There are a lot of things you do that are difficult to explain when asked to put in the causality order. Or simply put, it is difficult to explain why you like to look at the setting sun or find strangers prettier, or cherish the pleasure of staring at your ceiling lying on your back.

Such abstract pleasures are many and for me, Kasol will always remain a destination for such randomness in abundance.

A girl with her brother

For the curious and the tourist map travellers, there are quite a few things to check out near this pristine and chilly village nestled in the lofty Himalayas that cut across Himachal Pradesh.

The devout can go nuts about the Manikaran temple, some 6km from the village and marvel at the warm water and take a public bath and believe that their sins and diseases were washed away.

I am healthy and have sinned way too much to be washed and intend to sin more, so I decided to give the bath a miss.

Hilltops

My good friend from Bihar, too, felt that it was not worth it.

The entire purpose of going to Kasol, as we boarded the bus at Paharganj in Delhi, was to do nothing, except of course eat, drink and smoke, in a place that is a pleasure to drink in.

And so we boarded the bus and everyone bought chips and farted and the bus started, thankfully.

My good friend carries a lot of machines in his bags and once it got too dark to see outside, he took out one that plays music and we plugged our ears as a necessary distraction from a bus filled with lovers who would not settle for quiet activity.

A view of the hills

With Leonard Cohen’s Scotch-smooth voice and blankets, though, life was better as the chilly wind made its way through the apparently super deluxe bus.

I don’t remember when we dozed off but when we woke up the bus was at Bhuntar. We had to get down to take the next ride to Kasol.

Bhuntar is at an altitude of 5,000 feet above sea level. It was six in the morning and so cold that the thought of letting the blanket go made me want to die.

Faraway peaks

But outside the clear blue sky was meeting ice on hilltops and the lush green hills sloped down on patches of sunshine and inside people were farting, so in getting out we were prompt.

We were some 30km away from Kasol now and had to take a bus or an air-conditioned cab. Since we were almost dancing in the cold, we decided to go for the slight pinch on the pocket the cab would give.

But before that, we needed tea to stop the unintended dance. My friend had made his choice among the shops, he was chatting in a tea stall with a woman in charge.

A glimpse of her made me realise why. As he asked her important sociological questions like why the glasses in which she served tea were bigger than in Delhi, I took mine, still trembling and while trying to sip spilt most of it.

The river at Kasol

The love story was cut short; utterly embarrassed our romancer just said, “Are yeh Bangali hain na, aur kya bole..” They parted and we got into the cab.

When we reached the hotel it was empty and there was no one at the reception.

After looking around a bit we found the receptionist-cum-caretaker-cum-food provider watching a Govinda flick from the 90s. He disclosed that we were the only guests in the hotel and we negotiated hard and got the room dirt cheap. What more happiness could we expect?

View from Turqouise Kasol

Now that we had found a place to stay and drink we were faced with the crucial question of things to do.

So after we had polished off some alu ka paratha at the hotel we decided to walk to Manikaran, simply because it was 6km away. It would be way into noon by the time we returned and we would be hungry enough to do justice to the food at the Israeli restaurant we had just spotted. We would later learn its name, Turquoise Kasol.

In fact, Kasol is filled with Israeli restaurants and the Israeli tourist in pursuit of charas is in such abundance that there are plenty of banners in Hebrew. Does Himachal have a BJP government, we wondered.

A bridge across the river

As we walked through the silence, often disturbed by the passing vehicle, and as fresh wind caressed us and our lungs strained and muscles ached to walk uphill, we slowly realised what we had come for. We reached Manikaran and collapsed.

By the time we returned to make it to the Israeli restaurant it was way into the afternoon and we were adequately hungry to eat human beings. So the strange menu, in which nothing seemed less than an octopus, did not deter us. The waiter had to explain each dish by breaking it down to familiar meat, bread and such.

I beg your pardon, I do not remember the name of anything we ate. The only name I remember is hummus, which my friend who is more initiated into world culture living in Delhi, asked for. He also sports a tattoo on his forearm.

Once we had kind of settled after the food, we asked if we could find tea on the hilltop one could see from the restaurant’s window. It was some 8km away. We did find tea and aloo ka paratha and a joint.

When we returned it had got quite dark and we headed to the market and picked up four bottles of rum. Every single muscle was aching.

Settled in the lawn of the hotel, we opened the first bottle, called the caretaker to join in and lit a fire, just reminding him to keep dinner ready in between. And the ghazals began.

There was nothing much different we did there in the days to come. There was not a thing in the markets that you will not get in Delhi. We did buy some souvenirs though.

That was all there is to Kasol and I think it is the best short holiday destination in the world and no, I do not know why.