Travel, for many, is a leeway from their monochrome wonted. For some, a peep to an unaltered hamlet. To a few, comportment. But to the wandering, it is rather a closing than bustle. To bath in an experience of the implausible is what drives the wandering. The existence of calmness of a dewdrop over a turf tip, is what drives the wandering.
As an individual, my thoughts don’t particularly fall under the conventional domain. And as a part of lives of the people I love, all my cognition cannot be put to display. The parity between the two is maintained by travel. To just let be, to walk out of the door and not know where to lead, to be one with the wind, to be one with the trees, to be guided by the stars is what my heart wanders to. To be able to feel the pain the clouds feel when parting its first rain drop from itself, to be able to fall with the dew only to spread over the manor, to be able to race with the same glee as rivers only to lose its identity is what this wandering heart earns for.
They say as years pass, a person matures. The more you explore this world around you, the more it opens you. It widens you as you go deeper. It makes you grow. Every single day in one’s life is painted with different hues, not a single seems to countertype the other. Every ordeal of travel, unfolds the merry of being invincible, the plausibility of more, the dare to think beyond. And each experience is a mismatched realm of its own. Through years of diligence life taught me that valuables are not of significance. An exposure to the provinces only imagined and people only contemplated, educated me that there is much more to life.
Cultures, throughout the world, however different, fall for a power above human. All religions, in their own way, preach us to bow to a power hidden. The escapades through towns unknown, sights unseen, accents unaccustomed, melodies unheard, make you realise only how small an entity you are, how diminutive you are to gravity. Various saints and sayings preach us to be able to rise above the materialistic lust. A single dive from a cliff into the ocean, a night of silence in the wilderness of a dessert is what taught me that we are one with this universe. There is rhythm even in this chaos, is what it taught me.
My wandering heart eventually made me realise, that the learnings of the soul cannot be passed onto the less cultivated. That, this hunger for experience, this nerve to live these junctures one only pictures in one’s mind, this fathom between actuality and fantasy, is a means of fulfilment. That the truth, is only today.
Nope, no way does this mean that I am only a roamer. That travel alone can satiate my appetite. The chores of the worldliness holds equal importance. Work, family, friends, birthdays, all are necessary for my being. It is this that holds me together. It is this that wants you coming back every time. It is this that stops me from being over-whelmed. The acceptance of living a life full is what drives me. To not to let go of one for the sake of the other. To create my own music as I walk along. To not necessarily know what’s a step ahead yet not to stop from taking it.
The hardest part of any journey is to take the first part. Gradually, everything else falls into place. The audacity to take that plunge is what is arduous. To shed the cocoon of ‘safe’ and impel life . For real. And no, it doesn’t imply to lead a life of a hippy (until you choose to) but to preserve the fragile balance between finding oneself and knowing oneself. To live and relive the moments you would cherish forever. To be able to have tales from places unimaginable. To learn a little more. To fall a little deeper. To climb a little higher. To see a little extra. To cry a little harder. To rise and to fall. To be just a little more. That, is what travel gives me.