West to East!

What are the odds? I wondered. When signs show to stay put but you want to set off again. The question of why is far more hurting than disapproval itself. To go once alone into the crowd seeking an unknown feeling is a thrilling affair. But the second time! The question is what do you want more this time around? A sense of detachment, solitude or the ungratifying envy of the people around you?

But I was sure in my senses, as much as I seek detachment and solitude, I was looking for more; a basket of happiness and some red cherry blossom flowers. And I was adamant that these didn't grow inside my garden, I've accustomed in watering. So the quest began in search of that brown basket conceived somewhere far and cherry blossoms that painted the snow valleys of the Himalayas.

West to East! That has been the placard I've been holding for a while and that's where I was heading to when the noisy old-school propeller turned rapidly much to the fear of mine and many co-passengers.

Rajasthan

Rajasthan, I've been drawn to that place, by choice or by destiny but the hot sand-bed of the Indian mainland had a story for a guy who lived in the southern tropical coastline. Aside our history of love- hate, the place itself was brimming with cultural overflow. And as my Uber passed the Ajmeri gate into the heart of the city, my eyes grew familiar to a color that adorned the walls and bricks of city alike. The Pink City! But it was more red to me than pink, blame my color senses but it sure looked Red.

As the cab stopped in front of an orange board, Zostel Jaipur, a wave of memory from last year engulfed me. 

Slowly, I was going through the motions and ended up crashing on the small mattress in the common room. And around me were pictures and directions of places nearby Jaipur. But the board I got my eyes on was the unlimited breakfast for 150. And there I was, with bread and butter and a glass of black tea. 

Forts, forts everywhere and where first was a question of utmost importance. And then I met Eleonora, an Italian who fell in love with a Mexican, divorced and independent, traveling to find answers. "Lets go Amer Fort" and Amer we went. It surprised me how crazy the Rajputans were, the sheer size of the fort and walls around it dwarfed every multi billion penthouses the 'mega rich' of the world built to showcase their wealth. Nahargarh fort, Jal Mahal, it was a fort affair. And I ended up at this famous Lassi shop where we had the best lassi.

I'll remember Jaipur always, more than the forts I went and the food I had, I had the chance of meeting a wonderful human. A guy from Hyderabad, who was on his 92nd day of solo travel.  Speaking to him made my travel so small. In fact it was his second long solo travel. The places he has been, the treks he was a part of, the experiences he had made me fall on my back at the green grass at the Jantar Mantir. To see a fellow traveler die in front of your eyes is not a sight you can easily throw behind. And when he narrated the story to me, it felt I was there with him at the Chadar trek. Jaggu, was one such traveler you felt happy to have seen, he doesn't update his social media nor take pictures like a tourist, although he has some absolute wonder pictures that could make any travel photographer die for. He had a calm demeanor yet a voice inside crying out for more. Only if I had some more days with him.

And soon my paths extended into roads past forts and old buildings, as sand and wilderness welcomed into the western sand-beds of the country. It reached a point where Pakistan was more closer than any Indian city. Jaisalmer was one such city that looked taken out from Game of Thrones fantasy world, the walls and fort looked exactly like the city of Dorne.

Jaisalmer stay is never complete without a night stay at the desert. And as our driver slowly took the right from the Government authorized Bhang shop, he looked at me with a smile that was more of an invitation. On our way to the desert we passed through the haunted village of Kuldhara, the famous village that disappeared in a night. A story so chilling, yet the truth speaks about the reality of the caste differences that crippled minds of our ancestors.

Camel safari into the sand dunes was one of the experience that you don't mind paying again. Camels had a way in the sand, like the hawk in the air and the shark in the blue waters. You don't teach them, it's theirs. And as Lovely our camel dropped us near sunset point, I sat there in the sand with my face against the sun. Be it the rocks nearby a beach, or the warm sands in a desert, the nature paints the same magic at dusk, as sun bids farewell with it's own trademark move.

There were kids coming in numbers, asking for money in exchange for a song. And I shook my head with an arrogant grin, like a privileged kid who didn't know the value of ten bucks. There came a kid next, he wasn't asking, it was an emotional plea which I felt in the inner chamber of my heart. But the arrogant kid in me overpowered. "Aatta lene ke liye bhai" To buy flour for bread, please give me 10 rupees. He came to that sunset point walking 15kms it seems. And yet all I did was look straight into his eyes, saw that pain and anguish, and still send him away. That picture haunts me. 

And as I slowly comforted me in the luxuries of the desert tent, I heard a Rajasthani traditional song in the background. Having a dinner that could fill the stomach of the entire kids that asked me for money, I walked back to the tent with a night sky filled with diamonds of umpteen shapes. I wondered till sleep caught me, about the kids that may or may not have the dinner they deserved. The problem of giving one some money is, not having enough to fill all the hands stretching towards you. Yet, that face twinkled in dark sky brighter than the Milky way.

