Intuition. India. Individuality: A Ghost in Srinigar ?

Intuition. India. Individuality.

I have always believed that intuition outweighs intellect, and sometimes, we are fortunate enough for it to surge so powerfully that it guides our actions entirely. Perhaps that’s the essence of impulsiveness. Before analysis can even begin, the deed is already done. Later, of course, the rational mind catches up, weaving stories around what has transpired.

Awakening the senses has long fascinated me. Having spent considerable time in India, I can only say I was continually overwhelmed, words barely do justice. It’s as if a thought arises and the reaction, the very energy of that thought, manifests almost instantly. Instant karma. This profound experience teaches the vital importance of tending to your mind and mastering your responses.

How to explain it? Imagine someone steals your bag and your immediate reaction is anger. The next moment, another misfortune follows, then another, until you learn to regulate your reactions. Conversely, when you radiate positivity, the world around you gleams like the brightest golden sun.

This mindset is difficult to retain consistently, especially within Western logic and culture. That’s why a journey to India every few years feels invaluable. It’s been eight years since my last trip, a remarkable adventure from Srinagar, across the highest motorable pass on earth, to Leh. That journey alone holds enough stories for an entire book, so I won’t attempt to distill it here. But wow, what an experience.

The trip itself was a spontaneous decision. I had just finished a business meeting at Serenity Cove Wellness Retreat, where I often worked as the wellbeing director. The role brought exciting encounters with celebrity guests. One evening, at The Coral Reef, a local bar in Port Douglas, I was sharing a drink with Sarah, the events manager contractor, whom I had met just a week earlier.

“I love India,” she said, “and I think I’m due for a trip.”

“I love India too,” I replied.

Then, raising her glass, she proposed, “Let’s go...let’s book flights.”

Without hesitation, I said, “Okay, why not?”

The clinking of glasses sealed the impulsive pact. The next morning, admittedly a bit fuzzy, I woke to an email from Sarah with flight details. I thought, “Holy cow, I’m going to India,” while wondering how to casually break the news to my husband.

And so we went.

Traveling with someone I barely knew and who was practically my polar opposite wasn’t without challenges, but the experience was rich with lessons. Sarah meticulously pre-planned every detail, locking in arrangements before we left. I made only one request: to visit Leh, a remote region in northern India. Sarah wasn’t keen after seeing photos I sent (barren, Mars-like landscapes). Still, something about Leh called to me.

I surrendered the planning entirely (it wasn’t truly my trip to plan) and decided to simply follow the flow. I travel differently, I book the first night, then let intuition guide me. That approach has never failed me.

Lost Baggage

Our India story began in Delhi, where all our luggage promptly vanished. Sarah, in true fireball form, unleashed fury on the patient airport staff, who remained kind despite the onslaught. Secretly, I found the prospect of buying everything anew oddly thrilling, though I suspect this did little to soothe her meltdown.

Once restrained, we took a taxi. The driver informed us, “There’s been a landslide; you cannot fly to Manali.”

Our early morning departure was canceled, forcing an overnight stay in Delhi testing Sarah’s composure further.

At a travel agency, we learned that monsoon flooding had upended the first half of our meticulously booked 15-day itinerary. Furious, Sarah faced sensory overload none of us had anticipated.

Then, like a ray of hope, the agent said, “The best place to be in India right now is Leh. Monsoon floods are everywhere else.”

Sarah glanced at me, puzzled, while I tried not to smile, the only place I had mentioned before departure was Leh.

Within hours, we rerouted our journey: fly to Srinagar, then travel overland to Leh.

Houseboats and Horrors

Sarah and I spent our first night researching Srinagar, where we had booked a houseboat stay, a local “must-do,” we were told.

Srinagar is an enigma. Its history is heavy with sorrow and strife, visible in the haunted eyes of its people—a deep sadness and latent fear palpable to anyone sensitive.

A stillness permeates the city, pressing against your skin like an unspoken secret. Beneath its beauty lies a haunting past, and as night fell over our ancient houseboat, something unexplainable stirred me from sleep into a terrifying, unforgettable reality.

The houseboat district was eerily silent, empty, reminiscent of faded grandeur now decayed. Despite the melancholy, I found artistic beauty in the echoes of its former glory.

Sarah, however, was pale and visibly shaken, anxious and tearful, clear she did not want to stay. Sensing it wasn’t as dire as she feared, I comforted her, “No worries, let’s find somewhere else.” But with dusk and no taxis in sight, she reluctantly agreed to stay for one night.

After dinner, we switched to a similar houseboat. Inside, massive beds, twice the length and width of regular ones awaited, as if for royalty, swathed in velvet and an almost Art Deco vibe. Quite a scene.

Later, Sarah’s anxiety resurfaced, but I quickly fell asleep, only to be jolted awake by a vivid nightmare. Someone pulled me by the feet, yanking me off the bed with such force I landed on the floor. I still feel the pressure of invisible hands on my ankles, though no one was there. Sarah woke from my screams, witnessing the entire surreal episode.

Imagine us both crying and trembling in that eerie place. At dawn, pale as ghosts, we fled the houseboat and flagged down the first car we saw, pleading, “Get us out of here.” We pointed toward the mountain tops and said, “Take us there.”

Slowly, we rose above the shadows of the slums, laden with fear, sorrow, and something dark toward the opulence of the heights and one of the most breathtaking vistas I have ever seen: The Taj, an 8-star hotel reserved for celebrities and the ultra-wealthy.

At $600 AUD per night, a staggering price in India. We booked two nights and finally unpacked. Relief washed over us.

Our lost luggage arrived from Delhi, and I inhaled deeply, soaking in the surreal, mystical views of Srinagar through floor-to-ceiling glass, a place neither of us will soon forget.

I needed a few more deep breaths to truly calm after that first night of madness.

That, in turn, leads to the next tale: the story of the hotel guy.