Travel – Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective

This post in response to Colin McQueens’s recent post about his past travels (Link). I was replying to him but realised it was long enough to be considered a post 🤣🤣🤣

I had travelled some places in India early in life. Everywhere I found that I could not eat anything because of too much chilli. The water always tasted wrong, whether bottled or otherwise. I was always excited during the day, tired by sun down, slept off five seconds after my head hit the bed (I don’t use a pillow). Here are some different types of travel in India.

Summer travel: As a rule, vacation in India always involves looking for a place less sunny that your hometown. There is no sun bathing involved. We see too much sun all year to crave for it during vacation as well. Most of us are too dark to get a tan that looks pretty. Mostly, it would make us look like burnt chicken. Since no sun means rainy, putting a damper on outdoors program, we look towards hill stations as retreat during summer vacations.

Going to a typical hill station during summers without booking two month in advance means you will enjoy the elements more that you would want to, since you will spend the night outdoors under the stars, without space to pitch a tent.

Every ‘major’ hill station in India offers all kinds of services to you. There will be a super-pricey market attached to it where everything from toothpaste to diamonds is available at three times the cost. I remember having to buy shoes in one such place (shudder). The only thing you can’t get is a view, unless you are a very tall person and can look over the shoulders of a huge crowd around the only roadside left with a view.

I once went to the Gun hill in Mussoorie, having heard a thousand praises about the place and its scenic beauty. I even took the ropeway, even though I am scared of heights. Once I reached there, I searched for the said view. I told myself repeatedly it must be there somewhere, hidden behind the huge rising circle of shops–photo booths and souvenirs. Then giving up, we decided to get our photos taken in the local garb to have a proof that we did visit that place (we can always fake it). We asked a local photographer for his services. He offered us a dress. Once ready, he took us through a maze of shops and told a few people to move aside, and bingo! the view was right there. True that we could see only one side of Gun hill now rather than the 360 degree view it once offered but, at least, there was an unblocked view and we could take pictures before others elbowed us out. ☺️

Going off-season to a quieter hill station would mean that the only meal option would probably be egg and bread, if any. (Been there, eaten that.) But you can have an unobstructed view of the endless mountains, if there hadn’t been any landslides on your way to the place; if you are not stuck indoors due to a snowstorm; and if you can dare to come out of your cave made of blankets. ☺️

The sea coast and desert are considered only during winters when we have nothing to lose. Sun is not quite that burning and we can manage to look not quite that burnt despite being outdoors.

I have never been to a winter vacation spot, which means I haven’t seen the sea. I can only assume there will be a lot of water. I can’t be sure, of course. I have seen pictures, though, of people from foreign countries sun bathing in Goa. Why someone would fly all the way to Goa only to lie down with eyes closed is a mystery to me. The place is supposed to be beautiful. I understand engaging other senses as well, but closing your eyes to so much beauty is beyond me. But then. I haven’t been to a beach so I don’t know the beach-etiquettes.

Desert will probably have sand and sun. Again, I only say that because of photographs people share. I can only assume they are right since they have no clear reason to lie and fake photos (unless their train failed to turn up–which is entirely possible due to winter fog–and they decided to fake it to avoid returning to office).

I once went to Jaipur, assuming it was a desert, considering it is the capital city of Rajasthan–the desert state of India. Boy, was I wrong! There was not a speck of sand though. The whole city was squeaky clean and modern, looking closer to Delhi. I wondered if we were in the correct city until a row of pink houses started flashing past us. (Jaipur is famous for its pink houses.) And later I saw some of the most magnificent architecture ever built, but sadly, no sand dunes. There were no camels to ride and I kept wishing to ride a camel-drawn cart, at least. But it was a no-go.

Religious travel: One more vacation type in India is Teerthyatra (Pilgrimage). Since India has around 33 crore (330 million) deities, we have pilgrimage spots covering half the country allowing us a variety of choices based on the season and our favourite deity.

Our gods sit in large courts among their friends and family. Each major god will have his wife next door and his sons and daughters in separate rooms–sometimes along with their own spouses and children–and most definitely with their rides close by. (Our god’s are inventive and like to ride various animals regardless of their sizes).

Considering each god has several pilgrimages around the country, together with the local gods, the number of pilgrimage sites in India is overwhelming. I have been to several these spots in my early youth, always driven by wanderlust rather than faith. The biggest pilgrimage sites having amazing architecture and are built in exotic locales that most visitors usually fail to look at because they need to stand in 3-hour lines outside these temple for their turn to pay respects to their favoured deity for 5 seconds. Not that we mind it.

Historical travel: India is a country made of too many kingdoms ruled by too many dynasties for more 5 millennia. With each king building there own castle, not ready to share the meagre quarters with their parents, the number of castles is staggering. Ever since kingdoms were banned and ex-kings offered pennies for their ‘services’, most of the castles were abandoned since the cost of keeping them was higher than the kings’ annual salary. Most of them are open to public now as heritage spots or remodeled as hotels.

I have visited some of them and always came to the same conclusion–these people in the castle must have had legs of steel. After walking around the castles for 3 hours, I would wish for my knight in shining armour to pick me up, but my dad would simply smile and tell me to try to keep up.

