With no work, little money and a lot of energy, I set off on a journey to Himachal Pradesh from Bangalore in the spring of 2016, when the apple orchards were in full bloom, the snow carpet over the mountains was melting away and many women had almost finished weaving woollen shawls and pattu (the traditional attire of women in Himachal Pradesh) for the winter, as the summer approached.

This journey was about befriending strangers, learning, unlearning, a reunion with an old friend and exploring a breathtakingly beautiful terrain.But most essentially, this journey was about losing faith in travelling alone.

After a week's stay in Kandbari, a quiet village tucked away in the foothills of the Dhauladhars, I travelled to Mcleodganj, where I was meeting my friend, M, after seven months.

Our favourite activity for the next three days to was devour desserts, momos and Thukpa while craving for something spicy all along, as we caught up on stories happy and sad, analysed each other's decisions, recounted all that we used to do together, engaged in mindless gossip and laughed a lot.

I was tired of having to deal with this when all I wanted was to spend a few days in a new place on my own.

Given how much time we spent gorging on food, on the two narrow, parallel lanes that make up the market, we were familiar now with the shopkeepers, greeting most of them with a smile and chatting away with a few.

After an almost depressing farewell masked with silly jokes and promises of meeting again, M left for Uttarakhand and I walked around aimlessly in Mcleodganj, whiling away the next few hours at the market until I boarded the bus to my next destination.

As I came out of a public toilet, one of the shopkeepers we had interacted with the previous day was standing right outside the door, smiling at me, asking me how I was doing, as he used the dustbin in the toilet.

I responded with an awkward smile because I felt uneasy at his sudden presence. I walked around the market, slightly disturbed and more cautious this time, and entered a tea stall M and I would visit, every morning and evening. In only a couple of minutes of calling for chai, I saw the same man walk in with a few of his friends. I quickly had my tea and left without acknowledging his presence this time.

In the next hour that I spent at the market, I found myself bumping into this man's friends I had seen at the tea stall, at different spots: outside a bakery, at the cross-section between the alleys; I was randomly being followed on the street.

Additionally, there were tourists from other states who noticed an Indian woman travelling alone and assumed it was their right to stare and comment.

I retorted on a few occasions and gave up on the others; some looked away embarrassed while some merely smirked. Frustrated, I went to the travel agency where I had dumped my luggage and decided to sit there for the next hour and wait for my bus.

Now, even the man at the desk decides it is in his privilege to constantly ogle at me.

I stared back, but the moment I looked away, he resumed staring at me. You know, women are born with a radar that beeps on detecting lewd expressions and remarks, which is almost all the time.

In those few hours, I felt violated, like I didn't deserve to travel alone because I am a woman, I couldn't find myself a safe spot in a bustling town during the weekend.

I was stalked, stared at, sleazy comments were being passed, which made me question my capability of being able to stand up to such men.

I always thought of myself as someone who could handle such things, but I could see my courage slipping away. I had drawn more attention in those four hours than M and I had in the past three days.

I felt more relieved and safe in an uncomfortable tempo traveller full of people than I had felt the whole evening. I was hoping Manali would be different, devoid of such unnerving experiences.

We were supposed to reach the hill station at 5am. Instead, the driver sped through the curvy terrain and we reached at 3.39am. As I got off, all the other travellers decided to go to Old Manali, a few kilometres away from the bus stand, where the hotels were somewhat expensive. A man on a bike was finding business for hotels near the Manali market.

As I was on a frugal budget, I had to choose between hunting for an inexpensive hotel all by myself at this early hour and being guided by this man to a hotel. I went for the latter, gambling on this one, fully aware that both options have their own risks.

As promised, this man, let's call him D, took me to a couple of hotels and asked me to choose one depending on my budget. I went for the one with a beautiful view of river Beas and the deodar forests beyond, also reasonably priced as it was off season.

He told me that he could take me to places in and around Manali on his bike and I wouldn't have to spend on taxis or autos. I politely refused his offer and told him I preferred public transport.

I frantically woke up to five missed calls in the morning as I realised I hadn't informed my parents that I had reached Manali; they had been worried about me travelling alone. But all the five calls were from D. When I called back, he repeated what he had said earlier, adding that he knew of Ayurvedic massage treatments for weight loss.

