There is no bug worse than a travel bug. A menace like the cockroaches, daring you in the kitchen. Some scurry to hide, a few wave their feelers in a mock salute and scoot and the few brave ones brandish their feelers like a samurai sword. The passion with which my ‘travel bug bitten’ family discussed the tour itinerary, which an outsider would easily misconstrue as a project for National Geography Channel or YouTube to influence fellow citizens, to hit the road.
Having endured many such tours, I hurry to the sidelines, before they draw me into another maelstrom! I have a zero chance for an escape. After the tour, who else would wear the mantle of the exhibit of honour to grumble with proof of rashes, bruises and aches, over cups of coffees and among friends? Who would care that I was merely drafted to accompanying them?
This off-the- beaten-path tour started on a bright note with Volvo buses and the last mile connectivity by SUVs. Among the fellow travellers, a bonhomie started to develop. Family stories filled the air, interspersed with mild to hearty laughs. Enroute, kilometer after kilometer, trees standing guard appeared to be asking me, with a smirk, “Instead of enjoying the greenery and colourful flowers we display, why are you zipping by only to stop at garbage littered eyesores called tourist spots?”
The first stop, on the banks of a riverbank signalled bathing time. Shivering in wet clothes, this shocking revelation dawned upon us. Sometime in the past, this river might have gushed with crystal clear water. For sure, the river had no use in dwelling upon this degradation. I gathered grouse number one. The forlorn looking temple, standing testimony for bygone better days and stuck with the river for company. Having nothing else to do, all of us entered the premises. The sheer endeavour of countless and nameless artisans, who had toiled to construct this temple, engulfed us with a feeling of awe. Standing amidst exquisitely sculptured idols and filigree works, I had no heart to pick up one more grouse.
A boat ride that followed, dampened the euphoria felt after the temple visit. The murky water, probably feeding off from the same river, showed no interest, even to reflect our faces clearly. This ride completely obliterated my interest for any such future foray. Except me, everybody else seemed to enjoy the ride, like a fish taking, even to this type of water. At the end, I marked a grouse point and let out a grumble there itself. My folks quickly shut me off with an icy stare.
In the meanwhile, some bright enthusiast had already sold the idea of a climbing expedition, on a nearby hillock. Another person further sweetened the deal, with a once in a lifetime chance of visiting a famous fort, just down the slope. People did not notice the booby trap - that you have to climb and then go downhill and to boot, without proper shoes. The plan was to leave, at sunrise. Little did we imagine, what a night and a sunrise it would turn out to be!
The much-touted luxurious stay turned out to be a war zone. Teams of mosquitoes celebrating some occasion took over the premises. Like Predator drones, this swarm of performers zeroed in on us in two waves. Their precision aerial bombardment, commenced with a mixture of high-pitched whine and low-pitched hum. The buzz at the right and left auditory canals, was anything but musical entertainment! We had no forewarning and so had no repellents. The sleepless night helped me to notch up grumblings (to be broadcast in the morning) and fill the kitty bag of grouses (to be opened, back home).
The trekking expedition started in earnest. All except me had their heart already filled with pride as if they are waiting at the base camp, to scale the Himalayas. I smelled a rat and it turned out to be a search for the ‘off the beaten path’ track. A lone tree, from the peak, watched us in confusion as to why these many had gathered around a single person. He happened to be the one who sold the idea and was worriedly searching for a path to lead. And finding none, he eyed the sweet talker for a way out.
Out of sheer frustration, someone started the climb, unmindful of slipping, sliding, slithering and managing the act, like a gymnast. Brave heart, had some guts and followers too! One by one, rest of us courageously kept one foot in front of the other, slowly getting the hang of the routine, set by the brave heart. Wild brambles and thorny plants lying -in-wait, to stick some sharp needles, necessitated the inclusion of an avoidance dance to the gymnastics act. Sweating profusely, huffing and puffing, we somehow reached our landmark - the lone tree. The tree appeared less impressed by our, thorn in the flesh and bruised - skin efforts.
