It’s real. It really is. I traveled to Goa in car from Mumbai! The journey was like it is in films, where they show a particular character traveling over a particular map with a dotted line which progresses and then stops at a stop.
The journey was like it is for a cloud floating away in the sky at his own pace. For me it was like revisiting my yesterday. I have spent about 8 years of my childhood in a place which is very close to some of the places we passed on our way. We crossed Satara on our way. The sugarcane farms reminded me of the neighborhood kids who ran behind loaded bullock-cart, pulled sugarcane sticks out, and savored it with nothing but their milk teeth.
Every big town on the way was like a milestone. It was like a life packed in those 11-12 hours. We rejoiced at every significant stop. It gave me a back-ache. It also gave me a big grin.
NH-4 the highway was the road taken. It has fields on both its sides. In the middle of the road, the island is pink, white, yellow and amber with flowers. After a while as the car raced and kept racing I felt the thrill of a wild horse racing away with his full force.
The landscape looked so familiar to me. It wasn’t a very clear image, it was a blur memory. At times so blur, it felt almost as if I was remembering my past life.
The roofed houses, as we went off the highway, made me wonder who lives there and what kind of a life she leads. The small lane crossing a small village must be someone’s routine walk back home. How it must feel to walk on that road everyday? I wondered. Maybe I know the answer to that. I know how it feels to wake up in a house where you have birds building nests in your garden. I know how it feels to walk on a mud road.
I was seeing it all closely again.
The journey was like it is for a cloud floating away in the sky at his own pace. For me it was like revisiting my yesterday. I have spent about 8 years of my childhood in a place which is very close to some of the places we passed on our way. We crossed Satara on our way. The sugarcane farms reminded me of the neighborhood kids who ran behind loaded bullock-cart, pulled sugarcane sticks out, and savored it with nothing but their milk teeth.
Every big town on the way was like a milestone. It was like a life packed in those 11-12 hours. We rejoiced at every significant stop. It gave me a back-ache. It also gave me a big grin.
NH-4 the highway was the road taken. It has fields on both its sides. In the middle of the road, the island is pink, white, yellow and amber with flowers. After a while as the car raced and kept racing I felt the thrill of a wild horse racing away with his full force.
The landscape looked so familiar to me. It wasn’t a very clear image, it was a blur memory. At times so blur, it felt almost as if I was remembering my past life.
The roofed houses, as we went off the highway, made me wonder who lives there and what kind of a life she leads. The small lane crossing a small village must be someone’s routine walk back home. How it must feel to walk on that road everyday? I wondered. Maybe I know the answer to that. I know how it feels to wake up in a house where you have birds building nests in your garden. I know how it feels to walk on a mud road.
I was seeing it all closely again.
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1 comments:
Hey I am feeling very sleepy...so the comment can't be indepth...however...beautiful and charming post :P
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