He said it would help me lose weight from my lower body and look more "beautiful".

I said I was not interested. He then went on to ask if I smoked Marijuana. I told him that I preferred being left alone and hung up.

The same morning, I left for Vashisht, a shrine with natural hot springs. I sat outside the temple for a while, listening to a Rajasthani folk singer play the Sarangi and a few '90s Bollywood songs. I then proceeded to the smaller gush of hot water outside, which was being used by the locals, and inquired about weaving in the village.

As I walked down the narrow alleys and rickety lanes, guided by several people along the way, I reached a house facing the chocolate brown mountains covered in ice caps, where the women were close to finishing this year's weaving.

I spent some time talking to a local and her mother-in-law about traditional weaving patterns and their style of clothing, played with her children and walked around their apple orchard before hitch-hiking back to Manali in a taxi hired by a couple with a baby, as I couldn't find autos.

After a quick lunch, I set out for Old Manali, and found that the place was filled with cafes and shops selling hippie stuff. I bought a used pattu from a woman whose house was in the middle of the market and came out after a cup of chai, only to see D waiting outside the hotel. He said, "Aapke figure se pehchan liya maine aapko" (I identified you by your figure).

What a coincidence this was, he said, offering to drop me to the market. D insisted that I should trust him and that he was only being hospitable to a guest in his town, but,

I refused.

But all the same, I paused for a moment and told myself that I was probably being too sceptical, as I had just interacted with a few locals and found them very warm.

I accepted his offer to ride back to town. The conversation D and I had on the way back was about how I should lose weight through Ayurvedic massages that he could arrange for. As the chat progressed, he managed to asking me out for dinner, offering me complimentary accommodation in return for his friendship.

He insisted that I sit closer to him on the bike and hold him by the waist for a smoother ride on the bumpy roads. I instantly realised this was a bad decision, thanked him for the ride and firmly refused the rest of his propositions.

I decided to take off for Naggar, as it was only a little after noon. As I went for a long walk around the beautiful, town surrounded by the mighty Dhauladhars, it started getting chilly and the snowfall over the mountains led to a slight drizzle. I entered a chai shop and started talking to people over tea and Maggi, when a man came in and began explaining something to us in Kulvi language.

Naggar had experienced a minor earthquake only a couple of minutes ago. Upon hearing this, the taxi driver sitting beside me was concerned about my bus ride back to the hotel, since it had started raining by then.

So, he requested a tourist couple he was taking around to allow me to ride back with them, on the pretext that I was broke and alone. He smiled when they agreed, and we reached Manali in an hour.

It was late evening as I lazily strolled around the market, gasping as I saw that masala dosa cost Rs 121. I was contemplating whether I should have pav bhaji or gulab jamun, but I gave in to my whims and had both. In the midst of this, D started calling again. Four calls and I freaked out. I finally answered and he asked me about my dinner plan.

I was angry, helpless and couldn't hold back any longer. I lashed out at him over the phone and threatened to go to report him to the police over his marijuana offer should he call me again and hung up. I then blocked his number, rushed back to the hotel, asking not to be disturbed in case D came to meet me.

I was scared. I was angry. I was tired of having to deal with this when all I wanted was to spend a few days in a new place on my own.

All the pleasant and heart-warming experiences I had throughout the day were weighed down by the phone call at that moment.

Over the next four days, apart from "minor", unpleasant experiences with tourists on the Mall Road, I managed a relatively trouble-free journey through Kullu, Bhuntar, Manikaran and Kasol. The public buses are most convenient and a lot of people I met at these places restored my hope that not everyone is bad, after all.

The locals in Himachal Pradesh are hospitable, kind and strike a conversation with you instantly, like you are a long lost friend. I enjoyed most parts of the trip, especially my stays in smaller towns and villages, where I could effortlessly hold on to my peace.

I constantly faced people who had an opinion on what I am ideally supposed to do as a woman, but they spoke either out of concern or curiosity. I felt the need to have a dialogue that it was normal for a woman to travel alone, given that we come from different backgrounds and have varied perceptions of what a woman should or should not do.

