"Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf." ~ Rabindranath Tagore

At six in the morning I packed my bags, took out my car and rolled out on an eight-hour drive to Manali. Driving through the lush green fields of Punjab was an experience in itself. The swaying crops under the burning sun left me with a feeling of torturous heat, so total, so complete.

Passing through Bilaspur, Sundernager and Mandi, I hit the river Beas and the cool breeze started to spin me into another rhythmic motion. Wending my way up through the foothills, every minute on the winding road, the cool of the mountains made me smile. I drove along the river, stirred by the dancing, swirling motion of the water. The rocks on the river bed were trying there level best to stop the incessant flow of the melted snow. Yet how could they not possibly realize all the time that the melting glaciers were destined to return to the oceans, hundreds of miles away. The river flows continuously, and watching it, my mind is transfixed by it's eternal journey.

The entrance to Manali was dotted by scores of signboards of hotels and restaurants. It was not long before the first resorts meet the eye. The camping huts and the river alongside presented a picturesque view. There was a serenity and calm that was palpable. Only the river gushed by, and carried your thoughts along with it. What was that word I used to remember in the plains? Tension? There was none here.

I drove up straight to the Mall and went further up to the Hadimba Temple, the major religious and tourist spot of Manali. Nearby, I found a rest house, with car parking facilities. Checking in took less than two minutes. The place was over-run with foreign tourists, largely from Israel. I seemed to be the only son of India there. The tranquility of the environment had enveloped my thoughts, and I felt a sense of peace and eternity

The hilltop beyond was dotted with snow and I could see the melting water making its way down in trickles . The pine trees dotted the hills and the quiet of the place had me totally charmed.

I don't feel the cold. But the night was cold. One blanket was not enough. My feet were ice cold when I woke and had a steaming cup of coffee with the first rays of the sun. The early morning chill was surprising, since later in the day, with the sun beating ferociously, I shed my sweater to be comfortable in a T-Shirt.

I wandered through the city. I was going to be there a fortnight, that felt like forever. So I could think in terms of shopping for necessities. I bought an element, some electrical wire and a piece of wood and made a water heater.

Next morning I decided to go to Rohtang Pass, popularly known as Snow Point. The peaks capped with snow beckoned me home to them. It was an immensely scenic drive with so much variation. The winding road mapped with rivulets of melted water flowing across it should have been a scary sight. But it wasn't. There were many buses and cars steaming on. I would have loved to be alone there with a herd of cattle, playing a tune on my harmonica. Somehow technology jars with nature. And driving in my car in the wake of a constant stream of cars, I longed to be in the lap of nature - but I knew my time had not yet come for solitude and space.

The flowing gush of the river Beas had me all enthralled. I could not resist kicking off my shoes and walking into the ice cold water. The chill of the water coupled with the burning sun, was a new experience. I was all alone there. The mountains, the water, the chirping of the birds, the odd croaking frog. And I. Yes this is why I had come here. Now I understood the compelling force of the voice that called me. The sheer sense of the endlessness of it all was so engrossing. I thought of my life. Nothing to lament in the past. I was silently living the present. I knew, with an undeniable certainty that in the future I belonged there in eternity.

Dusk settled on the valley and the blurred fog after the rain gripped me like the gravity of the earth holds us and yet we do not feel bound by it. It took me beyond to the unknown. And I walked silently in harmony with the vibrations of the music of nature itself. I did not know where I was headed, away from people, desperately seeking solitude, and the solace of aloneness, away from technology and the shindig of living. I walked amidst the tall pines. The apple trees were laden with growing fruit, like an unborn child in a mother's womb. The erotic mysticism that it evoked is beyond expression.

The night fell and I sat in my room looking out the window at the lightning streaks which whitened the mountain tops, a cigarette in my hand, the smoke of it blending my thoughts with the darkness. I sat up all night and read a book till I saw the first rays of the sun make the valley blush.

I had wanted to do this a long time. Allow words to form the pattern of my life. The changing nuances of the weather seemed to blend with the events and emotions of my life. It felt like a delightful wave of sin and ecstacy, with crests and troughs, at irregular intervals of varying intensity. Life is so much about the dreams we want to live and about what the world demands of us. It is surely about the dilemma between the two.

Ind I had set out on a path, "The road not taken" and every atom of my soul was experiencing the power of this wakening. It felt like a new birth.

In the evening I went for a walk and met a 78 year old lady from Britain, who had married someone there and continued to live there long after he had passed away. She spoke of the place, the decades she had seen there. She seemed like the place itself. Through her words, she led me to many places I visited, while warning me off drugs, and acquainting me with the extremes of climate to expect.

Travelling is about people and places. Yet I crave for the world of spaces without people. For the total peace of silence and solitude. The pleasure of sharing with myself a world bestowed on me as a gift of the Gods. This has eluded me still. But surely, here I stood at the gates of heaven, amidst the mountains and the serenity. At 23, I knew my journey had begun.

Bakeries, fruit vendors, book stores, tourist information center, travel agents and restaurants dot the mall. The traffic there is controlled effectively. As I walked around, delighting in the seemingly aimless wandering of my days, I discovered a Tibetan dish, the momo. They are little filled dumplings, akin to spring rolls, and can be eaten steamed or fried, according to your preference. Try it.

Manali has a Tibetan market thronged by tourists for articles from across the border from China and Nepal. The local produce of colourful Kullu shawls, as they are widely known, attracts the women to the shops in droves. There is a surfeit of blankets on sale, and jackets galore on offer.

Manali has a children's technology park with the latest swings and paraphernalia to amuse kids. It is run by two young entrepreneurs from Bhatinda, and I would enjoy my exchanges in Punjabi with them. I asked them why they chose Manali to park themselves. Their reply was the simple truth of basic existence, "Prakriti ki goad mein rehte hain, aur do roti bhi kama lete hain." (Living in the lap of nature, we earn our daily bread.)

During my visit to Manali, I met people, surely, from every corner of the earth. They walked in and out of my travels. But I do remember the school going children from Mumbai, Bangalore and Calcutta on their first hiking expedition and their first taste of the mountains. I was always intrigued by the sight of the regimented, uniformly coloured caps they wore for a quick head count.

A cellular operator with an eye on innovative business opportunities had started services for the roving businessman. Something distressing about the ubiquitous access of technology. At the other end of the spectrum were the sadhus who had spilled over from visiting the sulphur springs at Manikaran, a pilgrimage site. Too many saffron-clad sadhus attracted by tourist locales are merely wearing the garb of the wandering monk Somehow, Manali brought home to me the melting-pot that is India, our unity in the strength of our diversities.

Manali remains for me a time of aimless wandering alone, of experiences gleaned simply as a traveller with the freshness of eyes that seek the novel. It is a memory of many images, but the enduring one that remains, and that I recognise best, are the soft winds that touched me, of a feeling of timelessness and a promise of the future.