Travel diary : Hampi

The night before my trip to Hampi


Oh, please, I pray. Do not do this to me.

I do not know what it is, or how long is it going to last.

This feeling, to me, is miserable.


As if in a cloudy night, the moon shines and drifts the clouds away.

And in doing so, it hides behind a large cloud;

All that is left behind is complete darkness.



In Hampi

Look, what do I walk into.

I walk into the rocks that stand high together.

I walk into people talking about war and peace.

I walk into merry men with their merry box of tools, otherwise called vagabonds.

They, in their merry mood, take the dust out from your ears,

The dust that has been there for years.


I walk into people who think taking the common path is boring, let us take the rocky path instead.


The same night

The moon that shines brightly above the head of the few hundreds, much alike minds, is hidden behind the trees tonight. It is out of my view, and I want to see it. The only possible way to do that right now is to move to a place that is comfortable and gives me a clearer view of the moon. However, I feel that I am too lazy to do that.

So, I will just wait until the time is right. I will wait for the moon to get a view of me, instead.

Days in Hampi pass much like the afternoons in summer. I see many colourful individuals around, and I feel glad that I am disconnected from the other side of the world – a world that expects you to be responsible and brave.



Comfort, however, is not kind. It always costs you one thing or the other. For me, my comfort sees me sitting in this cafe, writing this note, with no money in my pocket; no, not at all. I am broke because of some of the recent decisions that I made.

Food becomes a primary worry now. My hopes rely on the Indian restaurant. It is a small, but a comfortable place that I have been visiting for my meals. So, I just hope that the humble folks in this eating place, who are now my acquaintances, feed me until Tuesday; Tuesday is when I am getting my money.



The wonderful part of travelling, as I often say, is meeting new people from places near and far, beyond and across.

I wish to continue writing this journal, but I want to read my book of short stories now. Hence, this may be continued later.



A dream


From the 60s

We were out on the streets as soon as the sun had set. Me and her, and the beauty that she carried along with her, all the time.

I do not remember how, and I cannot be practical about what good was it doing to my life, but we agreed to go and see a movie. I do not remember what movie it was or where were we. However, I remember us: me, her, and the beauty, her beauty, that she carried with her all the time. We hurried through the streets, my hand in hers; oh, how skilfully did she lead me – like life leads to death.

I cannot describe her appearance. However, I remember her face, wearing a graceful smile, like the mountains wearing the mist.

Here, there is not much to be said about me. I was led by her; I do not know where, perhaps to a movie theatre.

I willingly followed her, now and then looking around. I stumbled and tripped, on stones and words, and all she did was smile and nod. I did not mind it, no, not at all, for I was happy with her, and the beauty that she carried along with her all the time.

“You look like a Bollywood actress from the 60s,” I said, looking at her.

Her hair, which she somehow managed to tie in a bun, had now hung down in elegant waves up to a decent length. Through it, I could see her, her smile, and the beauty that she carried with her all the time.

She did not reply, and we kept on moving; that moment, to me, felt like eternity.



The last day of my trip


An afternoon at Bobby’s, with a loaf of German bread, a cup of tea, and Jerome K. Jerome and Tolstoy in the form of books –  great company. Doesn’t this seem like a pleasant setting?




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