If you come across a family climbing the Alps, wearing monkey caps you can bet your money on the fact that it is a Bengali family, or for ease of your tongue, “BONG”. Ah not that, you pothead! Yes mostly we bongs take our travelling seriously, and our parents take monkey cap seriously. While most of our tours are scheduled during Puja break (dussera! You know.), students like me, who are schooled from state boards we had two vacations; one after the finals of each year and one during puja break.
Incidentally I was born into a family, where everyone has the bug of travelling shoved deep up their ass (hope my parents never read this post). Ma and baba both met and fell in love during their trip, so no wonder I has always been wayward. My first trip was to Puri, the quintessential Bengali thing; you can or can’t love your machh-bhaat (fish and rice), but it will be a surprise if you have never been to puri. I remember I had a friend who used to go to puri religiously every year with his family, maybe he still does.
So starting from 6months of age I have been to many places and I see there’s many, many more places to visit. And thanks to my traveller baba, who never followed the conventional idea of going on a tour, it was easy for us explore the places, and nature. And often we stumbled upon stories, stories of places, of moments and more importantly people. Stories that matter or force you to think differently. I may have forgotten the names and exact things but I carry them in my bag of memories as a collective stories of souls. The following parts will be a tribute to my friends who matter, my parents and all those souls I came across.
One of my favourite singer said, “How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?”, and one of the happy soul I once met said, “love might not answer all your questions son, but road can for sure”. So if you are in for the journey, behold while I start my Enfield (oh still a long shot).
photo courtesy: flickr.com