The Reluctant Nomad

Savouring a sunrise at the Hut Bay, Little Andaman

I’m under a house-arrest. Almost. I hurt myself  thanks to a freak fall from the stairs at the office. Doctor said the ligaments are torn in the foot and ankle and I need to rest for 8 weeks, with the ankle binder firmly in place. The unwarranted break from moving around hasn’t been easy to handle. 

I would like to view myself as an active person (my parents may disagree). I love moving about - sitting still isn’t really me. I easily notch up over 12k steps a day. Plus, I live to travel. If I’m not already packing the bags and heading somewhere, I am planning for one. Money and time were to permit, I would see every part of the world. Even those that nobody wants to go to. Like a scientist examining every cell of a tissue under a microscope! Or, a little kid in a toy store racking through all the dolls, or a candy shop trying every flavour! As I twiddle my thumbs sitting at home (and mind most of my work too from here, unless a meeting warrants me to limp my way to workplace) Sometimes I wonder why I travel.  Is it because I will have some bragging rights, that I have travelled to so many nations/places? Do I crave for some strange validation and attention from people? Yes, I do want to stack up numbers, for gloating within oneself, and not throw the stats at another.  No, ma'am, I don't brag - I am very humble like the Sudha Murty of steel spoons and jasmine flowers fame.  Or, maybe humbler because I don't even carry spoons myself.  Nor sport jasmines in my fast thinning hair!

I am not a foodie, and do not desire to eat like a local when I travel. So, there is no desire to taste sturgeon roe, or whale or horse or any other meat.  Or the smelly blue cheese!  I might of course deign to partake the local spirits and cocktails though. Purely for cultural immersion and/or medicinal purposes, of course! Also, as an introvert, shy person, I don't even travel to make friends - either with other travellers or the local people.  If ever I have made friends while travelling, it solely would be because of the other person's effort, and none mine (imagine how desperate that person must be, to converse, and find and befriend a reticent, nerdy, old(ish) brown person).  So, why this obsession with travel? 

Growing up as a weak child left me with little active hobbies.  I developed reading as my favourite activity.  I would be caught reading at any point of time.  It also was a safety net - I didn't have to deal with bullying (which routinely happened thanks to my teeny-tiny size, back then). Parents had to scream, shout and shake me up to get my nose out of a book, and pay attention to them. When dad couldn't cajole, coax, or placate me to join any sport activity, he relented and bought books to quench my thirst to read more.  Mom didn't object to me reading all those serialised novels coming in the Kannada weeklies that we either got home, or borrowed from someone to read.  

Books that inspired me to read, dream, and travel

The first books that dad bought me were encyclopedia in Kannada, compiled/written by the Jnanapeetha Awardee, Shivaram Karanth. Not some random comics or storybooks for children. “If he’s not going to be active physically, let his brain learn something at least”, must have been his thoughts. Karanth played an important role in my quest for knowing things (knowing anything random, useful or otherwise), apart from making me want to see places.  

As a kid, the first two places that captured my imagination were Salto Angelo (Angel Falls) and the Amazon river.  Salto Angelo is the highest plunge waterfall in the world, which drops from a height of 916 metres. Later, these books stoked a fire in me to participate in quizzes.  So, the desire to see a snow crystal (there were pictures in the book), and stalagmites and stalactites, visit the Galápagos Islands where Darwin did his research for the ‘Origin of Species’ is what drove me to pursue travel as a hobby.  If it were affordable to enroll at SpaceX for a trip into the cosmos, I sure would have done by now.

While Karanth’s books made me imagine the greatness of the physical world vividly and make plans to visit them when I’d grow up, books of history and historical novels created awe and wonder about human creations. K V Iyer’s Roopadarshi made me travel the bylines of Rome and imagine the Sistine chapel and its glory, and his book on Shantala aroused a passion in me to see every Hoysala temple. Books on evolution of civilisations aroused curiosity about the pyramids and other remnants and ruins from the days long past. 

A rock formation somewhere near Manta Point, Bali Islands

However, travel didn't happen just like that after I became an adult.  I had to overcome difficulties that I had in my head - about seeing people in strange places, and deal with them.  It wasn't the same as waking up and going to work (in known, secure surroundings).  I had to find a way to bury the ghosts of past - of my fears of people, of being bullied, or physically assaulted. This sounds silly now as I am a stronger, bulkier man today, but there are times when I don't remember this, and still imagine myself as a puny little thing that needs to hide away. 

