Searching For- Baby John In- Today

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.

“Sunday. No one came. Baked two loaves. One for the raven, one for myself. The raven ate his. I am saving mine for a visitor. If you are reading this, you are the visitor. The bread is gone, but the oven is still warm if you know how to light it. - Baby John.” Searching for- Baby john in-

And then, I found it.

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. The pages were warped and illegible in most

Searching for “Baby John” in the Hills of Himachal “Sunday