When I was just shy of 11 we had a rather eventful summer.
For the first time ever I got on an aircraft. While this in itself is a
momentous occasion for a ten year old from India, what made it particularly
grand was the idea of flying abroad. There are no prizes for guessing that our
first port of landing was Kuala Lampur. I was instantly in love. Tall skyscrapers unlike
any from the naval bases I had lived in or Madras, gifts with burgers (oh to
think a Happy Meal was the crowning glory of a holiday) and mind-numbingly
delicious Ice-Kachang sealed my love affair with travel, a little something
that I owe that first travel for.
There is little I remember from that journey other than the
emotion of it all. There are pictures of my father, brother and I swimming the
sea and parasailing while my poor hydrophobic mother, frightened of water, guarded our shoes and her sanity on the shorelines. There is a picture of a
beaming 14 year old boy, metal braces in full evidence (my brother of course)
posing on a bike so tall and muscular that his short legs wouldn’t hit the
ground— little did we know then that a few months later that puny boy would
shoot up a few feet and many years even after that buy himself a motorcycle
just as special. I remember the taste of peanut sauce as it sizzled over
chicken on sticks, a taste that was as foreign to me as the language I heard
but just as thrilling in its unfamiliarity. What I do remember with crystal
clarity is the tantrum I threw about not going to Langkawi many years later
when I discovered the beauty of that island.
I’m 29 now. The very picture of an independent woman. I have
traveled extensively through India, often by myself, chasing down a wave every
time I could find it— just once to surf but so many times to experience the
sheer pleasure of swimming in the ocean. I will hike up hills and drive out on
mucky roads for the opportunity to witness a waterfall and swim in its pools.
I’ve discovered that kayaking is my preferred choice of meditation.
I’ve traveled to Norway to chase the Aurora and found myself couch surfing for
the very first time and going “full legit” by diving into a Fjord at 3am
because you MUST ice dive in January.
In Amsterdam I made a happy accident and decided to go pub hopping with a group and remember very little of the night other than rolling around a fountain in peals of laughter while my fellow inebriated traveler (and a dear friend) walked up to strangers saying “do you have a local Irish phone” to attempt calling an illegal taxi service— note to men, if you’re a shortish, baldish man who can’t distinguish the country you’re in from the country you live in, chances are nobody is lending you a phone. You will not be helped at all by the woman rolling about in a fountain struggling to breathe between all the laughter at your show.
In Amsterdam I made a happy accident and decided to go pub hopping with a group and remember very little of the night other than rolling around a fountain in peals of laughter while my fellow inebriated traveler (and a dear friend) walked up to strangers saying “do you have a local Irish phone” to attempt calling an illegal taxi service— note to men, if you’re a shortish, baldish man who can’t distinguish the country you’re in from the country you live in, chances are nobody is lending you a phone. You will not be helped at all by the woman rolling about in a fountain struggling to breathe between all the laughter at your show.
My travel through Hungary has delightful stories of drinking beer with locals and discovering belatedly how keypad locks in restrooms work or the wonder of getting hideously lost and discovering an underground club scene because I chanced upon a stranger who decided I wasn’t introduced to his city correctly when I stopped to ask for directions.
This was only a few days before my wallet was stolen in Budapest and I chose to spend the last of my money watching the ballet and then being taken dancing by the people in my hostel to celebrate my "financial independence from the shackling limitations that the concept of money imposes on you".
In Greece I learnt to say efharisto poli
(thank you) repeatedly to universe—for the people, the food and the breath-taking
beauty that surrounded me. And I dived; I dived under the sea to where more
colours than my imagination live, off boats and ships because… well why not, and for the
first time off high cliffs.
There are stories to tell of New Orleans, Delhi, Sydney and Perth. More of America, Germany, Sri Lanka, Malaysia and Indonesia. I spend a lifetime writing about India’s coastline, the little villages that make up
Tamil Nadu, the Sundarbans, Ranthambore, Hapmi, Waynad, Dharamshala, and
Rajasthan. They’re peppered with stories of what seems like bucket list check
offs but is a story of my evolution— sky diving, bunjee jumping, white water
rafting, para sailing, cliff diving, kayaking, hiking, camping, picnicking, chasing
fireflies, and forming deep friendships with strangers. As I write this I’m
waiting for my clothes to dry to pack a bag to take with me to Turkey where
another adventure awaits.
And yet my most special travel remains my last in Greece
that taught me gratitude, and my first to Malaysia that taught me the wonder of
travel.
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About Sitara
While my parents are undecided about it, I’m convinced there couldn’t be a
better use of my degree in Psychology, English Literature and Mass Communication
with a Post Graduate Diploma in Advertising and Marketing Communication.
