Tag Archives: passion

100: A Hundred Days Of Blogging

10 Apr

It’s been challenging, fascinating, intriguing and interesting, insightful, beautiful, and an extremely satisfying experience so far. Little did I think or imagine that I’d make it to a 100 days. It’s been crazy for sure, what with these annoying bouts of fluctuations swirling in my midst. Sometimes there’s clarity, structure, and even inspiration; while sometimes my faculties remain inert even though my mind’s brimming with activity. It’s been happening more prominently the past week or two, and I haven’t figured a way around it so far. Just showing up seems to make it all a little less domineering and easier than these blocks seem. This is definitely a feat; more the attempt of this challenge than its numbers. I’m uncertain about tomorrow, but today’s what I’ve got my eyes on, and that’s all there is to it.

My reading has slumped drastically since I last finished Krakauer’s book sometime ago. Caught in the trap of a work-life and the demands of domesticity, making time for some designated reading has been harder than I thought it would be. When it’s time to hit the sack, there’s no scope of sinking into a book what with my senses already half asleep. With that having taken a hit, it’s directly affected my ability to write as well. It just seems harder to write when I’m not reading, which is an interesting insight to this whole thing. I guess I just have to work harder and smarter to get a stronger foothold over this thing called balance, without feeling overwhelmed or overworked. Sometimes this need to do something becomes a plate full of everything that goes out of control. Either way, the biggest achievement for me would be to feel a sense of happiness, satisfaction, and rejuvenation from all this. Feeling haggard, let-down, and unproductive isn’t what I set out to feel, and if that comes at a cost, then so be it.

From this 100 days of blogging, I’ve learnt discipline, perseverance, time-management, productivity, thinking out of the box, apart from gathering this sense of achievement, peace, and satisfaction. It’s been motivating and inspiring to say the least. And it definitely has been rewarding at a deeply intrinsic level.

Thank you for reading and walking along. :)

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Belonging

12 Mar

IMG_9135 IMG_9140 IMG_9136My posts seem to be getting more existential over time. Can you blame me?

There are days when I wonder why I’m here, what my purpose is and why I have to run this race which doesn’t appeal to me. Competing mindlessly is not appealing. And this race seems to be just that, perhaps tilting more towards the mindless bit than the competition bit in itself.

But keeping away from the negativity of it all, it’s moments like these that remind me why I’m here; perhaps if not for a race, then just to be blessed to see what beauty really is. Beauty that belongs to the universe and no one else.

I feel humbled every single time. And everything else ceases to matter.

There’s magic. There’s magic everywhere. And I think this is the universe’s way of reminding me that I’m a part of this magic my world thrives on. For that, I’m ever so grateful.

Sun-chaser. That’s who I am.

And always will be. :)

More magic to all of you!

PS, pardon me for the blurry images for they were taken from a moving car, with the wind in my face and eyes, barring the last one where I jumped off my then parked car to click before entering my office. Thank you. :)

Sundays

9 Mar

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The pigs were given a bath yesterday after a long time. Now that there are signs of summer aplenty, fortunately (or unfortunately for them), it’s a better time to bathe them and have them figure what ever happened to their dry and filthy fur. I’m more than happy. I like my pigs bathed, groomed and clean. Poppy (Poppins, the first one with a big black patch on his face) is such a pleasure to bathe. He’s the baby of the family and he sits put on the balcony while I lather him. He even lifts his chin so I can bathe/rub his neck, which he really enjoys so much. Fuzzy (the last in the series of pictures), makes bathing her a little more challenging. This is perhaps the only time that she shows me that she, indeed, can run. Because she’s the laziest pig you can ever find. Thankfully she isn’t reading this blog post. But she knows what I think of her, so she and I just have to deal with the reality of it all.

