The Journey ( Part I )
Embarking on a journey from one of the world's second dirtiest cities to the familiar embrace of family and friends, I found myself reflecting on the uneven scales of life. It hadn't always been a ride of sheer joy or profound discovery for me. Yet, amidst the academic grind and the nocturnal battles with sleep, the sudden announcement of a delayed next semester exam felt like an unforeseen holiday blessing. It was an opportunity that hadn't crossed my mind until then, igniting a spark of anticipation for the break ahead.
Our departure was marked by the reluctant farewell of the sun, setting the stage for a nocturnal voyage. The flight's smoothness was a stark contrast to the rough journeys of past, where constant jolts and the startling honks disrupted the quest for rest. The turbulence of wind against the slowing vehicle and the fluctuations in fuel levels added layers of discomfort to the ordeal. This was the reality of travel for those of us not privileged with the luxury of flying, a testament to the essence of life's journey on the road less comfortable.
The tranquility of sleep was abruptly shattered for a fellow passenger, leading to an unfortunate expulsion of her meal onto the exterior of our metal chariot. The resulting aroma was far from pleasant, evoking memories of the sterile environment of my college's hospital rather than the warmth of home-cooked meals. Positioned beside this scene, I couldn't help but muse over the absurdity of the situation, my thoughts not even wandering to the simple act of offering water to ease her discomfort.
Our midnight pause, ironically termed a 'midnight lunch,' broke the monotony. It was a brief interlude in our lengthy expedition, a momentary halt that neither celebrated nor despised but simply marked a point in our journey. Upon reboarding, we resumed our trek across the terrain, devoid of the romanticism of horse-led carriages, plunging into the night towards our next checkpoint.
Dawn greeted us at the Indian border of West Bengal, a welcome change of scenery marked by the hustle and bustle distinct from our previous backdrop. My reflection in the mirror revealed a traveler marked by the journey—dust intertwined with hair, a natural afro sculpted by the journey's trials. The lines of fatigue and the dust's imprint on my face were badges of the road traversed, a sight that coaxed a weary smile from me as I approached the immigration line.
The wait was long, stretching into the early hours, fueling my anxiety about securing transportation across the Indian plains. My friend's lack of enthusiasm for negotiation landed us in a van navigating one of India's roughest roads. The journey's harshness was momentarily softened by a cold coke from a roadside stall, a simple pleasure that propelled us forward with the promise of a hearty Bhutanese meal awaiting our arrival.
Finally, the border gate loomed into view, its welcome sign a beacon of familiarity and comfort, heralding our return to Bhutanese soil. This journey, a tapestry of discomfort, unexpected camaraderie, and the relentless push towards home, was a chapter in the unwritten book of my travels. A story to be continued, with the certainty of more bumps, more unexpected meals, and the undeniable pull of home always drawing me back across the threshold.
........................................................................................................(to be continued).......................
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