12 Trips in 12 Months | Traveling alongside 9 to 5

So, I sailed away from their private jetty on the chamkeela waters of the Pichhola. The two days were lined with luxuries that I had never-before experienced like a private fancy boat, being showered with flowers for welcome, a room upgrade and delicious meals. But then again, there are two other equally luxurious hotels in the vicinity. What made the Taj Lake Palace a living dream was the realization that I had 250 years of history under my feet, that the glorious Lily Pond that I gazed at from my breakfast table had someday been the priced part of the Maharani’s zenana, that the lush old tree that kept the sun out of my eyes as I took a dip in the pool had been witness to over 100 years of history and that if I put my ears to the walls of my room and listened hard - just maybe it will whisper a forgotten Rajputana tale!

Jodhpur trips are all about mood-lit rooftop restaurants, angithis that beat the January chill, sun-downers against the cliff of Maherangarh, an non-confess-able quantity of Mirchi-vada, selfies against the Moroccan blue houses, lingering tunes woven by a lone Ravanahatha and a government guide who will conclude 700 years of history within 40 mins.

The best part of this trip was the walking tour of the old city that we took with a local (arranged by Zostel). It was an outflow of stories and references – the pond for the queens, the blue houses marking Brahmin residences and the whispers of the old & grey fort. And then we came by one of the gates of the old city, with hand imprints of its queens who embraced Jauhar. As we stood there listening to the tale of the three Jauhars’ of Chittor, my notions of feminism and courage were repeatedly challenged. The reality and magnitude of the act hit me as I ran my fingers over the Chandan clad imprints made just like a newly-wed bride – only this time, as she parted from her husband (who did Shaakh) and walked into a pit of fire, her head held high. Although, it was impossible to wrap my 2019 brain around it, I was unable to refute that this were indeed an act of war.

Yet, the picture of the Charminar stayed with me, standing tall amidst the gullys that resembled an ancient Arabian souk with a whiff of masalas, the glitter of lac and the music of the general anarchy. The old structure that now bears more etchings of new-age love than those of our culture/history – has two stories of inception. First is of celebration of eradication of cholera and second of love-at-first sight.

My trips are usually carefully crafted to include old favorites and new experiences. I relive my student life through the old favorites – the big Falafel Halloumi Wrap at Pret, Wagamama’s Katsu Curry, Kappacasein’s ridiculously cheesy sourdough sandwiches that can fill you up for multiple meals, exercising Indian maneuvering abilities at the crowded Primark store, the long-brooding walk down the South Bank with only roasted chestnuts for company, a steaming mug of hot-choc from Choccywoccydoodah, strut around the sunlit Camden sipping on the icy orange juice, check-out the trending book-titles on the tube, sample local produce at the historic Borough Market, spend the lunch hour at the Trafalgar Square and watch the world go by over a bagel and smoothie.

This summer, the new experiences included a trip to Woburn Safari Park with the nephews, a cherry-blossom laden Green Park, Primrose Hill and a long and lazy Pimms-filled birthday lunch at a pub in the Epping Forest.

And then there was punting. Students and visitors relaxing on the greens ashore the Cam river while their friends try to maneuver a punt, occasionally falling into the river splashing the waist high waters around. However, our punting ride was made special because of our wonderful guide who took us through the colleges and departments with amazing references to the Indian Cambridge alumni & Harry Potter.

There’s something magical about University towns – something hopeful and motivational that the metropoles lack. Maybe it’s the intent with which the founders built the colleges or the will of the scholars who have persisted their studies over the centuries or just the sheer number of young, aspiring, enthusiastic, untarnished minds that thrive in the area.

This trip was special because I made new friends. I knew only 3 of the 10 girls that I traveled with – which meant that after struggling with my new-people-inertia for about 3 hours, I made 6 new friends. The 6 girls came from varied professional and social backgrounds. It was truly unbelievable for me how 10 women so different from one another managed to have memorable birthday weekend trip which felt like one with old friends.

Tucked-away on the under-discovered side of the Pawana Dam, an hour past the beeline of Pawana Lake campsites – Amanzi Resort is a hidden paradise where the clouds peek into the feet of your four poster, and you can enjoy the barsaat in the company of ginger-laced-tea and Kishore Kumar. Where the mornings are spent walking barefoot on the lush mist-clad grass and night listening to the splatter of the rain against the calm, quiet night.

Malhar Machi (Mulshi) has been on my hidden-away-and-extremely-quiet-places wish-list for a few years now. It’s a farm-stay concealed beneath the tall lush trees near the Mulshi Dam. The rooms come bearing four poster beds and a handsome balcony jhoola (swing) overlooking the greens. Here, the rain splatters (quite ferociously) and the faraway mountains play hide-and-seek with the traveling water-filled clouds.

