Thursday, 9 May 2013


My head spins a million stories. Each day. Every hour. All random moments passing by. Honestly, it’s tough not to when you’ve grown up listening and reading them.
So, twenty-one genres of stories; seven types of plot lines and four structures. Born in Delhi and brought up in a multitude of cities, places and faces, I could spend years warming up to the idea of settling down.
It’s about the journey, not about the destination. And I happened to accept and follow this with all my heart and soul. Though there are parts and phases of the journey that I may have forgotten, left behind or have decided to overlook, probably because of myriad reasons. As a child, I remember how mum dad would always remind us of the pending essay to be written on our way back from a trip or an outing. Lost count of the pending blank pages of my notebook. Having a map on the inside of my closet and marking every city visited made me fall head over heels in love with travelling. Checking that list of things to be packed, the insomnia with excitement of the journey, the butterflies in my belly at the time of departure, and to know that this is just the start. Well, that’s my favourite part of an adventure. The beginning. The start of the journey. That feeling that I can take on the world if need be. That sweet smell of independence. Adding yourself to your own hall of fame.
I’m 21 years old. In these few years of my life, I have managed to conquer 38 cities that I can count off from the top of my head. It’s no big accomplishment or attainment, but I come from these 38 cities, these 38 destinations, the hours of venturing through them, the bazillion minutes spent recollecting memories from these destinations. I’ve met some wonderful people through this time. It’s something I find myself passionate towards, meeting new cities, new lanes, new homes, new people. Cultures, languages, beliefs, religions. Truth, lies, dejection, honesty, purity, love, hate.  Places, names, faces. I don’t travel to run away, be it from my home, from my people, but to come back to them and know why I am where I am.
So what’s your story. Adventure. Mystery. Saga. Romantic. Slice of life. Faction. Speculative. Or even urban. Would you travel the world to find yourself. Would you hide yourself in a shell to remain an enigma.  Or would you live life and love. Would you be a part of the nature of reality, or maybe even be an answer to sorts of questions. What length would you travel to, to know.
“Traveling is a brutality.
It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance.
Nothing is yours except the essential things –air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.”
- Cesare Pavese


  1. This piece somehow takes me back to our conversation on life being nothing but a journal :)we are perpetually travelling be in it time or to places. I love the thought. Its nicely captured :) and I also love the way the page looks .. Nice!

  2. aaah!!! lovely piece of writing!!
    this is sheer nostalgia-" I don’t travel to run away, be it from my home, from my people, but to come back to them and know why I am where I am."
    Just got one word- *bEaUtiFul*
    keep it up!! <3