Jodhpur was not part of the plan, but when destiny takes you somewhere it sure does give you something wonderful. Mehangarh fort has to be the best fort I've seen in all of Rajasthan. A fort built on the mountains that overlooked the city with cannons all around its walls. Rajputans had style over substance even in their military endeavors. The fort was so good that Mr Nolan came across all the way to shoot a scene from Dark Knight Rises. And as I slowly walked out of the fort, I saw a guy and girl sitting at the edge of cliff looking at the horizon. I walked down the broken walls and to the cliff where we were joined by a half dozen photographers. We shared a common silence that was disturbed only the shutter of a camera. And when the glory hour was gone, we all looked at each other like brothers and nodded. 

And all I had in my mind was the silence, the weight of rucksack didn't bother me for once. I was on a wave that took me above the hill on to my road for more adventure.

DELHI

Kindness is a virtue that has to be diligently pursued. And in the pursuit, be bond-slave to it. But for once it felt kindness is dangerous, it can kill you. The volvo driver trying to save the dog on the road almost ended up killing the bus full of travelers. Kindness can be risky! Not just for the people showing it but the ones who are caught up in it. And my sleep vanished into the Delhi air which had company in gases of all names and colours. 

Kerala House was the destination, like a checkpoint on the way to fill the supplies for the chillier days ahead. A perfect Kerala meals with "buffalo fry" meant that the battery was charged beyond trickle point.

DHARAMSHALA

As the Volvo bus reached Dharamshala at the early hours, it was late welcome to a place that I couldn't visit last year. And as the taxi driver dropped to the sub urban village of McLeod ganj, cold was in the air like a person who was sniffing hot blood. McLeod was blessed with the first snowfall the previous night and the subsequent rainfall had took with it the power supply across the valley. And I was in darkness, knocking at a door with a frozen hand. The guy woke up much to the delight of my love for life.

Mcleod is a beautiful village in the Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh with a Tibetan population that spreads across its entirety. Walking all the way to Dharmkot meant I walked past monks in traditional red wear and the monastery which Dalai Lama hailed from and freshly fallen snow.

Pork momos and Triund trek are the two things that you can't miss out while you are in McLeod and I wasn't going to be the first one. Since the snowfall, trek was not a good option but let's go as far as we can and come back, that was the plan. On our way, I met two monks making Buddha from the snow. He soon professed his love for Porotta when he knew I was from Kerala. And even did a demo of the art of Porotta making.

There are treks that stick with you for a reason other than completing it, and Triund trek was one of that. Around the hour mark, the climate changed and it became dark and moody. It wouldn't have been a good idea to continue and so we decided to walk back. The heavens opened up and treated us 'snow virgins' the joy of first snowfall. And there was something in us that got comforted. Love was not for the journey, it was for the moment that the lovers met. 

As the Mumbaikaars were all set for PyarEkDhokhaHai event, I was gearing up for the moment that I would embrace with pride. Forget jumping from the cliff, the idea of climbing a cliff scared me. And when the guy handed over the waiver, a cold sweat trickled down my spine. Is it worth breaking your limbs or even dying? But a rare moment of strength saw the waiver form filled and signed. As the 4×4 open jeep Bolero took us swirling around the mountain to Billing, I with my fellow travelers wondered whether the waiver was for the jeep ride or the paragliding. And in due time I was there at the top geared and cold for the jump from 7000ft. RUN BHAI RUN! That's all I heard when he threw the parachute into the air, I was like Tom Hanks running straight to the cliff. And soon I wasn't running, I was flying. With thin air under my legs and a mountain covered with snow, it felt too good to be true. And for 25minutes I was like a naive bird that chose to fly away, and stay back to see the winter when his friends were in warmer lands.

For the 10 minutes after the landing, my legs were still finding air than the ground more comfortable. The ride back to Dharamshala was the most satisfying, not only the happiness of doing something from your bucket list but the lightness it gave your heavy heart was far more.

Manali

Even before a year passed, I was there again, the same streets I walked smiling like a teenager who found his love. And it felt the same, although the snow made it hard to walk. Zostel Manali looked straight from a winter fantasy world with snow decorating the lampshades and tables alike. Sleep was the first order of the day and that's what I got when I snuggled inside the blanket in the common room. It was dejavu, or a repetition of events. And all I could hope for was the fun I had last year.

Manali, even last year was all about characters and sure it was the same this year. Two girls from Bangalore, a 40 year old Mumbaiwala and a 20 year old bacha from Kolkata. And the man itself, Mr Pranav, Zostel Manager. Sometimes the conversation we are gifted by destiny is far more thrilling than the backdrop it happens. There was a snow-capped mountain behind, and snow all around me but all I could look at was these people and the stories that came out. A sailor who traveled the world, a guy who backpacked the entire Europe and the valley you dream about visiting and some lovely girls who traveled alone. Stories, stories and more and more stories. How Pranav saw Milky way and Nebula under the clear skies near Kalpa, or the time the sailor met a group of cannibals or how the girls scored the best hash in Tosh. I was all ears, and I had no stories to beat that and even If I had, my story telling wouldn't be the best.