At this Mulshi getaway – we met Ravi, the amazing Coorgi. A hard-core Coorgi man who manages the estate and tells wondrous stories of his homeland as he gives you a tour of the property. As you walk past their cowshed, farms, groves – he unfolds stories of Coorg’s relationship with the Armed Forces, hunting peacocks, their own ancient medicine and snacking on Tiger meat/fat.

We’re usually the ones who skirt the ‘entertainment’ activities offered by the hotel – but this time, we did them all. We Segway-ed across the resort, rode a tandem cycle, did nature walks and attended the musical bonfire nights. However, the one moment that stands dear to me was that of a solitary afternoon spent with my feet dipped into the plunge pool and the light drizzle and cool breeze for company.

Ahmedabad’s love for Navratri hits you as soon as you deplane – when the Airport Authorities present a garba flash-mob and you witness groups of people dancing in broad daylight as you drive into the city. Navratri is the biggest event of the year for the Gujaratis – when friends with access to public celebrations are sought and buttered-up, weightless planned in advance to fit into the Ghaghras, tailors booked to stitch that backless choli and masseuses hired so that you’re never tired over the 9 nights of dancing. The communal celebrations too, are very different from those that I have witnessed in Mumbai. The garba are danced in concentric circles around the deity – and the worship has an overarching presence in both the dance and music. Its only when you experience everything from ghaghra fitting sessions, kedia-clad boys on moped and the gigantic public garba celebrations that ablaze the city every night – that you really appreciate the expanse and importance of the festival for the city.

While the nights were spent dancing away to the dhol – I used the days to visit two UNESCO World Heritage Sites. The first site Khadia (Ahmadabad) houses ~300-year-old gated communities known as ‘Poles’. Poles were caste-based gated communities created by Hindus within the walled city to safeguard their families from the communal unrest at the times of Mughal & Maratha invasions. Residents of the Poles follow only one rule - one for all, all for one. With their own sanitation, security arrangements & a corpus – the poles are early learnings of the current residential societies. There are rules on buying/renting in and out of the pole, celebrations and funerals, hygiene and punishments. Khadia also is home to birthplaces of several Gujarati cultural & literature stalwarts and political figures – like the social-reformist poet Akho & Magsaysay Awardee Ila Bhat (of Sewa Bank).

And hence, my favorite part of this trip was the random, unplanned hour spent by the Teesta amidst imposing hills when the only sound around me was of the flowing icy-cold water. With my chest full of extra doses of oxygen and head calm with the surrounding silence – my heart yearned for Perkin’s camping-tent (Potter-reference, can’t help it!) and cup of chai.

Sikkim boasts of a rather unique culture that bears influences of Nepal, Tibet, India & China - with its rosy-cheeked people, incredibly fresh and flavorful Momos, Sel Roti – Alu Dum dinners, quietly poetic monasteries and omnipresent climbs. I returned with my bags full of memories of the sweet Fauji who sent us all the way back to Rumtek Monastery because we missed seeing the Golden Stupa, two little Lamas catching up on cartoons on a city-kid’s phone, the lady at the Golden Wok who recommended a glass of wonderfully hot toddy as we shivered in the winter afternoon breeze, humming on Hindi retro songs as we warmed our toes by the bonfire and a 27,000 steps of climbing in a single day (phew!).

Darjeeling in my opinion is a fictional town – it’s like one of those old idyllic stories. One written by an optimistic, kind-hearted, romantic, beauty-loving, old men. It’s so beautiful and bygone, that you must give yourself an intermittent shake that its real. Darjeeling also wears its Raj affiliations proudly, like a badge. The old Glannery (more than a century old) and our hotel The Elgin reek history and you’re drawn into a world of the old British classics (and for a more modern reference, Downton Abbey).

If you do it well, you will leave this hilly town with an image so impactful that it will never leave you. All you need to do is wake up at 3AM, drive down to the base of a mountain, then climb the hill (without any fences/scaffolding) in pitch darkness and then wait atop that hill for about an hour as your body freezes to the point of numbness. If you brave so much ‘and’ if you’re lucky (like me) – the first rays of the sun will hit the peak of Kanchenjunga. And the faraway snowy peak will glow. The golden glow will slowly reflect onto the surrounding dark clouds translating the sun rays to various spellbinding colors.

Words will fail you as you will walk down the Summit of Ghoom – wondering what other such incredible creations has the Almighty hidden away from you!

2019 has been pretty much like its predecessors – I had good and bad days at work, endured my fare share of frustrations, ran into health hiccups, achieved some goals and missed the others. But these 12 adventures filled my year with memories and learnings that only travel can bring.

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