by Edward Houghton, 65, Valla Beach, NSW

Thanks to That's Life magazine

Looking up from my desk, I saw my daughter bound in. 'Hi, Dad,' she chirped, kissing me.

As usual, my flower-power child was dressed in pyjama-style pants and a tie-dyed shirt. 'What are you wearing?' I groaned, noticing the looks of my colleagues at the insurance firm where I worked.

Odette was a free spirit. Her brothers Mark, now 42, Jason, 38, and Christopher, 37, would rib her about being a hippie but adored their sister.

Odette was always inquisitive, wanting to experience and explore everything. People warmed to her open personality and she had heaps of friends.

As soon as she left school in 1985, Odette was off to see the world. 'Write often,' my wife Marie, now 65, sniffled, as Odette walked through the departure gates. 'I will,' she grinned, waving. 'Love you!'

She sent letters and postcards every few weeks. We loved hearing of her adventures.

She first went to the UK to work, and travelled around Europe. Then she travelled through India and Japan.

She told us on the phone how she sold strawberries dipped in chocolate at street markets in Japan. 'Only Odette would think of something wacky like that,' Christopher laughed.

When she returned home a year later, we were thrilled to see her. 'India is incredible,' she bubbled, showing us photos.

'Isn't it dangerous?' her mum asked. 'You know me,' Odette laughed. 'Anyone messes with me, I'll kick them in the ankles.'

She enrolled in a hospitality course, but she still had itchy feet. In January 1988, she had saved enough to go back to India. She was so excited. 'Come and visit me,' she begged. 'India's not for me,' I said. 'Too chaotic.'

Odette's postcards were filled with comments on India's mystic beauty. Our flowerchild had found her Shangri-la.

In April 1990, the family went to Thailand for my and Marie's 25th wedding anniversary. Odette joined us from India.

'Hey hippie!' Jason teased, seeing her at the airport. We had a great time, hiring scooters and tearing around the islands.

'I've got a boyfriend,' Odette confessed later. 'What's his name?' Marie smiled.

Odette told us he was called Stefano. He was 10 years older than her and from Switzerland.

'That's quite an age gap,' Marie started. 'Stop fussing,' Odette laughed.

All too soon, our family reunion came to an end.

'Visit us soon,' Marie said as she kissed Odette goodbye.

Back home, we kept looking forward to Odette's letters and cards. Occasionally, she asked us to send her things from home. Marie chuckled as she wrapped a parcel of Vegemite and tea-tree oil. 'You can take the girl out of Australia...' she laughed.

We posted it to an address in an area called Manali. Two months later, in August 1991, the parcel was returned to us. That's strange, I thought.

When other letters to her were returned a couple of days later, alarm bells started ringing. We tried contacting the post office in India, to no avail.

As the weeks ticked by and Odette didn't get in touch, we started getting worried.

With a sinking heart, I went to the Department of Foreign Affairs. 'My daughter is missing in India. It's very out of character for her not to stay in touch,' I pleaded. 'We won't take action to locate missing persons overseas except in special circumstances,' I was told.

They seemed to think Odette didn't want to be contacted and advised us not to go looking.

I approached Interpol, the Indian police, the International Red Cross, everyone I could think of. They were all dead ends. 'Where is she?' Marie wept.

Weeks became months as we agonised over what could have happened to her. Eventually, Marie and I flew to India to try to find her ourselves.

As the taxi drove us from Delhi airport to our hotel, Marie and I looked out of the windows in silence. The city was vast, hectic, with people everywhere. 'We'll never find her,' Marie whispered.

'Yes we will,' I said through gritted teeth. I was determined to get my daughter back.

Our hunt took us to the mountains of Himachal Pradesh in northern India. Odette told us she was planning to go there. We'd had posters printed of her, and put them up everywhere.

A few people thought they'd seen her at a Hindu temple near Manali. Someone suggested she'd been living in a hippie commune some 35km north in the mountains. The Indian police drove us there, but no-one knew where she was.

After weeks of appealing for information, we left India with nothing except a sense of dread.

Back home in Canberra, we tried to get on with life but knowing that our daughter had vanished was torture.

Then we found her boyfriend Stefano was missing too. 'What if she's dead? All the signs are pointing to it,' Marie wept.

I refused to believe it.

In 1996, five years after Odette's disappearance, we returned to India, following the backpacker trail into the mountains, then back down to the popular tourist spot of Goa on India's south coast.

As we put up posters, young foreigners would chat to us. 'When last did you call home?' I asked them. 'Not for a couple of years,' some would shrug.

It made me so angry. 'Your poor parents,' I shouted. 'Think of how worried they are.'

After that, Marie and the boys tried to move on. But I couldn't. I went to see a clairvoyant who told me Odette was still alive.

I've kept trying to trace her, but I've found nothing. Since Odette's disappearance, at least 16 backpackers have vanished in Himachal Pradesh. People call it India's Bermuda Triangle or the Valley of Death.

When I heard recently how Britt Lapthorne's parents battled to find their missing daughter in Croatia, my heart ached for them. But at least they know now. We might never have closure.

Every day I dream Odette will suddenly come through the door. She was 24 when she went missing. She'd be 41 now.

I'll never give up hoping I'll see my bubbly free-spirited daughter again.