The Journey Begins

Dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white linen shirt, her hair loosely tied in a bun atop her head, held together by an unsharpened pencil, and with oversized glasses precariously perched on her nose, Shreya looked quite different from her usual elegant self. She had opted for the ‘no jewellery’ look as she wanted to appear as casual as possible. There was an air of bohemia about her, like she had begun to care a wee bit less about the world. Her face looked like she was ready to break into a huge grin, but she was somehow holding herself back. She hugged Indroneel tightly at the airport who in turn, smiled at her weakly, asking her for the hundredth time to be safe and careful. She promised to do just that and made her way inside hurriedly. She did not look back, lest she change her mind at the last minute. This was one decision she wanted to stick to. After all, she had invested a lot into it. Seated on a window seat, Shreya looked as the city of Mumbai turned into tiny dots and soon disappeared from sight. She remembered the numerous occasions when she had given up the much coveted window seat for the comfort of her children or in-laws. None of that was needed to be done now. She was responsible only and only for herself. As the aircraft surged higher, so did her spirits. She wolfed down the sandwich that was served, and drank the orange juice quickly, before putting her head back on the seat, and closing her eyes. A riot of emotions were playing out in her mind. Although she was thrilled at having embarked on her first ever solo trip, she could not deny the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Anticipation and nervousness were both vying for a place within her. The next thirty days loomed large in her mind’s eye. She knew that she had taken a bold step towards self-discovery and was eager to know what lay ahead. Life had been so busy over the past years, that although Shreya had wanted to delve deep into her mind and introspect about a lot of things, she had never really had enough time to do so. Something or the other always took precedence over her, in her own life. Now, for the next month, time with herself would be amply available to her.

The past few days at home had been full of conflicts and arguments, not without good reason though. When Indroneel had broached the topic of Shreya’s fiftieth birthday celebration, the last thing he had expected was for her to come up with the idea of a solo trip. He had expected her to want a lavish party, some expensive jewellery or maybe a trip to Bali or even something more exotic like the south of France. Shreya was disappointed that her husband of 28 years knew so little about her innermost desires. Without a doubt, Shreya enjoyed socialising and interacting with people. She loved the finer things of life too. But she knew that there was something more to her as a person. Something that she had kept hidden even from herself for too long. Entrenched beneath layers of conditioning and routine, was a curious nomad who loved exploring the world. Shreya was like a pot full of water, waiting to overflow, but contained by its lid. Often, she had dreamt of being alone in a faraway land, surrounded by mountains, inhaling the fresh air and absorbing the sounds of silence. Scenes of sitting on a beach and watching the ocean ahead of her, marvelling at its vastness and wondering whether the sun actually merged in it at sunset, came to her often. She dreamt of gurgling waterfalls, meadows bursting with ripe crops and the sweet smell of jasmine. Then, when she would wake up and find herself in the confines of her air-conditioned bedroom, she could feel her spirit being almost crushed.

Shreya hailed from a Bengali family that was keenly inclined towards poetry and art. Often they would sit together for hours, talking about the beauty in the verses of Kabir or Rumi, and mull over the writings of Tagore. She was an artist, and her paintings were also discussed at length by her dear ones. Her father always tried to decipher what she was thinking, or what her views on life were, through them.

She got married at an early age into a family of repute, but which was more practical and down to earth in its approach. It was a quintessential Bengali joint family that was happy with its machher jhol1, and even happier discussing its succulent taste for hours. Each member of the family had the ‘shob janta gamcha wala2’ attitude. Many a conversation revolved around how intellectually evolved they were, as compared to people of other castes, and how they had played a major role in the freedom struggle of India. They seemed to revel in past glory, and sit in judgement over every political issue, big or small. As the years went by, Shreya began to lose interest in such innocuous and insipid discussions. Her mind began to crave stimulation. Often, when she sat with her family for dinner, her mind drifted to faraway lands. The drudgery of routine had begun to gnaw at her insides.