I haven’t seen them clean in such a long time. And now I find it hard to let go of them because a) they’re so clean and white and soft and neat, and b) they’ll go roll around in their cages and become brown all over again. Gosh, it’s such a pain being a parent. I’ve figured that this is as close to having kids as I will ever get. :)

So everyone’s happy this morning. They’ve been combed, their noses and ears have been sponge-bathed and are more presentable, and they’ve been groomed. Fuzzy believes she can run for being prom queen again. But I was telling her that maybe she should give someone else a chance. Vanity, I tell you.

Sunday breakfast of Bombay toast, adrak chai and cake has been had. The sky looks beautiful laden with wispy clouds going their own way, and taking their time to do so. The plants in the balconies are happy because they’ve got their dance partners – the breeze – back. And in the midst of all this, it’s been a good day of reminiscing. It all started last night, actually. It started last night when a friend and I were talking about love and how foolish we are in love, in her words.

Of course I thought I’d wake up late today or at least get up after having spent a good amount of my Sunday morning, reading in bed. Isn’t that the best feeling ever? But today started off early and post all the extra productivity that did its rounds, we continued our conversation. I hope it carries on. We reminisce ever so often. Because we really did have such a lovely time.

In her words, “a few years back when we were in love, we were sooo in love.” And it was true. We were so in love. We were in love with our new-found freedom. We were in love with life. We were so in love with the boys that we were so in love with. We loved without consequence. Or without thought. Or without preconceived notions. Or without fear. We loved with such abandon. We loved keeping happiness in mind. We loved in the moment. We loved without hesitation. We loved with so much joy. We loved without the prospect of heartbreak.

None of us is with the boys that we loved without a care, today. None of us hurries to meet them for hurried breakfasts before rushing to work. None of us runs to the train station in time to see them off. None of us spends evenings with them. None of us stays out late and has the other cover for us. None of us has immense phone bills testimony to innumerable conversations about the infiniteness that was our relationship back then. All of that’s gone. And we made it out okay. Or have we?

Because we’re not the same anymore. We’re more cautious, guarded, afraid. We’re more sure of ourselves, but really, are we? We’re more “grown up”. We’re more “independent”. We’re all that we wanted to be but I don’t know where that abandon went, where the ability to just let go and trust yourself went. I don’t know where the fear crept up from. I don’t know how the years that have passed have made us more fragile. Life is so strange.

But on this particular day, I choose to think of all that we were and of all that we did, without a doubt, without a thought. There’s something about that kind of youth that fades. Unfortunately. But we’ll always be fools in love. That we’re all very sure about. And that’s the thought I’m going to hold on to. :)

Have a lovely Sunday, you guys.

Tangible

21 Feb

Books were always it. There can never, ever be another substitute, even in this rapidly advancing technological world. That means that while I’m curious about Kindle and wouldn’t mind owning one because I do after all enjoy technology to an extent, I’d much rather be swamped in and around books, complete with the way they smell and feel. Oh, that feeling. I’m very sure you know what I’m talking about.

They’ve always given me a sense of companionship, of a relationship that secure which no one else could possibly interfere in or alter, except of course the book and I. There have been few other companions and I’m forever indebted to books and the beauty they continue to bring into my life, my sense of the world, my thoughts and my person; blank and unwritten or overflowing with words.

The first time it actually felt more real than just having your work being published in random newsletters was back in 2010 when I submitted my thesis. It was truly a fantastic feeling after the joy of being immersed in formal research. I haven’t loved anything as vividly as that experience when it came to college work.

Yesterday was just another reminder of the same.

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I got this one from Yahoo yesterday on behalf of the latest initiative the company has taken for the users of its product, Flickr. Yahoo helped print out a few of my photographs and shipped it all the way from California in a fantastic hard-bound book. And I have to really give it to the company, I really do.

Here’s another example of what a book can really make you feel like. Here’s an example of your passion merged with something you love. Here’s a very, very sweet taste of what it could feel like if I have my photographs printed and kept. It’s my very own coffee table book, it’s my very own memoir of sorts. And it feels overwhelming in a very real way because while we’re constantly surrounded (and bombarded) with soft copies of photographs we or others take, this brings in that exclusivity which seldom anything else can.

