With Amitabh's baritone voice saying "Aapne Kutch nahin
dekha toh kuch nahin dekha" in the background, our Rann of Kutch plan was
getting made. The dates...the cars we would take...the routes we would follow.
I can't drive a four-wheel, I declared, making my limitations clear. Your car
cannot take more than four, said P, sizing up all the vehicles. You better
come, we need a driver, said J to T. Apply for leave in advance, said G to S.
Make it Feb, Jan looks tough for me, said M. We planned it for weeks. Checked
the calendar for full moon nights. Imagined ourselves driving for miles,
mouthing soulful lyrics. Lying on the white sand and staring into the moon.
Eventually, our plebeian commitments got the better of us. The trip never
happened.
Planning holidays is our curse. It is what we seem to be
born for. A bunch of us, forever living in the mountains, the beaches, the
snow, the sun, the sand, and the hammock. Like it is a parallel life. A life
where crazy is sane. Night is day. Where, between the rainbows and sunsets, we
see the dance of our dreams. Splashed over the horizon of our lives, spanning
eternity.
We plan atleast ten holidays a year. We know we will do only
one. At best two. Failed Goa holiday plans top our list. A typical Goa holiday
conversation goes like this -
J posts a link "A chic yoga resort in North Goa".
Trying to lure some of us budding marathon runners into a fitness filled
holiday. The recent fad in our lives.
Yoga in Goa? Nah! says P.
Yoga and run on the beach, says N.
Followed by beer and nap, says J.
No running for me, says G.
Let's go anyway, It's been a while! says S.
When, asks M.
June, says T.
Come May, T has a project, G has her son's exams, S is in
between jobs, P has double booked herself on a road trip, M forgot the plan was
made. And J - she has already posted the next link - this time it's the Kerala
backwaters.
We forgive each other these gaffes easily. The only pact we
have is to never let the dream down. Make the plan. Dream about it. Create a
story. Add to the album of the memories built. Execution, after all is
serendipity. It makes us weird, this living in a parallel universe. Like we are
in a constant state of stupor. Caressing our dreams, making sure they don't get
crushed between the folds of reality. Dressing them up, parading them in front
of the mirror, and keeping them ready for the big day - maybe tomorrow, maybe
never.
It doesn't bother us in the least. The uncertainty of
fulfillment. On the contrary, we want to be a little hungry. All the time.
Another sunset. Another valley. Another trail. And another. Just one more. It
keeps us connected. Our need to see the world together. Sometimes through each
other's eyes. Makes us a family. