#5.2 A Stoner’s Guide to Natural Highs in India (Desert)
No Drugs Required: Just Mountains, Deserts, and Waves
After conquering the towering (foothills of the) Himalayas, I found myself back in the garden city, Bengaluru. But this time, my perspective had quite literally changed.
I’d been wearing glasses since forever, and while they gave me a certain intellectual charm (or so I liked to think), they were also a constant reminder of my limitations.
Every time I played football, I’d either dodge headers like the plague or end up with shattered specs. Scuba diving, surfing, swimming, skydiving — everything looked like a grainy 480p video. Even rollercoasters weren’t safe from the tyranny of my flying glasses.
Natural High #4: If you wear glasses, just take them off. Trust me, looking at absolutely anything with the blur feels like you’re tripping on the hardest shit. Not a high I enjoyed very much, so I opted for PRK surgery — a procedure that would change how I see the world. Plus, it’s super cheap in India (medical tourism capital of the world, IMO).
Science Bit: PRK, or Photorefractive Keratectomy, is LASIK’s tougher, hardcore sibling. Instead of creating a flap in the cornea like LASIK, PRK removes the thin outer layer of the cornea entirely to reshape the surface underneath. Pros? How about upgrading your eyes without the fear of losing your sharp vision with a single hit to the face.
But the recovery isn’t exactly a walk in the park. You’ll be stuck indoors, your eyes burning like you put the spiciest hot sauce in them. And you’re forbidden from doing ANYTHING that involves using your eyes.
It was like sensory deprivation with a side of pain.
I survived by doing two things:
- Reliving my teen years binge-listening to spy-fi audiobooks, and
- Meticulously putting drops in my eyes 18 times a day for a month.
But when the haze finally lifted? The world wasn’t just clear — it was in 4K UHD, baby!
Growing up, one of my favorite Alex Rider (spy) books was Scorpia Rising, where he navigates the scorching desert, facing dangers at every turn. It always stuck with me — maybe because of the thrill, or maybe because of the way the desert tests you, strips you down to your essence. My boy Alex was also always curious about uncovering his family’s secrets, and I realized I had a similar itch.
So, as soon as the doc gave me the all-clear, my family and I decided to chase our ancestral ghosts through the sun-baked deserts of Rajasthan.
The Rathis have roots in Jaisalmer and the surrounding desert, and the thought of walking the same sands my great-great-grandfather once did seemed like the perfect way to connect with the past while exploring the future.
But to get there was an epic journey in itself, filled with more colors than I could now see.
Jaipur: The Pink City
Our first stop was Jaipur. Back in the city after so many years, the memories came flooding back. The air was thick with the aroma of spices, the clamor of busy markets, and the hum of life lived out loud. It was the kind of place that didn’t just welcome you — it demanded your attention.
Wandering through Jaipur, I got lost in the labyrinth of bazaars. A majority of the buildings are made of red and pink sandstone. But the city’s pink hue is more than just a color; it’s a mood, a vibe that seeps into everything. The city’s cultural strength is unparalleled. Every shop seemed to offer something unique—artisanal jewelry, vibrant textiles, or street food that had my taste buds doing backflips.
History Lesson: Why pink? Jaipur got its rosy hue in 1876 when it was painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales. Pink, the color of hospitality, was chosen to make the city appear warm and inviting. Talk about rolling out the red… err, pink carpet! Over time, the color became synonymous with Jaipur’s identity and stuck. Fascinating how a single event can alter the course of a city’s history, transforming it into something iconic.
Natural High #5: Cosmic vibes. Jaipur’s entire layout follows ancient Hindu architectural principles known as Vastu Shastra, which aligns buildings with cosmic forces to maximize harmony and prosperity. The city is divided into nine blocks, each symbolizing the nine planets of astrology, with broad streets running east to west and north to south, mirroring the cardinal directions. Zone out (haha) and try to harness the Shakti. If you can.
From there, we hopped on a train to Jodhpur, the Blue City.
Jodhpur: The Blue City
If you haven’t been on one yet, let me tell you. Indian trains are an experience — part time machine, part social experiment.
The journey was filled with the comforting clatter of wheels on tracks, bhaiyas hawking chai and snacks, the occasional panhandler, and the chatter of fellow passengers. It felt like a slow, deliberate immersion into the next chapter of our journey.
There’s something mesmerizing about watching the landscape change as the train chugs along, from urban sprawl to the arid beauty of the desert.
As we approached Jodhpur, the landscape took on a strange quality. An expanse of blue that seemed to rise out of the desert itself. Jodhpur’s blue was unlike anything I’d ever seen, a shade that’s simultaneously calming and vibrant, like the city had been dipped in the sky and left to dry in the sun.
After quite a hike, we reached the majestic entrance of the Mehrangarh Fort. And wow. The fort is an embodiment of power and grandeur. It rises 400 feet out of the rock like it was always meant to be there, its massive walls blending seamlessly with the cliffs they’re built on. Walking through its gates, you’re transported back in time, to an era when kings ruled and battles were fought over land, honor, and pride.
Next stop: Jaisalmer, where my family’s (known) story really begins.
Jaisalmer: The Golden City
As the Blue City faded in the rearview, the desert began to claim the horizon. The air grew drier, the colors warmer, and the promise of something ancient lingered in the wind.
Then Jaisalmer appeared like some mythical lost city, rising straight out of the desert — a massive golden sandcastle that someone forgot to wash away.
Here’s the thing about Jaisalmer — it’s basically a medieval city that accidentally stumbled into the 21st century. Back in the 12th century, this place was the Amazon hub of its time, sitting pretty on the Silk Road. Camel caravans would roll through loaded with silk, spices, and drama. The proof is in these lanes — every handicraft shop sells something their ancestors probably made for traders heading to Persia.