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I cannot exactly say how I feel or what holding this book in my hands and flipping through its pages means to me. I do know that this is just another example of a book giving me renewed faith in my self and my capabilities. Sometimes you need that reassurance and that something tangible. It’s a beautiful relationship that stands strong and unrelenting. While we’re at it, here’s a new page in my journey that’s unfolded. And it feels more real than anything else ever has.

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Experiments

17 Feb

There’s always something about weekends. They always have that element of surprise in them, even if you did spend its entirety in bed doing absolutely nothing, which is just the most legitimate thing to do on a weekend. Or otherwise on any other random day, for that matter. There’s a bit of give and take, but in the end, when you reflect back, it’s almost always in fondness and a certain amount of satisfaction of having felt exactly what you wanted to feel at the end of it, irrespective of what you did to achieve that feeling. Almost always. Unless, of course, you hate your work week that much which makes you go into a nasty weekend withdrawal or unless you didn’t reward yourself with that one thing you must have on weekends, which going by the most favourite trend, are those extra hours of absolute sloth and guiltless sleep.

photo (1)photoMy Saturday, post a rather nasty scare on V-Day, was one that oscillated between the beauty and perfect ambiance a Jhumpa Lahiri novel mandates (especially on a beautiful weekend) and a few experiments in my most favourite place at home: the kitchen. I don’t know whether it had anything to do with the diaspora or whether I just wanted something new to look forward to for my Saturday evening tea, but I decided to veer into the direction of Gujarati food; a genre(?) that contributes so generously and magnificently to the Indian cuisine.

I have, of course, never ventured into that area because it intimidates me, to very simply put it. As awesome and vibrant as I think Gujarati (and Rajasthani) food is, I keep a safe distance from them because I think they’re too complex for my very meager skills to handle. But I came across khandvi and by the looks of it, it looked pretty approachable. And so I decided to make khandvi. Apart from the (pretty decent) set of dhoklas I made back as a kid with readymade dhokla flour, I think I did just fine. This involves zero fat unless you want to go all vegan on it and say that yoghurt contains fat. But that apart, there really is no use of oil in this dish. While it is so simple in its cast of ingredient characters, this dish requires quite the amount of physical labour. And I think because it was just too darn healthy for me plus the work out that happened while making it, I went a bit overboard with the serving of oil for the seasoning khandvi requires. Health food and me just do not go. It’s a confirmed fact. Amen.

So there it was. In between lots of reading and pondering over just how beautifully well Jhumpa Lahiri writes, I experimented in the kitchen. And khandvi made an entry into our home. And it was all yellow. :)

photo 1 (2) photo 2 (2) photo 3 (1) photo 4 (1) photo 5 photo 1 (1) photo 2 (3) photo 3 (2) photo 4 (2)Keeping in line with just how surprising weekends can turn out to be, or life in general, if you wouldn’t just be such a darn control freak, all I have to say is that this weekend was just as memorable in a beautiful, beautiful, heartwarming way. Sometimes it just isn’t written until you write it. And sometimes it just isn’t real till you read what’s already been written. :)

Travel

16 Jan

I’m going to attempt the impossible because I’m crazy and believe that sometimes, it’s good to take a jab at the impossible. Because sometimes it’s good to feel superhuman that way. I don’t even know if that was a joke. Anyway, the Impossible I’m planning to take a bite of is of course something that is extremely dear to me – travel.

How can I sit and write about travel in one sitting? How can I talk about something so innate, so deep, so philosophical, so vast, so enigmatic and so beautiful without prior thought/research or even planning? I don’t know. I’m.just.going.to.do.it because I feel like it. Hop right on and let’s take this journey together, shall we?

Travel is this song to me right now because it hits the spot, completes the picture and makes me feel so alive, all puns intended.

