Sometimes the walk is not just a walk. Some walks are longer than the others. Some walks seem endless. Some walks are joyful; some are soulful.Quite often they are the times I talk with myself. I reflect back. I dream. I get lost into myself.
During childhood the walk that I had with my maternal grandfather to see the trains reaching the railway station and then see them whistle away from there was one filled with excitement. We went there for days. He also took us for a walk to the riverside. We watched the ferry boats crossing the wide river (Ganges); fishermen on their boats spreading out the fishing nets and catching fish. My grandfather took us to the village, where we had some paddy fields. I remember a winter morning, in particular. We were all wrapped up in mufflers, sweaters and gloves. The village road seemed to have lost its way in the foggy winter. There were bamboo forests and mango trees on both sides of the brick road. We walked through them and some paddy fields. A typical childhood walk it was- with grandfather and an atmosphere that resembles the misty and dreamy days of fairyland.
During school summer and winter holidays my father sometimes took us to vacation to some mountains or the seas. Then we had walks, as a family. The walk in the Darjeeling Mall and the Shimla Mall remains one of the most cherished walks of my life. They were lazy and walks without any destination - kind of wandering, I would say. On the contrary, the two-step two-minute walk to teacher when I knew that he was angry and I did not do my homework is something I would never like to recollect.Our school playground was about a kilometer from our school. So, during "PT classes" we walked in a line to the playground. The road mainly ran along the stealthily flowing river Ganges. During the 10-minute walk, we played pranks on each other, we talked about our "match strategies" with our "rival teams". When we returned the talk depended on whether we won or lost - either euphoric or depressed.
During my engineering college days, the walk to the college hostel from the college gate seemed endless at times. Not for the distance, but perhaps, for the fact that I was never able to find myself at-home in that college. Sometimes I had the lonely walks in the huge college campus, where the narrow roads excused itself through the green grasses and tall trees with yellow and grayish buildings on either sides. Those walks were gloomy. I dreamt of the better world beyond the college compound walls. Yes, there was the usual college life. But the thoughts during those lonely walks was far from those.
When I first came to Bangalore, on Sunday evenings I had lonely walks in front of my house. Sometimes I walked upto the cyber cafe placed around two blocks from my house. Had a chat with my fiancee or some some old friends. And then late evening, when the chat was over, there was another slow walk through some dark by-lanes of the city. During those days I commuted by bus and the bus terminus was about a kilometer from my office. The walk from my office to the bus terminus with office bag hung from my shoulder was different. The thoughts during the walk had more to do with how I can become better at what I was doing and how not to get lost in the crowd.
One day there was this walk from my grandfather's room to the gate of my house, when I kind-of felt that it was the last time I am seeing him alive. My legs hardly carried me to the gate. In a couple of months, I realised I was right. When I am on some official trips abroad and have those weekends when there is not much to do, I take a walk in that city, in front of the hotel. The walk on the snow-covered apartment complex on a white Christmas morning in Salt Lake City, the walk in the hot and humid streets of Bangkok, the walk on the beautiful pavements of Melbourne, the walk on the crowded streets of Hanoi and the walk on the bone-chilling cold nights in Seoul are as diverse as they can be. And , yet, they all hold a special place in my heart.
The barefoot walk on the beaches of Goa with my wife was that of joy. The cool sea breeze, laden with moisture from the blue Arabian Sea, and the soft morning sun that greeted us made the walk a romantic one. During my MBA days I had to do a lot of walk from my Fedden House accommodation to the college buildings. Diverse thoughts played in my mind. Thoughts about life after MBA, thoughts about near and dear ones back home in India, thoughts about the English climate and the English dream...this walk and the thoughts repeated itself almost every single day during my stay in Cranfield.
The walk to hold my daughter for the first time and look into her barely-open eyes at 6:10 PM on 19th September, 2009, will always be special. The walk to teach her walk and the umpteen times I walked with her since then , holding her tiny fingers, are treasured walks. We had one walk on the banks of the river Ganges in the lap of the Himalays - peaceful and calm. Today when I see disturbing images of the place greatly devastated by rain, that walk becomes more special. It reminds me of the precious little moments in life.
The walk continues - in every sense. Walking from childhood to youth and then to adulthood. Walking from one phase of life and stepping into another. Walking through days and nights, walking through the years, walking through time.Walking to the sunset years...and ,who knows, may be to a better life after that?
