To Periyar and beyond

I enjoy travelling. Part of what I hope to do more of every year is travel. Both with people and alone. There is a sense of calm I feel when I am away finding small spaces of belonging. Sitting under trees. Falling asleep in a chair. Drinking beer staring into fields. Falling asleep while reading in a hammock. Walking around aimlessly. Talking about books, the world, life. Looking at sunsets with a twinkle in my eye. But what I like most is the things I learn about myself while travelling.

Recently, A and I went to Periyar. I was a little anxious about travelling cause my body has not been in the best shape. But I went packed with my regular medicines, pain killers and a can-do-it spirit. It started off rocky with me taking a train ride with a baby kicking and screaming throughout. Something I seem to attract on train/bus journeys. Yay, babies. Then it spiralled into a strange sleeper bus ride with no divisions between two seats and a uncontrollable driver who made me turn to stone all night and A sit up with her nose out the window. But we reached. One piece et all.  Promptly after reaching, we drowned ourselves in the smaller things in life. Dew drops. Butterflies. Organically grown strange looking fruit. Picking pine cones fallen on the ground. Our day was spent unwinding from the journey (two consecutive ones for me) and just relaxing in the chair, which by the end of the trip was the space my butt had memorised. By evening, we realised our plans to visit the actual park seemed vague and close to non-existent. Frantically, we looked up a few websites and I used my limited Tamil to book us on an early morning, full day trek. This task wasn’t easy and left me decently sceptical about our trek. Will we actually go? Will they feed us to sloth bears? Did I just confirm tickets with a man who has none? Will we be sitting at the park in the morning ticketless?

We did make it to the trek though. Not without me knocking on a strange door, picking up tickets from a burly man and getting an early-morning view of said Mallu man without his shirt. Yay, men. And we were off for the trek. With a few unplanned, havoc-ridden detours. The trek was chaotic to say the least and marvellous to say the maximum. We ambled behind two couples (one French and one Brit) who were nearly twice my age but so fit. They assumed A and I were a couple and threw our way a few well meaning questions with the undertone of coupledom. It all started well but went on to get difficult and off the regular route. The search for the elephants was on and I was sure if we found any, I would just lie down and let them eat me. By the time we spotted the elephants, my knee had decided to wage a full blown war. We didn’t chase the elephants like the rest of them. We sat in quiet reflection under the canopy of trees. The tall, lush trees were a delight to gaze at. The nooks with streams of water were places to spot A spotting butterflies. Watching the Malabar squirrel jump gracefully from one branch to another made us wonder how we were more evolved than that elegant fellow. It was a place to be present and lost at once.

We waddled our way back to flat land and I spent the next day recouping from fat knees and A from angry toes. I spent most of my time in a chair reading Atwood and giggling to myself. We also ate delicious fish at our organic farm stay, consumed Papaya like I have never relished it before.

As movement returned to our knees and toes by evening, we made early morning plans to go boating. The boat ride was magnificent (words fail to describe) and one didn’t need a fancy camera to take breathtaking photos. We did spot more elephants, wild boars, deers and several lovely birds. Many of our co-passengers were not half as enthusiastic as us.

It was a lesson in many things for me: a) Indians like to boat. b) They can call women with short hair – ‘Saaar’. c) They wake up early to go boating, stand in long queues, push people around and then sleep on the boat. d) Periyar lake was one of the most beautiful bits of nature I have seen. e) People can get super dressed up to come boating. I mean some of them looked like models.

After we finished our hour-long boat ride, we walked out slowly through the park. Enjoying the birds, the monkeys, the silence, the sound of trees talking to themselves and big plus, very few humans. The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful.  We took an auto ride where autos should never go to see views that were underwhelming. Plus though was that I got marriage and travelling advice from the driver. He did take us to a waterfall. Maybe waterfall should be in quotes. Cause there was really not much fall and very little water. Like all waterfalls, this had a tragic story of lovers committing suicide.

