I danced to techno and did breath work at 3,500 m in the Ladakh desert

An expanse of arid Himalayan splendour unfurls beneath me as my rickety plane descends over Leh airport – the highest commercial airport in India, no less. I feel a twinge of nervousness grasp my chest as the pilot announces the temperature outside. Mumbai girls like me don't quite understand the concept of 3°C until the draught bites their noses off.

But what I'm here for is enough to warm any body, I tell myself. The Akasa Gathering's a posh new spectacle touted as a 'boutique music and wellness' festival set against the blue-purple mountains of Ladakh, 3,500 metres above sea level. To be honest, I don't even quite know what that means. But I'm here for it anyway.

Forty-five minutes from the airport, my hotel in Karu awaits, picked out specifically for its proximity to the Akasa Gathering site. I've arrived more than 36 hours early – partly because I'm like that and partly in order to acclimatise to the high altitude of the mountain region, because if I don't, I may get nastily sick. A night of mandated deep rest awaits before I can investigate this mysterious gathering.

Day 1

Ah. The venue itself is all very quaint, I find. Dangling handpainted lamps, Tibetan-style altar tables, and rows of rugs laid around. We're cosplaying as local Buddhists, I see.

At the ivory-tinted central awning, yoga facilitator Mihir Jogh opens the festival with gentle pranayama instructions. I'm learning to pace my breath for the altitude, which feels both sensible and slightly ridiculous given that I have plans to dance later.

Over at the Juniper stage, Berlin artist Chloe Lula plays cello as the sun sets over the Indus. I overhear that one of her strings broke during soundcheck. You'd never know it from the performance.

Meal break: I'm starving. I get myself a Khambir sandwich from one of the café stalls, made with Ladakhi fermented bread and two types of spicy chutney. The sharpness of the chutneys hits my vada-pav-acclimatised palate hard. In a good way?

Later, flute and tabla spill from the stage during Anhad + Tanner's electronic fusion set. Before I've quite processed what I'm listening to, the crowd is already getting loose to Nida and Discokid's disco-and-house B2B.

By now, the temperature has plummeted pretty sharply, but nobody seems particularly interested in going inside. The crescent moon hangs over the juniper trees as Japanese DJ Gonno takes things darker, his steadily rising BPM carrying us towards the end of the night.

End-of-the-night notes: I came to a music and wellness festival in the Ladakh desert. So far, I've done breathwork, eaten fermented bread and danced to techno under a Himalayan sky. Fair enough.

Day 2

It's day two, and I'm beginning to get the hang of Akasa. It's pretty chill here, with breathers between performances, quite literally, and plenty of food to fill the gaps.

I start with the wellness bit again. Under Grey and Gillian of Lotus Beings, my body slowly finds its way through their yin and yang yoga. Then comes gentle tai chi. We're told it should feel like walking on clouds. At 3,500 metres, I realise we may actually be doing it.

But clearly, I need more sustenance. I fill up on sha phaley, bread stuffed with seasoned meat and vegetables before being deep-fried. It tastes like a savoury gujiya or karanji, and disappears considerably faster than I'd like to admit.

Wellness quota, take two: Mini Shastri's breath-only exercises aren't particularly challenging. And yet, I cannot seem to finesse them. Apparently, a lifelong struggle to hold and control air in my lungs has followed me all the way to Ladakh.

Soon, Komorebi's vocal electronica drifts across the gathering. As evening sets in, I find myself gravitating towards the bonfire, where festival-goers from across the globe have gathered to chat and thaw out. The roaring fire has quietly become the unofficial hearth of the festival.

When AAGUU x DJ Voices take over with their propulsive beats, I stay sprawled across a carpet, looking up at the stars while the music does its thing.

Nightcap: Chloe Lula x Dotdat, with melodic, slightly scruffy techno carrying us towards the end of another very cold night.

Day 3

By day three, I have developed a small addiction to butter tea. Having already had cupfuls of the stuff on days one and two, I decide to switch things up with seabuckthorn juice. It's hydrating, tart and very welcome.

Oh, did I mention Akasa is sober?

At the cyanotype printing and toning workshop, I bleach and dip a Prussian blue image until it transforms into a tinted artwork. For a few minutes, I feel like a photographer busy at work in a darkroom.

Then there's Thangka painting. I'm handed a traditional stencil and asked to fill colour onto my canvas. I could really be an artist if I wanted to, I think.

Observation: Carpet lounging is extremely popular here.

Ambient sets from Qareebi and Fursat FM play as people sprawl out for the afternoon. As the sun begins to dip, jewellery maker Lune's book club gets going alongside a live set from avant-garde Ladakhi musician Ruhail Qaisar.

At Lune, I pick up book recommendations on nightlife, living in Paris, Goa rave culture and the state of Punjab. Someone brings up Zadie Smith's essay about seeing UK grime artist Stormzy at Glastonbury. Meanwhile, Qaisar's acclaimed LP Fatima is beginning to make sense against this vast, bare landscape. At one point, his desolate noise and yells take him from the seated podium to the carpeted grass. It is an unexpected progression, and somehow the right one.

Fashion report: I spot an exquisite mint-green skirt from Leh designer Saldon 2112 in the market. I don't buy it, but I do compliment New Delhi artist Curtain Blue on his outfit. His look includes his mother's onyx fur coat, a flowing skirt with large textural motifs and a tribal choker. Around the festival, I start noticing the same mix everywhere: clothes that nod to Ladakhi culture alongside the practical, layered uniform of a hill trip. When the temperature drops, everyone becomes very good at dressing for it.

I catch Sickflip revisiting his Ladakh Project EP, more than a decade after its release, joined by local musician Tsewang Phuntsog on the Copong, or Dranyen, a Ladakhi lute. It's the best set I've heard so far.

Correction: I have said this about every set so far.

After a steaming plate of mutton momos, I am ready to get properly stuck in. Kaleekarma's atmospheric beats and Monophonik's synths ease us towards the night. Dax's foliage lighting catches the Juniper trees, making them seem to move with every beat.

Then Marius Bø and Kohra take over with psychedelic techno.

I am locked in.

At some point, I look up and wonder if dawn is close. Berlin's Julie Merghilano takes us there with hypnotic loops, and eventually the music gives way to morning light.

A few hours later, I'm on a plane, soaring above snow-capped mountains and heading back towards the mainland. Three days ago, I arrived wondering what exactly a 'music and wellness' festival could mean at 3,500 metres.

Now I think I get it: breathe, eat, lie on a carpet, look at some art, dance until sunrise, repeat.