Closing in on eight weeks of waking up in between white sheets, bumpy train sleepers, and an Indian Jasmine infused garden, I looked back at how far we had come to wake to, literally a new beginning every day. That, itself is a blessing. Perhaps it's the season of well wishing and the ushering into a new year as we bade a melancholy embrace to a year that will be to pass, perhaps it's a lot of reflecting and a lot of hoping. Perhaps yet, it could be just a simple little private shout-out from your heart that this is what every reason I should be thankful for.
Our train pulled up perfectly on time from a two day break at Mysore, and I learned that we would be on another train to Hampi tomorrow to celebrate jumping through ancient ruins strewn as leftover crumbs from the last Hindu empire in India and burrowing into my favourite set of arms as we count the dying minutes of the old year. But I would have to spare a few moments to share with you a funny past 48 hours in a lovely little charming town that was a way, the perfect getaway to celebrate a Christmas occasion - with the lights, the crowd, the drama, and the uniqueness that only Mysore could bring (to bring some local authenticity to it, just say it with a bit of "My-surrr").
We arrived on another wonderful train journey (nothing comes close to beat some of the flagship lines, hot piping Indian thali lunch, punctual schedule, clean seats, killer scenery) to a little drama of finding literally - our online room booking did not materialise (a tiny hiccup to be settled but then again, you always prepare for a little bit of left-hooks during travels) despite receiving an online confirmation. Mysore for a long weekend, think many revelers, multiply that by a ten-fold, now plus another hundred of bus loads of tourists - you definitely would have to have your lucky stars backpacking on you, and we did. Albeit a pricier room, we got our room for the two nights we were meant to stay in Mysore. We did the charming watching the lights at the City Palace, we did the smelling around into old Devraja Bazaar hunting for sandalwood items, soaps, learning about plant oils and perfumes from a Persian Sufi, took a many photographs along flower lanes, vegetable lanes, fruits to the heaps without a single person haggling aggressively at your face, made some acquaintances with locals that were curious on the reason we found a pile of jasmine buds interesting enough to photograph, given free incense sticks that warmed up our room for a special weekend, and just digging into some stupendously delicious food that only a feast invited and prepared by the Gods would be akin to alike.
Yes, it was quite a packed town as we moved from the old market lanes to the main circle and in between got a bit lost. Just asked and anyone will direct you. A young girl walked past me and wished me a "Merry Christmas" - I was touched, that was indeed, the clearest and most earnest yuletide wish I had in years. There were many homeless too, a reason to quietly give a little of what you have to help to make the smallest of whatever difference you can. The bus stands were packed, the shops were bursting like an overly indulged lunch affair. Watching the lights come up at the palace was like being a child waiting for Santa Claus all over again. Having all these tourists around you, doing the oohs, aahhs, and the like were like celebrating the end of the year's class with your friends again. It was magical, personal and something of a long-forgotten but remembered memory that laid in the deepest pocket of your inner chamber that held the good stuff that made your eyes a bit watery at the thought of a moment in your life before that was innocent and pure.
In a way, Mysore felt like a dream I woke up from. I knew I had been there, but in a strange mode, I felt like I was never quite there except by the very dream-like, floating transition of my physical being to experiencing something ethereal. Maybe sometimes it's better to dream, than to never have dreamed the dreamiest of a dream?
