Whenever I travel I get anxiety. it is not exactly anxiety but I get into some kind of zone. And I get into it when ever I travel alone. Travelling in groups is such a fuss. After reaching the destination having family, friends or a partner might be a great idea but not while traveling.
Travelling for me is an experience, when I am with myself and the mundane does not bother me. It takes me to a different world. I don't want music then, I don't want to talk to people. I start thinking about my co passengers as who they are ? why are they travelling? why have we met? What is their story? Am I a part of their story? What is it that has got us together?
So many things come to my head. I keep thinking about the people in the houses that I cross? Who are they? What is their story? Are they waiting for some one? Is all OK in that particular house painted in pale blue? The pale ness of the blue and those red hibiscus is giving it such a tired look. Maybe the old parents are tired and want their child to come back. May be!
When I travel, and most of it happens to be my journey from the University to my home town. So when I come back after the weekend on a Monday morning, I see a lot of people getting back to work. The women and men look tired for they have a week ahead of battle. I seem to know them so well. I create a story about each one around. If two ppl are travelling together I think up a bond between them. I will not lie I try to overhear their conversation also. It gives me more food for my story about them to fly. So I am used to this madness about myself. But what happened today was different. Today I felt caged. I wanted to run away and run away really far. I was going to the airport to pick up my mother and sister. I was traveling with papa. It is my father's first car and I am all excited. I was in the back seat. I had my chips ready for my madness. It was raining but not heavily. After we left the town behind, it is a pleasure to travel that road. On either side there are sal trees. The sal trees always take me to some kind of a place where I have never been to. This happens because as a child my sister use to sing a bhatiali song " sal piyal er bon e ekto chele sish dei aar ekti mey nache". The song has stayed with me. I still see this chele mey under the sal. I see them dancing. I see their houses. I see them sitting beside the stream. Then suddenly papa calls me to show a small tea shop where he had tea with my grandfather 30 years ago. He tries to find the shop but somehow we cannot figure it out. Then my father settles down for a bylane and declares it to be the place where the tea shop once existed. It is strange how we carry memories and give different essence to it every time. We constantly change the meaning of our memories as we need. No memories are absolute truth or are perhaps as true as our imagination.
Travelling for me is an experience, when I am with myself and the mundane does not bother me. It takes me to a different world. I don't want music then, I don't want to talk to people. I start thinking about my co passengers as who they are ? why are they travelling? why have we met? What is their story? Am I a part of their story? What is it that has got us together?
So many things come to my head. I keep thinking about the people in the houses that I cross? Who are they? What is their story? Are they waiting for some one? Is all OK in that particular house painted in pale blue? The pale ness of the blue and those red hibiscus is giving it such a tired look. Maybe the old parents are tired and want their child to come back. May be!
When I travel, and most of it happens to be my journey from the University to my home town. So when I come back after the weekend on a Monday morning, I see a lot of people getting back to work. The women and men look tired for they have a week ahead of battle. I seem to know them so well. I create a story about each one around. If two ppl are travelling together I think up a bond between them. I will not lie I try to overhear their conversation also. It gives me more food for my story about them to fly. So I am used to this madness about myself. But what happened today was different. Today I felt caged. I wanted to run away and run away really far. I was going to the airport to pick up my mother and sister. I was traveling with papa. It is my father's first car and I am all excited. I was in the back seat. I had my chips ready for my madness. It was raining but not heavily. After we left the town behind, it is a pleasure to travel that road. On either side there are sal trees. The sal trees always take me to some kind of a place where I have never been to. This happens because as a child my sister use to sing a bhatiali song " sal piyal er bon e ekto chele sish dei aar ekti mey nache". The song has stayed with me. I still see this chele mey under the sal. I see them dancing. I see their houses. I see them sitting beside the stream. Then suddenly papa calls me to show a small tea shop where he had tea with my grandfather 30 years ago. He tries to find the shop but somehow we cannot figure it out. Then my father settles down for a bylane and declares it to be the place where the tea shop once existed. It is strange how we carry memories and give different essence to it every time. We constantly change the meaning of our memories as we need. No memories are absolute truth or are perhaps as true as our imagination.
