As a little boy, there were so many things I knew I had to have the instant I set my eyes on it. The faculty remained intact as I grew up – just that the number of things that I wanted went up. As did the nature of the things – they either got more expensive or risky. Mostly, both. The yearning to bathe in the stream that gushed fresh lilacs by the roadside was one of those – risky as the road was narrow (I was in Kerala) and expensive going by what could have befallen me – thankfully the buses that plied the route just steamed past in typical tropical hurry.
When you are visiting a place you used to regularly decamp to, with a girlfriend or with a bunch of buddies with budget debaucheries, after several years lets loose a coiled spring of memories and emotions that had begun to rust. Wagamon was just 30 km from my hometown Pala; rolling hills with plenty of nooks and crannies for hooky, it was now earmarked for a major tourism revamp. On any rainy day, the roads leading in and out of this overgrown hamlet would be like a necklace beaded together with tiny pearls of waterfalls.During one of my recent stays at home, after just having finished a tome by Ibn Battutah, I set out to Wagamon by foot. Well, inspired was too less a word; I was living the traveller. When I saw the falls, I did what he would have done – lived the little joys of nature. I felt something loosen up inside me that made me come alive.
Seeking the writer’s permission for sharing this with my batchmates on facebook, who are organizing the 2013 reunion meeting at Wagamon.
thanks / Minu
All yours. And please tell them to do the ‘Battutah bath’ as well.