge where our trek had started, she followed us. Still with us. Step by step. And then — right at the bridge — she stopped. We turned around, waved at her, and said goodbye. She just stood there, looking at us calmly, like she understood. Like she’d done her job. Guided us. Protected us. Made this birthday one for the books. Wherever she is now, I hope she’s guiding someone else. And I hope they realize how lucky they are.
Next Stop: Pulga — Fairy Forests & Bumpy Roads
We were rested, refueled, and finally got on our rented Scooty, off to explore Pulga Village. And let me tell you — the ride itself was an adventure. The road twisted like a snake through the mountains, and the views? Absolutely unreal. It felt like we were climbing into a painting. But oh, those roads near Pulga! Rocky, broken patches, and steep climbs — we actually stopped at one point and considered turning back. But then stubbornness (and FOMO) kicked in. Somehow, miraculously, we made it to the entry point. Pulga was buzzing with foreign travelers, but the village itself was tiny. We didn’t stop long — our goal was the mystical Fairy Forest. Towering pine trees surrounded us like a scene straight out of a fantasy movie. It was peaceful, cool, and everything felt… still. The sun started dipping, and we knew we had to head back before dark. But we left with a silent promise: one day, we’ll come back and stay longer.
Pulga village- fairy forest
Kalga: Cabin Stays, Waterfalls & Birthday Eve Surprises
Next morning, we scooted over to Kalga Village — part of the famous Kheerganga trek route. No booking, no plan, just vibes. We found a charming wooden cabin uphill that, by some miracle, was available. Perfect. After a quick rest (and a minor heart attack thanks to a giant spider in our room 😅), we set out again. I confidently thought I found the Kheerganga trail… I was wrong. But that didn’t stop us. A tiny puppy started chasing us — tugging at my jacket like it was a toy. Adorable. Annoying. Hilarious. The trail kept getting steeper and narrower until we realized — yeah, we’re definitely lost. We turned back, laughed at our own confidence, and took the actual trail this time. It led us to Chulang waterfall — crashing, loud, beautiful. It made the effort worth it. We stayed, soaked it in, and rushed back just in time for sunset. That night, being our birthday eve, we decided to find some good food and sweet treats. Easy, right? Not in a pitch-black mountain village with no street lights 😅 We got lost — twice. Google Maps ditched us. But a kind stranger (who honestly looked like a Himalayan wizard) showed us the way. We finally found our dinner spot: fresh pizza and warm Nutella waffles. Birthday mood? Fully ON.
Kalga village- forest, waterfall trek
The Big Day: Kutla Trek, Snow Peaks & Pure Magic
We woke up on our birthday to cold air and mountain silence. For once, we skipped the slow start. We had one last trek to do — Kutla. With our bags on, we hiked for nearly 3 hours. It was steep. It was endless. I had no fuel left. But just as I thought I’d give up, we reached our stay — and turned around. Right in front of us were snow-covered peaks. Not in the distance. Not from below. But face to face. They looked like they were right there. We stood still. Watched. Let it sink in. It was our birthday, and we were on top of the world — literally. The evening was a blur of bonfire crackles, delicious food, and birthday conversations with family and it felt like home. It was perfect.
Glacier Trek: A Wild, Icy Finale
The last morning, sore but stubborn, we went for one final hike — to a glacier viewpoint. With a group of dog guides again (because of course 🐶), we made our way up. The glacier took our breath away — literally and emotionally. We played on the ice, clicked photos, and were just in awe… until we saw a rock tumbling down toward us. Panic took over us. I don’t know how I ran that fast on ice, but I did. We were safe. The dogs? Legends. They stood their ground, dodged, barked, and actually managed to stop the rock. It was terrifying. And incredible at the same time Coming down, we passed sheep’s, horses, and fields — and as we packed our bags and left for Kasol, it felt like a story had ended.
Tosh(kulta)- Glacier point
But not just any story.its Our story. This birthday wasn’t about cake or candles. It was about frozen rivers, dog guides, starry skies, and mountains that made us feel small and infinite all at once. We’ll be back someday. But until then, Kasol — thank you for everything.
And maybe that’s the thing about trips like these—some stay calm and grounding, while others turn into complete chaos. If you’re curious about the chaotic side of spontaneous travel, you might enjoy reading about my Rishikesh bungee jump experience in India at Himaliyan bungee
📍Where We Stayed & Ate: • The Hosteller, Kasol – Cozy, riverside, super accessible. • Holy Palace, Manikaran – Great food with lots of variety. • The Villster, Kalga – Beautiful, serene (maybe not if you fear spiders). • Baked in Parvati – Fresh, delicious, an absolute must-visit café. • Hello Tosh Café – Didn’t stay, but loved the food and vibes. • The Singing Woods, Kutla – Dreamy cabin, spotless, warm food, and the best views ever.