We ended our crazy auto ride with a tour of an organic, ayurvedic farm. The woman might have been the best salesperson I have ever met and a really tough school teacher. She snapped at A and me for giggling and not listening to her. We left amazed at her ability to sell products with a strong message that all illnesses will henceforth be cured. Amen.

As our trip began to come to a close, I began to feel uneasy again. Being away suddenly meant more calm than getting back to the routine. I was ready to run. Again.

The trip was an important reminder for me to look after myself; love myself more; be still to notice the smaller things; glance at the skies everyday around sunset; just keep swimming. Being still for a few moments everyday made me see that I had a lot of unresolved emotions. These things take time to heal. I was being impatient and wishing for it to end. But processes needed to be followed and slowly, I would see the end.

I am always glad to travel with my INFJ partner because she doesn’t react drastically to my breakdowns; and she is more giving than I will ever be. We are always greeted with some chaos on our trips. They never fail to make us laugh, reflect on life and bring us closer together.

Till our next trip and our next overwhelming chaotic life lesson, then.

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If people who claimed Congress ‘let this nation down’, did so because of the State sponsored violence being perpetrated in the name of national security (North East, Jammu and Kashmir, Chattisgarh) under draconian laws like Armed Forces Special Powers Act or violation of rights and more violence in the name of development in Chattisgarh and Orissa or under some other pretext, then I wouldn’t be upset. But to claim that Congress’s worst crime is corruption or that only Congress is corrupt is frustrating and infuriating. How easily we pretend that running of an underground alcohol network in a state that has imposed prohibition is not corruption. Though that is not really one party’s fault. Right? But, State sponsored violence is violence, too. How about some of your outrage for that? No? Just corruption? Fine.

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Travelling alone can be very liberating but it isn’t all flowery. Being able to sit for hours together staring at the sea or finishing a book while drinking cups of coffee or writing to empty the numerous strands of thoughts in my head was the motive of running away by myself. The ability to do all that I wanted without worrying about anyone else’s liking was the additional benefit. The choice of food, the time of the meals, where I went, what I did was solely upto me; it was a nice feeling to have. But, I would be fooling myself if I didn’t say I feel an underlying fear.

A fear which was ingrained in me is not easy to let go.

Eventually though the waves, the calmness of being away from all routine, the magic of Kundera’s words overcame that uneasy feeling. But the mode of hyper vigilance, as my friend calls it, is indeed exhausting. It takes focussed effort to remind oneself that it isn’t always going to be bad. And in order to enjoy the solitude fully well, I had to consciously recognise and unlearn that fear.

Travelling alone has allowed me to see the limitations in my thinking and my way of reacting. It showed me the power of the conditioning I’ve had; the tendency to be watchful and even a little afraid. This came mostly from bad experiences but still it was not good baggage to carry around. But this trip allowed me to make a dent on the conditioning with a happy little memory. Of a wonderful trip with my reading and writing books and myself.

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As always on this day, India’s Independence Day, I saw a lot of patriotic spirit. Orange, white and green balloons everywhere; flags waving about; the paper flag pinned to the chest; students hoisting the national flag in their schools; the parade and the many speeches from Red Fort. It was the independence day after all. And it has been 67 years of independent India.

I used to feel the patriotic spirit many years ago. Today when I receive messages wishing me, I feel uneasy. This uneasiness made me ask myself a few questions. Firstly, when did I stop feeling this patriotism? And importantly why did I stop. Despite much soul searching, I don’t have an answer to either of the questions. I know that failing to feel this popular definition of nationalistic doesn’t make me any less Indian. (Whatever that means, though.) Yet, I find myself questioning what not feeling it means.

I wonder who decides what actions mean a renewed allegiance to the country. Celebrating this day alone? Feeling a rush of pride for how far we have come? Running on the roads waving a flag fanatically? Dressed in the colours of the flag on this day?

Today I don’t have any answers. Just questions.