As I sit on the train, the warm humid summer air drifting through the open windows of the sleeper section, the mellow late afternoon sun casting passing rice fields in a warm, beckoning hue of green, watching the herds of goats, sheep and water buffalo lounging in still pools of amber water, I realise I will miss India. I'll miss the chai-wallah hawking his hot, spicy, sweet tea loudly as I try to sleep on the night train, miss wandering aimlessly through busy, colourful, smelly market districts, miss the pastel coloured buildings against the pale pink setting sun, miss walking around a street corner to find a towering, muscular, indignant holy bull staring me down, miss the adrenaline rush from crossing the street, the hesitation in the first step and the relief in the last, miss the head bobbles and namastes, miss the broad spectrum of vividly coloured saris against the backdrop of green fields, miss how everything is always "no problem", miss the trains, buses, metros, tuktuks, mopeds, bikes, rickshaws and all the pandemonium associated with them.
I'll long for the satisfying click-click-click of a well spun prayer wheel, the frenetic dance of the red, yellow, blue, green and white prayer flags caught up in the howling winds of a high pass, the arid, alien mountainsides tastefully brushed with teal and crimson red sediments, and the thin, cold high alpine air never providing quite enough oxygen.
I'll remember fondly the people we've met along the way, the smiles on the faces of the boys who invited us to play cricket on our first day in India, the frail and gangly tailor with the theatrical stage name of Mr. India in Jaipur, the ever high guest house staff in Manali with their calls of "full power" at every possible occasion, the kind, weathered shepherds who graciously helped us with our fire and brought us fresh goats milk, the three defiant and demanding Israeli girls refusing to accept their seats next to "three large men" on the cramped bus to Leh, Stanzin the quiet, calm and collected Ladhaki guide who spoke passionately about his culture, Buddhism and the hope for a free Tibet, and the two Canadian women who so fiercely debated their views on women's rights with a fiery passion. And who could forget Emma-le, our first true travel friend, the down-to-earth, quick witted, smiling American student from New York and her friends the carefree, jovial and hilarious Dutch quartet of ecologists. These people have all combined for a unique and incredible Indian experience, and I hope that someday soon our paths cross again.
It is hard to fully capture the essence of India and its effect on oneself properly on paper. It's a struggle all three of us are currently grappling with as we speed on into the night, field by field, town by town, getting closer to Nepal and further from our own Indian experience. We'd heard the tales of other travellers before arriving, but nothing can quite prepare you for the human chaos, the assault on the senses, the incredible sights and above all the beauties and wonders present in this country. It is not always easy or pleasant or comfortable, but it is a life altering experience. The human experience in its rawest form.
Though our Indian chapter is coming to an end, it is by no means the last Indian adventure we shall have. We have but scratched the surface of a tiny corner of this vast subcontinent. Many more experiences await, more adventures around the corner, more tales to be written. But that is a story for another day.
An assortment of pictures from the past couple weeks.
Keeping it hood in the sleeper car
Superb scribe Alex - enjoyed Liz reading it to me!
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