The sentiment of having come this far, overpowered the aches and bleeds. After a brief halt, we started the descent, down the slope. . A look down the slope brought to my mind, the act of sure-footed hooves of mountain goats hopping from one boulder to another. Awe inspiring feat but it only managed to bring up a terrifying image of me tumbling down, broken and bruised. I added a few more grouses and voiced some grumble, which did not reach anyone's ears, as howling winds blew it away.
Adding the mechanical principle of stick and slip in the reverse order – like a combo of breakdance and gymnastics, the brave heart again took the lead and the first tentative steps, down the slope. I admired his impromptu improvisation. Soon, all of us attempted this technical variant. The gruelling descent - along with rolling stones, expelled ahhss and ouches, came to an end, in front of the fort, for a once in a lifetime viewing opportunity.
As we entered the tall gate, it cried hoarse for a decent lock and the overdue maintenance. A high granite wall encircled acre of land. The guide droned on, tracing its ancestry from heydays to current disintegration, with practiced ease. The compound wall stood show-casing battle scars and era of neglect and old age. A few saplings put up roots and grew a bonsai garden, in an attempt to patch up these scars and marginally improve the weather-beaten appearance.
Our crowd at the fort, must have alerted the enterprising vendor. He decided to rustle up some food, pronto! Wisps of smoke soon started rising and awhile later, our nostrils smelt the wafting aroma. Like homing guided missiles, all of us slowly walked towards the thatched house. A collection of odd shaped, colour faded chairs offered seating. The owner of the establishment, vanished towards the backyard and came back, followed by his wife and two children, carrying paper plates, cups and jugs of water. Soon, blackened cook wares with steaming hot food items were placed on a shaky table. As hunger requires no formal invitation, we dug in and the rest is history - for the food items. At this point it would be frivolous of me, to grumble or add a grouse in the kitty., though the menu could have included one or two items that I could have relished.
This act of unsolicited kindness to feed, without commercial motive burrowed deep into our hearts. After a brief light-hearted enquiry and exchanging of appreciation and defraying the cost, we took leave. The family beamed with satisfied smiles. The hotelier (he deserves this upgrade!) politely asked, “Did you miss the used pathway which goes up and down this hill?” A man of few words, did not even point out the mistake.
Only two persons, from our crowd, looked sheepish on hearing about this regular route and we decided to let it go without a fuss. Now, at least the return trip will be easier. A few metres walk and presto! A winding well-trodden pathway appeared and our eager legs propelling forward, we reached the resort, with energy to spare.
A sightseeing tour never ends without hunting for curios. The all-knowing curio-hunter tries to unleash the bargaining prowess on the vendors. In the process, gets fooled by their rustic charm, fails to read the pitch - a seasoned, deep deception. In the end, the vendors end up pocketing more and the curio-hunter holding a lesser value item for the money spent. Our troop did the same and collected curios to admire and display at home.
The final straw on the back of the camel came in the form of vehicles breaking down in a no-man’s land. Weariness vanquished comradery, nitpicking over non-existent issues added misery to misfortune. With complaints of aches from all over the body, the tour finally ended, on a grape-gone-sour note.
Returning home, I entered the kitchen to switch on a light. A battalion of cockroaches dared me to take one more step. All of them assumed threatening postures brandishing their feelers like swords, resenting my unauthorised incursion. Beating a hasty retreat, I came face to face with, the all-knowing smiles of my family members. The reason for their smiles - some AppWallah will be bring food, palatable or not, or whether I like it or not type!
Why to travel? To undergo suffering and rue, later? Are the few pictures posted in social media a relief mechanism to unwind accumulated stress and pent-up anger? I hear a loud yes from all of you. Then, courier me a response to this - " Is there an easy way to manage all of the above, without embarking on a group travel?"
I had spent a bundle of money and lost body weight, on account of my taste buds not agreeing with the food choices, and the voluntary hunger strike. To sum it up. I detested being used as a silent string when others played the notes.
Why did not I opt out? Because, I am the card-carrying member, forced to handle the expenditure account. and better suited to carry the bucket of woes! You get my point?
Oh! What a travel experience, it turned out to be! If an experience is a lesson, I have learnt mine. What would be the best way to let loose the remaining grouses? Let me a share a secret. For all the travails of travels they have inflicted on me, I am planning an unforgettable shocker for them! A revenge tour, where they would be collecting grouses!
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