Big Foot and Big Burp

My Big Foot and Big Step episode went just as I had expected it to. I broke the news of my solo trip to my parents. Mum searched my face for possible guilt of lying; she seemed to find none, so she was okay. Dad arched his eyebrows so high, I thought they might join the top of his almost-bald head. Mildly heated arguments and some grunting from my father later, I retired to my bedroom. Flushed with my success, I had a vindictive spark in my eyes and a Grinch-like smile on my lips. 

The day of my departure finally arrived, and I looked like a dreary zombie boarding the bus at 7AM. A long bus ride, as all of us know, makes most people throw-up left, right, and centre. But no, not me. I have a heart of gold, a tummy of steel, and a mind of brass. All my life, neither bus, nor car, nor even ghat-sections could make me retch, no matter how curvy or bumpy or fast a ride got. I’m the queen of travels. Or so I thought until this one solo trip I took to Madikeri, by bus…

For the first half an hour, I tossed and turned in my seat, unable to sleep and unable to stay awake. I was stuck in a dreary limbo of sorts. In the next half an hour, I wondered if the weird feeling in my chest was the reason for my state of limbo. And just as that thought hit me, my eyes snapped wide open, my back straightened up, my hands flew to my mouth as my tongue forced itself out. My teary eyes searched for the conductor, to motion to him for the “black cover” he was supposed to distribute, but my buttocks seemed glued to the chair!

The lady beside me asked gently, “Do you need a cover?” and I simply nodded. She got up and went to the front of the bus to ask the conductor for covers, and came back and handed one to me. I put my mouth inside it, but I didn’t retch. I burped. Burped loud enough for the whole silent bus to hear. Luckily, the two men on the other side seemed fast asleep, and the rest of the bus couldn’t see my face, but for this sweet, helpful lady. But embarrassment seemed to have abandoned me, and I almost smiled with relief, happy that I didn’t have to keep a cover full of puke in front of me.

And rather with too much bravado for someone who had almost thrown up, and just burped loudly, I extended my hand and introduced myself to the lady next to me. The cordial, and really sweet person that she was, Shalini didn’t so much as recoil from my hand of friendship. There are some things that just can’t help but foster friendships. And in my case, burping loudly, apparently, was one such thing.

Big Foot and Big Step

I’ve said this before, and I will say it again: Indian parents are an epitome of sexism and intense drama. In their eyes, a daughter is supposed to stay put at home.  If she so much as goes out with her girlfriends, they have only one fear – What if she has a boyfriend and what if she’s going out with him instead? 

Alright, maybe not ALL Indian parents. But mine are an epitome of the sexist and dramatic type, in epic proportions! Everytime I say I am going out, my mother’s hair stands up in a frizzy shock, and my father’s fat moustache gets ready to crackle with electricity. And then they slaughter me with innumerable number of questions (Where are you going? Who’re you going with? What time will you reach there? Will all three of your friends be there? What time will you be back? How are you going – auto or bus or two-wheeler?). No kidding. Some 
severe headache and dry mouth later (from 
answering all the questions separately to my 
father, mother, and granny twice or thrice each), 
I bolt from the house…

Today, I told my mother I am going for a lunch tomorrow with my girlfriends. The look on her face… You would think I kissed some ‘roadside-Romeo’ right in front her! Anyway, the last time I went on a trip with my girlies to Chikmagalur, my parents decided they should get me ‘married away’ after I came back (nice try, parents!). Well, as to what they might have assumed I was doing there, I will leave that to your imagination…

Now think of my torment if I’ve got to tell them that I’m going off on a solo trip to Coorg next weekend! Don’t you worry, I am gonna put my Big Foot down, and stand my ground, like I always have. You see, my choices, decisions, and actions in life ("big steps") have never been short of The Big Foot Battle. As for the encounter ahead... Well, let’s just say George Martin’s Westeros seems like a fairytale land to me right now.

The Big Foot Solitude

My Big Foot Dreams are aplenty. My eyes know no bounds when it comes to that genre of life. Maybe it’s got to do with being a writer… Maybe it’s got to do with being a cancerian… Maybe it’s got to do with being both (yeah, I take pride in being both)… I’ve always loved solitude. And for what seems like ages, I’ve always wanted to travel as a writer. Oh and not just travel as a writer, but travel alone as a writer.

Soaking in every moment…

Indulging in every movement…

The thoughts in my head pamper me the moment I’m all theirs and theirs alone. Then, my big feet notwithstanding, small and slow steps pave way for 
a symphonic rhythm of hazy ideas. And then that 
rhythm just eludes me until such time that it sees fit 
to return, when I’m solitary again. 

When your passion is god, and work worship, it possesses you. If your passion is writing, you are a writer at every moment, at every instance. A travel then is the Muse that possesses you, not wanting to let go until you love, adore, and worship Her in all Her grandeur. 

What matters then is only that chair in the corner claiming your presence. What matters then is only the travel reining your ink. What matters then are only the words blinding your worldly eyes. You don’t claim your writing; it claims you!

And in the buzz of all these grandiose feelings inside of you, those around you turn into mere blurry visions.
And you know you’ve just got to let your feet, big or small, take you alone. 

And you know you’ve just got to travel alone, and soon. 

And you know you’ve just got to write to please the Muse…