Have you heard this one before? I think it’s brilliant and so refreshing in every sense of the word. It makes me want to throw every caution to the wind, let my hair loose and just dance in a Phoebe sort of way, you know? It’s that breath of fresh air the music scene needed. Really.

Getting back to travel… my first ever memories of travel are that of supremely long train journeys from the southern part of this country to the northern part; from an adopted home to my real home. That equation is different today and I don’t know where I belong, but that’s what it was to me back then. Bangalore was the adopted home. Those train journeys are stories fit for marvelous novels meant for a dreamer, a lover and a poet. Train journeys meant meeting new people, sharing that space with them for numerous hours over which food, games and conversations of anything under the sun, happened. Also, those journeys have been notorious for germinating secret and not so secret love stories. That’s where my memories of travel stem from. Trains. And there’s a reason why the Indian Railways holds such a special place in my heart. Why they started a beautiful story in my being and I’m ever so grateful for that.

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Travel, to me, hasn’t been about going places. Travel is more a journey that begins in my head, me heart and my soul. It’s the idea of taking off and exploring new experiences as they occur. It’s about opening those doors and windows just so you can be touched in the lightest, deepest and loveliest way. It’s about learning, understanding and breathing…just breathing and feeling so alive.

Have you ever felt freedom? Freedom in your heart, mind and soul? Freedom that takes you by your hand to places you cannot fathom, only to realize you got there by yourself, on your own, by your own terms. It’s that moment which leaves you breathless in the best possible way. It’s that moment when you take a cycle and head out completely unaware of your destination. It’s that moment when you look up your flight tickets. It’s that moment when you submit your visa papers and die of anticipation. It’s that moment when you feel the thunder of a train’s engine enter your platform. It’s that moment when you huddle over cups of tea at 5am in the middle of nowhere and burn your tongue. It’s that moment when you’re speeding during take off. It’s that moment when your shivering hands open your passport and find your visa inside. It’s just that simple moment when you know you’ve made it, done it and seen it through on your own terms. Or giving snails in tea gardens kisses, as it were. :P

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Like I said, more than it ever being about the destination, it’s been about the journey itself because that’s where the magic happens. Perhaps this is why travel is more of a philosophical concept than anything else. Travel is a mixed bundle of free-spiritedness, love, anxiety, freedom and the complete elation of making that move and having arrived. I’m not a fan of traveling alone and don’t believe I need to do it to feel completely “liberated” in that sense. It’s in my head and I could feel as liberated with the most amazing company and feel completely trapped (by my million fears) when traveling alone. It’s just as simple as that. And travel is perhaps one of the (very) few ways in which letting go becomes so easy and doable.

And that’s just about what travel means to me right here, right now, in about…erm…8 paragraphs? Here’s to feeling alive in every sense of the word.

There’s so much to hold on to just by letting go.

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Thanking you

6 Apr

I’ve been blogging ever since I heard about a blog back during a lazy media class in 2005 when I was doing my Bachelor’s course. To be honest, I started blogging because it felt cool and I felt pretty darn accomplished to have something as awesome as a web log (blog). It was new and it was novel and it felt amazing. Over time my blogs changed names, looks, themes, addresses, online spaces and of course, like all logs/journals/diaries, the contents of my blog also saw vast transformations. It’s funny how time flies and how we change accordingly. Or not. But you get my drift.

Those of us who write or wrote diaries/journals know what I mean when I say we change. We begin by talking about everyday life, about school, college, friends, boyfriends/girlfriends, crushes, homework and perhaps even the way our teeth looked. We even experimented with a code language we came up with by our own way of imagination. It looked cool, it took some time to get used to and it soon became a part of our life. We could read that secret language just like we could the language of our comfort and choice. Secrecy was a huge thing. I remember experimenting with diaries I could lock not because I was plotting against the world but because teens and secrecy just go together. Everything’s very hush hush especially around adults and siblings. There was a sense of adventure in it all.