And soon I was leading them on a trek, the same one we took last year. They looked for me for directions and I pointed to the snow for excuses. It looked different but in the end I took the exact same road I went last year. The wrong and long route. But it was fun and no serious casualties were registered. 

Manali for all its hype and tourist attraction, I find it special for a different reason. A reason I wish it could be quantified in words but fails each time. Do I see myself in Manali? Yes! Do I see myself walking through Van Vihar or the climb towards Old Manali Road? Yes! At Manali, I'm the teenager again, who found love again. And I love being that.

Kasoul, Parvati Valley journey was not planned and I wish we didn't go that way. The toll it took on my body was too much that almost left me bruised and exhausted for the rest of the trip. Although the experience was once in a lifetime, crossing the Parvati river, walking into a village and seeing stuff that can't be seen anywhere else in India. Sometimes the sight of certain experience is far more trippy and exhilarating than the actual   experience itself.

Uttaramkhand

From the chilly and cold Himachal to the spiritual cities of Haridwar, Rishikesh and Varanasi. Many people asked why? Why these places and why this unnecessary journey? I wasn't sure of the second part of the question. But I knew I wanted to visit these places although the journey was taxing. 

It's different from what I've seen in Kerala, the intensity of devotion and worship of Hindus in Kerala are often subdued but up in the north it's different. They are vociferous to a point that you feel even when words are not uttered. Aghori Babas and Naga Babas decorate the banks of Ganges like pots for the Pongala festival. Ganga Aarthi is something you can't miss out when you are in the city Ganges is flowing through.

Rishikesh is the market hub of Yoga. I don't think I've been to a place where Yoga could be marketed like Rishikesh. The air has the feel of meditation and sanctity, and that's what people are in search of. White or black, English or German, people seek peace and seek it earnestly. And the question I had trouble finding answer was, how did they find it in a city far off from their homeland?

River rafting and Bungee jumping had to wait for sometime as my body was giving out signals continuously to stop and stay at the common room as much as I can. There I met two wonderful adopted Mumbaiwalas. And soon there was guitar, music and stories of life that took us past the midnight.

Varanasi was the crown of all cities, at least in my head. And I was disappointed at first sight. Maybe, I didn't give enough time for the city to unveil itself. But I was like a guy who left the girl in their first blind date. Off I went to the railway station.

Kolkata

Ha! What do I say about a city I was already in love before being there? Kolkata was like a person to me and felt more human since I was there. A wonderful person you could fall in love with, a complex yet warm character. The city was oozing out culture and you could feel it in its streets. A city which was cool before 'being cool' was a thing. I wish I had more time, I wish it was Durga pooja, I wish! But I sure enjoyed being in Kolkata.

I wish I had more days to travel, I wish I had more words to describe the days I had, I wish I met more people. I wish! In the end the essence of traveling is having more, there are always experience that you aren't familiar with, mountains that you haven't set your foot on and stories waiting to be told. 

I wonder if we look  at our country with the pride we ought to. I'm not being an ambassador of the pseudo nationalism, just being truthful and honest about the marvel our nation is. From Rajasthan to Kolkata it is long journey of culture, history and values. How much more it would be between north and south or north to north east. Every direction has a story waiting to be told, you just have to be ready when the moment bestows itself.

Travel that you could see yourself, not to take the pictures of forts and mountains. They are there to be seen, but the journey is more beautiful than the destination. The solitude we treat ourselves, a detachment from our obsessive thinking patterns is a gift you give yourself. And when you push yourself into the confines of a local Himachal Pradesh bus, as the bus narrowly scrape under the hills on the non-existent Kasoul highway, you could feel an out of body experience. Our thoughts soon would be calmly looking at us as witness from the bus that passes by. Or meeting that same German you met in Rajasthan again in a woolen shop at Dharamshala and sharing an embrace like a lost brother. These are happiness that you don't find anywhere else.

It was all unbridled emotion last year, and this time it's a familiar face. A face I would love to see again, in winters and summers, in spring and autumn; like that of her. Her, a habitual thought that fills my mind while traveling. I wonder why it happens, in all those mundane bus rides where I'm hearing "Mizhiyil Ninnum" for the umpteenth time I think about her. And soon I'm a poet, a storyteller; art is what I inhale and exhale. I love that, the bliss of first love just like the day I met her. The truth is, that kind of love doesn't even require her. It's a state of total acceptance of whatever emotion we have between is special. And I'm okay with it, I hold it close like the brown basket of happiness I found on the trek to Triund or was it in the valley of Bir.

This journey has to stop for a while until I seek red cherry blossoms again. Till then I'm like a kite, cut off from the string, safe and secure in the attic. Wait begins for the next adventure, as I buffet my body and mind for the Spring that's coming soon. If Winter comes can Spring be far behind?

I hope not, I hope not! For I seek the warmth of your memories and the adventure that lies in the valley when the pass reopens. Till then rage, rage against the dying of light.