An unexpected call from H, and I was all set to attend her sister's wedding in Hisar, Haryana. I decided to take the bus to Delhi a day earlier than I had planned. Given that she worked beyond Tawang, I knew I wouldn't be able to meet her for another year.

When I booked the ticket, I told the travel agency that I would preferably want a woman co-passenger, but I didn't insist on it. I had travelled alone earlier and more often than not, they were overnight bus journeys.

This was the first time I had made a request like this and it felt unsual. They said a family of three had booked the adjacent seats, so it wouldn't be a problem.

I boarded the bus the next evening, only to find out in a couple of hours that the family of three comprised young men. I have had male co-passengers on buses before, so

I didn't really bother about it until the man in front of me gestured to my co-passenger, his friend, to exchange seats with him. They were acting lecherous all along and I felt restless about not being able to even travel in peace.

The bus stopped for dinner and my co-passenger, let's call him S, asked his friend to get chips. Oddly, this friend smirked at me and responded to S, saying, "Tum bolo toh kuch aur bhi laa den kya, agar mila toh? (If you want, we can also get you something else, if it's available?)"

I felt they were referring to a condom and wanted to abuse them. But, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I started thinking of other options to deal with the situation.

I initially thought of talking to the bus driver, but he was really drunk and I did not want any altercation, which would only add to my apprehension of trusting a drunk man to take me to Delhi safely.

Two Gujarati couples were seated behind me. After dinner, I walked up to them outside the hotel and requested if one of the men could swap seats with me for the night because I didn't feel very safe with the male co-passenger.

One of the couples behaved as though I had said something ridiculous and walked away. The other man excused himself saying that his wife had never before sat beside a stranger.

As a last resort, I went to a Tamil-speaking couple from Delhi, hoping that my mother tongue would rescue me out of the situation. I made the same request and the man asked me thrice whether I was travelling alone before agreeing to exchange seats. I felt a wave of relief, only to notice his wife mumbling something and stopping him. I had to return to my seat, dejected.

Most of the passengers were men, so I just decided to sit with S and warn him to keep his hands to himself, in case something happened. I was wondering if I was being too prejudiced, but I couldn't help it.

I chalked out different strategies I could use if there was any physical contact and tried to pick the most sensible ones, as I waited for the bus to depart.

I looked out of the window wondering how people could be so apathetic, when I overheard the Tamilian telling her husband in hushed whispers that there was no need for him to get into trouble, and that it was my mistake that despite being a woman, I chose to travel alone.

That was the tipping point. I was so full of anger that I just broke down. I wept silently, partly because I felt unsafe and scared, and partly because I was angry about the way people around me had responded to my requests. It was appalling that my fellow passengers thought it is only normal for a few men to pass sexually inundated, profane comments at a girl travelling with them.

Even when they weren't judging me, they didn't want to have anything to do with the situation.

I am a woman and I do not have male company. I am to blame, not the men who ogle at me, comment, and put forward scary propositions, or make me feel unsafe.

I am alone, so, of course, I will invite trouble, rather, invite men. I am travelling alone not to explore the place, but to explore your bodies. I am an overweight woman, so I should be slut-shamed and body-shamed. Yes, you can go right ahead and tell me I will look more beautiful if I lose weight.

I need a "respectable" man's friendship in a new place (even a stranger's), who offers me free accommodation and a complimentary dinner date, and obliges to my desperate needs.

You need to constantly remind me that this is no country for young, lone women.

My experiences as a single woman traveller might dishearten and discourage a young girl, who wants to spread her wings and fly.

But, it shouldn't. It will mean that we submit to the verbal and physical abuse men and women inflict on a woman traveller.

It will only mean that the men who are stalking her and violating her space, and other women who state that it is her fault that she is travelling alone, are right in doing so.

It will mean that we are allowing people around us to dictate our actions.

I was initially apprehensive about sharing this account, because I was uncomfortable about the fact that some might revaluate their solo journey plans after reading this.

But I want to see more women travelling unaccompanied. I will find strength in the fact that there are more of you who want to take that solo journey.

I will feel safe knowing that there are more women exploring the world, by themselves.

I am going to do it again. Travel solo.