When secrecy wasn’t a big deal anymore, the patterns and contents of writing changed too. Everyday hassles got replaced by questions, conflicts, issues and concerns that germinated at a pace we couldn’t comprehend. Secrecy gave way to trust, as did the insecurity of being spied upon. And before I knew it, I’d stopped writing because it was that time of life when one had more pressing issues to deal with (read: board exams).

Sometimes it’s strange the way life unfolds. When I look back, I cannot fathom how and where and when all those years went by. At the risk of sounding so, so old, I’d just like to say that I have absolutely no idea where and how the years between when I got into tenth grade and now have gone. It’s not like it was a bad phase. It was just a phase that had so much going on, I guess? There was too much to do. Writing took a backseat sometime then. In fact everything else that didn’t involve books actually did get put on the back burner. Out went the pottery, painting, drawing, writing and of course a lot of the reading as well. Till I finished twelfth grade and went on to do my Bachelor’s course in Psychology, English Literature and Mass Communication. Maybe that just had to happen because now I had to read and write. And it was great. Most often at least.

That’s when I got back to the concept of actually taking time off, reflecting and writing. The entire procedure started all over again. My old posts are reminiscent of my student life filled with amazing experiences, projects, new people I met, boyfriends, friendships, career paths I may have wanted to choose and so on. I like going back to them once in a while. They’re my albums of a time I loved dearly.

So yes, I was talking about blogging. It’s been an extremely interesting journey. I’ve met so many awesome people some of whom have come to become close friends. I’ve always loved meeting new people and interacting with them and to be able to do so via this medium and through writing is just so mind blowing. Why isn’t mindblowing one word? Anyhoo.

Times have been shit crazy the past year and I’ve often found myself in a vacuum where I can see words floating around but have no voice to speak them. There’s almost always been a traffic jam in my head, as I like to call it, when I find it hard to write. I love writing because writing is my most easy and comfortable form of not just expression but living. When you find something that comes as effortlessly most often, you’ve got to know there’s something in it for you. That’s a relationship you don’t want to part ways with. So no matter how crazy it has been, you’ve always been there with me. And for that I am ever so thankful.

I just came across this and thought I’d share it with you because you’re awesome and I really love having you here. This is where my teeny tiny blog’s been on the world map.

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To say that I feel overwhelmed would be undermining it way below what it really, really makes me feel. I thank you for walking on this journey with me. I thank you for being a part of my world. I thank you for allowing me to be a part of your world too. I thank you for being patient and supportive. I thank you for being you. I thank you for becoming a part of my puzzle. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for participating in this experience.

You inspire me. You motivate me. You make me come back when I think I cannot. You make me feel totally awesome. Thank you ever so much.

Here’s to a crazy awesome journey. Keep those walking shoes on! :)

Much love,

Babska! :)

When You Walk Past a Quarter…

1 Nov

…you tend to get even more existential and philosophical than you usually are. Life looms large, as does its possibilities. Everything looks do-able and achievable and ready to grab by its shoulders; life, chances and opportunities especially.

So my sense of existentialism went on an overdrive mode and I ended chalking up a list. Lists can be best friends and can be the source of everything you don’t want to encounter; either in life or in every day living because they act as reminders – reminders of time that refuses to stop flooring the accelerator, reminders of all the promises you made to yourself and others worse, reminders of lost chances and opportunities – you get the flow. I have that list with me and I’ve stowed it away in the deepest, darkest recesses of a place I hope not to look at too often. I’d rather make new lists than confront old lists. The feeling of doing something new and feeling motivated is too delicate to go digging into dreams and lists of the past.

