Tag: travel

Bring Me That Horizon

I’m a sunrise person. I’d stay up all night if I have to, just to catch sight of the first rays of sunshine. And of all sunrises, one stands out in my mind clearer than any other. This one:

bring-me-that-horizon

It’s not the clearest of photographs and the sun wasn’t at her best. But it’s a special sunrise, and it was my best day ever. I stood on top of a mountain that lay between the Kangchenjunga and the Himalayas.

The sun would rise anytime after 5.30 am. But the scenic spot was so popular that we had to be there by 4.30 am if we were to get a good standing place among the thronging crowd. It was 10 degrees celsius.

I was all enthusiastic, and nothing could stop me from getting sight of the first rays. And we stood, braving the biting cold, checking our chattering teeth, and blowing on our hands to bring back the lost sense of feeling. An old woman and her daughter made a fortune selling coffee and acting as guides, they explained why we were wise to come early. Because as it neared six, the entire area had filled up with buzzing human voices and the muffled noise of people rubbing their palms together.

It was a long wait, and with every second it became harder to stand. There were no places to sit and we couldn’t move away from our vantage spot without losing it to another other group craning their necks for a glimpse of the soon-to-arrive sun.

And then it started. The process began about half hour before the sun came up. From a bold black, the horizon went to a navy, to light pink, and then to mild orange. The bamboo trees on the edge of the mountain swayed to the breeze, opening up to welcome the warmth, and far ahead of us, the surrounding mountains became a silhouette. Moment by moment, the sky turned lighter forming layers of colour.

My phone doesn’t recognise a gloved touch, so I removed them to get a picture. I tapped on the little round button on the camera five times before I realised my phone didn’t recognise near-frozen fingers either. After several minutes of rubbing my hands against my sweater, I managed to get a single photo of that sunrise. And every time I look at it, I think I’d give anything to be there again.

incredible-blogger-marathon-challenge-2

I’ve signed up for the Incredible Blogger Marathon Challenge. It’s a ten-task-challenge that can span up to fifteen days. This post is my response to the second challenge: Freeze a Foto.

The Shine Above

Nothing’s brighter than the sun shining through dense trees. And so it was one afternoon in Vandalur Zoo. We had a wonderful walk in the park with the view as a bonus.

While I waddled on my way, I chanced a glance upwards. And whom should I see but Ra himself, throned in all his might and glory.

sun-shining-through-the-trees

Out of Nowhere

It was the last place I expected to see so much water. Deep inside Thekkady’s forests lie a few tea estates, and nestled within them is this lake.

I don’t know its name, I don’t know where it begins or ends, I don’t even know if it’s a lake at all. But as the cold breeze gushed over and I pulled my sweater closer to myself, I couldn’t resist the ripples spreading through.thekkady-lake

But First…

bean

Pouting lips, crinkled eyes, and crooked smiles. “Aww, poor girls! Beautiful but handicapped,” crooned my 85-year-old grandmother.

She was looking over my shoulder as I flipped through my friend’s selfies on Facebook. My friend, along with her cousins, had gone to Goa for the weekend.

From what I could see, they had had great fun. They’d spent all night in the casino, all afternoon at the Agoda fort, and all morning going from the Basilica of Bom Jesus to the Se Cathedral. And all these I knew because I could see fantastic structures looming behind their heads.

My 20-year-old friend was at the peak of her life. And life for her was travel and photography. Or selfies, as they now call it.

She’d been to all over South India and has over a thousand selfies to prove it. She neither remembers the names of the places she’s visited nor know how old some of those churches are, but she knew she’d been there.

Until a few years ago, if we’re on a road trip and notice a monkey chasing another, we’d dive into our bags hoping we had a camera with. We yearned to freeze moments in time to make them last forever. But that was once upon a time.

Nowadays, though, we have a camera on us at all times; we may forget to pack our lunch, but never our phones.

My friend, for instance, travels just for the sake of selfies. And with every selfie, she becomes more conscious of her looks. Her photos now show a slender, lip-glossed, powder-puffed woman posing in front of an old, waning Chitra Museum.

Once, people travelled to get away from their routine lives, for solitude. Now, however, people go places for selfies that would fetch them likes and love.

My friend is no different. She goes for the rush of standing before a renowned construction as if she’s conquered the old conquerors. Her parents stay abroad, and she with her grandmother, who, by the way, is too busy doing charity to keep up with her grand-daughter. Every time she posts a selfie on Facebook or Instagram, she writes a message to us, asking for opinions. And she’d accept nothing less than a Like. And thanks to Facebook’s new updates, she can also get the Love she so craves.

We’re all a bit like her. Smiling for the camera, dressing up for a like, or making fools out of ourselves for some acceptance.

Perhaps, we should leave our phones behind, and climb a mountain just for the fun of it. Or go on a hike just because our knees are strong enough. Perhaps, for once, we should live the moment — flyaway hair and all.

Mission Momo

I have a thing for momos. It’s a traditional Tibetan steamed or fried dumpling made with flour and stuffing.

And it stuffs my heart with so much joy, it’s comfort food on a whole new level. A friend introduced me to the momos and ever since I’ve been scouring restaurants nearby looking for the perfect plate of momos.

And last weekend, I hit the jackpot. I found a place called the Tibet Memorial Restaurant. Well, it had Tibet in the name, so it had to be good. Sure enough, their’s was by far the best momos I’ve had in my area.

endless-quest

I’ve had tasted better momos in Darjeeling, though. But it could be because a colder climate complements the puff of steam that streams out when you bite into a momo.