Barely two months ago, 2200 kilometers away in the tiny village of Gunjung nestled in the hills of Assam, I was walking around paddy fields with villagers who had no exposure to structured scientific education and global conversations on climate change, but who understood the importance of water security. Passed on through generations, they had intimate knowledge of how to build their lives using the resources in their surroundings.
Tag: backpacking
Pondicherry – A traveller’s delight
The herb marinated grilled fish was bland with no flavors. The chicken hot and sour soup served earlier was soya sauce in water with chicken fibers thrown in. The cocktail had no zing either. Booked on a long weekend in peak season, at 1500 rupees per night, I didn’t like my hostel room. After a…
Experiencing Bir during the rains
I had arrived a couple of hours back after an overnight bus journey. It had been drizzling as I got down from my bus and walked a kilometer to my hostel through narrow lanes lined by local homes and shops. It is 11 am now and raining heavily. I have been roaming around for the…
When someone will take me home
I do not understand what is this guy’s problem. For quite a while now, he has been continuously staring at me from a distance. He gets down on his knees, then lies flat on the sand, sometimes he comes in front of me, sometimes on the side, and sometimes he goes out of sight, I…
Meditating on a cold morning in Dharamkot
It’s a cold and incessant drizzle. The sky is laden with clouds with thin streaks of sunlight trying to sneak through them intermittently. The cold wind shivers through my ears. In this weather I take the fifteen minute walk from my hostel in Upper Dharamkot to Lower Dharamkot on the rocky, uneven path wet with…
Finding meaning by the Baspa
A couple of months ago, I was sitting by the Baspa River near the India-Tibet Border Police checkpost in Chitkul which is the last Indian village on the India-Tibet border in Himachal Pradesh. I had been travelling in the Kinnaur region laden with yet to ripe apples for the last few days and Chitkul was…
Amsterdam – Reminiscing my first solo trip
When I exited the Amsterdam Central station and had my first look at a major European city, I didn’t have any clue of what to do or see but was buoyant with joy and enthusiasm. I bought a cup of bitter coffee and a tasteless hot dog at a kiosk in front of the station and wandered around aimlessly for hours. With my newly purchased first point and shoot camera, I took all sorts of random pictures with the enthusiasm of a kid in a chocolate shop. The architecture of the central station, the blue and white GVB trams, canals, canal houses, white pigeons fluttering on the canal gates, well mannered crowd of bicycles, coffee shops, souvenir shops, shops selling sex toys, yellow wooden shoes, costumed characters, people walking around with their dogs, impoverished backpackers who could do well with a wash and a meal and many more.
The idyllic serenity of Mcleodganj
Being home to the Tibetan government in exile since 1960 and the official residence of the 14th Dalai Lama, McLeodganj has a large Tibetan population and a strong Tibetan Buddhist influence. People here are peaceful, smiling and ready to help. The prayers of the aged Buddhist monks softly chanting mantras with meditation beads between their fingers seem to permeate through the air. It is an ideal getaway to just be with yourself in the lap of nature and not spend a lot of time and money on sightseeing tours. Go for long idle walks or read a book by the window in a quiet cafe over coffee with the mountains looking over you.
“Hello Indian Tourist”
That is how Francis greeted me as I boarded a local bus from Calangute to Baga on a hot and humid afternoon in Goa. I heard the words as I was taking a seat while talking to the conductor but didn’t pay attention to see who the speaker was as I didn’t think they were…
Travelling doesn’t provide life’s answers
We will travel to get out of our comfort zones. We will trek up to 5000 meters to witness first rays of the sun kissing the snow capped peaks surrounding us. We have, however, never seen the same sunrise from the balcony or terrace of our homes as we always wake up late and are rushing to work with a sandwich in our hands. We avoid talking to our family who have seen us through all the crests and troughs of our lives so far as they won’t understand the travails of our wandering heart. We don’t reach out to that old school or college friend whom we haven’t spoken to in years in spite of living in the same city. We can only open our hearts and laugh uninhibitedly during fleeting conversations with random strangers in an obscure bar in an obscure street in Amsterdam.
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