Marriage came with more than just a new last name and a shared Netflix account—it came with unexpected emotions, small wins, silent struggles, and the kind of learning that feels a lot like re-learning… but with someone watching.
Living apart from our families has been its own little adventure. Being on our own gave us the chance to define life on our terms. From balancing house chores and mismatched routines to figuring out how to split time and space, this new chapter has been a full package—emotions, experiments, understanding, and patience. And something tells me… the learning won’t stop anytime soon.
If I’m being completely honest, the first couple of months felt like we were two unsupervised kids finally let loose.
Drinking cold coffee in freezing winters, roaming around malls just for fun, playing games, eating out more than we should’ve—it brought out the child in us.
But beneath that chaos was something deeper: honest conversations, the occasional heated discussion, moments of homesickness, and slowly—really slowly—learning how to make this place feel like home.
Decorating our space together has been the most wholesome part.
From figuring out whether the plant goes here or there, obsessing over curtain placements and kitchen accessories, to wrapping fairy lights around anything that would hold them—shelves, windows, even the headboard. There’s something about creating a space that feels just right—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s ours.
We had always imagined that once we were finally together, we’d do everything.
Weekend trips, fun hobbies, kitchen experiments—a new kind of “us.”
And honestly, we do.
We’ve taken spontaneous weekend trips (some more chaotic than others), and we’ll keep doing that whenever we can. But the truth is, it’s not always easy to find the time. Life tends to get in the way. Work schedules, chores, fatigue—it all adds up.
Spontaneity sounds dreamy in theory, but we’re learning that planned trips—ones we actually sit down, talk about, and block dates for—are far more fulfilling. Especially when one of us has a full-time job with responsibilities that don’t pause for wanderlust.
That said, even within those planned trips, leaving a little room for spontaneous adventures—an unplanned detour, a random food stop, or simply doing nothing at all—makes everything feel more exciting, more us, and somehow more whole.
As for hobbies? We’ve tried a few. Some fun, some just funny. But we haven’t quite found our thing yet.
And that’s okay.
We’re still learning. Still exploring. Still figuring out what feels right and what just looked good on Pinterest.
But food? That’s its own kind of hobby in our home.
There are days when the kitchen turns into his little lab.
He’s always experimenting—making different styles of dosas, layering sandwiches in ways I never thought of, and trying out something new, just because.
Sometimes I try to sneak in to help, and every time I do, I hear the same line:
“Don’t come in the kitchen now. Just sit down—I’ll make it for you.”
And honestly? That’s the kind of love that tastes better than anything we could ever cook.
The best part is—we enjoy the trying.
Even if nothing sticks, the willingness to try something new together—that counts for a lot.
One of the harder parts? The day-to-day adulting.
No one talks enough about how much energy goes into running a home.
And when you live by yourselves, there’s no buffer.
No backup.
No one to remind you to eat well, do the laundry, or drink water. You become your own caretaker—and each other’s too.
I still remember the week both of us fell sick. Not a mild cold—an actual viral that knocked us out for five whole days.
We couldn’t properly care for each other—still taking turns to check on the other, but barely functioning ourselves.
There were no parents to check in, no comfort food waiting, no one to ask, “How are you feeling?”
Other than each other.
That’s when the absence of family really hit us.
Living alone is great—until you’re sick, tired, and craving a familiar voice or a bowl of homemade khichdi.
Like they say: with freedom comes great responsibility.
And oh boy, responsibility really knows how to show up.
From planning meals and buying groceries to maintaining a peaceful (and clean-ish) environment—it’s a lot.
You skip one task, and suddenly the whole rhythm is off. Hello, domino effect.
But in all that chaos, we’ve picked up small, meaningful things.
We started working out together—sometimes reluctantly, sometimes enthusiastically.
We’ve built habits, made checklists, forgotten about those checklists, and rebuilt them again.
We’ve started taking care of each other in ways we didn’t know how to before.
We’ve had serious conversations about money, health, long-term plans, and even which flavour of soap smells better.
We’ve made decisions—some quick, some slow.
And we’re still growing into this new version of us.
It’s been a year.
We’re still figuring it out—how life works, how we work, and how to grow without losing the lightness between us.
Some days feel effortless. Some days feel like we’re barely making it.
But we keep choosing each other.
That, to me, is what this journey is really about.