For example, the reasons I wanted to travel to Vietnam were because of its natural beauty; the Ha Long Bay, a UNESCO world heritage site was the primary reason.  Other UNESCO sites like Hue, Hoi An, and Ninh Binh too played a role.  What tipped the scale was my interest in international politics; the Vietnamese war with the Americans, which has figured in so many spy thrillers written by American novelists (usually jingoistic, and one which portrays Vietnamese in either bad light, or as people that needed to be rescued by the White men from the clutches of the big bad Communist wolves).  

Giant Malabar Squirrel, Dandeli

But, my writing would barely touch upon any of these places, how they were, and how I enjoyed being there, or what one must do to see them, etc.  Those inputs would be found all across the web and books and mags (imagine! Even in this digital age there are printed travel mags)! The idea of writing the travelogue is to share my experience of being in another country, and my observations of the places and people there, than describing the monuments (that you can find in umpteen places on the net).  And, all deductions are based on how people conducted - either as tour guides, as people who helped us with luggage, vendors, hotel staff, random strangers who chose to talk to us, and so on. As I said before, I am shy and I do not initiate conversations with people by myself, unless my life (or something close) depends on it.  Else, I mind my business; I even hate asking for directions, unless I am truly lost.  This reticent attitude has put me in danger several times, but I haven't yet learnt any lesson (will one day write about those experiences too, but this post is not about them). 

A Serene View of the Himalayas, somewhere in Tibet

When I was struggling with my life in 2018 post a breakup, I hit upon the idea of making a bucket list.  '50 things to do before I turn 50', was born out of my desperation to survive and get out of the depression that I had gotten myself into.  And, when I made that list, half the things I wanted to do pertained to travel (it helped me in the process of my recovery, apart from hitting the gym, and working out regularly).  This brush with depression also made me less taciturn, and helped me open up about myself with at least the close people in life - my sister (she was instrumental in this), partner, and a couple of close friends.  I didn't do all those 50 things (Covid too played a role in that), but it was terribly helpful to pursue them. They sure helped me stay sane and not turn cuckoo. 

Everyone collects souvenirs when they travel, I guess. “Even memories are souvenirs”, says my sagely partner. My dad keeps all the boarding passes of the travel the has done beyond the borders of India.  He too loves to travel, and enjoys visiting museums (takes copious notes of every exhibit, and comes back and tells everyone the stories of those exhibits). I even know of friends who plan a sex date in every country/city they visit, and keep the scores (yes, believe me, this isn't made up). You might even laugh at the souvenirs I pick up while I travel.  Just those fridge magnets, and nothing else.  I am not a hoarder, nor have any interest in curios, statuettes, or paintings (may be because they are expensive too). My mom is sure I bought a bigger fridge just to accommodate all my fridge magnets!  Collecting fridge magnets, to me, appears to be the extension of my hobby of philately while growing up.  Today I don't actively collect stamps (and I have safeguarded my collection of possibly over 5,000 stamps and first day covers from across the world; one of the few things I have managed to keep and not discard).  

Some of my souvenirs

Travels have helped me each for sure but there have been some bad experiences during too. And they also have taught me some important lessons (will possibly write a separate post on those).  Despite lessons, my spree of committing mistakes during travels continues (I find new ones, to be fair to myself)! As I have so much time to think (and not act) on my hands, I chose to write this long-winding piece of self-flagellation.  And, just share how much I miss travelling. 

  

The Bridge

 

The humidity of Kochi hung heavy in the air, but inside the house, the silence was even thicker. Vikram sat with his phone in hand, staring at a name that had remained static in his contact list since a decade.

Amita.

Their last conversation had been a somber exchange nearly a decade ago, sparked by the passing of a mutual friend. In the years that followed, the silence between them hadn't been a choice so much as a habit. They were ex-spouses who had mastered the art of becoming strangers.

But today was her fiftieth birthday. A half-century. It felt like a milestone too significant to let pass in silence, yet the weight of nine years made the simple act of typing "Happy Birthday" feel like a monumental risk.

Does she even have this number? he wondered. If she sees my name, will it ruin her day?

He felt a flicker of dread—the fear of a cold response or, perhaps worse, the "Read" receipt followed by total silence. Finally, pushing past the cynicism, he tapped out a brief, warm message and hit send. He immediately turned the phone over, as if shielding himself from the potential rejection.

An hour passed in a blur of restless distraction. Then, the phone on the table didn't just chime; it vibrated with the steady rhythm of an incoming call. He picked it up. It was her.

"Hello?" he said, bracing for a formal tone.

"Hi, it’s Amita," came the voice on the other end. It was startlingly familiar, carrying the same warmth he remembered from a lifetime ago.

The tension in Vikram’s shoulders vanished. They didn't dwell on the decade of silence; instead, they spoke with an ease that defied the passage of time. Amita filled him in on the family—weddings, moves, and milestones—painting a picture of lives that had continued to bloom since separation.

