Our Travelogue

Richard Burton was of the view that travelers are like poets, they are mostly an angry race. But if I did have the guts to differ from the legend, I would. We've never set off for some place to prove something. Traveling has been a weakness, a perennial subconscious desire..Every rendezvous has been embarked upon with a virginal and enthusiastic frame of mind. Although every moment in our odysseys has not been an undiluted saga of ecstasy; away from the uncouth human architecture and the sordid geometry of the city and away from the furious rhythm and anguish of city life, every small sojourn or long hibernation that we've been to has left us with fresh life and vigor.There's getting lost in dark caves in Kodaikanal. There's trekking to flourishing poppy fields in Tosh. There's biking through the varied canvas of Leh, there's feeling that inescapable tangible tranquility in the Gompas of Ladakh, there's crossing the Mani walls of Zanskar fom the left as Buddist tradition says you should . There's swimming secretly in a moonlit sea in Puducherry. There's us being highway stars on the GTR. There's having coffee in the drizzle of Munnar. There's bird-watching in Nagarkot-Dhulikhel in the Kathmandu valley when we were supposed to be writing our CFA exams!!..There's us getting sloshed on the white sands of the beaches of Gokarna. There's us two wild flowers confessing to our bitter truths and sins in the churches of Goa. And there are so many other memories on borrowed-from-Pa's old Yashica prints and in the yellowed and torn pages of diaries from our college days ... Brevity in reminiscing all of these would in itself be a crime.But time is no mistress and that is where I'm losing the plot. Will be here soon with more details....