THROUGH THE DAY

She is relentless.

Over the years, she has been wielding power.

I remember the slogan, she had introduced us to – Mother, Earth, Human.

We were waking up to brightness from an era of darkness.

Her arrival on the political canvas had meant independence from hooliganism.

Sorry to make a note and blow a bugle of caution; she has reversed the course of hooliganism and remolded it into something worse than that.

Her political demands have never followed a pattern.

In the past, she was a rebel, I had personally looked up to.

Today, she is someone, I don’t wish to even catch a glimpse of.

Her speeches are punctuated with hatred.

The least, I had expected of her was to witness an unnecessary change – West Bengal to Bangla.

What next?

She is talented.

Today she turned the stage into a space of well-choreographed miracle.

I read through the reviews, she had curated to be shared across.

It didn’t take me much time to realize; I had missed out on a real talent, performing live on stage.

Till the eventuality of ‘next time’ resurfaces and she decides to dance on stage, I shall wait.

She is unpredictable.

I know it was not on purpose.

The language is to be blamed. The time is to be held responsible.

During late hours, none of us are at liberty to weigh the impact of words.

I might have overreacted; it seemed so unnecessary the next moment.

Just a word, to think about. In the end, everything remains the same.

She is happiness.

I am sure, she might have repeated the shade of yellow.

Her fondness for that particular color isn’t hidden.

It was her birthday yesterday. She made sure to wear the shade, which always makes her happy.

Our conversations were too thin throughout the day.

But somehow, I left her craving for a cup of tea, just through a menial conversation of mine.

She is trying.

I know, it is not too easy to tolerate someone who has grown unpredictable.

But life needs to be balanced between possibilities and probabilities.

I think someday, she will definitely get the picture right in her mind.

Maybe that day, her anger and her irritation will also settle down.

She is daredevil.

In the toughest of moments, she will end up sending a message, which will guarantee a hefty laugh.

Her approach towards life is so positively driven, I am timelessly greedy to continue seeking inspiration from her.

She is calm.

Storms don’t move her a bit; emotional storms to be precise.

She never reacts. She neither overreacts.

She prays. She prays through days. She prays through nights.

All she has is the one, she gave birth too.

She makes sure, he continues to live his dreams and makes their dreams comes true.

She is clueless.

Guided by wrong people, her mistakes are not to be counted or discussed about.

After a period of time, she is to be forgiven and forgotten.

She is she.

Spending time amidst children with special needs isn’t easy.

But she does it with envious ease.

Through the day all I sensed…  

She is some kind of a mystic medley that surrounds me.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 27 | July Blog-4 | Making of the beast | 2018

PURNESH@PANCHGANI

Purnesh@Panchgani

The memories will never fade.

The photographs will find their way to the soft board.

The fireflies will continue flying between trees.

The temperatures will keep dropping.

I will untiringly travel back to Panchgani.

I will excitingly travel back to Panchgani.

I will repeatedly travel back to Panchgani.

Destinations, which echo in the mind, body and soul are where we should keep going back to rediscover ourselves. This is what, I, as Purnesh, a normal human being, minus all the pseudonyms thinks. This is what, I, as a writer, minus the titles of a creative director, a copywriter, an artist thinks. This is what, I, as an observant, minus the tags of a blogger, a hobbyist photographer, a fan of Instagram feeds thinks. The experience being so magical; I associate my name with the place, which moves something extremely deep within me. Just three days of stay, the third proper vacation, the second awesome accommodation at the hill station, leaves me with so much to ponder about, write for and continue imagining with.

Pouring in Panchgani

Little am I aware about the restaurant, which sounds like a pure vegetarian restaurant; they serve me the best chicken thali for lunch. My eyes try to stretch as far as the abyss of the valley is. The roof vibrates, the temperature drops, the blowing breeze turns extremely cold, the aroma of wet mud diffuses. The rains are here. The camera, lies unpacked in the hotel room; the mobile rings to rescue. The first glimpse of raindrops, in their full glory, make a straight entry into the memory card. The white car, parked just outside the restaurant now wears a shiny look; the heavy downpour has left it look like a new one, a renewed version of its old freshness. Once again, a confirmation, Purnesh@Panchgani; happy, thankful to self.