It’s not just about fairy lights and matching clothes.
It’s about having someone to lean on during the tough days, and someone to laugh with during the weird ones.
It’s about creating a life that isn’t perfect, but is entirely, unapologetically ours.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t trade this messy, real, growing version of love for anything else..
Here’s an emotional prompt, but let me give you a funny answer instead.
I don’t have any extraordinary fears. My fears are probably as normal and common as anyone else’s like drowning, insects that can fly for absolutely no reason, and darkness.
But there is one fear I’ve attempted to conquer: the fear of heights.
On most days, I can’t even comfortably look down from a terrace because I don’t trust myself not to trip over absolutely nothing and somehow fall.
So naturally, it seemed like a brilliant idea to stand 117 meters above the ground, strapped into a harness, while professionals gave me what felt like an involuntary motivational speech before encouraging me to jump.
Yep, you guessed it.
Rishikesh bungee jumping
I’m talking about bungee jumping.
And not just anywhere, I did it in Rishikesh, home to one of India’s highest bungee jumps.
Did it cure my fear of heights?
Honestly… that’s debatable.
But it definitely gave me a story I’ll never forget.
And the funny part? I actually wrote about the entire experience—from the confidence, to the panic, to the moment I seriously questioned every life decision that brought me to that platform.
As cliché as it may sound — it’s true. Just like how a tiny argument can snowball into a dramatic fight, the tiniest things can bring you joy that feels completely out of proportion. Sometimes, even you’re surprised at how ridiculously happy something so basic can make you.
So the other day, I was casually ironing my clothes when — mid-sleeve — the iron gave up on me. Just died. To be fair, it was ancient and overworked. Looking at the mountain of half-ironed clothes, I turned to my husband and said with full drama, “We need to order a new iron Urgently..”
Now you must be thinking, how is this story going anywhere interesting? But hang on, stay with me.
We placed the order. Waited a week. Nothing showed up. Some internal delivery issue. We re-ordered. And here’s the strange part — I was genuinely excited about this new iron. I spent that whole week feeling like a child waiting for a birthday gift. Restless. Curious. Weirdly hopeful.
Would it glide better?
Would it be faster?
Would it remove wrinkles with just one swipe like they show in those ads?
On the day it finally arrived, I was having a terrible headache. But the moment my phone buzzed with the notification — “Your delivery is here” — I lit up like Diwali. Headache? Gone.
I opened that package like it was a box of chocolates and ironed clothes for two straight hours like I was creating a designer collection for fashion week.
And here’s the wild part — I don’t even like ironing.
It made me laugh later — how something as mundane as a new iron could lift my mood that much. But then I realized, it’s not just the iron.
It’s the little kitchen accessories.
The quirky home décor.
Hanging fairy lights on a random Tuesday.
Or that moment when your husband takes a bite of your food and says, “This is really good.”
You pretend to be chill, but inside, your soul is doing a happy dance.
These aren’t grand gestures. They’re not luxury vacations or fancy handbags (not that I’m saying no to either — I love money just as much as the next girl).
Honestly, some of my favorite memories come from the most random moments during trips too, the unplanned chaos, tiny conversations, off beat trek, and all the little things in between. That’s probably why writing about our shared birthday trip to hills became one of my favorite stories too.
But it’s the in-between moments, the everyday tiny joys, that sneak up on you and quietly fill your life with warmth.
Maybe happiness isn’t always hiding in the big milestones.
Maybe sometimes, it’s sitting quietly inside a freshly pressed kurta, a perfectly toasted sandwich, or a well-timed compliment after a long day.
And honestly? Those moments count too.
So enjoy the little things.
Life’s too short not to.
Before You Go ♡
If this made you smile, relate, or think about your own tiny happiness moments — please leave a like 👍 if you enjoyed reading it ❤️
Since I’m still figuring out this whole blogging journey, I thought it would be nice to actually ask the people reading these posts what they enjoy most here ♡
So I made a very short form (promise it’s quick) to understand what kind of blogs you’d love to read more often.
It would genuinely help me improve and create better content for you ✨
And tell me honestly — what’s one ridiculously small thing that made you unexpectedly happy recently?
Affiliate Disclaimer
This post may contain affiliate links. If you purchase something through these links, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. Thank you for supporting the blog and helping me continue creating content like this.
Perfect road trip? Look, me and my husband planned our first road trip together — and honestly, with us, something was bound to go completely off track.
As brand-new car owners with barely any driving experience, we somehow convinced ourselves that driving through hills was a great idea. Pure confidence. Zero experience. Just vibes.
