Starred

Drifting Life

Reverie at Dusk

Flitting Delight

Kissing the Skies

Afloat

Corbett's House

Frame One

November in Nainital...

The Stormy Air

Lotus Pond and the Biscuit Factory

Among the indelible imprints on my mind, is the time I spent as a child at Nimapara, a district of Puri in Orissa. Our house was just along the bank of a large pond, which abounded with crimson lotuses, white water lilies and big fresh water fishes. In the centre of the river, rose an old rock carved structure. To me it always resembled the Konark, the great chariot of the sun, albeit a miniature in this case. Perhaps it was once built by a king. Puri, after all is the land of Jagannath, a place standing for architectural marvel. On certain mornings, special occasions and festivals, people came to pluck lotuses from the pond, for the temples nearby and their homes. In my heart, of course, I always cherished the desire to have a lotus blossom with myself.

It was an idle life that people led, with occasional spurts of pace, showing up in times of festivals or customary visits by guests. Opposite the river, was a bus stand along the main road, which teemed with a variety of shops, including many sweet shops, the crowd, the din. This combination of the natural and the manmade was strikingly quaint. It is simply impossible for me to forget the modest biscuit factory near our house. On mornings whenever I went passed the lane along it, often frolicking around, exploring the green environs, I invariably got lost in a heavenly aroma. The owners were a family, of whom I remember the old lady, who always offered me freshly baked biscuits to eat. These delicious biscuits were always shaped like a lion, or a horse, or a fish or some other animal, and I can remember that they were a pale peach colour. The warm whiff of these biscuits is still clear in my mind, perhaps never to go.

Sunday October 22, 2006

Unbound

Post Script

Well, so I have been thinking on how to go about this. Finally I realize that my narration may not strictly have a chronology, though it will have some, as far as it is possible. So I'll begin with something that simply occurs to my mind and then go back and forth [though that may not be the usual style of a travelogue!]

On Panorama

For a long time I have felt like writing down snippets of the travels I have made since a child. Finally, may be this is a way of reliving some of my deepest, larger than life memories, a glimpse of those penetrating images that are somehow etched in my mind, including sketchy details that may seem trivial, or uninteresting, and yet are intensely experiential, even retaining some of the smells and tastes apart from the visual core. My resources are, of course, my recollections and (more tangibly) the odd scraps of notes made during these visits.

Voyage

20.5.2001

Past the plains. Streets and lanes. Dry and scorching. Hot and parching. Hustling, bustling. Cities and towns. Plateaus, pastures. Rivers and mounds. Rising waves. Beckoning sea. Spray of surf. Swaying trees. Milling kids. Drenching rain. Paddy fields. Rushing train. Distant hills. Gurgling streams. Clouds and dew…

Lovely dreams. Fervent wish. To jump and run. Swim and wade. Walk and swing. Plunge and fly. Into the blue. With the green. Smell the full. Blooms of red. Feel the snow. The sand, the shells. Hear the rain. Koel’s call. Croak of frog Chiming bells. Rustle of leaves . See the magic. That nature weaves.