Meher was fifteen when she decided she wanted to see her country — not through textbooks or news, but with her own eyes. Living in a small town in Himachal Pradesh, she had grown up surrounded by mountains, rivers, and forests. To her, India was already beautiful. But she had a feeling there was much more waiting to be discovered beyond the hills she called home.
When her school announced a two-month break, Meher’s parents agreed to her one simple wish — a journey across India. Not a luxury trip, but a meaningful one. They would travel by train, stay in small guesthouses, and see as much as they could.
Their first stop was Delhi. The city buzzed with history and noise. Meher stood in awe before the Red Fort, imagining emperors and battles. In Chandni Chowk, she tasted spicy food and watched as life unfolded in a beautiful mess of colors, chaos, and culture. She noticed something—despite the crowds, there was a kind of harmony in the disorder. People helped each other. Strangers smiled. The city had a heart that beat loudly, but kindly.
From Delhi, they travelled to Rajasthan. The moment they stepped into Jaipur, Meher’s eyes widened. Everything seemed dipped in color — pink walls, blue skies, golden sands. They visited Udaipur’s shimmering lakes and the grand palaces of Jodhpur. One night, under the stars in Jaisalmer, Meher sat listening to a folk musician play a haunting melody on his ravanhatta. The desert, though vast and empty, felt full of stories.
Next came Kerala. The pace of life slowed as they floated on a houseboat in the Alleppey backwaters. Coconut trees lined the canals, and birds flew over the still water. In a small village, Meher helped an old woman cook idli and sambar in her clay kitchen. They couldn’t speak the same language, but they laughed and cooked like old friends. Meher realized that language wasn’t the only way to communicate — kindness spoke louder.
They reached Varanasi just as dusk began to fall. The ghats were glowing with oil lamps. Priests performed the evening aarti, and the Ganga shimmered under the firelight. Meher watched quietly, feeling something she couldn’t explain. There was peace here — not in silence, but in tradition. Not in stillness, but in devotion. The river didn’t just carry water; it carried faith, memory, and generations.
After weeks of travel, Meher returned home changed. Her friends crowded around her, curious about her journey.
“What’s the most beautiful place you saw?” one of them asked.
Meher paused. She thought of the temples, the palaces, the rivers, the songs, and the smiles.
Then she replied, “It wasn’t one place. The beauty of India isn’t just in its landscapes — it’s in its people, its colors, its differences, and how everything still fits together. India is not just a country. It’s a feeling.”
And that night, as she looked out at the mountains once more, she smiled. The world was wide, but her heart belonged right here — in the heart of India.