Excuse the limited but happy space

Only two cars are parked in the limited space that the hotel offers. Other guests join in; families, lovers, kids. None of them loud. Everyone aware about maintaining the serenity, sanity of this sleepy hill station, which is now busy soaking the rains. The texture of the water run, wet mud is worth a thousand more glances. The noon has turned cloudy again. The rains return to calm the valleys, which are losing out their patience to the scorching sun. The absence of an air condition doesn’t bother. Unfolding the blanket, I celebrate the short but satisfying afternoon siesta. Once again, an assurance, Purnesh@Panchgani; at ease, at peace with self.

Auto-focus to manual focus

For the first time in last five years, the camera shifts gears from auto-focus to manual focus. I as the hobbyist photographer chooses to go rapidly footloose; shoots curtains, windows, flowers, people, greens, doors, guests, kids, empty bottles of wine, a newly gifted coffee mug, lobbies, guests, birds, smoke, homes, hotels, dish antenna, raw mango, black cat. Every time, I release the shutter, a new story is revealed. Once again, an imagination, Purnesh@Panchgani; capturing, creating freely.

In company of the two varieties of wine 

Those two bottles of wine, Satori Tempranillo and Wonder Wyne (Apple Wine), add up to the splendid experience that Panchgani already is. I pour myself from both, raise a solo toast to myself; both are successful in giving me a high. I switch off the lights and the night takes over. Two stories keep me busy throughout the night, by appearing as dreams (sounds strange but true); the third one crawls in from a lost conversation in space. Once again, an inspiration, Purnesh@Panchgani; sleeping, dreaming.

The dinners are served; purely non vegetarian on the first night, purely vegetarian on the second night. Before the hunger pangs set in, stories make sure to engage. Stories about crabs, germs, ghosts, betrayal, deceit, backstabbing, conning, revenge, hatred, spirituality, reincarnation, realities. Once again, a delight, Purnesh@Panchgani; eating, relishing.

Fireflies fill the skies. The caretaker of the hotel mentions that they are common when it rains. He says, he is sure of seeing more in the coming nights. I smile at him. The smile makes him converse more about the owners of the hotel, his modest family, the kind of guests who keep checking in. I am staring up there between trees, up in the skies, into the open garden area and beyond; the fireflies are putting up a stunning show for me. Once again, a visual treat, Purnesh@Panchgani; spotting fireflies, expecting more fireflies.

Before I gear up to drive out of the hill station; sometime around 6 AM, the mind is racing back to the night before. A couple of candles after being lit, release an aroma, which fill the senses with innumerable desires. Someday I shall live them. Once again, a surety, Purnesh@Panchgani; seeking, telling.

Releasing the shutter

I take another turn. I am home. The day goes by. The evening disappears. The night takes over. I switch on the laptop to insert the memory card. A little window leads me to the folder of PANCHGANI JUNE 1 AND 2. I find myself. Standing solo, in front of a mirror, in the hotel room, releasing the shutter and a thought jumping out of my mind – Purnesh@Panchgani; ready to return again. Where else? But to Panchgani, for writing many sequels hereafter of Purnesh@Panchgani.

-Virtuous Vociferous | June 04 | June Blog-1 | 2018

TREK #1 09072017 Stage 2

I think recollecting memories of an experience should be turned into a ‘must have’ hobby. Yes, it should be! At the same time, this hobby should not be confused with memory game. According to me, game is a moment and recollection is an experience. My intent behind this opinion is rooted in what I am going to write now. I am writing about the first trek of my life, which I embarked upon on July 9, 2017. I am recollecting memories of that trek, a week later and thoroughly enjoying writing about it. Now you know why recollecting memories of an experience should be turned into a ‘must have’ hobby!

The decision to trek was impulsive and not so impulsive as well. I was enjoying my sabbatical from Facebook. Over a period of time, I got bored of what I was posting, sharing and debating in that space. But someday, somehow a return was on the cards. When I returned, a post by Dark Green Adventures about a trek to Sunset Point in Matheran grabbed my attention. Matheran, it was; my womb of inspiration.

There I was and we were, as decided, at Panvel railway station by 7 am. Krishna, our trek instructor had created a group on WhatsApp. We coordinated through the same and without wasting a single minute, proceeded to Dhodani village (located at 20.4 kms from Panvel railway station). After a quick round of breakfast of Idlis, Tea and Krishna’s Knowledge Nuggets, Krishna sought our introductions in the courtyard of the local temple. The first few names I can recollect at this moment are Aranya or Ananya and Sharanya, Hitesh, Ravi, Deepak, Pranav, Rohan, etc etc.