"I’ve actually been thinking," she said toward the end of the conversation, "I really want to visit Kochi while you’re still stationed there. It’s been on my list for a long time. May be you could even guide me around Kerala?" 

“You are welcome!”

Vikram hung up. The marriage was done—a bridge weathered, broken, and finally gone. For years, he’d stood on the bank staring at the ruins, waiting for a revival that was never coming. And, suddenly, a new one had appeared on the horizon.  One of mutual respect and friendship. 

“Sights and Bites”

 

It was one of those late nights where the dull throb in my injured leg just wouldn’t let me sleep. I was stuck in that blue-light haze, doom-scrolling through social media to pass the time. Naturally, the algorithm decided to torture me with "Unmissable Spots in Bangkok"—stunning drone shots of shimmering gold spires, hidden rooftop bars, and vibrant flower markets.

My partner and I were supposed to have been there together in November, but familial reasons kept me home while he went solo. His entire fortnight of "sightseeing" had consisted almost entirely of Michelin-star street food stalls and legendary noodle shops.

Seeing the gorgeous reels on my screen, I felt a fresh wave of FOMO. I turned the phone toward him and pointed at a particularly breathtaking view of the city.

"Look at these places!" I said, my voice a mix of awe and accusation. "You missed seeing all of this, and only because you were too busy eating!"

He didn't even have the grace to look guilty. He didn't blink; there wasn't an iota of regret on his face. He just glanced at the screen and said calmly:

“It’s okay. I can still see those landmarks on the mobile. But I couldn’t have tasted all that food on my phone, right?”

He went back to what he was doing, and I just sat there, smarting. Because his logic was absolutely airtight and I couldn’t counter it!

Broken Spirits…

A friend was visiting Bengaluru, and my partner suggested, “Why don’t you ask him to join us for dinner?”

I looked up from my mobile. “I already did. He’s a 'maybe' right now.”

“If he says yes, we should open that new wine-flavored gin!”

“That would be nice," I sighed. "But he’s actually stopped drinking. Health issues. He’s gone completely cold turkey.”

My partner went silent, looking genuinely distressed. After a long pause, he whispered, “If you ever gave up drinking, we’d have to give away all our nice liquor to other people.”

“Why?”

“Well, what else would you do with it?”

“I’d break the bottles over people’s heads,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

He stared at me. “What?!”

“I’m not just going to waste it,” I shrugged.

“And how exactly does breaking glass over people help the situation?”

“I imagine I’d get the same high.”

My partner is now looking at rental listings and checking the locks on the bedroom door. I’m honestly a bit hurt—I thought I was being resourceful.

A Different Lens

For years, she had him filed away in her mind under "Inexplicable Success."

As colleagues, they were mandated to cover for one another, giving her an intimate view of his workflow—and it irritated her. While she stayed buried in the mechanics of routine, he was a creature of the periphery, monitoring just enough to ensure deadlines were met while spending the rest of his time discussing cinema, fashion, or harmless gossip. She bristled at his ascent, convinced the "blue-eyed boy" of the company was simply a man who succeeded without effort.

Years passed. They moved away to different cities and headed new verticals in the same firm. When he was in town for a conference, she thought she would meet him out of courtesy over coffee. She couldn’t. A freak accident put paid to the plans. 

*****

She returned home from a grueling physiotherapy session, nursing a body that felt as broken as her professional momentum, and she found a massive bouquet of flowers on her table. A call from him followed almost immediately.

"I saw the flowers," she said, her voice strained. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," he replied. His voice was just as before — calm and unhurried. "How are you feeling?"

"Restless," she admitted. "I’m missing key meetings. The Q3 reports are—"

He cut her off with a soft, easy laugh. "The work will happen by itself, you know. It always does. People like us spend our lives worrying about the machinery, but the machines are built to run."

"I've always struggled with that part," she said.

"Don't," he said firmly. "The reports aren't going to check on you, and the office won't miss you the way your health will. You matter. The rest is just noise."

When he signed off, the silence in the room felt different. While many of her "diligent" peers hadn't uttered a word, the man she had once dismissed had shown a side she never had paid attention to.

She realized then that she had mistaken his humanity for a lack of interest. Or, as his entitled behaviour. His success was no longer a mystery.

Blind Birder’s Guide to Dandeli!

An Indian paradise flycatcher in flight

The Great Non-AC Escape

It was another "Harsha Special," and after missing the last two trips to Dandeli, I was determined not to let this one slip away. I readily agreed and even dragged Sambhu into the mix. Naturally, in true "me" fashion, I delayed booking until the very last second. This resulted in a charming journey via a non-AC sleeper bus, followed by an hour-long cab ride (bless Harsha for organizing that, or we’d probably still be on the side of the road).

