Ever so often in my sober life, I had wondered what I have gained from being normal! What came of following the crowds, of joining the classless mob? A pretentious life, an unfulfilling satisfaction, and unfinished sense of completion? Where was I going with all this? It was like trying so hard to fit in.

Then one night I sat up in bed and decided to be different. I packed my bags and waited for dawn. For the first time in my life I appreciated how the soft light crept through the curtains of night and slowly seeped all over the sky, lighting up an inky atmosphere to look golden and bejewelled. How my lifeless routine had conditioned me to ignore all this beauty, to see it as just another normal way of life!

I walked out on my overly secure presence, into an adventure that I was excited about. I disconnected my phone and handed over the reins of my shop to my niece and left. My senses were tingling with anticipation. I caught the only bus that had tickets, heading towards Davangere. By 1pm I got there. I made notes of all things that caught my eye on the journey. I wanted to make a travelogue. I noted just about everything that touched me from the green paddy fields, the vineyards, sunflower fields, tomato and chili farms, tiny goat kids with skin like black velvet, old crones drying chili on a tarred road, dark men selling cucumber to passing cars, dead dogs, crows, just everything. I had lunch at a dusty dhaba called Doodh Sagar dhaba. I decided to stay at Davangere for the night. For a little district it was noisy during the day, bustling with little buses, cattle and men fighting for space on the narrow roads, that were half cobbled and half tarred. At night, though, it was like a dream, quaint and faraway. It was a sleepy town under a silky, star-studded sky.

I had booked a ticket to Ooty for the next day. The bus ride was bumpy and rickety. I had to change buses at Mysore and caught the connecting bus with minutes to spare. I’ll say that the journey to Ooty was a learning experience in the ways of nature. The serpentine, winding roads up the ghats, crawling lazily to the top, seemed like they were challenging the downward slope on one side and the steep uphill on the other, to try and encroach upon its space there. The setting sun looked like the king of the sky, shying away from his bride, by hiding behind wisps of cloud. The dull orange that graced the sky look like the sun was indeed blushing. As he cast his evening, orange blush on the deciduous trees, the entire mountainside looked a pinkish red and all set to sleep away. We reached Ooty around late dusk. The town had changed drastically since my last visit. It had grown crowded. It seemed like the mountain was weeping with the weight of all the commercial hustle that had become of the quiet little town. I didn’t feel like adding to its burden and so I took a cab to the nearby Conoor. Immediately I took to the greenery and the little muddy roads and friendly people. A family was kind enough to give me accommodation. It was a refreshing to be alone in the melancholy of the hills rather than be alone in a crowd of people. I stayed here for 3 weeks. I grew very fond of the family I put up with. Mr. Maruda Nayakar was an auditor. Meera his wife was a primary school teacher and Pavan was their daughter studying in 2^nd grade. They soon let me into their life and told me all about themselves. I learned, also, that Pavan had a hole in her heart that could not be corrected and that she was counting her days. I wondered how this family then put up a brave face and smiled each day, and entertained me like there was no tomorrow! Meera once told me that she loved calling her child’s name as often as possible just to hear her resounding reply and the wind in her voice, which reassured them for the time being that their child was still with them. So much pain in the world, I thought. And yet so much joy bursting from it, to overpower pain and give us a sense of warmth. At 40 I was beginning to appreciate life. I left my address and contact details with the Nayakars when I left them. I was positive that wasn’t the only thing I was leaving behind. I knew I was leaving my heart behind too.

From Ooty, I took the train to Coimbatore. In Coimbatore I had some relatives to meet. I stayed at their home. My nephews took me out for a drink. I enjoyed the evening and bonded with them for the first time without the baggage that you carry while visiting relatives in obligation. Madurai was my next stop. I paid my respects at the magnificent Madurai Meenakshi temple. I stayed in a lodge with wet walls and a lumpy bed that night. I was reminded of what comfort and security I had left behind in Bangalore. But I couldn’t complain. So far it had been a good learning experience at my age.

At the Madurai bus station the next morning, I saw something that affected my life forever. A young beggar lady was requesting for alms, holding an infant in her hands. The child was wailing incessantly. I gave her some money and she passed on. I boarded my bus and sat down to look outside the window. I noticed the child had stopped crying and felt quite glad about it. For 10 minutes my eyes followed the hawkers and pedestrians on the road. Suddenly there was an uproar, noise and confusion. The lady I gave alms to, stood howling in tears. Then I heard a hawker saying in Tamil that the infant had passed away. In a second the woman’s life had crumbled. Her young one was lying lifeless in her embrace, she shaking it, willing it to come back to life. In a split second, life had knocked the wind out of her. My heart was heavy as I left Madurai that morning.