As planned, we started trekking at around 10:30 am. We were supposed to scale 1200 ft. Krishna led us, so did our hearts and our determination. We kept taking stops. Our first encounter was with paddy crops. Moving ahead we lost our hearts to a tiny waterfall. Post this point, Rohan had to retract; dehydration (maybe) had claimed its first victim. The trek continued.  No one was in a mood to stop or take breaks. But when the opportunities came by, no one shied away from taking that stop and the much needed break to guzzle water, chew some handy snacks, catch up with some breath. Rains were nowhere to be seen. The sun kept getting mightier. Through thick vegetation, we could see two youthful females take the lead; Ananya and Sharanya. I was in the fourth position. Krishna was somewhere in between. Hitesh continued nonstop as well. Pranav was busy discovering the unknown corners. Ravi was to climb last.

From a distance, we could spot the edge of Sunset Point. Fellow trekkers motivated us by remarking, “You are almost there”. But the so called ‘almost there’ kept postponing itself by additional 15 minutes. Did we lose our mojo? No. Did we get it back? But we had never lost it. Once we climbed over, a thick layer of fog enveloped Sunset Point. The much needed rains were here and they came heavily upon us. We were hungry, thirsty but not angry. We knew we had stories to go back home with. The team stuck together. Trekkers as we were. First timers, pro, seasonal, regular; trekkers were rocking. We had done it!

Lunch was served in Osbourne House, a tiny home owned by a villager. Rains had turned thick by now. The little home seemed like a universe of hope for us hungry trekkers. When the food arrived, the first six of us simply jumped in. We finished like Formula One racers and set out to spend some time at Louisa Point. Some of us went missing but, we were tracked down by Krishna’s special searching prowess. Ten of us decided to descend. If the ascent filled us with thrills, the descent was going to be another spinning moment of our lives. Someone was to lead and someone was to finish last. But joy was on its way.

Don’t miss the conclusion - TREK #1 09072017 Stage 3

-Virtuous Vociferous

RAINS ETCETERA

1.55 AM of June 26, 2017 is possibly the same time, the previous day (June 25), the rains debuted. The drizzles of Friday evening, the onslaught of Thursday or the suddenness of Wednesday stood nowhere closer to what ensued last night; continued to surprise till today afternoon. Rains, we thought are here. But by 1.55 AM of June 26, 2017 the show put up by the rains lack the ferocity, velocity and audacity of last night.

Did the earth hatch a conspiracy to attract rains? Is this then the annual moment of romance? Speaking of romance, I can only think of Raveena Tandon causing Yellow Fever in Tip tip barsaa paani (Akshay Kumar literally rolling and drooling around her).

Thankfully no political party has claimed responsibility for the instant burst of happiness insured by these rains.  Thankfully no terrorist groups have threatened of being in secret possession of weapons, which can trigger massive rains at the drop of a hat.

At this interesting juncture, I think rains come with their own package of etcetera (etc.).

As the rains swell, the pulse rate of Mumbai’s local train network drops. Even though the spirits of travellers and train spotter updaters like me fly high, the trains prefer to take it easy. This being one part of the package, we aren’t downplaying the possibilities of traffic snarls. Many of us blame it on the rains. But these snarls are necessary during monsoons. Or else air and noise pollution won’t breed. Would we really like to see them fail at producing their usual off springs of anguish, irritability and disasters?    

Trees are the permanent subscribers of rains package of etcetera. They keep on putting weight all year long. Just when they expect the municipal authorities to help them tone their body a little, their trust is left betrayed. So when the rains descend they activate the package and start falling on cars, humans, electricity cables, telephone wires and at times on themselves.

When rains dwindle, I am reminded of the seminars on climate change. I love the venues, the speakers, their sessions and the hosts who keep pouting at television cameras. If the talks held in these seminars are real, do they also work towards decreasing the impact of etcetera?

Thirty minutes into writing this and the rains have retracted. But mind you, the package of etcetera hasn’t.

I heard the dogs bark and see them running in pursuit of a hefty catch? I only hope they don’t spare its life. Because if they do, the rains might make it rot and the package of etcetera might grow hefty. We may have to pay an extra premium of tolerating the strange stench. Dogs are illiterate. They only understand the language of love and the unconditional freedom to poop.

The rains will recuperate; we can hope at least. The package of etcetera though requires rethinking.

Till it rains again, I am thinking of ordering etcetera online (much before GST slaps in).