Flame or ruby-throated bulbul. It is the state bird of Goa!

We arrived at the Old Magazine House early—far earlier than our upgraded suite was ready for us. However, any frustration was quickly muffled by a sumptuous breakfast and the sight of a small army of tripods already stationed at the bird-hide, looking like a metallic forest.

Malabar grey hornbill

Gear, Gadgets, and Forgetting Everything

The three-day workshop was under the Fuji banner, giving all participants access to some serious glass - including medium format cameras and some telephoto primes. Harsha led the workshop as Fuji’s brand ambassador. 

Grey jungle fowl is endemic to India. It is a protected species

I’ve known Harsha and Shweta for six years now. We have done several wildlife trips together, led by Harsha (including Masai Mara, Kenya). Association with Harsha extends beyond photography. There are other friends too - notably Sathya and Deva - but they weren’t part of this trip. 

Shweta and Harsha

Unfortunately, my packing skills haven’t improved with age. I managed to arrive without adequate memory cards and forgot my battery charger adapter. Harsha and Shweta stepped in to rescue me—a recurring theme in my life that I suspect hasn't seen its series finale just yet.

Red-breasted flycatcher

Also called a taiga flycatcher, it is a winter migrant to India. 

A Colorful Dilemma

To appreciate my love for birding, you have to understand my starting point. The first bird I ever photographed was a Magpie Robin; at the time, I didn't know its name, nor was I aware it existed. Before I started these trips, my avian classification system was simple: Crows, Sparrows, Chickens, Peacocks, and Swans. Everything in the water was a "Crane" (imagine my shock learning that's not a real catch-all term), and every raptor was an "Eagle."

Malabar trogon male

Malabar trogon female

To make matters more interesting, my vision is a disaster—I am both shortsighted and colorblind. It’s a bit like trying to solve a Rubik's cube in a dark room. My companions are incredibly patient saints who help me not just see where the bird is, but also point my lens in the right direction, for which I am eternally grateful. Thank God birds don't judge; they just sit there being majestic while I squint at them.

Indian blackbird. Belongs to the thrush family, and is known for a rich, flute-like song 

The Art of Sleeping In

On the day we arrived, the group headed to the local timber depot in pursuit of Hornbills. We didn't join them, and judging by their disgruntled faces when they returned bird-less, we hadn't missed much. We were supposed to join the second attempt the following morning, but the alarm clock lost the battle. When the "nature walk" call came at 7:00 AM, I politely declined in favor of my pillow.

In retrospect, laziness was my best tactical decision.

Orange-headed thrush

It is known for its vibrant colours and complex, melodious song

The Grand Prize

By skipping the depot and the nature walk, I was stationed at the hide when the Star Attraction appeared: the male Paradise Flycatcher. I have been chasing a glimpse of this elusive beauty for six years, ever since seeing Harsha’s photos. Seeing those long, flowing tail feathers in person right at the start of the day was worth every missed alarm and forgotten memory card.

Paradise flycatcher (male). Distinct for its flowing white tail feathers

The last day of the trip, Sayambhu and I headed to the timber depot in Dandeli. Surprise! There were tree-full of Malabar pied hornbills to see and and click. It’s another matter I missed clicking them while they took off into the skies, thanks to the speed at which I operate! We also managed to sight some owls and a couple of other birds while at the depot. 

Black naped monarch

It’s also called black-naped blue flycatcher 

Over the two days, we saw roughly twenty species, including various Flycatchers, three types of Hornbills, the Malabar Trogon, and the legendary Pitta. Along with clicking pics, we also made some new friends! 

Malabar pied hornbill

Hornbills are known to pair for life!

After a satisfying trip, we returned to Bengaluru by train—having already decided that if the train failed, we were simply going to flee to Goa and fly home. The best thing about the trip? Sayambhu picking up clicking skills like a past master. All pics of pittas and trogons are to his credit.  Left to me, I’d still be ruing that I couldn’t focus in time!

Indian pitta. Also called navrang because of its colourful feathers!

Birding trips are great to learn not just about birds, but the importance to preserve our nature, ecology, and earth. Any birding trip invariably teaches you loads of patience. Also, you realise that you have to click a few hundred pictures of each bird to get a few good ones! I wonder how those who clicked with film cameras managed back in those days!

White-bellied blue flycatcher

I’ve shared the pictures of birds from the trip all through this write-up! (Captured despite my best efforts to forget equipment). If you need any tips about a birding trip to Dandeli, reach out with a comment!

Jungle owlet, a variety of small owl