Pens and Pages

My stories of sheer stupidity needs documenting. This one needs to be a blog post for when my memory wouldn’t remind me of the glorious night that kept from an epic trip to an epic failure within minutes, this post would always be there to remind me of my experience. It was all going well – as planned. I met Vibhor (Dhote) in the Zagreb Bus Terminal on an early morning to reach Plitvice by noon. Of course we had some trouble finding each other in the terminal because I had no internet connection and I went to the wrong shop at first, but my memory doesn’t aid me with those details for what entailed in the evening was far more chaotic. In a nutshell, we met each other just in time to catch the bus Dhote had booked. Yes, the credits of planning the trip goes to Dhote for I love it to just show up and go with the flow. I remember the previous evening at Zagreb, all I did was ask the hostel receptionist to tell me about the important spots, take a map from him and just walk whereve...

“I am not hungry,” he said with a visible frown on his face.  Tim was a Russian musician who was tired having traveled all the way from Bangkok to Stockholm without proper sleep that day. We both were couch-surfing at Stockholm for the first time, the way many travelers do when they wish to meet new people, and our host was out with his friends for some time. It was a crazy evening and the three of us had gone out but I had to return mostly because Tim wasn’t feeling well and he didn’t know the way back home and partly because I couldn’t afford the club we were in. The clock had struck 12 in the midnight and I knew I was hungry. I am not sure if this is because I am a foodie, a fatso or an Indian but I simply cannot sleep if my tummy indicates it needs something nor can I imagine others not being hungry when I am. Tim was adamant that he’d not have anything, since he was too tired to get anything and too upset with the sudden change in temperature he observed between the ...

Five years back on this day I wrote my first ever blogpost. So, despite the fact that I haven’t written much after I returned to India from my Euro Trip, I decided to celebrate the 5 th anniversary of my blog with another blogpost. And although it’s been a month that I am back here, memories of Europe remain vividly etched on the canvas of my mind and I fail to not reminisce them every single day, every single night. Some of the questions I faced when I returned (and I still face sometimes) were about how much I spent on the trip, more so because I was the one who had managed to spoil three cellphones and one laptop during the trip. But besides these major damages there were minute disappearances that kept on happening with my trivial belongings. Surprisingly, I felt happier when I lost my clothing items since it implied that I had to carry less in my baggage during the rest of the trip. Here’s a list of items I lost during the Euro Trip and the places where I lost them bec...

I always thought it was to my disadvantage that I can never hold back my tears when I need to. I have cried in places I swear I wouldn’t. I am the person in a movie hall who cries whenever the protagonist is in a bad situation. I am the person who is going to cry when you tell her something bad about your own life. And if I don’t, in front of you, I am going to run to the washroom a little while later to let the tears flow, after patting my back for holding them for a while. Reminiscing the conversation and crying later just before sleeping is my thing to. I have lost the count of the times I have cried in the presence of someone I wouldn’t want to show my sensitive side to. But that’s me – 25 and still a crybaby in situations of frustration, anger and sadness, with no consideration to whoever is around me. I remember the time I cried in Venice in front of two guys I just met that day and two other guys I had known only from a couple of days. But that’s a story for another day;...

Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry no longer feel that heavy; What have they lost if not for a few coins, a few notes, some letters written long ago, a few locks, a few clothes? Or is it the loss of some fears, some shackles, some thoughts tied to their waist belts several years ago? Where is the fatigue? Where are the tears that drenched my pillow? Where is the inability to wake up early in the morning and the incessant desire to sleep forever? Today, every time I close my eyes, I need to type, I need to write. Where is the indolence, the procrastination, the lack of, as I would say whenever they ask, the "limited time"? What is this insouciance called? Where have eloped the eternal need for love, money and the things I've already sold? Why Plath has shut her eyes today whom I so deeply adored? Bukowski's Bluebird is set free now while Sahir's pleas ...

It’s been days now since I wrote my last blog – not out of the lack of thinking-time but because sometimes I don’t find a charging spot in a train (my laptop battery sucks big time) or sometimes I am too sleepy when I reach my hostel after all the sight-seeing of the day.[Right now I am typing while sitting on the train to Paris from Stuttgart] Life has changed or maybe, I have changed. Only a few days earlier we were thinking of our student exchange program, planning of the places we would visit – Vienna, Paris, Santorini, etc; And now we are here living that dream of ours we had seen from before joining an MBA program. Oh, how I love myself to have dared to take this trip despite all the initial doubts of mine and worries of my loved ones. Oh, how I love myself today that I am almost a nomad traveling from one place to another, sleeping in trains, making a living room in train stations, with my backpack that has sufficient clothes to last me for two months. Of course,...

I have a lot to talk about – enough to not be allowed by the international calling charges to communicate over phone to my friends what I have to tell, enough that when I return to India there would probably be a lot more to talk about than the spare time I will get to do so. So here I am, for those who are traveling solo or with friends to a new country; here I am, for my friends and family who would like to know my story. I remember returning from Budge Budge, West Bengal to Guwahati, Assam alone once and then telling the entire story to a bunch of my friends while they sat in the hostel room listening to it patiently. That’s the exact way I usually like to narrate the events that happen to or around me. Anyway, I start this journey at Delhi International Airport waving good-bye to my friend Shikha’s parents as they hug her and me. Since my Visa arrived a little late, I had to manage all the packing, Eurail pass, cards and cash in a duration of a couple of days. My parents ...

I have a lot to talk about – enough to not be allowed by the international calling charges to communicate over phone to my friends what I have to tell, enough that when I return to India there would probably be a lot more to talk about than the spare time I will get to do so. So here I am, for those who are traveling solo or with friends to a new country; here I am, for my friends and family who would like to know my story. I remember returning from Budge Budge, West Bengal to Guwahati, Assam alone once and then telling the entire story to a bunch of my friends while they sat in the hostel room listening to it patiently. That’s the exact way I usually like to narrate the events that happen to or around me. Anyway, I start this journey at Delhi International Airport waving good-bye to my friend Shikha’s parents as they hug her and me. Since my Visa arrived a little late, I had to manage all the packing, Eurail pass, cards and cash in a duration of a couple of days. My parents ...