I’m still hungover from my not-so-recent (anymore) trip to Sikkim. And it’s not so surprising that this week’s prompt reminded me the earthly curves I saw from above.
Category: Travel Diaries
Alive
I’m in the mood to reminisce. About when I went so high, I was both ecstatic and sober.
The mountains, I mean.
There’s something about the hills, about the way they go round and round, the winding roads twisting and turning. The way you traverse through rocks and slides, staring at nothing but an expanse of brownish mass that’s so plain, yet so attractive.
Who would look at a mountain and expect it to have been around for centuries, nurturing countless monkeys, squirrels, mushrooms, and buttercups?
From tiny dents that sliding rocks had created over the years and small shrubs peeking through large cracks. To even the bigger chasms that open up to disasters during the monsoons. Everything about a mountain is wondrous.
Who’d pause to wonder that such a life-giving creature could also be dangerous? If the earth makes one wrong move, the whole rocky magnificence will crash down upon us. And yet we pry at it, with scalpels and crossbars, and evil hearts looking to uproot the structure that feeds thousands of life forms.
As we ascended the Darjeeling hills, I looked down at the world of luscious greenery and turquoise waters glistening in the mild afternoon sun. The hills encase these small water bodies, protecting them from the evils of humanity. It was a sight I’d hold in my mind forever.
It wasn’t just the natural scenery, just the joy and thrill of going up a mountain, made my heart race, in a good way. As we elevated, my heart elated. And so did my hopes of going higher and higher. Robert M. Pirsig said, “Sometimes it’s a little better to travel than to arrive.” That’s how it was.
The hills are alive, calling in a reverberating voice you can’t ignore. And that’s why I’d never say no to the mountains.
The Unwanted
Sometimes, we get so caught up in our own worlds that we miss the little things around us. Like in a flower show, all we see are well-watered flowers, settled in protective enclosures. But there are other stuff around that aren’t as noticeable. Like a broken twig, or a timid squirrel scurrying through dense feet.
It was quite the same when we went on a trip to Kodaikanal. We stayed in a hotel with bountiful linen, wooden windows, and sumptuous meals enough to make anyone drowsy. And there was also the most beautiful scenery around us. Flowers of all kinds, huddled in bunches, and pruned to perfection. But there were a few extras as well. Little petals peeking through the rocks, braving the gardener’s sharp shears.
They were the unwanted, the ones the world could do without. They were the spares.
The Le Café
I’m quite skeptical when it comes to government institutions, but even I was amazed when I visited the city of Pondicherry.
It’s an infamous French Colony, yes. But it doesn’t end with that. The great thing about the city is Le Cafe, a government-run coffee shop. As for the best part — it’s open 24 hours a day. 
I would have liked nothing more than to sit on one of the stone benches, stare at the raging sea and cross off the stuff on the menu one thing at a time. But my father woudn’t hear of it, and I had to retreat to our hotel.
Nevertheless, I heard the waves calling and sensed the caffeine luring me. I woke up at six the next morning and went out to the cafe — boy, what a sight.
Le Cafe stood like a rectangular block of mud cake, with another smaller block perched atop. The vintage-looking menu board, and its flowing handwriting, the accolades the cafe had received over the years, and age-old photos framed in clear wood all seemed to testify to one thing: this cafe is the best one out there that an Indian government manages.
It was just after the monsoon, so the weather was cool enough without being chilly, and warm without the heat. And there was plenty of flowers that accommodated the previous night’s dew, reflecting the early morning sun, while looking to the skies for some of the daily bread.
The first time I had walked into the cafe had been the pervious night. It was half-way through to the full moon day and the entire sky seemed illuminated by the half-moon that only elevated the beach view. But I had missed the little ponds homing fish the size of half my finger and flowers almost as tall as my knee. Those I noticed the following morning.
And then there were the stones themselves. I’ve never seen anything so solid, and so inviting at the same time. After the cold night of sea breeze, the benches jarred my teeth as I took my seat.
And all the while I walked around, pointing my camera in random directions, the waiters didn’t bother me at all. I went to one of them and wondered aloud of I could take photographs. He smiled wider than anyone else I had seen there and gestured his approval with wide open arms.
No matter what anyone says, for me, Le Cafe will always be the most important tourist attraction in Pondicherry. Because everything’s better with a good dose of caffeine.
Homesick
I’ve heard people talking about being homesick for someplace you’ve never been to. And now I feel it.
After spending as little as five days away from my routine, I now crave more of it. I liked waking up at three am to watch the sunrise through bamboo trees, I enjoyed trekking up a mountain just so we could look down at the plains, I cherish every moment I spend on road shuffling about my seat as we drove through some of the less paved roads.
And then I came back. To waking up early so I could get to the bathroom before my roommates woke up, to trudging along the pavement as cars, lorries, and honking autos rushed past me, and made my hair stand up. I came back to my life in the world of air-conditioned offices, where Ralph Lauren, Louis Vuitton, and Ray-Bans were the casual ensemble. I came back to the world I knew I don’t belong.
As I inhaled the carbon dioxide from the hundreds of vehicles that passed me, it took me back to the day I stood in the middle of a tea estate engulfed in the smell of unpicked tea leaves. I remember the fresh water rivers, so clean and so turquoise. I hadn’t seen (or known of) such pure water before. I was so close to the earth, among flowers that bore the morning dew, amidst frozen lakes, and mountains so rough yet so beautiful.
I long for that.
I’m homesick for that closeness to nature. I crave for the mountain tops, the warm grassy plains, the chilly winter breeze, and the freezing snow peaks. It’s the kind of view a twelve storey corporate building couldn’t offer.
The Chaos Within 