Searching For- Baby John In- ❲CERTIFIED × 2025❳

And then, I found it.

I asked the owner of my guesthouse in McLeod Ganj, a man named Dorje who has seen ten thousand trekkers come and go. “Baby John?” He laughed, a sound like gravel rolling downhill. “Ah. The lost baker.”

Searching for “Baby John” in the Hills of Himachal Searching for- Baby john in-

The pages were warped and illegible in most places, ruined by decades of snowmelt. But one page, pressed flat by a piece of slate, was still readable. The handwriting was small, precise, and heartbreakingly lonely.

There is a specific kind of madness that travel breeds. It is the obsession with the phantom. The quest for a place that might not exist, or a person who was never there. And then, I found it

I hit enter.

I sat on a mossy stone and ate a stale granola bar. I felt the absurdity of the quest. I had walked a full day to find a pile of rocks. I didn’t find a trekking route.

I didn’t find a tourist destination. I didn’t find a trekking route.