-Virtuous Vociferous

AS WE DROVE OUT ONE MIDSUMMER MORNING

As you might realise, the title of the blog is inspired from the 1969 Laurie Lee memoir As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning. But this post and the book don’t resemble each other on any account. To be precise, this could be just another anecdote.  

View from Lenyadri caves

The recently concluded weekend could have been another ordinary day of our lives; had we not instantly decided to travel to a destination, which helped us grow rich with its vibrant memories. At around 9:30 AM, we started for Titwala in our white coloured Zen Estilo (Meter Reading: 50206). The first destination being decided, we deliberately chose to remain clueless as to where, we would be heading after offering our prayers at the temple. But we were in for a stunning surprise. Following a disturbance caused by some over-drunk antisocial elements, the entire area around the temple town remained closed. The shops had downed their shutters, restaurants had shut business, cops were on the vigil and visitors like us were left a bit dissatisfied. Luckily the doors of the main temple were kept open to not let down the expectations of devotees (like us), who throng in over weekends.

Monkeying Around

We were back on the Murbad-Kalyan road, hunger making our taste buds run dry. Dajiba, a midsized restaurant jumped to our rescue with two plates of hot Misal Pav being served alongside two cups of hot tea. Our hunger pangs being taken care of, we chose to explore some traveling options; these included mountains and beaches. We chose to travel straight to Malshej Ghat and if time permitted, a few kms ahead of it to Junnar. Lady luck agreed to travel alongside. The car’s speed didn’t hit an ounce below 100 kms/hour; the only exception being the presence of relentless speed breakers near Murbad bus depot. We were in no mood to negotiate. The first sight of Malshej Ghat’s towering peak gave us an adrenaline rush. Driving through one of the openings of Malshej Ghat, which also serves as a tunnel; we brought our car to a halt near Maharashtra Dhaba at Mhad-Pargaon (Meter Reading: 50317, Time: 13:30 hrs). We treated ourselves to a sumptuous spread of Jowari Bhakri, Aloo Mutter and Baked Papad. At this moment, we were informed of being just 45 minutes away from Lenyadri Caves in Junnar. To the uninitiated, Lenyadri is one of the 8 spots of pilgrimage that offers darshan of Lord Ganesha’s Shakti Peeths in and around Pune (also known as the Ashtavinayaka Yatra).

Lenyadri Caves

Our hearts, now overdosed with excitement, couldn’t resist beating faster. There stood the Lenyadri Caves, at a height of 100 feet (30 m) above the plains. Going by Wikipedia, Lenyadri is the only Ashtavinayaka temple on a mountain and within the precincts of Buddhist caves (Meter Reading: 50343, Time: 14:20 hrs). We decided to park our car in the private parking zone. We were then presented with the challenge of having to climb 350 stairs to reach Lord Ganpati temple inside the caves. At around 14:30 hrs, the sun was at its scorching best. But where there is faith there is always devotion. And where there is Lord Ganesha, we are Blessed Humesha. Since the climb was steep, it was decided between us that one of us would take up the challenge. Endurance had to be put to its ultimate test. Loaded with a bottle of cold water, a camera, a Western hat and eye gears; I started on my own. I exhaled more, inhaled less and drank less water. The idea was to not take any break while climbing. High on devotion helped me to succeed with flying colours. After having reached the entrance, I called back to have conquered the summit. On entering the cave, the exhaustion faded out. The natural form of Lord Ganesha, smeared in vermillion was a sight of sheer bliss. Peering out of the cave weaved a scenic tale, which cannot be narrated through a single write up. 

The Pagoda

After stepping out, the visit to the pagoda in one of the many caves was another delight, which I shall timelessly savour. As I started descending, I was left amused by the sight of monkeys seated by the rock-cut stairs. Expectation of food was quiet evident in their eyes. Since I had nothing to share, I was spared of their wrath, which usually emerges from infighting.

By 15:25 hrs, I had touched base. We then teamed up again to shop for some raisins, which are sold at throwaway prices; in large, small quantities. At sharp 15:30 hrs, we started back for home. Since we were to travel by the same road and through the Malshej Ghat, we stopped by to photograph the surrounds and of course enrich our souls with selfies. After having crossed the tunnel, we came across the ghastly sight of a dead body being pulled out of the valley. We decided to leave the suspense of this story unattended. During a pleasant journey, we were in no mood to carry home bitter memories. At this point, it is worth mentioning the efforts taken by government authorities to beautify the ravines. Since monsoons are expected soon, the edges have been barricaded and seating arrangements facilitated to make visits much more pleasurable. Driving through these places, we made sure to buy wild sweet berries, even though raw mangoes were on sale too; all of them at cheap bargain friendly prices.

