Road Trip!

Yesterday, I went on a road-trip, after a considerably long time, and it was fun. My preferred mode of road transport is bus, though after coming to India I have developed quite a fancy for riding pillion on a two-wheeler (especially on a motorbike!) but yesterday I was in a car, with family.

We drove about an hour out of the city, to a sort-of farmhouse under construction in a place called Gaangad, which you will probably not pronounce right unless you are familiar with the Gujarati language,

As I sat by the window, silently watching the factories and farms and open fields zoom by, I lapsed into a reverie of all the many road trips I have had the pleasure of taking in my life. The 5-hour-long drives to Dad’s Kenyan hometown, Mombasa, listening to Bollywood cassette tapes (remember those?) on the stereo and munching on junk food; shorter trips to other Kenyan towns – Nakuru, Naivasha, Nanyuki, Tigoni – for day-long and sometimes overnight picnics with extended family; fun-filled school camping trips to national parks; a memorable journey to the Niagara falls in Toronto, Canada; long drives within the Greater Toronto Area on Highways 401 and 407 and others I don’t remember, with family friends and acquaintances, spotting the occasional long-haired, oozing-with-sex-appeal biker boy zoom by on a Harley and fantasizing about riding with him. I am not afraid of huge, fast sports bikes, as long as there is someone to cling to. :P

The songs that played on the radio brought back memories, and my mind sped, as if in sync with the car. Nostalgia: intoxicating, overwhelming, smile-inducing.

At the farmhouse, the first thing I encountered were animals: ducks, chickens, a horse, goats, cows, and three generations of fluffy, little rabbits. Here’s a picture of one of the youngest ones being held by my cousin:

Then, we proceeded to the actual house that’s still under construction. Two rooms are almost ready, needing just windows to be fitted. Call me absurd/silly/adolescent but the first thought that struck me when I entered the room was how it would provide an ideal setting to lose one’s virginity. A double bed in a cozy little room in the middle of almost nowhere, surrounded by the sounds of nature = romance at its best. I quickly pushed the thought away, given the sad fact that I wasn’t there alone with some hunky guy but instead with parents and a grandma and uncles and aunts and cousins and little kids, and we sat around chatting, waiting for the sun to go down a bit so that we could go out and explore.

Explore we did: my cousin and I walked to a pile of beautiful golden hay and plopped down on it, joking about the scenes in Hindi movies involving the hero and heroine reclining on the dried stuff on the back of trucks they hitch a ride on. We then sat on the swings and swung to our hearts’ content, for hours. I loved the cool wind on my face and in my hair, and I remembered a time way back in primary school when I had spent every recess and every lunch hour on a tire swing, wanting to go higher and higher and higher. An early sign of my ingrained escapist tendencies, I suppose, wanting to reach far, far away from the world below my feet.

At night, we sat and ate, talking as we saw the trucks on the highway, swatting away the insects that hovered over our heads.

My little cousin, on learning from her dad that I actually write stories rather than merely read them, questioned me about what my stories are about. I was speechless, because obviously I could not explain to a six-year-old that I write about romantic love and sex and the pressures of young adulthood. Luckily, she moved on before I could think of a quick cover, and told me about the stories she’s read at school, Cinderella in particular. I wish I could tell her Prince Charmings don’t exist, but then again, if someone had told me that when I was little, I would probably not have believed them, so its better she grows to find out on her own. It struck me yesterday, how there is nothing as comforting as a child’s fragile yet firm embrace, and I wondered what it would be like, to have one of my very own, possessing my genetic material. Fascinating, at the very least.

Here are some not-so-good pictures of the sunset and the moon:

That's the moon at dusk! (it was right opposite the setting sun)


The other smaller lights are reflections from approaching vehicles on the highway behind me, which I think looks kind of cool, in a weird way.

It was a refreshing getaway, if only for a few hours, and I hated returning to the city and its smells of pollution and junk food and all things artificial, and its sounds of belching, honking vehicles and loud people, and its innate negativity and defeating sense of frustration and futility.

I wish I could travel more often; it seems to be one of my primary needs. I will, once I have the money.