When I was a child, I was obsessed with the idea of travelling the world. Who wasn't, you may ask! Well, then you don't quite understand the intensity of my obsession. I was obsessed to the point of craziness. In hindsight, am surprised my parents didn't seek some sort of counseling for me during those days.
I used to dream about and imagine myself in all those far, far places. All those wonderful strangers with their strange languages and strange ways of lives. I used to display my horoscope to any random astrologer or my palm to any random palmist and ask the Golden Question, "Foreign povvo?". Literal translation: "Go foreign?". In better English, "Will I go abroad?". People have given me all kinda responses, "Sure...as soon as tomorrow", "Never", "Maybe after 30 years" etc. etc. The inconsistency never stopped me from asking again. I even forced my dad to get me a passport when I was 9 for no particular reason and it lay unused for almost 7 years.
There is a festival called Thrissur Pooram in my town. Every year, I used to anxiously wait for it. I didn't care for the great fireworks or the elaborate decorations or the adorned elepahnts or the extensive rituals that Pooram was famous for. All I cared for was that with Thrissur Pooram, arrived the "Foreigners". Americans, Brits, Australians, French etc. etc. etc. It used to be best of times!
I used to drag my poor dad along to meet these random strangers. I used to go up and talk to them - on the streets, in the restaurants, in hotel lobbies - just so that I can listen to their amazing stories about their countries and people in all the different accents that they came with. (By the way, kudos to my dad for playing along with my madness for so many years. I might have asked my child to get a life instead). Sometimes I even got random tourists to come to my house for "an authentic Kerala meal", much to the annoyance of my mom who would be caught unawares.
Those days, my idol was this globe-trotting uncle who had several exciting stories to tell about the places he had visited. One day I came across his pile of passports. He had around 5-6 stuck together - evidence of his globe trotting. I looked through the pages in awe... all those visas stamped on them... the sight gave me more pleasure than all my Enid Blyton books stuck together. And then someone in the family commented, "Oh, he ran out of pages in his passport." I was flabbergasted. His passport didn't expire...but it actually ran out of pages! That day, I didn't want anything more than my passport to run out of pages.
And today, I realize that my jumbo Indian passport issued in November 2004, has run out of pages.
987 more to go.
:) i relate so much to the wanderlust, you've no clue. i rmbr my fascination with the 'foreign accent' when our family travelled on one of the long-haul trains with an american in our coupe - i pity the man who was forced into conversing with a 4-yr old for 2 whole days, i rmbr day-dreaming abt studying in MIT or princeton or harvard (in retrospect, hahaha, i was ambitious eh? :P) while my classmates dreamt of IITs, i rmbr so much more from ye old days... and my family's nomadic ways only intensified this need to explore, see, experience more and newer places..
ReplyDeletecongrats on living ur dream, i still have a long way to go!
I love this post. You were such an audacious child! My mother would have had a fit if I brought random white people to the house!
ReplyDeleteIts great to look back and see that all along, you were headed to the very place you stand now! :)
Sherene - :D The great thing is that you ARE aborad among all those accented people now. :)
ReplyDeleteMellumoley - Trust me, my mom had fits too. I think my love for the faraway lands made me shut an eye to her fits. :P Yeah.. I guess if you wish for something with all your heart, it does come true! :)