Country Road, Don't Take Me Home

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COUNTRY ROADS, DON'T TAKE ME HOME.....

We are here because in this part of the universe time is trained to stop - Milorad Pavic.
The thought first occurred to me when I was host to a group of foreign tourists in Mumbai. Where there was unbridled excitement and ex-terrestrial energy at the beginning of their holiday, now a feeling of resignation and quietness prevailed as I drove them back to the airport for their return flight back to Europe. I could smell the sadness in the air.



<em style="font-size: 12pt;">No one likes to be at the end of journey; the sad part is it actually happens. Typically, the last day announces its arrival with the rays of the rising sun gently creeping through the gap below the hotel door. Incidents come rushing by, bitter-sweet memories, some gleefully laughed away, a few held back for reasons unknown. A fisherman casting his net into the open sea, a group of trekkers lost in their own myriad thoughts. Pictorial scenes that convey a thousand unsaid words..... I realize it's time to pack my bags and leave for the taken-for-granted destination: home. Now am part of the system, as fatigue and lethargy begins to seep in. Did I leave something behind? Bursting with images I gently close the door.



There's room for more, I realize. The crowd on the streets cannot hide the sights I had seen the day before. The awesome Mehrangarh Fort at Jodhpur by its sheer size dwarfs the city and can be seen from two kilometers away. The Jaisal fort, just the other day, in Jaisalmer was only a few meters from the room I slept in. For forty winks and one thousand rupees, it was well worth the price.

The tuk-tuk drops me off at the station. In a railway station that smells of disinfectant and unsavory flies, I have marked a place that is sacrosanct to me and my bag and in short defines my territory; this will keep me away from intruders and even wilder thoughts I harbored at the beginning of the journey.



In my dream-like stupor am reminded of the happenings of an afternoon spent in Pahalgam, Kashmir besides the flowing river where the undying cries of children shouting in joy filled the air. A spectacle of dancing clouds,verdant valleys and crisp mountain air. Wet roads, side-streams, light drizzles and amazingly cheap buys of shawls and cane furniture ended my sojourn in Kashmir.

Back to terra-firma: the platform. The magazine vendor with his stall on wheels is at my side. Glossies upfront and newspapers hidden behind. I search for loose change and settle for both the glossies as well as the news. I am slowly moving back to the material world. Neatly done, like a craft teacher giving finishing touches to her work. The train announces its arrival as I brace myself to board the the 'Homeward Bound' Express.

Which ride is more comfortable? Climbing up or down on an elephant. The climb to the Amber Fort was comfortable in many ways; colorful riding gear draped the elephant, the mahout experienced, while the attractive tourist sitting next to me whispered, 'Thrilling, isn’t it?" Yeah. Reaching up wasn't an uphill task, coming down was an exciting experience. Where exactly is the braking mechanism of the elephant? Hard to imagine, but I did have to use all my balancing skills to avoid falling off.



The H.B. Express gathers speed as I begin take notes on a journey just completed. Locating and relocating tidbits of information gathered from shreds of paper, from notepads and the rest from memory is one half of the task. Wish I was a vacuum cleaner! I am half-way from home.

On a holiday, be it one day or two or many, we wish to live the lives of fairies. Imagine 100,000 visitors wanting to do it all on a single day in hill stations close to cities. The end result is unending chaos and a wish-I-could-get-away from here feeling. It certainly wasn't a healthy feeling walking with a hundred thousand humans to the mist filled Bushy dam, where one had to queue for a dip in the streams, while cars literally fought with each other to get out of the tangle them themselves got into. The laughter and noise confirm 99,999 had lived the lives of fairies.

The train thunders past stations on the home stretch. My fellow-passengers have moved their luggage to the front end of the compartment, while I hold on to my rucksack. The quiet the tourists exhibited on the way back to the airport and the silence I display at this moment are both the same. A silence that is sadness personified for this is the end of the journey.

Moments later, the diamond shaped blue and red board comes into view. The words, 'Bandra Terminus,' vacantly stare back at me, it's 'make-up' time once again.

Cheers,

Hector D'souza.

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