The walking continues...for you, for me and for every one of us.
During childhood the walk that I had with my maternal grandfather to see the trains reaching the railway station and then see them whistle away from there was one filled with excitement. We went there for days. He also took us for a walk to the riverside. We watched the ferry boats crossing the wide river (Ganges); fishermen on their boats spreading out the fishing nets and catching fish. My grandfather took us to the village, where we had some paddy fields. I remember a winter morning, in particular. We were all wrapped up in mufflers, sweaters and gloves. The village road seemed to have lost its way in the foggy winter. There were bamboo forests and mango trees on both sides of the brick road. We walked through them and some paddy fields. A typical childhood walk it was- with grandfather and an atmosphere that resembles the misty and dreamy days of fairyland.
During school summer and winter holidays my father sometimes took us to vacation to some mountains or the seas. Then we had walks, as a family. The walk in the Darjeeling Mall and the Shimla Mall remains one of the most cherished walks of my life. They were lazy and walks without any destination - kind of wandering, I would say. On the contrary, the two-step two-minute walk to teacher when I knew that he was angry and I did not do my homework is something I would never like to recollect.Our school playground was about a kilometer from our school. So, during "PT classes" we walked in a line to the playground. The road mainly ran along the stealthily flowing river Ganges. During the 10-minute walk, we played pranks on each other, we talked about our "match strategies" with our "rival teams". When we returned the talk depended on whether we won or lost - either euphoric or depressed.
During my engineering college days, the walk to the college hostel from the college gate seemed endless at times. Not for the distance, but perhaps, for the fact that I was never able to find myself at-home in that college. Sometimes I had the lonely walks in the huge college campus, where the narrow roads excused itself through the green grasses and tall trees with yellow and grayish buildings on either sides. Those walks were gloomy. I dreamt of the better world beyond the college compound walls. Yes, there was the usual college life. But the thoughts during those lonely walks was far from those.
When I first came to Bangalore, on Sunday evenings I had lonely walks in front of my house. Sometimes I walked upto the cyber cafe placed around two blocks from my house. Had a chat with my fiancee or some some old friends. And then late evening, when the chat was over, there was another slow walk through some dark by-lanes of the city. During those days I commuted by bus and the bus terminus was about a kilometer from my office. The walk from my office to the bus terminus with office bag hung from my shoulder was different. The thoughts during the walk had more to do with how I can become better at what I was doing and how not to get lost in the crowd.
One day there was this walk from my grandfather's room to the gate of my house, when I kind-of felt that it was the last time I am seeing him alive. My legs hardly carried me to the gate. In a couple of months, I realised I was right. When I am on some official trips abroad and have those weekends when there is not much to do, I take a walk in that city, in front of the hotel. The walk on the snow-covered apartment complex on a white Christmas morning in Salt Lake City, the walk in the hot and humid streets of Bangkok, the walk on the beautiful pavements of Melbourne, the walk on the crowded streets of Hanoi and the walk on the bone-chilling cold nights in Seoul are as diverse as they can be. And , yet, they all hold a special place in my heart.
The barefoot walk on the beaches of Goa with my wife was that of joy. The cool sea breeze, laden with moisture from the blue Arabian Sea, and the soft morning sun that greeted us made the walk a romantic one. During my MBA days I had to do a lot of walk from my Fedden House accommodation to the college buildings. Diverse thoughts played in my mind. Thoughts about life after MBA, thoughts about near and dear ones back home in India, thoughts about the English climate and the English dream...this walk and the thoughts repeated itself almost every single day during my stay in Cranfield.
The walk to hold my daughter for the first time and look into her barely-open eyes at 6:10 PM on 19th September, 2009, will always be special. The walk to teach her walk and the umpteen times I walked with her since then , holding her tiny fingers, are treasured walks. We had one walk on the banks of the river Ganges in the lap of the Himalays - peaceful and calm. Today when I see disturbing images of the place greatly devastated by rain, that walk becomes more special. It reminds me of the precious little moments in life.
The walk continues - in every sense. Walking from childhood to youth and then to adulthood. Walking from one phase of life and stepping into another. Walking through days and nights, walking through the years, walking through time.Walking to the sunset years...and ,who knows, may be to a better life after that?
The walking continues...for you, for me and for every one of us.
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