Moving on to where I’d left off; I went ahead and made a list which sort of encompassed what I wanted to do before turning that year older. And being a person who nearly idolizes symbolism, I took this to be more than just any darn list. Also, I didn’t add things which I knew I couldn’t achieve over the weekend – it makes sense to have realistic goals; is the philosophy I go by. Therefore the weekend fast came and in it featured (you-get-no-points-for-guessing-what): travel, trains, bus drives, drives, mountains, friends, trekking, food and of course animals. Here’s a look at what the massive weekend was all about.

Trains. I just had to had to had to (OK, I’ll stop) had to stop by and click them! So the weekend began at just about dawn and there was just too much to look forward to thereon.

When one travels, and travels the proper way, it just becomes mandatory to be drawn in by the aromas of kinara chai shops, literally stop dead in your tracks, retrace your steps for  those of you who didn’t stop by earlier, and sink your teeth into piping hot snacks with chai. Yes sir, that’s the proper way to travel. And if you’re even more “proper”, you will pack some of that good stuff and take it along with you. Whether you eat some, all or none of it is immaterial. :)

The weekend went spending time trekking the highest peak of the Western Ghats, walking through tea gardens, sitting under waterfalls, meeting Monty/Suzanne the python, Roxie the poochie and Phil the cat. Time was spent hyperventilating at drops and falls during the descent, as it was spent looking at the mountains with great admiration, awe and respect before and after the trek. It also featured everything a magical weekend could ever feel and be like. Wishes were fulfilled, dreams were made real and time was spent just as it should be. When you’re blessed with all that and more, your head bursts with words and joy in such abundance that it becomes hard to grasp and put together what you want to say and how. Therefore, while I’m still lost in the enigma of my weekend, I’ll leave you with pictures till later.

Travel Girl

27 Aug

Because this is Post #300 on the new blog, and because such numbers are of significance to me, I have decided to write about something that has always awed me and continues to do so. I’ve also been wanting to write about it because I find the need to engage in it, again and again; strong enough to write about it here, again! Travel.

I’ve been thinking of where to go next since I can sense that bug within me stir. I love the concept and thought of taking off whenever (better late than never). And so even though I’ve done a small share of weekend getaways, the heart and soul don’t feel like stopping at that. I came back feeling satisfied, albeit temporarily, only to be well aware that this moment would visit me yet again. It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to and I’d like to acknowledge as and when I can. Given a choice, I’d step out whenever. It’s just that I haven’t been gifted with that rich uncle who loves only me or has left me that huge pot of gold.

I’m a traveler within my means and comforts. And I’m very happy being that way. I cannot forgo safety, hygiene and a scarcity of necessities. I think I’m a balanced, happy traveler who will make do with what she has, but to an extent. So I can compromise on the AC and the TV and the comforts of a luxury room. I cannot however compromise on a decent bathroom, forget a place without one. Please, that’s asking for too much. From me at least. I tried something like that once, and I’m absolutely positive it’s not going to happen again. So yes, I have tried and given it a shot. But that’s not my cuppa. No, no.

Anyhoo. Having established the ground rules, I proceed with that aspect of life I’m truly, madly and deeply gaga about. Please pardon me if I garble. It’s just that when something as stunning as traveling leaves you speechless, overwhelmed and all that, such falters in one’s expression are totally excusable. And because I am the person I am, I will spam this post with photographs (you should know my love for them by now).

So here goes.

Travel’s about hitting the road, and just going. It’s about driving through those forests you’ve heard about in poems, anecdotes and other’s experiences you got lost in while reading in class and imagined experiencing at least once in your life.

It’s about booking yourself on that train and heading out where no road can possibly take you: through ravines, tunnels, jungles and the marvelous countryside. It’s about getting absorbed in the sun, sky, fields, people and feel of what is quintessentially India – rain, shine and massive fog delays (for those of you who’ve experienced the treachery).