The Challenging Staircase

We ended the trip with a quick visit to our neighborhood. During the time, we finally parked the car, the meter read 50467. Till the next time, we embark on another road trip… we wish you Happy Driving, Happy Exploring.

-Virtuous Vociferous

PS: The next time, I write a post related to travel, it will bear a new voice and a new style of writing (absolutely different from what it looks, sounds and reads now). 

THE ENTRAPMENTS OF DOMESTIC LIFE

All this while, the tasteless mind has been plagued by questions. These sharp-edged questions keep protruding out like active ulcers on passive skin. Causing anguish, demeaning desires, these questions compel us to probe deep into a proverb, which reads: PURPOSE FUELS PASSION. In a life as domestic as ours, the ‘purpose’ seems to have gone missing.

The sun is yet to come to life. The alarm goes off at 5 AM sharp. Switching off the AC, crawling out of the bed, contracting and expanding the eyes, inhaling the remains of last night and exhaling the so called depravity of sleep; we tell ourselves, “Wake up, time to go”. The door leads to the bathroom, the bathroom gives way to the washbasin, the washbasin sports a hefty tap, which we turn on and push a toothbrush deep inside to help us sport a million dollar smile, cavity free jawline, fresh breath (in case, smooching tops the agenda). After the residues of the previous night’s half-digested food finds a way down the flush, we are equally free to declare ourselves ‘Fresh’.

Postponing the bath, we sprint towards the kitchen; boil a glassful of water, slice a lemon into two, undo the lid of Baba Ramdev’s Patanjali honey and consume it to make a statement, “We are health conscious”. It is 5:40 AM by now, we decide to embark on an excursion of a home that belongs to us, exploring deep corners, which hide in them a dead cockroach, a group of paralyzed mosquitoes, a nano crew of marching ants and a spider busy spreading a web to trap them all. Sorry we are in no mood to give these pests a free hand; we pull out the broom, rescue them from the circle of life and death and release them dead or alive straight into the dustbin. Thereafter we continue with the broom, trying not to fly on it but sweeping the floors and other surfaces. By 6 AM, we are out. Huffing, puffing and sweating heavily. This part is globally known as ‘Physical Workout’. By 6:45 AM, we are back to wake up the other members of the home. The God, the wife, the mother, the washing machine, the gas oven and the milk over it, the refrigerator and of course the music system.

The wife and the mother have got their own agendas to chase. If wife and mother are both professionals, boarding the 8:45 AM Mumbai Fast tops the list. Prior to that the moral responsibility of cooking a storm keeps them engaged. Oh shit, it is 8:15 AM. If we don’t leave now, the train (even though starting from where we stay) might get crowded. We run down all the staircase, blow the horn to signal our concern over a supposed delay in making. The wife follows in 50:50 makeup; the rest of it will be taken care of in the train. While we are busy finding a parking space, the wife is already running for the train. We run, board the train and curse those who opt for a return journey from the station prior to ours. The train comes to a halt, the wife alights somewhere else. After we alight, we take a look at the watch and release a sigh of relief. This part is officially known as ‘the train is running on time’.

Humping and thumping we reach our offices, welcomed by the security guard at the reception, we sign in and traverse smoothly through the biometric passage. We settle down and start fondling with the PC, Laptop, Tablet and IPad that serves as our connection to the outside world. This part is universally called ‘being in office’. Till lunch hour, we try to figure out what are we supposed to do. We make phone calls to our loved ones to know their statuses; has the wife reached her office safely? Did mother have her breakfast? What is the bank balance for today? Boss comes in, doesn’t smile, doesn’t react, doesn’t interact and then we scream out ‘communication gap’. Post the lunch hour, we associate ourselves with some menial tasks, which fail to make us feel proud; we gape, we ape, we yawn, we curl and by the time our mind starts concentrating on the tasks at hand, it is it time to leave. Leaving office on time is considered sin in an advertising agency (or perhaps the advertising industry). The moment, we decide to pack up, the client servicing team members come hunting for us. We step out, our phones ring, we are requested to come back to the office and there we are fondling with computer again. Time doesn’t stand still, decisions are postponed, feedback never shared; frustrated and irritated, we call it a day. This part is called ‘finally out of office’.