I landed at Dhanushkoti, late evening. As I crossed the Rameshwaram bridge I watched the waves in the surrounding, whispering the secrets of the world to the winds. They were conversing in a mysterious language that my narrow mind could not comprehend. I yearned to listen in on this conversation between wind and water. What kept them so happy and carefree? Their lack of emotions seemed to say so much more than the deepest of our emotions or expressions! How I wanted to be a part of them. Merge with the sand below the sea, the particles filling molecular spaces between the winds, yet here I was on a bus, more solid than my desires, wishing for a moment that I wasn’t. Dhanushkoti is the tip of Rameshwaram, with the Bay of Bengal on 3 sides of its triangular tip. This was the pious land that had aided Lord Rama in his rescue of Sita, which in later years would go on to become inaccessible due to LTTE movement. What respect did we humans have for things beyond our knowledge, shedding blood on God’s lands!

But for now I was content with this peace-loving town. There were no hotels here and stayed  at a temple dharamshala. It was the epitome of simplicity. A straw mattress, pillow and simple blankets were all I had, to fight the winter nights. There was an earthen pot with water and this summed up the contents of my cement walled room, with a small square opening for light.

I spent my time sitting on the rocks in the seaside and pondering the mysteries of life! As I watched the waves, it seemed like they were constantly challenging the rocks to a game of touch and go. I didn’t know who had more patience: the rocks who stood tall and took the incessant lashing of the waves without a change, or the waves who persistently whipped over the rocks and came crashing down with all their strength, trying to erode the rocks! Who was mightier, I asked, and both I admitted to myself. The waves rolling back and forth during low tide was like miles of foam gushing and gurgling between porous holes of coral, tickling and teasing them for their mighty silence. The green shelled crabs scuttling in and out, weaving through the rocks, getting slapped by the water was like seeing naughty kids playing hide and seek. Who was the creator of all this glory? How did his creativity transcend into breath-taking beauty upon this earth? Was he the same God who created disease, sorrow and death on the one hand and so much of love, birth and beauty on the other? Is it his way of balancing the world? He is so poetic, I must say!

In this little Dhanushkoti I met a magic man! He brought a smile to my face. He saw all of nature’s beauty in a way that I loved. He made my eyes twinkle. He could move me to tears with his touching tales of travel. He was an addict of the free life and mindless travel just like I had become. Patrick Hennessey was the kind of traveller who at 45 was the mirror reflection of my inner self. He changed my life in a few moments. I telegraphed my sons, telling them of my plans to get married again, here in Dhanushkoti. My boys caught the next flight to Madurai and drove down to the end of the world to meet mama and the crazy man who had charmed her! Quiet surprisingly neither of them was distressed. On the contrary they were very excited about the idea. They took to Pat like they had known him forever. My one-month at this place ended with me married. My sons went back to their respective businesses and I left to Nainital as Mrs. Nisha Patrick Hennessey!!

Nainital was all hills and apple orchards! A year passed with us traveling to Leh, Srinagar, Manali, and then to Shillong, Meghalaya, Bengal etc. They were all made more enjoyable with us recounting our stories to each other. The snow, the mountains, the frozen lakes, left us with no words to describe their beauty. They gave us a peace of mind and sense of contentment that compares to nothing else. The morning due, the evening hues, the rain, the sun, the sky, enormous heights with no limits to life!

After a year and half of self-actualization and travel, Pat and I came back to Bangalore. Home at last! I sifted through my mail on returning and found one from the Nayakars. I knew before I opened it, that the contents carried the burdens of life. Pavan had passed away a few months ago. My eyes were wet and my heart heavy. I made a trip to their home and paid my respects.

I had learned so much from life in the last 18 months. I had gained a new family in the Nayakars, who became an important part of the rest of my days. I had gained a soul mate, who grew old with me and grew better with me as we aged. A few years prior, I would have never dreamed this possible! I had acquired normalcy from the abnormal events that I had witnessed in the world and had grown to respect the subtleties and satisfaction that come with a quiet and ordinary life.