It’s also about being so engrossed in the phenomenon I like to call the Indian Railways. I’ve written about it before. I’ll write about it a million times more. I have a thing for trains. Sheldon Cooper and I will have something to talk about, I guess. :P

It’s also about just taking off by road: at dawn, dusk, noon, morning, afternoon, evening, midnight… you name it. It’s about packing up and just going. Try it sometime. It’s exhilarating, to say the least. And while you’re at it, you try and have the wind boom in your ears. It’s deafening in such an awesome way, till it starts hurting of course. :)

And while you’re driving past the wonderful landscape of India, you make time to stop by and visit cities of sunflowers and marigolds, say hi to them, swoon over them, marvel at how beautiful they are and then proceed. Oh yeah, I pose with them too. It’s a done thing for me.

And somewhere in between swooning over flower cities and flooring that accelerator, you try and catch the fantastic roads ahead of you. Roads, railway tracks; they speak so much. They let you believe what you want to believe at that very moment. You want to go somewhere, then you go somewhere. You want a point of no return, at that very moment, you get a point of no return. You want no destinations, you get no destinations. You want only milestones, you get just that, too. I love them. So significant. So massive.

Travel, to me, is an awesome mix of knowing and not knowing. So yes, you give me my map and let me be. I’ll survive, yes. But that’s that. Maps show. They don’t direct. That’s left solely up to you. And go, you do. Wherever you wish to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And somewhere between the roads, fields, cities and railway tracks, you get engrossed in the wondrous countryside. Its vast expanse, man there’s something to it. It’s boundless, it’s seamless, it’s so expansive. It’s overwhelming how large and ceaseless it really is.

And when I’m feeling particularly luxurious, I like to take things in at a different level altogether. Here are cloud cities near home. Haven’t you ever wanted to float away in clouds, even in your imagination?

Having said that, commuting is just one segment of travel. It matters where I go to. But what matters more is what I take from the place or what the place makes me feel. I avoid cities unless very necessary and unless I want to get lost in the rush and feel of Mumbai, or the spirit of New Delhi or the feeling of Kolkata. I keep my distance otherwise.

I thrive in the lavish monsoons of the rainforests. To feel rain in that measure and at that moment as one does in the lush rainforests of the superior Western Ghats is something to experience. When you’re surrounded watching rain in a place where it so truly belongs, where it’s lapped up with such fervour, you’re in for a treat. Everything blooms and blossoms and sings. Literally.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you sit under a pounding, breath-taking waterfall, you’re rendered speechless. To have something so powerful make you feel so comfortable is massive. Letting go, that’s what it’s all about. It never comes easily to me. It’s something I really have to try with, but manage at most times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then when you walk through tea gardens along with the clouds, you know you’ve tasted that slice of life you’re so damn privileged to have got. Walking in clouds, I’d never have thunk!

Travel talks. Places speak. Especially when you’re walking through periods of history. This is at Nalanda, the first university we ever had. It speaks of learning, of peace and of so much serenity. Now learning at a place like this; I can only imagine. It exudes calmness as you learn about its Buddhist ways and principles. Nestled in fields, one is only left in awe. Every single time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then, traveling awes you. Nature inspires you. All seems well with the world when you’re faced with a sight like this. You’re put in your place, you figure there’s hope and that what is to be, will be.

And while you’re at it, travel’s about chasing those sunsets. Every time. Everywhere. Sunsets, beaches – they are just it. It’s not like I actively chase them. It’s when I spot that beautiful setting sun that something happens to me. It’s quite weird. But yeah, I try and chase sunsets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Travel’s never, ever complete without letting go. Never. I refuse to believe that one can feel the true sense of a place without letting go and allowing oneself to listen to what they’re being told.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s also never complete without food. Midway, small tuck shops, highways, dhabas, fancy restaurants, shacks… you name it. Like I mentioned before, travel cannot be possible (for me) without those essential necessities.

And last but not the least, travel is not the same unless you’re out there, with the wind in your hair, the sand in your feet, the mist all around you. It’s not when you’re sitting in a sterile environment. Never.

And at 300, WordPress told me this:

The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.

Gustave Flaubert

:)