What followed was mountain roads that looked slightly illegal, Google Maps abandoning us emotionally, traffic chaos, accidental forest adventures, fog, panic, emotional support snacks, and multiple moments of questioning every decision that brought us there.
Also, people say driving is a one-person job.
We would just like to say: absolutely not.
Because throughout this entire trip, we made sure driving became a full two-person responsibility.
Honestly, I don’t know what kind of “perfect road trips” people keep talking about.
All I can offer are perfectly chaotic stories.
And if you want to read the full chaos, the link’s below.
What’s a moment that made you realize you were stronger than you thought?
An emotional cocktail, a bunch of strangers, and a dangerously narrow trail. That’s how I accidentally discovered I was far more courageous than I thought.
This was taken moments before I almost slipped and hit a rock and reconsidered all my adventurous life choices.
Realizing you’re stronger than you thought can happen in so many different ways for different people.
For some, it comes through heartbreak, loss, healing, or surviving difficult phases of life. And all of those experiences are deeply valid.
But for me, one of the biggest realizations about myself came from something completely unexpected—an impulsive decision to go on my first-ever solo trek in Gokarna.
It’s crazy how sometimes you take one random step, and suddenly discover a version of yourself you never knew existed.
I never thought I was courageous enough to do something like that. But somewhere between dangerously narrow trails, complete strangers, fear, excitement, and questioning all my life choices halfway through the trek… I realized I was far stronger than I had believed.
And that trip ended up changing me in ways I never expected.
Planning your next adventurous holiday to Kasol? Great idea — honestly, it’s a place that sounds like the perfect escape: lush green forests, mountain treks, and riverside cafés. And trust me, it can be magical.
But before you throw your hiking boots into a bag and start romanticizing the hills, let’s talk about some real things you should probably know.
This is not a “don’t go to Kasol” blog. It’s more of a “go, but know what to expect” kind of thing — coming straight from my own experience. So here’s my honest take:
1. The “Green” Reputation (And No, Not the Trees 🌿)
If you’re heading to Kasol with family, or you’re someone who’s not into the… let’s say herbal side of tourism… things might feel a little awkward at times. Kasol has a bit of a reputation, and you’ll know exactly what I mean once you’re there. If you’re sensitive to smoke or just not comfortable around it, bring a mask.
2. Don’t Even Think About Suitcases 😅
Everywhere around Kasol involves either a steep climb, a slippery descent, or both — that’s just mountain life here. So unless you want the full-body workout of dragging a suitcase over rocky paths while questioning all your life choices… skip the suitcase.
Pack light and carry a comfortable rucksack instead, It makes moving around so much easier, especially if you’re hopping between villages like Kalga, Tosh(kutla), or Pulga.
And please — don’t underestimate the importance of good trekking shoes. The uneven trails, loose stones, and slippery paths can get exhausting really quickly if your footwear isn’t comfortable.
Honestly, a lightweight trekking pole is also one of those things that sounds unnecessary… until you’re halfway down a steep trail trying not to slip. The extra support genuinely makes those uneven trails feel a lot less intimidating.
If walking is tough for you because of joint pain, injuries, or balance issues, just keep in mind that this trip can get pretty physical. Some places do offer porters (for a price), but overall, Kasol is definitely more “walk and climb” than “easy vacation stroll.”
3.Dust. So. Much. Dust.
This one took me by surprise. Some of the roads are muddy and unpaved, and every time a vehicle passes, clouds of dust come flying straight into your face. Construction sites? Same deal.
If you’re walking, you’ll taste the dust. If you’re driving, you’ll see it swirl in slow motion.
Pro-tip:sunglasses and a mask are your best friends.
4. Construction = Bye Bye, Peace
Kasol is growing fast, and with that comes construction — everywhere. It kind of kills the vibe of being in the middle of nature, especially when you’re expecting quiet riverside mornings and birdsong. If you want peace, head to the villages nearby — Kalga, Tosh, Kutla — though fair warning, that brings its own challenge…
5. Trekking with Trash and… Donkey Poop
One of the saddest parts? The littering. I mean, how hard is it to carry your wrapper until you find a bin? Unfortunately, many people just toss things on the trail.
You’ll see plastic bottles, chips packets, and yeah — donkey poop too. A lot of it. The animals carry goods up and down the hills, and nature takes its course. So just make sure to watch your step.
6. The Summer Struggle: Crowds, Sweat, and Chaos
If you’re visiting in summer (like we did), brace yourself for the rush. The trails get packed, cafés are crowded, and honestly, parts of Kasol can start feeling more like a busy market than the peaceful mountain escape Instagram promised.