I love architecture and paintings but I would like them to keep a golf cart for visitors. Unfortunately, golf carts can somehow ruin those precious ancient floors, so humans would have to walk on foot. Or may be simply sit on the floor (furniture is out of bounds) and hope that end of the day, the cleaner would sweep them out. Good luck with that!

General advice:

Well, since India has train and bus service nearly everywhere, travel is not much of a problem. But I would suggest keeping a mosquito-repellant cream and a bottle of Kulzum or Amritdhara for upset stomach, heat stroke and insect-bites.

I would also suggest keeping various anti-venoms, but that would be just out of spite since the world has forever called India the land of snake charmers. In reality, we are the land of temples and castles; and farms and cattles; and forests and deserts; and rolling hills and water falls; and rivers and seas… Snakes just come with the territory.

Considering that I have only visited 5 out of 29 states and 7 Union territories and the number of leaves I get at work each year is limited, I don’t think I will get a chance to peep out of India in this lifetime, unless I live to be 100-years old and healthy enough to travel till then.

Meanwhile, I continue travelling daily in dreams–a hassle-free way of travelling I have created lately. Well, I hope I will see Jaisalmer’s sand dunes tonight. That way I can cross it out from my list.

Wish me luck!

Author’s note: Thank you, Beetly Pete and John Melon for the story ideas.

He was mellifluous. Not his voice–I hadn’t heard it yet. I am talking about the person himself.

As usual, I was late and had to run from my office with my backpack on my shoulders to catch the last bus to my town. I preferred Fridays to visit my parents when it was relatively spacious, as compared to Saturdays when, apparently, the entire world was travelling home.

After a lot of running and jostling, I finally managed to get on the bus. I was still trying to catch my breath at the door while searching for an open seat when I saw him…

…and never looked away.

It was the peace on his face that drew my eyes–a peaceful ship in the sea of turbulent waters…

He wasn’t a regular or I would have remembered such a face. His skin was light brown, and the dimples made him look rather ‘pretty’–if a man can be called ‘pretty’ without being offended.

As I slowly walked forward in the aisle, I realised he was in a deep sleep–how he managed to sleep amidst all the honking and sweltering heat was a mystery to me. But the way his chest rose and fell gracefully with each breath left no doubt that his lights were completely out. His hands resting in his lap looked fluid, even though there was no movement. His black hair flew gently with the wind from the open window and he seemed completely oblivious of my scrutiny…

…or my existence. Somehow, the thought bothered me.

I sat down a couple of seats ahead of him. I would have sat next to him, but the seat was taken by another female. She sat looking rather bored, consulting her watch often, as if wishing for the time move faster. She seemed completely unaffected by his presence.

Was it just me, then, who felt the tug towards him? I wanted to offer her my seat, so that I can sit with him–afterall, she didn’t seem to care either way. But it would be very conspicuous, completely irrational and totally unlike me. Why would I want to sit with him? I didn’t even know his name! Also, I wasn’t a big town girl. I was never friends with boys and my dealings with them were strictly on need-to-know basis. Dating was unheard of in my family and going after a boy made me feel like an overachieving fool.

Not that it stopped me.

I tried to think of other things, like my favourite food waiting for me at home; my father waiting at the bus stand (since it would be dark by the time my bus reached there); my mother waiting at the door, worried why I hadn’t turned up yet (even though I always reached at the same time)…

But it didn’t seem to make a difference. I kept looking back at him–intent on making introductions once he woke up.

Finally, the girl got up and got down the bus and I took her place in a flash.

I was blushing now because people had noticed how I had hurried to get to him. A lot of these people have seen me ride this bus for an year now. We had exchanged gossip on the way to our various destinations. Now they watched my walk of shame back to my seat to retrieve my backpack that I had forgotten in my hurry to secure this seat. They looked at me with me interest, some of them raising their eyebrows in obvious questions with knowing smiles.

I was also blushing because, as I sat back, our shoulders were touching. A small-town Indian girl that I was, I never had a boyfriend, and the only other boy I ever touched was my elder brother–to get piggyback rides. Of course, I sit next to other people in the bus and in office. But it never felt like this–like I was stealing a moment. Pathetic!

I didn’t like sitting next to him though. It was difficult to look at him properly now. But I could tell his profile was even more interesting. The crow’s feet around his eyes reminded me of happy times; of hikes and dips in the river; of lemonades and jokes; of shared family tales and good-natured ribbing…

It was still light outside and he slept on. His closed eyes were peaceful amidst the various traffic jams that our bus was stuck in. Even the sunlight falling on his face didn’t seem to bother him. His breathing was even and restful–like soulful music meant only for my ears. It made me drowsy. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t want to disturb his peace. Surely, we can talk once he woke up…

An old fellow Friday traveler woke me up at my stop. The seat next to me was empty except for a gun wrapper. I felt my stomach drop as collected my backpack.

“He waited for you to wake up for eons. Kept stealing glances but didn’t want to disturb your sleep though. So, when his stop came, he jumped over the back of the next seat.”

Sensing my disappointment, she gestured at the gun wrapper with a smile, “I saw him scribble on it right before he left. I think he left his number for you.”

Tag: Travel

An Indian vacation

Mellifluous