On the road of experience

Another semester gone by, in the usual uncompromising way that leaves one to wonder whether it was indeed four entire months it had lasted! But this time, not without a couple of delightful intermissions—decorating memories like wild flowers on the barren highway.

Midway through autumn, after three colorful days of Durga Pujo it was time to set off. On the road and in the air, with my parents and my uncle, a week and a day on a much-expected sojourn in Kerala. From Kochi to Allepuzha, it was a soothing, if not unforgettable experience. The smell of history in the streets of Kochi, the untainted verdure of Munnar, the serenity of the backwaters—the waves of new sensations left a handful of pretty sea-shells to savor.

The prettiest of them all, the one with the shining pearl, was Kanyakumari—the tip of India’s giant ankle that is worthy of its crown. First up there was a visit to the much venerated temple of Kanyakumari. The smell of its damp, old walls, the incessant smoke from burning incense and from the ghee-soaked flames in old oil lamps created an aura that easily takes the clock back a thousand years. But what struck me the most, and it was the second time, was the exuberant beauty of the ocean.

More than a century ago it was at this very place that Swami Vivekananda culminated his journey across India. The story goes that Swamiji sat in meditation for three days on an obscure rock jutting out of the sea just off the coastline of Kanyakumari. The rock, now a famous tourist spot has been altered greatly—but the significance of its location, both physically and symbolically is hardly lost on anyone who’s been there. It’s not difficult to imagine why Swamiji had swum across the rough sea all the way from the shore to this place.

Still fresh from the first trip, a fortnight later, I was traveling again—this time closer to home in the hills of Darjeeling. This trip was special for so many reasons—one of them was the fact that I had some of my closest friends for company. From our very first stop at Kalimpong and the first glimpse of the majestic Kanchenjunga, I knew this was going to be a trip to remember. It seemed as though beauty lay all around us, waiting to be looked upon and admired. Music came to me, poetry flowed through in the moments of silence and solitude and most of all a feeling of joy and almost spiritual marvel at the astounding beauty pervaded my senses. Clouds wrapped themselves around the mountains in various shapes like a wardrobe full of new clothes and stars lit up like I had never seen before sprinkling every inch of the sky with shining jewels. Apart from the bountiful of green, the divine hues of dawn and dusk and fun and frolic all throughout, the tranquility of the hills was stimulating, almost arousing—a silence to hear one’s own mind speak, a voice that’s nearly always left shrouded by the bustle and din of our routine existence.

I savored every moment, as I always try to do, letting every wave of new sensation flow freely into me—for that’s what life is all about—experience. Some things sometimes somewhere that create a ripple, change a perspective, make a wave and wash away the loose pebbles. Like a great man once said—“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.”