24 March, 2008

Picture Perfect

I am back from one of those trips.

The trip involved bunking two days of work (am I smart or what), a quiet holi (I wonder when the hell did I get too old to play a regular dirty holi?), my birthday (which was miraculously just the way I like it - sans phone calls) and meeting Shobha.
The trip included meeting relatives (and their adorable, spoilt rotten dogs, listening to family gossip with half a ear, eating gujias and oohing about their spectacular crispiness with the right level of enthusiasm, uncertain hugs and we-must-meet-up-soon-agains). Ah yes how could I forget the question, "So you are studying right now. What do you plan to do after this?" " Oh I? I plan to learn the samba and eat fried brain with chopsticks. I also plan to grow a moustache, own an indecent number of dogs and not bathe. In the long run, I hope to enter the Guiness Book of Some Records. Thank you."

The trip also witnessed numerous sleeping sessions, in each of which I am proud to announce my winning with a HUGE margin. Convalescent Mama was a tough contender for the first position but then my undoubted experience and rigorous training in the field put me in good stead. I slept and slept and slept. Ate slept. Slept some more. Ate.

The trip included exceptionally irrational emphasis on food. The days were just intervals between one colossal meal to the next. One plum and raisin cake to the next. Lunches and dinners amalgamated into a sumptuous mess in our never-satiated stomachs. A tin of fish opened. A walnut cake demolished. Shobha's never-ending stream of scintillating cups of tea and coffee. While watching Amitabh cry copious tears at Rekha's kotha. Muqaddar ka Sikandar.

The trip also took me to one of my favourite places in the world - Mussoorie. No. Not the Mussoorie of blustering tourists who come in their high-heels to shop in Kulri (its the name of the mall road), of honking cars and traffic jams (can you believe it, the road to Kempty had traffic jams now). My Mussoorie - the land of undulating hills and early sunsets. The vantage point from where you can see Dehradun's twinkling spread, St. Georges' stately building and Gun Hill's rump in one spectacular sweep of the eye. The place where begonias peep through the moss on the roadside walls, where the roads turn so sharply, its a miracle you don't fall off, where the cows pick their ways through the steepest of slopes, the Bhutia dogs are hairy enough to face the winter and where time takes on an interesting pace. My Mussoorie of memories, my childhood laughter. I touch the tranquility, still wondering at the ease at which I gave up this paradise so many years ago.

The trip also meant a journey to the stream near home. The gurgling water breaking through the rhythmic sounds of the cicadas. The water was chilly, the ferns awash with sparkling drops, the rocks stood out like sore thumbs being caressed into submission by the stream's coaxing. Some brave souls of the Singh khandaan did some juvenile rock climbing. The ladeej log were content with dipping their feet in the cool water. The tuck we had taken to picnic near the water came back, forgotten and unopened. We witnessed the moon rising, she was blushing an indecent orange, first shyly peeping from behind the mountains, then gaining the courage to look over and finally surveying her kingdom in her full glory. It was a full moon. Ofcourse. (btw I was wondering about the scientific explanation of why the moon looks orange in the hills when she rises).

The trip ended in a satiated whew. A gigabyte of pictures and insane videos. And an empty houseful of Girl 1 and Girl 2. Floundering through dinner. Yet again. I see Girl 1 has taken to chopping the lauki. I better get cracking too.


  1. Have been to the beaches, have been to the hills.
    Never had a gujia making mum tucked in them as frills.
    The Contest of ZzZzZzZs interests me a helluva lot,
    In case there's still an opening, reserve me a slot.
    Food tends to be a delicate issue when living this far;
    You need to be more subtle, lest the enraged start a war.
    The place talked about still triggers a fond reverie.
    I sigh. I groan. When will reality take place of memory?
    The Moon. It 'looked' better than perfect. I agree.
    I crib aloud. Nothing rhymes. So, the end's just a tree.

  2. Nice... I want a vacation too...! Especially with neverending food supplies and lots of sleep... and a lot of staring at the moon... :)
    Im hating office now. HATING it.

  3. "My Mussoorie of memories, my childhood laughter."

    The whole description of the place was quite scintillating.

  4. no phone calls eh, how thoughtful of and convenient to franz eh.. all mussouries are awesome tho :) kinda shocking to hear trafic roads on that narrow kempty road but i guess thats india .. still notorious for the accidents, is it? anywho, happy belated bday :)

  5. refreshing travelog!

  6. My first visit to your blog. I loved it !

  7. Marvin: :)

    JD: Tell me about hating office. Gaah

    Piper: The place deserves a better description. Go to it and you'll know (if you havnt gone there already)

    Haru: thanks for the wishes.

    magiceye/simth: thanks :)

  8. dids: next destination is Rasmai :D

  9. shobha4:41 pm

    the hills have a way with them ... they bring out the best in us ... yes that was a wonderful time when my solitary life was pleasantly shattered for a brief whirlwind of dehradoon and mussoorie and sahasradhara. girl 1 and girl 2, when do we all get together and giggle our heads off? the hills and the ocean have their magic, but we have yet to see the miracle of the desert. any takers?



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