(Day 1)
Bombay → Delhi → Kathgodam
There are many paths to the Himalayan foothills,
each one winding its own story.
This time, I chose the train.
The air route to Pantnagar is quicker,
and a cab from Delhi, though scenic,
is often swallowed by endless traffic.
So my cousin Fanil and I sought the middle way—
a rail journey to Kathgodam,
the gateway to Kumaon.
I flew in from Mumbai to Delhi,
where the pulse of the city met me in waves.
I stayed the night at Bloom Rooms,
a small haven in the chaos of Paharganj,
tucked close to the railway station.
The city hummed outside,
but inside, I rested with the quiet promise of the mountains ahead.
At dawn, we boarded the Kathgodam Shatabdi—Train 12040.
It departs New Delhi at 6 a.m.,
slicing through the plains,
gathering light and altitude,
reaching Kathgodam by 11:55 a.m.
Five hours of slowing down.
Of letting the landscape ease you into stillness.
Day 2: Into the Hills – Kathgodam to Haidakhan
On two wheels, into the arms of silence
From the rhythm of the train to the hum of engines—
we rented Royal Enfield Himalayans right outside Kathgodam station.
Sumit, a friendly face in the morning sun,
sorted the bikes for us at ₹1800 a day.
Reach him at +91 85340 07862 if the road ever calls you this way.
The choice felt perfect.
The Himalayan roared and flowed with ease,
its tires gripping every bend, every incline,
carving curves like it belonged to the hills.
The roads—mostly smooth—still wore scars from old landslides,
but the ride… oh, the ride was poetry.
From Kathgodam to Haidakhan,
the road winds through deep jungles,
a 90-minute passage through green silence.
Terrace gardens spill over hillsides,
pine forests breathe in stillness,
and homes emerge like secrets nestled in the arms of the earth.
Then, the ashram.
Haidakhan—one of my favorite places on Earth.
Here, in June 1970,
a being known as Haidakhan Babaji “appeared” in a cave
at the foot of Kumaon’s Mount Kailash,
just across the Ganges.
His devotees say he is a Mahavatar—
not born of woman,
a presence, a force,
a human form of the divine.
Last year, I came for just a few hours.
And in that time,
I touched something wordless—
a rare, crystalline stillness,
a void that welcomed me with open arms.
I promised myself I’d return.
This time, I stayed.
The ashram hums with something ancient.
Old trees watch silently.
Flower gardens bloom like quiet prayers.
Red walls enclose a dhuni—sacred firepit—for meditation,
and the Guala river sings nearby,
its water so clear you can walk its bed
and see the soul of the earth beneath you.
To stay here is simple—just a form online:
haidakhandisamaj.in
Or call them: +91 9456385652.
Day 3: Haidakhan to Kasar Devi
Through pine-scented silence, to the ridge of mystics
Our last night at the ashram was soaked in quiet rituals—
meditation under the trees,
dips in the cold, crystalline river,
walks in silence,
chants that echoed like a gentle hum in the body.
At dawn on Day 3, we left Haidakhan behind.
The call of Kasar Devi was strong,
and we chose the longer, more scenic route.
A six-hour ride,
but one that felt like floating through another country—
so pristine were the pine forests,
so endless the valleys,
that for long stretches I forgot I was still in India.
The route we took:
Haidakhan Ashram → Dhanachuli → Nata Dol → Dol Ashram → Dhura → Kasar Devi.
There’s a shorter path via Mukteshwar,
but we avoided it to stay away from traffic.
And I must say: if you love the road,
this route will stir something in your soul.
We reached Kasar Devi around 3 p.m.,
wind-swept and spellbound.
Kasar Devi—a ridge village above Almora,
crowned by an ancient Devi temple from the 2nd century CE.
Also called Crank’s Ridge or Hippie Hill,
this sacred spot has drawn mystics, poets, seekers.
Bob Dylan, Uma Thurman, and countless unnamed pilgrims
have wandered these hills, looking for answers.
And the hills have whispered back.
It’s not just the temple—
Kasar Devi is aligned with the Van Allen Belt,
an electromagnetic phenomenon that wraps the Earth
like an invisible guardian, deflecting cosmic radiation.
Scientists say the energy here is unlike any other place on Earth.
Meditators say it’s palpable.
And I agree.
We stayed in a little Airbnb tucked into the hills,
a wooden cabin wrapped in clouds:
Our Stay
For food and good company,
Hammock Café has a warm vibe and good coffee,
while Hobbit Café opens out to breathtaking views.
If time allows, Binsar Bird Sanctuary is just 8–9 km away—
a paradise for those who love silence, trees, and wings.
We didn’t make it this time,
but it came highly recommended by every local we met.
Before the sun rose on our fourth day,
I climbed up to the temple at 6 a.m.
The sky was grey and the air still.
And as I sat in silence,
something deep stirred.
The energy here doesn’t ask questions.
It just enters you,
quietly, like breath.
Day 4–5: Kasar Devi to Kaichi Dham
On sacred roads, toward the beloved
We spent the morning swaying gently in a hammock,
watching the clouds drift over the hills from our cabin.
The world was soft, slow,
like a breath held in peace.
By late morning, we began the journey to Kaichi Dham.
Every year, June 15th draws thousands to the ashram.
It’s a sacred day—so sacred, in fact,
that the roads close 10–15 km ahead of the temple.
But we had our bikes,
and with the guidance of locals and instinct,
we found the back way in.
On the road, we stopped at Kakdighat Ashram—
a place infused with the quiet presence of saints.
It was built by Neem Karoli Baba,
in honor of the great Sombari Baba.
Kakdighat, like Haidakhan, has a powerful void.
There’s no noise here.
Only silence that speaks.
Only energy that stills you.
From there, we followed the route:
Kakdighat → Nathukhan → Ramgarh → Kaichi.
This stretch winds through plum orchards,
past scattered cafés tucked into the hills.
We paused at Meraki Café,
a beautiful stop with kind energy—worth every minute.
And as we neared Kaichi,
I felt something shift.
My grip tightened, my speed increased,
as if a magnetic force was drawing me in.
My Guru is the love of my life.
He is breath, compass, flame.
And riding toward him on the most sacred day of the ashram
felt like a secret blessing.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
We had expected crowds and long lines.
But when we arrived—
the path was clear.
No waiting.
Just straight into Darshan,
a moment with the Master,
Prasad in our hands,
and hearts overflowing.
We stayed at Shiva Homestay,
just a kilometer from the temple.
You can call them at +91 94115 25987.
It was simple, quiet, and close to everything.
After a quick shower, we went back to the ashram.
I couldn’t help it—
the pull was still strong.
The magic too real.
Though the gates closed before I was ready,
the next morning, we returned.
One last offering.
One last silent thank-you.
Then, we packed our bags,
drove toward Nainital,
stopped at Hanuman Gadi Temple,
and finally reached Kathgodam for our 3 p.m. train.
The same Shatabdi.
The same tracks.
But the one who boarded that train
was not the same.
If you’re planning a trip like this, I hope these words help.
And if you need any guidance, feel free to write to me at
📧 trupal@trupalpandya.com.