And the heat? We definitely underestimated it. Between the walking, climbing, and afternoon sun, it gets surprisingly sweaty during the day — so carrying a good sunscreen is genuinely a must, even in the mountains. Trust me, mountain sun hits differently
It’s still beautiful, of course, but if you’re expecting complete silence and empty trails in peak season… you might need to adjust those expectations a little.
7. Food: A Hit or Miss… So Carry Snacks 😅
Look, food in the hills isn’t always going to be five-star — and honestly, that’s okay. Some cafés are super cozy and comforting after a long day of walking, while others are a little… questionable. There was even one time our food genuinely tasted muddy. Like, actual mud. We were too tired and hungry to argue with life at that point, so we just ate and moved on.
But one thing I cannot recommend enough? Carry a water bottle and a few energy bars with you at all times. The walking, climbing, and trekking around Kasol can drain your energy so much faster than you expect. Sometimes you’re nowhere near a café, sometimes you’re too exhausted to wait for food, and sometimes your body just needs a quick “please function” snack in the middle of a trail.
Honestly, those little energy bars start feeling less like a snack and more like emotional support.
Some links in this blog may be affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only recommend things I genuinely found useful during my trip.
These are the few things that genuinely made the trip easier for me:
Kasol is beautiful. Especially the nearby villages like Kalga, Tosh Kutla — they still hold on to that raw, untouched magic. But it’s also true that Kasol is changing. It’s getting more commercial. And that serene mountain escape? You might have to look a little harder to find it.
But if you go prepared — mentally and physically — it’s still so worth it. Just set your expectations right, pack smart, and keep your plans flexible. You’ll discover pockets of peace, waterfalls that surprise you, and trails that make your heart race (in the best way)
And who knows — maybe a local dog will become your hiking buddy too. 🐾
If you want the more emotional and chaotic side of this trip — the dogs, the trails, the exhaustion, and the moments that stayed with me — I wrote about that here too.
What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?
🌳 Lost in wilderness 🌳
You know what’s funny? I actually wrote about this just yesterday.
My birthday is my favorite kind of holiday. It might be different for others, but for me, it’s about taking time to truly enjoy myself and celebrate life. Since I was young, I’ve always travelled on my birthday. And now that I share it with my husband, it’s a tradition I want to continue—travelling, relaxing, and just living life, even if only for a few days away from the chaos.
I took a trip to Kasol around the same time last year that slowly turned into one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t just the mountains or the cold rivers—it was the unexpected turns, the stillness, and the kind of moments you don’t realize are special until they pass. That trip stayed with me in ways I didn’t expect.
Okay, so you know how people always say spontaneous trips make the best memories?
Yeah… sometimes that’s true.
And sometimes “spontaneous” just means underprepared and sweaty.
This trip was both.
And somehow, I wouldn’t trade it.
⸻
The Plan: Thrill Over Chill
We booked everything a day before leaving. No itinerary, no overthinking—just one goal:
do something that scares us.
Specifically, India’s highest bungee jump.
We were excited. Buzzing.
And if I’m being honest—slightly terrified.
My husband had been to Rishikesh before, so we thought we’d be sorted.
We knew what we were doing.
We did not.
⸻
The Chaotic Start (Learn From Us)
We reached early morning, feeling oddly proud of ourselves—until things immediately went off track. Autos weren’t going into the city, we got dropped 4 km away, nothing was open, and we ended up walking… hungry, sweaty, and already questioning our life choices.
By the time we reached the bungee office, we discovered their “free van service”… was stuck in the same traffic we had just escaped.
That’s when we finally did what we should’ve done from the beginning—rented a scooty.
Honestly, if you’re planning a Rishikesh trip, just rent a bike immediately. Save your energy, your time, and your dignity.
The ride itself? Hot, chaotic, and slightly aggressive—but we made it. Slightly sunburnt, slightly humbled, and still determined.
⸻
The Giant Swing & Then… The Big One
By the time we finally reached, we were dehydrated, tired, and slightly disoriented—but excited.
We rushed through passes and headed straight in.
We had planned to do the Giant Swing together—until the weighing scale said otherwise. Weight difference. Not allowed.
A small disappointment. But we moved on.
There was too much ahead.
⸻
You know how everything looks fun from afar—but up close, it’s downright terrifying?
That’s exactly what this was.
From below, it looked thrilling.
We were curious, excited to see the view from the top.
But as we went up, something shifted.
Excitement slowly turned into a strange mix—a bad mocktail of fear, excitement, anxiety, nausea… and a little bit of ego.
I had mentally fled the scene multiple times.
