Way to go

I am originally from Muzaffarnagar in Uttar Pradesh and now without an address of my own. I like to be called an itinerant writer. As someone who has shelved her IIT-Delhi computer science degree, quit her high-profile banking and software career eight years ago, and travels and writes full-time, I get to hear curious questions from people in different stages of life.

The oldest person to have emailed me after reading my travel and personal growth blog, ‘On My Canvas’, was an octogenarian. Maybe the old are more concerned about the regrets they don’t want others to have. The young are inspired too. They ask me how I took the leap, how I left the safety, comfort and ease of the conventional setup to go on a lone, risky, unknown path? And how do I stay on it? Am I not scared?

Over time, I have given different answers. Sometimes, I have pretended that every step I took was calculated. But it was not so.

Raised in a small city with traditional values, I had a simple life. I studied hard, got into a fabulous university, and started working. I wasn’t happy. I shifted gears. I tried different jobs, careers, and began exploring around, first on shorter trips and then on months-long ones. There was also a time when I said no to travel and outings.

Then, something changed in 2016 when I visited South-east Asia solo. I had been laid off. I didn’t have to return by a fixed time. There was no end-date. I went to Thailand, Vietnam and Cambodia alone. Those six weeks were excruciating but they showed me a new world. A world of travellers. I met backpackers and tourists who travelled for months with a bag and a zeal to see. Every day they set out with curiosity, excitement, and joy.

This joy was infectious.

I had already signed up for a volunteer programme in Chile to teach English as a second language. The programme was four months long, but I told my family it was six. I wanted a fresh start; I wanted to travel and explore. There was no turning back. Since then, I have visited more places than I can count, have been on the road more than I have been at home, and most days I am so out of my comfort zone that I’m like a fish on a tree.

To say I’ve lots of travel stories to tell wouldn’t be appropriate. These are tales I lived, breathed, thrived in, and in some cases, survived. I went to places beyond and far and close-by and next door. I packed, unpacked, commuted, checked in, got lost, saw, left, suffered, enjoyed, and laughed.

Why do I go away from home so often into a strange world where I don’t know anyone?

For me, the pleasure of travel is finding my way in an unfamiliar land amongst unknown faces. My eyes, ears, nose, skin, tongue and mind all churn, sense, and discover as if it’s their first time alive. They would like to know this new world, they whisper. I ask: what do you see? They all chatter at once.

I witness scenes I passed every day but didn’t notice. Like a garbage collection van parked in front of every house, its loudspeakers blasting a catchy cleanliness song. I hear even the faint cries of little kittens climbing in and out of the neighbourhood home’s window. Also, the loud yelling in the ground-floor home where an old mother and her single son try their best to live together. As I stroll on the sunny rooftop, the appetising fragrance of fresh garlic being fried in strong mustard oil washes over me. I also smell the pungent fresh paint which the households are being pasted with in preparation for the festival of lights, Diwali. When I wake up in a thick duvet with all my body hair raised, I realise September has turned into October, and I will have to ask the guesthouse host for a thicker blanket.

I’m overwhelmed. It is not my world. I might not be here tomorrow. But I like it. I venture into every nook and turn into every alley. I want to hear this space breathe. That my travels transformed me is an understatement. To say I’ve just learned something would be undermining this school of life. I stood at the summit of the smoky volcano I was sure I could never climb. I had been standing in my way. The limits I had set for myself were habits, some luxuries I could afford, some customised by society. I wanted to break those boundaries.

All the trails I wanted to be on, all the challenges were now mine.

And writing? Writing is like breathing. I take in everything, mull over it a bit, and then the words come out. When I travel, I see, but when I write, I’m listening. If I’m scared, I tell myself: remember when you were a little girl — you cried until your father gave you a ride on his two-wheeler. You couldn’t stand, so he put you down in the leg space. You weren’t scared. You clutched the plastic baggage holder up-front and giggled as he drove.

Aren’t you her? Laugh like that girl again. Look at the world with her inquisitive eyes. Try everything.

— Gupta is the author of ‘Journeys Beyond and Within…’

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