A lot of people call me a weirdo. I am sure there are several reasons. One major reason that all of my friends keep pointing out is that I always travel alone. How a person can travel alone, it seems, is a million dollar question to them.

Call me what you will, but I have my reasons for trusting nothing but my backpack on my tours. Here's the thing – imagine yourself standing on the top of a cliff enjoying an ethereal sunset, trying to give yourself up to the beauty of the moment... to sink gradually as does the sun in to the abysmal depths of the unknown; a glow... a purple haze within and without; the mountains stand witness. You are at one with the vastness around you. And then, yes right then (no later!!) a voice from beside you croons hoarsely, “isn't it beautiful?” DANG!!! Everytime this happened to me, I wished I had a gun with me. So, I travel alone and keep as far away from all “perceptive” people as possible. Travelling alone I have been part of several unforgettable moments. Probably the best one was around end September last year.

It was Matheran. I am sure many have heard the name and probably even been there. For those who haven't; it's one of the weekend getaways in Maharashtra - a hill station located between Mumbai and Pune. I was doing some reading up on the internet before taking the trip. What caught my attention was that the whole area does not have any solid roads – and apart form rickshaws for the aged – the only mode of transport are horses.

I took the Hyderabad-Mumbai express and deboarded at Karjat near Pune. Though Matheran is actually closer to Mumbai, I decided to take the Pune route. The neat little town of Karjat is surrounded with greenish-brown rocky hills or rather hillocks (most of them are actually only a few hundred feet high). I liked the place and decided to take a tea break.

And, of course with the tea came the famous 'Vada Pav.' I can bet for all I am worth that very few snacks in India can match the 'Vada Pav.' Probably 'Samosa' yes, but then that's almost international now. Idli comes close, but is not as easy to handle or make as this one. I fell so in love with this thing, that I spent almost a week eating Vada Pav.

Digression?? Me?? Never!!

Alright, I know- so, where was I? Yes, so while I was having my tea I also managed to haggle with a rickshaw driver in 'fultoo mumbaiyya hindi.' I took the auto rickshaw up to Neral, an even smaller town with practically only a railway station to boast for.

From Neral there are frequent taxis to Matheran. Hundred bucks per seat; and if you even have the mildest car sickness- god bless you! The roads are steep and the bends are very sharp, but the drivers take the prize. It must be god's gift or maybe a gut made of steel, to be able to drive those ramshackle 'Omnis' in that fashion.

I reached Matheran somewhere around midday. The weather was cool and as I entered the fenced area, I realised the world inside Matheran gates have no semblance to that outside. Wild growth all around, strange insects sounds, strong odour of animal waste all welcomed me to what was already promising to be a rejuvenating vacation.

I found a tall, well-built shining black horse and booked it for the entire period of my stay. Distances in Matheran are by no means short, and unless you are experienced at trekking very long distances, better have a horse. There are other reasons too. I was told that horses can smell wild animals in the offing and can also warn you of an approaching thunderstorm. I had not understood the complete significance of the statement till later in the day. That evening, Matheran was covered with pitch black clouds and it started raining torrentially.

I was ecstatic. Zahir the owner of the horse had already told me that the horse cannot go out in the rain. So, I rolled up my trousers, abandoned my phone, wallet, slippers and went out in spite of a lot of people at the hotel trying to stop me. I soon realised, though.

The muddy roads had no trace of rocks; not even a feet inside the ground. This was done so that the horses don't slip on wet rocks. Precisely after taking five steps I was knee deep in mud!!

Darn! I was back at the hotel, and there was no electricity. It rained all night and I sat listening to the sound of rain drops on leaves and the ocassional branch breaking. Next morning the sky cleared and I could go out. I had gone around all of Matheran on my horse (Sahil, he was called). Liked the place thoroughly, fooled around with monkeys, screamed in to valleys to hear the echo. But I don't want to tell you all that. Go and find out yourself.

What I want to tell you about is an incredible and almost spiritual incident. The day before I was destined to leave Matheran, I decided to hit the sunset at Panorama point, which I had known till then , was the most beautiful sunset in Matheran. As luck would have it, the sky was cloudy, and after only a brief appearance the sun took cover. I was rather sad partly because of the sunset and partly because of the vacations ending. I decided to spend some time on the cliff, and walking up to the end of the jutting portion of the mountain I sat myself down.

About an hour had passed with me sitting there. The sky was getting increasingly cloudy and it was threatening to rain. The sun I presumed from the time had set some time back. In the distance, a particularly dense black cloud was raining and approaching at menacing speed. I told myself five more minutes – and I should be going. Actually, there was nobody to be seen in the vicinity and even the “Vada Pav wala” was packing up.

And then IT happened!

I was looking down at the ground. From the corner of my eye, I could tell there was an explosive lightning in the black cloud, which was now quite near. Almost immediately I saw a blinding light all around me, felt its warmth, and felt a stinging pain on my forehead. Remarkably, I wasn't afraid nor did I panic. I sat there calmly, waiting for the sound of death. The sound happened and it was certainly the loudest crackling sound I would ever hear in my life – but, apart form the scathing pain on my forehead all of me seemed to be in place.

Next I knew, I was running for dear life. Later, when I thought about it I realised I had witnessed something that certainly a few others also do, but only probably a handful can write about it. Yes, Mr. Denver now I understand what you tried to say to me.