Once again we are at the station, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive. Even though the indicator predicts an arrival within three minutes, many a times, the train seems to have disappeared. The train arrives, we barge in; finding a seat is a rare opportunity if at all we board the train from another destination rather than the point of its origin. We get back to the destination, we started from in the morning. And once again, we are back home. We bathe, we refresh and we settle down for dinner. We switch on the television, make an attempt to stay up late to catch a movie, we had long heard about but never thought of watching. The eyes start trembling, beg for sleep and naturally we are back to the bed again. The AC is switched on and there we are, indulged in sleep, lost in nightmares and getting lost somewhere, before the alarm rings again.

Days and nights fade, we follow the same routine. Then comes a day when we ask, “What is the purpose we are pursuing in our lives?”

A long silence ensues.

Purpose lost, purpose gained; only this time, it is not the one…we had been thinking about!

-Virtuous Vociferous 

Nous Sommes Prêts

Till yesterday we followed an orthodox ritual of traveling. We would wait for months to first think and then travel. Our hopes stuck to the availability of tickets; we never made a choice that contested our fascination about train journeys. Though this fascination was an imposed one, over the years, we ended up gingerly falling in love with it. This love spanned between the geographical limits of Mumbai and Kolkata. Summers after summers, we relied on a solo vacation; a vacation that comprised learning English and Bengali grammar too.

Over a period of time, this fascination took a beating; other destinations started casting their spell. We did try to make an exception. Long back the three letter word ‘Goa’ resounded. A travel agent was approached; the yellow colored cubical type office was tucked somewhere between a barber’s shop and a general store, somewhere near a badly smelling fish market. Somehow the plan didn’t materialize the way, we had wanted it to. In fact we never traveled to Goa. We had saved enough for this trip. Our hearts were left broken by the immense agony of cancellation. There were two ways to vent it out, scream wildly or calm down. We calmed down, purchased a Videocon washing machine with the saved amount and never ever spoke about it. On certain occasions, it seemed like we had taken a pledge to never reveal what happened to our plans of a so called different vacation in Goa.

Years faded, desires matured, faith soared and the feet developed an itch; this itch carried the sensation of tramping across destinations. From trains, we made an upwardly move; this time we chose to fly. This wasn’t a fascination but a better option to travel. A perfect time saver; journeys by flights attracted both; raised eyebrows and swollen egos. Even though Kolkata topped the priority list (yes I mean it; the priority list) of vacations, we discovered other destinations such as Gokarna, Chennai, Puducherry, Shimla, Manali, Chandigarh, Pune, Kolhapur, Dharamshala, Silvassa and of course Goa (we visited on multiple occasions). We didn’t limit ourselves to national boundaries, we traversed partly across the globe, to another Asian destination. This time we found ourselves in Thailand; we went exploring through Pattaya and then Bangkok. We shot photographs with tigers, prayed in Buddhist temples, walked through the nights and enjoyed eyeing Dolphins, Orangutans at their comical best. Even though it was our first international trip, our passports bearing the first international stamp; the experiences were quietly brushed beneath a carpet of hushed anguish. Some complained of not being informed; we wondered if they would have towed along! Some complained of the trip being an ego trip; we regret that the ego they spoke about never showed up. Once again we took another pledge to lock our Bangkok memories with an unbreakable password. The 3500 odd photographs remain copied to one of the four or perhaps five external hard disks that we share between us. 

Throughout the years, we realized that breaking away from an orthodox ritual attracts antipathy from all quarters. The society reacts in strange manners. Ties of blood weaken. Promises of friendship are forgotten; it’s really funny how one international trip ends up being a controversy. Will we not take another international trip ever? Why shouldn’t we? Our passports are not meant to rot between their date of issue and renewal. We will travel of course, we will break a norm again; if not in the near future, definitely maybe immediately.

Having lived for long in memories of bygone years, the mind continues demanding freshness. Social media continues to tell us about the restless journeys, our friends, our family and our extended families embark upon. We used to stare at them, on our computer screens, till one day we decided; break the rules, hit the road, take the first left turn, move a little ahead, then turn to the right and continue going straight; without once, thinking of taking a U Turn.

Therefore to many journeys ahead, we wish to say, “Nous Sommes Prêts”.

-Virtuous Vociferous