Somewhere in these golden lanes, my ancestors walked, probably complaining about the heat just like I was. Walking through its narrow lanes felt like time-traveling, if time travel included dodging selfie sticks and hungry cows.
The Rathis (my crew) have roots here that go way back. Seeing the world through their eyes was surreal, like finding a piece of myself in the past.
By night, the fort takes on an entirely different character. The crowds thin out, and a serene quiet settles over the place. Now dimly lit by the occasional lantern, the narrow lanes seem to whisper secrets from centuries past.
But it wasn’t all existential vibes.
Enter bhang, India’s famed cannabis-infused beverage.
Natural High #6: Bhang roulette. Bhang is legally sold in government-licensed shops. If you’d like to indulge, stick to government-approved shops near Gopa Chowk.
Did I follow my own advice about sticking to licensed shops? Nope. Family trip meant sneaking off to buy a 3-rupee packet from a sketchy roadside stall. Cue the most epic bout of Delhi belly and a series of unfortunate events that I’ll spare you the details of.
Please learn from my mistakes.
The city was fascinating, but the desert was calling. Somewhere out there, further west, lay more pieces of my family’s nomadic past. It was time to trade stone walls for sand dunes and see what other ancestral ghosts we could chase down!
Thar Desert Adventures
Leaving the golden city of Jaisalmer behind, we ventured into the heart of the Thar Desert.
As we drove further into the desert, all I could see were infinite dunes undulating like waves frozen in time. Even though I knew the Thar was teeming with life, I couldn’t help but feel alone. The sense of isolation was palpable — here, in this seemingly empty expanse, it felt as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
There’s a particular kind of high that comes from standing at the edge of something immense. As we reached the top of a dune and looked over the Thar Desert, I felt an overwhelming sense of awe and insignificance. The desert, with its vastness and silence, is both humbling and exhilarating.
Not because it was beautiful (it was), but because it was honestly terrifying. The kind that forces you to confront who you are and why you’re here. It was a reminder that, no matter how advanced our technology becomes, we are still just small, fragile beings navigating an immense and indifferent universe.
But existential crises can wait when your driver suddenly grins and says “Ab maza aayega” (now the fun begins). Seatbelts are optional in this part of the world, so my sister and I just hung on to the railings for dear life.
Natural High #7: Dune therapy. Look, I’ve been on rollercoasters. I’ve jumped out of planes. But dune bashing? That’s a special kind of chaos.
Picture this: you’re crawling up a sand mountain at an angle that would make a geometry teacher sweat, when suddenly your driver (who I’m convinced was a retired stunt double) kills the engine at the peak.
The silence hits first.
Then the view — endless waves of sand stretching to the horizon. Before your brain catches up, you’re plunging down the other side while your internal organs try to rearrange themselves. Every sharp turn and sudden drop sent a thrill through my body, the kind of high that leaves you breathless and laughing at the sheer audacity of it all.
The desert stretched out below us, an ocean of sand bathed in the soft light of the setting sun.
When the adrenaline finally wore off, exhaustion hit me like a sandstorm. My limbs ached from gripping the 4x4’s handles. I retreated to the stillness of the camp, my energy spent, and let the desert’s quiet hum replace the earlier chaos.
With the world reduced to sand and stars, I pulled out my copy of The Alchemist and began to read by the firelight. It felt too fitting. A story of searching for treasures, not just in the world but within yourself. Each page mirrored the silence around me, and as the night deepened, Santiago’s journey felt less like fiction and more like a challenge. It made me think:
What treasures was I chasing?
And more importantly, was I even listening to my own heart?
Somewhere out there, my ancestors roamed these same dunes. I longed to follow their footprints, but as our guide reminded us, the Pakistan border was only a few dunes away.
As our journey through the Thar came to an end, I reflected on the resilience I’d witnessed — in its landscapes, its people, and even within myself.
It reminded me that life’s greatest lessons often emerge in the quiet moments, and its most beautiful treasures are discovered not by chasing, but by being present.
In the end, perhaps the stories we don’t uncover completely, the mysteries we let linger, are the ones that stay with us the longest — like the dunes of the desert, timeless and shifting, always just out of reach.
Return to Jaipur: Sankranti Festival
Returning to Jaipur felt like rejoining the living. After the solitude of the desert, the Sankranti festival exploded with life, transforming the city into a kaleidoscope of kites. Neighbors competed over who could blast the loudest music while samosas, kachoris, and syrupy jalebis were shared with wild abandon. Above, the sky became a battleground of paper diamonds, their strings criss-crossing like laser beams as every rooftop turned into a command center.
Culture: Sankranti marks the sun’s move into Capricorn and the start of longer days. Ancient astronomers basically turned the end of winter into a city-wide party. Smart folks, those ancestors.
Of course, I had to try my hand at kite-fighting. Spoiler alert: turns out “how hard can it be?” are famous last words in any language. My kite spent more quality time with trees than air, and my cousins’ polite encouragement eventually turned into barely concealed laughter. But hey, sometimes you have to crash a few kites to appreciate the art.
Leaving Rajasthan felt like waking up from a dream where past and present got mixed up in the best way possible. I’d chased my family’s ghost trails through golden cities and endless dunes, survived death-defying jeep rides, and gotten schooled by children half my age in the ancient art of not getting your kite stuck in power lines.
Next up: They say you never forget your first wave. What they don’t tell you is that it might also trigger an existential crisis. Stay tuned for the next chapter of this journey as I explore the waves, beaches, and more on India’s West Coast.
