Travelling and Finding Peace and Joy in Faraway Places – Five Locations, Five Experiences
In the summer of 2002, I decided not to live my life sitting holed up in the city. I made up my mind to take every opportunity to travel and see the beautiful country we have. On the next holiday-slot available, I headed towards the Himalayas, to walk in the wilderness and see the snow peaks. I had never known what high-altitude meant, till then.
My good karma took me to Sikkim, where I saw a new world. I discovered that people can be so friendly that you completely drop your guard and walk around with a wide grin instead. I saw woods so thick that it is impossible to set a foot through them. I saw streams of sweet, frigid waters coming down the mountains and rushing away in a great hurry. I saw wildflowers splattering my path, carpeting the floor and decorating the trees.
And then, it happened! Very early in the morning of our trek to Gochela in Kanchanjunga National Park, I heard some shouts and came out. A bunch of guys who were also trekking and camping with us were excitedly pointing their fingers up, gazing towards the sky. When I looked, I saw a white peak peeking through the clouds and glistening brightly in the sun. Mt.Pandim, it was, the first Himalayan Peak I had ever seen. It was a wish-fulfilling moment. It was the instance when I felt as contented that a man can get. There was a sense of completeness inside. I had found peace, albeit temporarily, as long as I was up there in those mountains.
Ever since, I have travelled from place to place as if my feet were on fire. I have made uncountable number of journeys back to the Himalayas. I have also explored the plains, deserts, river valleys, big cities and remote lands with the one goal of finding peace and joy. I found them fleetingly in some places, plenty in some other. Sikkim itself gets attribution for one more such instance of finding bliss.
2. Gurudongmar Lake, North Sikkim
On a cold October morning, we woke up from our beds at a small lodge in Thangu Village located deep in the Himalayas at 13,000 feet above sea level. Our jeep crawled slowly on the unmetalled roads, stopping for occasional inspections at the border check-posts. We were to climb another four thousand feet in a few hours to visit Gurudongmar Lake at the edge of India, at the beginning of Tibetan Plateau.
The drive, which started from Gangtok a day before had taken us through ever-green low-altitude forests, followed by some conifers and the high-altitude rhododendron vegetation. This morning, we were past all that on a desert-like area that allowed a few shrubs to survive, with no trees to sight anywhere.
I can’t remember the approach to the lake well as the journey was made more than a decade ago. But what I do recall is being overcome by a kind of sudden stillness when I saw colourful prayer flags fluttering on the bank of a large azure lake, with a glacier emptying into the lake at the faraway bank. It is hard for me to describe the feelings of that moment. It was like being overcome by an unbearable amount of surprise and happiness, which lasted no longer than a few seconds.
But this elation did not last long and I was quickly overcome by a sense of haste. We did not have all the time at the lake and had a long way to go before nightfall. I was in a hurry, to make the best of the time to walk around the lake, see it from every angle and immerse in the experience. In trying to expedite the experience, I had lost the the joy of the moment. It was a lesson that provoked me never to to go anywhere in a hurry. Perhaps it is better not to go at all, than go someplace in a hurry.
3. A night under the stars in the deserts of Jaisalmer.
On a clear winter afternoon, I rode into the desert on a young and naughty camel named Sayya, assisted by its able driver Ratan. During the ride, I discovered how uncomfortable it can be to ride on a camel and yet how quickly can one get accustomed to it. Halfway through the ride, the handsome Sayya was hounded by a gang-of-lady-camels and scared me out of my wits.
That evening, Ratan stopped Sayya at a high sand dune overlooking the vast expanse of the desert. Later, after the setting sun briefly painted the sky and the sands in gold, Ratan got down to cooking our dinner. He roasted wheat balls for making baati, buried them in sand and spread burning charcoal on it complete the preparation. After dinner, he quickly washed the vessels, not in water but using a handful of sand. Vessels rubbed with sand were perfectly clean and shining, even better than washing with water. He spread a mattress for me on the ground and gave me a thick blanket to get under. After ensuring that I was comfortable, he let loose Sayya and allowed him to graze and wander far off. With his duties completed, Ratan began to talk, telling his stories and asking me for mine. When we finally settled down for the night, the silence was absolute.
There was no sign of any habitation as the desert stretched all the way to the horizon. We were away from motor roads, towns and any signs that indicated human presence. A gentle breeze occasionally disturbed the sand. Last of the embers flickered before dying. Up in the sky, a million stars twinkled and welcomed the beautiful night. Lying under the blanket and enjoying the warmth in a cold desert night, I stared in silence at the scintillating stars and pondered on the endlessness of the universe. There was a sense of peace that lasted through the night.
