By Samir Nazareth
For my half, I commute to not cross anyplace, yet to move. I commute for travel's sake. the nice affair is to maneuver. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson in Travels with a Donkey Few people have the panache to install our papers, loose ourselves from our desks, and take off on a half-year-long journey alongside the coastal necklace of peninsular India. This richly-flavoured travelogue combines experience, serendipity, meals, and sheer joie de vivre. The narrative irresistibly attracts us in as benevolent observers of the various points and foibles of humanity. residing out of a backpack, in price range accommodations, and consuming bananas as a staple, simply upload to the heady demanding situations that stimulate the spirit of wanderlust of this maverick-explorer. The travel diary, ranging from the distant north-western coastal tip and climaxing, particularly precariously, method above sea-level on the very likely sinister Indo-Tibetan border, is an engrossing chronicle of discoveries in regards to the wants, perspectives, tribulations, joys, and sheer zest for...
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Extra resources for 1400 Bananas, 76 Towns & 1 Million People
Their posture has a certain unhurried nonchalance; they do not look at their watches; nor do they pace up and down as city dwellers do. Their stoical patience is the antipode of urban hurly-burly. We also roar past solitary men sitting in the scrubland, surrounded by desolation, lost in their own world. Somehow, the figure of a man squatting on his haunches, set against the wilderness, accentuates his living presence. One has to curb a desire to stop the bus and intrude into his solitary reverie and delve into his soul.
Perhaps they have imbibed a ‘waiting-for-the-bus’ discipline to deal with the long hours spent waiting in this ‘nowhere’ outpost of India. One wonders if they are simply waiting or taking a collective breather from the rigours of life? Their posture has a certain unhurried nonchalance; they do not look at their watches; nor do they pace up and down as city dwellers do. Their stoical patience is the antipode of urban hurly-burly. We also roar past solitary men sitting in the scrubland, surrounded by desolation, lost in their own world.
He suggests a place next to the bus stand for lunch. When I get there, it is bustling – customers going in and out, servers carrying food or empty plates – all good signs to a hungry client. Once seated and a thali ordered, the first thing to appear is a steel glass of buttermilk. It is delicious. I have half a mind to congratulate the owner on the quality of the aperitif, but reality has contrary things in store. A waiter walks by carrying a number of tetrapaks and empty glasses into which he pours the contents.