It’s late, maybe around 3 AM. I’m lying in this tiny hotel room in Banaras, the kind of place you book because it’s cheap and looks “decent enough” in photos. The blanket isn’t helping with the cold, and my throat feels like it’s been scraped with sandpaper. I’ve got a fever that makes even moving feel like an achievement, but somehow, I’m still awake.
When I planned this trip, I thought it’d be different. I imagined walking the ghats with headphones on, journaling profound thoughts, meeting strangers who’d turn into lifelong friends. But the reality is far less poetic.
Banaras doesn’t care about your plans.
The city moves at its own chaotic pace, and you either keep up or get swept aside. This morning, I barely managed to drag myself out of the room. I walked to the ghats, not because I wanted to, but because sitting inside with my thoughts felt worse.
The ghats were alive, as always. People praying, kids playing, someone trying to sell you a boat ride every five minutes. I sat down on the steps, just watching. There’s something hypnotic about the river—it keeps flowing, no matter what.
And then there’s me. Stuck. Not just on this trip, but in life.
It’s been three years since I made a real friend. Not a casual one, not someone who’s there because it’s convenient, but someone who truly gets it. It’s strange how you can be surrounded by people and still feel like you’re on your own little island. And on this trip, that feeling’s hit me harder than ever.
Solo trips don’t fix you. No one tells you that part. They don’t make you braver or wiser or less lonely. What they do is give you space—too much space sometimes—to sit with the things you’ve been ignoring.
By the time the evening aarti started, the fever had me shivering, but I stayed. The crowd clapped as the priests moved their lamps in perfect rhythm, the flames lighting up the water. It was beautiful, but all I could think about was how much I wanted a cup of chai and someone to share it with.
The thing about Banaras is, it doesn’t slow down for you. The city keeps moving, just like the river. And maybe that’s the point. Life doesn’t stop because you feel lost or tired or unsure. It keeps going, and all you can do is try to keep up.
I don’t know how long I’ll stay here. Maybe a day or two more. Maybe I’ll just pack up and leave tomorrow. But for now, I’m here, figuring it out as I go.
Solo trips are messy and exhausting and sometimes lonely as hell. But they also remind you that you’re still standing. Even when it’s hard, even when you don’t have all the answers, you’re still here.
And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
bye.
I felt so good reading this. Hope you're better now!