For a moment, I genuinely considered just leaving. Quietly. Respectfully. Disappearing.
But this had been my idea.
And walking away meant two things:
accepting defeat… and never hearing the end of it.
So I stayed.
And honestly? That might have been the best decision.
⸻
The Giant Swing
It sounds simple. A swing.
Just… the adult version.
Except you’re strapped into a harness, suspended mid-air, and pulled several meters above the ground.
“Chill,” they said.
It was not chill.
As I was lifted higher, I looked down—my husband getting smaller and smaller—and that’s when it hit me:
This is really high.
Before my thoughts could spiral—
SNAP.
And suddenly, I was falling.
I screamed. Loudly.
But somewhere in the middle, that fear turned into laughter—the uncontrollable kind.
It was chaotic, intense, a little disorienting… and strangely freeing.
And then I realized—
that was just the beginning, because what was coming next was the real challenge.
⸻
India’s Highest Bungee Jump — 117 meters
Standing at the edge felt completely different.
The hills in front of me, the road below, cars moving like tiny dots.
The height didn’t just look big.
It felt overwhelming.
I froze.
Like, completely froze.
This time, the calm act broke. I was shaking, almost in tears, fully ready to back out.
For someone scared of heights—this didn’t feel thrilling.
It felt impossible.
And yet, I had come here to face that fear.
But standing there, I understood something:
Facing fear sounds powerful in theory.
In reality, it’s uncomfortable, messy, and very, very real.
That’s when the instructor said:
“Fear is part of the experience. If you can’t do it now, you’ll carry this moment with you forever.”
And something about that just… landed.
Because he was right.
It wasn’t about the jump anymore.
It was about whether I was going to let fear decide for me.
The biggest mental barrier is simply pushing yourself to take that first leap.
After that, there’s no turning back—you’re already flying.
⸻
I was still terrified.
But something shifted.
Between my husband’s calm reassurance, the instructor’s words, and a small push from within, I jumped.
Eyes wide open.
If I was going to do this, I was going to experience it in full HD.
The fall was terrifying, dizzying, overwhelming—
and then suddenly…
it was over.
And in its place?
Relief. Disbelief. Accomplishment.
From almost backing out… to actually doing it.
Will I ever do it again?
No.
But am I glad I did it?
More than I can explain.
Because sometimes, what looks exciting from a distance feels terrifying up close.
And sometimes, the real victory isn’t the jump—
it’s choosing not to let fear decide for you.
⸻
The Reverse Bungee: A Hard No (That I Somehow Said Yes To)
We still had more activities left.
And even though our bodies were done—like genuinely at breaking point—we were somehow not finished.
Because apparently, jumping off a platform wasn’t mentally exhausting enough…
we decided to do the exact opposite.
Reverse Bungee.
If you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to be inside a washing machine—this is it.
The only requirement? Be on the lighter side (under 50 kgs), because that thing does not hold back.
It twists. Flips. Spins.
Again. And again.
Until you start questioning every life decision that brought you there.
There’s a point where it stops being “fun scary”
and becomes “why did I agree to this?”
One thing I can say with full confidence:
This is not for everyone.
And very clearly… not for me.
⸻
Grateful, Exhausted, and Very Sore
One thing I have to say—the team was incredible.
They checked everything multiple times, kept the energy up, and stayed calm when it mattered most.
That kind of reassurance makes a huge difference when you’re standing 117 meters above the ground.
By the time we finished, it was past noon.
The sun was brutal. We were starving. Every muscle had already started protesting.
We got back, showered, ate—and collapsed.
And then it hit us.
We were sore everywhere.
But it was that good kind of sore.
The kind that reminds you—you actually did something.
The Exit Struggle (Because Of Course)
The next morning, we had to return the scooty—which was, naturally, in the opposite direction of our bus pickup.
So we walked again.
Auto to Triveni Ghat. Another auto to Nepali Farm.
And just when we thought things were settling down…
the bus journey happened.
That’s a whole different story.
And honestly, a whole different blog.
⸻
Final Thoughts
Rishikesh was hot, messy, exhausting—and nothing went according to plan.
But it gave me one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
That jump taught me something I keep coming back to:
Fear, doubt, hesitation—it’s all loud. It feels real.
But on the other side?
There’s this strange lightness.
Like you proved something to yourself that no one can take away.
And maybe that’s what spontaneous trips really are.
Not just about places—but about discovering versions of yourself you didn’t know existed.
⸻
If you’re on the fence about doing something like this—
Go.
Be scared. Be unsure. Be completely unprepared if you have to.
