I was a very little girl when I met Ursula. A tall, slim blue-eyed Irish girl, in her mid-twenties who came to India on a holiday and allowed it to claim her. Wearing long colourful cotton skirts and carrying a beautiful hand-printed diary, she took leisurely notes as she explored the beauty of Mussoorie in the mist. She was my first exposure to Ireland and fueled my curiousity about a country I have wanted to visit ever since.
|All pictures courtesy the sunscreen loving Sahil|
After a night of almost-jaagran, the obvious culmination of an alcohol-fast well kept and inane jokes of whether Coke and milk is a real beverage or just an experiment gone terribly long, the trip began. Driving across the breathtaking Irish countryside, we waged a constant battle with getting the music right and trying to make the uncharacteristically quiet GPS Aunty (rechristened PhoneWati to honour our strong Bollywood roots) talk and finally reached Castlerock, our romantic halt for the weekend trip.
|Polka dots make me smile : )|
I have never understood the sea vs mountains question. It is like the Bombay vs Delhi delusional choice. If the mountains are mighty and proud, the sea is humbling in its vastness. If the mountains rise up and challenge you with their imposing strength, the sea awes with its potential to calm and wreck, its profound extremities. It always wraps itself around my consciousness in an uncomfortable silence, urging me into alleys I have long ignored, calming and upsetting me with careful precision, managing to eat into my calm and soothe me into a gentle oblivion all at once. And so as we explored the beach, scanning for shells and interesting sea life, it was pleasant to hear the moist breeze sing mellow tales.
|Along the beautiful Coastal Walk|
Till the next trip, I remain
Strapped to my chair.