I cannot remember the very first trail I followed. But, I do recollect the first trail journey of the very first time I travelled alone. For those of us who love to travel with themselves, the reminiscences from solo journeys’ are evermore heightened and clear to the erstwhile memories which become fairly muted.
Trails. I find them fascinating and I’m certain so do many before me have and after me shall. They have the ability to make you feel on an adventure – an a off-road-like adventure you visualise as the walk begins, where you conjure up scenarios, collect smells, sights, feel a sense of place and make memories of your own - even when a muddied and broken path is laid out in front of you. There is a visceral joy and intrigue to follow a trail.
There are a few books on trails one can find - Robert Macfarlane’s Lost Ways being one of them. It explores forgotten trails and in a way a lost way of seeing and experiencing beauty and, life. It was when I journeyed through various parts of Kargil and Ladakh having the sculptural mountains by my side each day, I began to imagine how immensely satisfying and breath-taking the trails people created and followed for Silk Route must be. The beauty they would see, the silence and stillness they experience as they made their way through the intimidating yet gentle peaks. Surreal, no?
And, then there are other trails I find deeply healing and moving: the ones which the novellas gives us. It can be traces of Marquez’s Macondo, Chile through Neruda’s words, Ruskin’s laid-back stories and more.
The time I savoured Museum of Innocence* (in written word) I was (and still am) enormously captivated by the vivacity of the museums - celebrated and unknown, Kemal, the protagonist, visits (5723, worldwide) while subconsciously gathering inspiration for his own: his life, family, city of Istanbul where he was born and raised and, largely as an ode and memory to the woman he loved and learned for years’, Füsun. It is a trail I want to follow one day. Go to as many of those museums I can. See, feel and hear the immensely personal stories they tell and delights of everydayness they offer; the latter which many of us have forgotten with the recent narrative of Seize the day or Make each day count, as though ordinariness is a disease.
The life and journey of Bakharwals’ is another trail I want to fill my lungs with. The fictional voyage of Lalla Rookh, civilisations alongside the Nile and closer home, wild & the life which accompanies Brahmaputra, and a much daydreamed of motorcycle expedition of languages, cuisine and sub-cuisine, art and ancient kingdoms through the Hindi-heartland.
It doesn’t matter if the trails I venture onto have been explored by many a people, have been photographed or, written about in detail; I, nonetheless, want to follow them and make them my own: with personal memories, the patch of flat land from where I lost my way, the stones which I recognise, the tress who were my markers and much more.
*Museum of Innocence is a real museum in Istanbul. In a manner of speaking, it is an ode to book by the it’s author Orhan Pamuk, the characters which make the novel and, for many “it is a stunning blur of fiction and reality”.
P.S - I feel that this blog entry, in bits and parts, reads quite similar and sounds familiar to the one written previously – Foreknowledge and Travel. Familiarity and similarity is not a detail I am embarrassed of or shy to admit. I believe that if a certain way of thinking visits again, it is time to rejoice; because those thoughts are growing-up with you - year on year, piece by piece.