Just don’t let fear decide for you.
And then…
jump anyway.
And maybe that’s the thing I’ve started to understand about spontaneous decisions.
Instagram is fun, captivating, and dangerously addictive.
We often don’t realize this until it’s a little too late.
It starts out innocent—clicking pictures with friends, capturing moments from events, adding a filter to make everything look a little more aesthetic, and hitting “post.” Then comes the refreshing. The checking. Who liked it? Who commented? How does my profile look if someone lands on it?
You scroll through a few reels… and then suddenly it’s been an hour.
Time gone. Focus gone.
How Instagram Slowly Became Exhausting
Now, I’m not claiming everyone is like this. But let’s be honest—most of us are. And I was one of them. Completely caught in the loop.
It felt endless, and more than that—it felt exhausting. I had unknowingly built a habit I didn’t know how to break.
The Emotional Toll of Social Media Addiction
It’s been over a year since I gave up Instagram.
That may not sound like much, but it’s long enough to feel like I’ve missed a lot—birthdays, announcements, stories, updates.
And truthfully? I do miss some parts.
Instagram was good at showing me things I loved—travel videos, food recipes (especially those), educational reels about the market and stocks—topics I barely understood but found comfort in learning from. It gave me ideas, inspiration, sometimes even motivation.
But the flip side?
Constant negativity. Rumors that could ruin lives. People doing extreme, unnecessary things for attention. A platform designed to push you toward validation from strangers. Emotionally draining. Mentally confusing.
At some point, I couldn’t tell what was real anymore—and I know I’m not the only one who’s felt that way.
What Made Me Quit Instagram
I got married in December 2024. And like many newlyweds, I shared a little—some wedding photos, a few glimpses from our honeymoon. But that’s where it stopped.
By February 2025, I’d officially uninstalled Instagram.
Now, you’d think this would be the perfect time to start sharing more—new beginnings, pretty moments, milestones. But instead, I chose the opposite. I held back.
And the reason was simple: for the first time in years, I felt the beauty of keeping it within.
That doesn’t mean I stopped sharing entirely. Of course I still do—but only with my innermost circle, with people who truly matter to me.
This wasn’t a sudden decision. It came slowly. Through conversations about the future. Through quiet realizations. Through the gentle nudge I got when my husband decided to leave Instagram—again. Truth be told, he was only there because of me. So when he left, I followed a month later.
Easy? Right?
Absolutely not.
The Withdrawal Phase: FOMO, Restlessness, and Silence
Apparently, it’s not just substances that come with withdrawal symptoms.
Social media has them too—and they’re real.
FOMO is real.
I used to call myself a JOMO girl—Joy of Missing Out—but when the time came to truly lean into that… I struggled.
At first, I felt proud of myself. Empowered. Confident. But barely two weeks in, I found myself spiraling.
What’s everyone up to?
Did that post I made last month get more likes?
Should I share that one photo I’ve been holding onto?
I was distracted. Restless. Caught in a weird push and pull of wanting to be present while craving the noise.
Learning That Visibility Isn’t Validation
Every single day, I had to remind myself:
I am not invisible just because I am not on Instagram.
I exist in real life—and that counts for something.
Life After Instagram: Choosing Presence Over Posting
And then… slowly, the noise faded.
The urge to check died down. The habit weakened. The silence started to feel… nice.
I cut down my screen time to 3–5 hours a day—which, let’s be honest, is still something I’m working on—but I no longer open my phone first thing in the morning or fall asleep mid-scroll.
I started living life without the filter.
I realized that growth doesn’t always need to be grand or shareable.
It can be small. Quiet. Raw.
Not knowing what everyone else is doing gave me space to figure out what I wanted to do. No more judgment. No more gossip. No more distraction. Just… room to breathe.
Ironically, I started discovering the world more after I stopped documenting every second of it.
The places I now visit stay with me, not because I posted about them—but because I actually lived them.
Will I Ever Return to Instagram?
Now, I won’t pretend this is a forever thing.
Maybe someday, I’ll return to Instagram. But when I do, I want to come back with a purpose. With clarity. Not just out of habit.
Right now, I don’t know what that purpose looks like—but I’ll figure it out.
Slowly. Steadily. In my own time.
If You’re Thinking of Stepping Away
This has been my journey.
Yours may look different—and that’s okay.
Whether you’re thinking about a digital detox, or something else entirely—you’re allowed to step away.
Just know this: if you return to your old habits just because you’re feeling restless or left out, it undoes all the progress you made.
Moving out is not just about leaving a place. Sometimes it’s about unlearning comfort, expectations, and who you thought you would be.
