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Sick of overthinking and high-drama arguments, I decided to enrol for Vipassana – a 10-day, silent, meditation course, a.k.a ancient masochism. The ‘silent treatment’ in this place is intense. All electronic devices locked up; no talking, reading, writing or even eye contact. “You? How will you be quiet for 10 days?” If I had a dollar (not rupee) for every time anyone asked me this question before I set off, it would’ve paid for atleast one of the four trains I took to get there. I breathlessly lugged my baggage uphill to Dharamkot, Himachal Pradesh, watched the GoT Season 7 Finale on choppy internet and exchanged 184 whatsapp messages to alleviate rising panic. My hands trembled when I locked up all my communication tools at the centre. I was a Communication addict and Vipassana was Rehab. Things were going splendidly so far. I was actually quite serious about surrendering to the process. So, in the interest of maximising isolation, I opted for a single room and got a tiny one at the end of a long corridor with no view. I had chosen this Vipassana centre because I believed the beauty of the Himalayas would protect me from feeling lonely. Or going insane. But after 6 excruciatingly slow days, wrestling with my monkey-mind that dragged me down ravines of past pain, erected precarious castles of future plans and concocted some vivid (and rather enjoyable) sexual fantasies, I had serious questions about the very concept of sanity – my own or others’. I couldn’t believe all of us had voluntarily imprisoned ourselves in the middle of an alpine forest, ridden with ferocious monkeys raging Game-of-Thrones-like battles of their own - a disturbing distraction for us from any attempt at solitude. And worse, the majestic mountains were completely hidden; except a distant peak that you could see if you stood on a low wall and craned your neck. That was now My Spot. The Buddha had his lightbulb moment when he realised the Universal Truth: Everything Is Impermanent. Human suffering is caused by our responses to temporary feelings. But here I was, suffering from full blown withdrawal symptoms – shivers, anxiety, eyes full of tears and heart full of self-pity. This didn’t feel temporary at all. In our breaks, I stood at My Spot for a glimpse of My Mountain, totally feeling Tom Hanks and Wilson’s relationship from Cast Away. Sometimes, clouds hugged Her (my mountain, my choice of pronoun), making me want to run, preferably into someone’s arms. Once I saw Her basking in golden sunlight and I decided, the awe I felt must be peace of mind. But the sun set and the bell rang. It was back to work – convincing oneself of the transience of wandering thoughts and inner demons by the dispassionate observation of breath and sensations. Everything was impermanent indeed. Especially, peace of mind. On Day 7, I simply gave up and walked out in the middle of a session. I sat in my spot, head in my hands and sobbed, a light shower of pine needles completing my tragic portrait. I looked up to breathe and blow my nose and found a fellow-inmate sitting beside me in compulsory but sympathetic silence. Not wanting to start talking (or crying), I began arranging the thin, pine needles lying around us into complex patterns that might have intrigued Rorschach. She moved around pine needles too and formed the word ‘Nice’ right there on the cement platform. I responded to my newfound art critic with a ‘thx’ and we fell irresistibly into pine-needle conversation: Hw u - So Bored So hard - 3 days 2 go Had 2 tlk - Me 2 Guilty - Why Cheater - Human Our millennial-level disregard for punctuation, syntax and vowels aside, this empathy painstakingly expressed in pine needles was exactly what my weary spirit needed to continue on the journey within. Then we both stood up, craned our necks and watched My Mountain which turns out, was also hers. The clouds had flown away, leaving Her standing, solitary but solid. We stood wrapped in companionable silence, drawing strength and warmth from Her ever-changing, unmoving existence.