4. Chasing sheep in Changthang, Ladakh
There is a sense of elation in realizing a dream.
Two months ago, I was in Ladakh conducting a photography tour to capture the winter landscapes. One evening, just before the sun was about to set, we arrived at a wide valley filled with grazing sheep. Hundreds of sheep, now on their way home, kicked up dust as they followed the herder. The evening sun was diffused by the scattered dust. The fleece on the sheep deflected the light and glowed like the rim of an eclipse. The setting was magical and more so photogenic. This setting was a photography opportunity I was dreaming of for years and years. It was now time to realize it.
For the next fifteen minutes I chased the sheep, unbearably excited and barely aware of myself, clicking continuously all along. I was back on my feet only when the sun went behind the mountains and the magic show ended abruptly. In that fifteen minutes, I completely forgot everything and despite a sense of excitement, was completely at peace.
5. Swimming in Jia Bhorelli (Assam), Giri River (Himachal) Kempu Holé (Karnataka) and the Arabaian Sea at Gokarna
I can kill for the pleasures of swimming in the pristine rivers emerging from the wooded hills and open waters of the ocean.
Some eight years ago on a summer afternoon, we went rafting in Jia Bharali River at the border of Arunachal Pradesh and Assam. At the place where we bagin rafting, River Bharali has already emerged from the mountains, but maintains a pleasurable flow as it meanders through the thick forests of Nameri National Park. It was more a joyride than a whitewater adventure. The pace of the raft perfectly suited in relishing the beauty of the river that cut its way through one of the densest forests in the country. Halfway through the journey, we reached a wide section of the river where the flow was slow and depth was just about five feet. The boatman asked if we would like to swim, and he heard an emphatic ‘yes’ in response. We spent nearly an hour playing in those clear waters, enjoying the freshness of the river.
A year later, I was in the foothills of the Himalayas at a riverside camp run by a friend. We stayed on the banks of Giri River and I kept eyeing the waters and scanning for a good place to swim at. Giri is mostly a shallow and fast-flowing river, but a stretch just before the camp had deeper waters and a gentle flow. Next afternoon, when the sun was strong enough to provide a relief from the cold of the river, I got into the waters and spent a good thirty minutes swimming.
Another year passed by and I was now keen to go swimming in a river again. Closer to home, an overnight journey is Kempu Holé, a beautiful river that flows through the Sahyadris. One evening, we took a bus and alighted at a place close to the river. A quick breakfast later, we were on our way to find a good swimming-spot. It did not take us too long to find a place, which is perhaps the beset place I have had a chance to swim in all these years. It was an eight-feet deep pool which was wide and long enough to allow free swimming and was connected with a narrow channel with a good flow. I spent a long time swimming in those waters, occasionally resting at a rock-island in the middle of the pool just large enough to seat a person. Whenever I wished for some challenge, I would go into the flowing channel and slowly work my way up, then sitting in a tiny waterfall at its beginning and letting the falling waters massage my back.
It took me three full years before I could experience the pleasures of swimming in the open waters again. One winter, when I was strolling on a beach in Gokarna, I watched a few travellers go swimming into the ocean and well away from the beach. Until then I did not think it was safe, but the time to try had now arrived. I entered the waters and swam a few hundred meters away from the shore, occasionally resting on the water and continuing when I felt more confident. I still remember a bemused look of a boatman who had anchored far from the shore, who seemed to be wondering what is this person up to. That evening’s swim, which lasted for a good thirty minutes, gave me some kind of an inner strength and taught me to ignore the inner fears.
Each time I went swimming in the open waters, I felt happy and completely engaged in the moment. It was a feeling that I wished lasted forever, but always lasted only as long as the experience lasted.
And to conclude..
It was indeed great to go through these experiences and moments of complete happiness. But they were all short lived, some times fleeting and depended on an external stimulus. As humans, we have always chased happiness and we have often chased it someplace else than where we are. I have spent the last decade spending a lot of time travelling, often seeking such moments. But a short lived happiness is far from a lasting and fulfilling experience. If I had spent everyday watching those snow peaks, or sleeping in the open desert, living next to a high altitude lake, chasing the sheep or swimming in the open waters, those experiences may have quickly become jaded and the mind would start searching for something else. Perhaps a lasting happiness has to come only from wherever we are, perhaps from within.