The First Home
The first home you move into after marriage doesn’t just change your address — it changes how you see yourself.
I was no longer just someone’s daughter, I was now someone’s daughter-in-law. Under guidance, surrounded by care. That never disappeared. But living by ourselves gave me something new — individuality. A chance to exist within a partnership, to understand who I was as a wife, as a person, as a home we were slowly building together.
Without our parents presence, we learned to manage life on our own — home, work, responsibilities, and each other. That rented space became our training ground. A place where we made mistakes, adjusted, grew, and slowly understood what partnership really meant. It wasn’t freedom from family; it was preparation for belonging to one more deeply.
We built that home on our terms. Decorated it the way we liked. Created routines that were uniquely ours. Somewhere along the way, my identity attached itself to that space. That house didn’t just hold our things — it held our becoming.
During that year, we visited my in-laws’ home often. And every time, I felt unsettled. Disoriented. As if I didn’t quite belong there yet. I would count days until we returned, because unlocking the door to our rented place felt like coming back to myself — familiar, grounded, at ease.
But the back-and-forth does something to you.
With every visit — going there, coming back, then going again — the feeling began to shift. Slowly, almost quietly. What once felt unfamiliar started feeling easier. I stopped feeling like a guest. I knew where things were kept. The rhythms no longer felt foreign.
And when we returned to our home, something felt different there too.
Not wrong. Just quieter.
The independence was still there. The comfort remained. But the silence lingered longer. The routines felt lighter, less full. I couldn’t name it then — only sense it — a feeling that something was missing.
I often said I missed the dining table at my in-laws’ place. But I wasn’t missing furniture. I was missing the warmth around it — conversations that didn’t need planning, laughter that filled spaces without effort, the ease of being surrounded by people. I missed being part of something larger than just the two of us.
Still, that rented home held me tightly.
It carried memories — movie nights and games, cooking for each other, late walks around the society, days when we didn’t feel like cooking and ordered food instead, experimenting in the kitchen and in life. It shaped the earliest days of our marriage. It taught us how to be partners, how to share space, how to grow side by side.
So when the day came to leave it, it felt heavier than I expected.
Watching everything we had carefully built get packed into boxes felt deeply personal. No matter how much I tried to deny it, I was attached. Seeing that home disappear in a matter of hours felt unfair — like emotions shouldn’t be asked to wrap themselves up so quickly.
Leaving it felt like leaving a part of myself behind.
At that moment, I wasn’t ready to believe that another home could hold me the same way.
Watching Them Let Go
Letting go of my first home was hard. But witnessing my in-laws let go of theirs was heavier in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
They weren’t moving cities. They weren’t starting over. They were leaving a home they had lived in for over thirty years — a space that had held a joint family, daily routines, and a lifetime of familiarity. It wasn’t modern or convenient. It wasn’t spacious or polished. But it was theirs. It was where they had seen their children grow, where life had unfolded quietly, day after day.
They moved out of that home when I got married. Not because the new house was ready — it wasn’t — but because they wanted to welcome me into a space of my own. The new home was unfinished and unfamiliar. And yet, they stepped into it with patience, moving back and forth between the two houses, trying to settle into something that didn’t feel like home yet.
For months, they lived between spaces. Returning to the old house because it felt familiar. Coming back to the new one because this was where the next chapter was meant to begin. I could sense the discomfort — the quiet loss, the effort it took to let go of a place that had shaped decades of their lives.
All the while, they were careful with me. Trying to make me comfortable. Adjusting their routines, their approch, their space — even as they themselves were still learning how to belong there.
It took time. Six or seven months of back-and-forth before the new house slowly started feeling like theirs. Not because the walls changed, but because they did.
Watching that shift softened something in me.
This wasn’t just a change of address. It was a generational transition. Their children were married now. A new person — me — was part of the household. The space was no longer only theirs. It was shared. And they made room without ever saying it out loud.
Now, this house feels different. Lived-in. Warm. Ours.
We contribute together. We laugh together. We share routines, silences, meals, and everyday moments. This space holds more than walls and furniture — it holds adjustment, acceptance, and care.
For them, it marked the beginning of a new phase of life.
For us, it marked the beginning of learning what it truly means to live together.
And in watching them let go of a lifetime, I understood something quietly —
moving on isn’t always about choice.
Sometimes, it’s about grace.
Maybe moving on isn’t about finding a new home — but learning how to belong differently.
This home came after a year of learning each other. If you want to know how that first year unfolded — after saying I do — I’ve written about it earlier.
CAUGHT IN SHUFFLE 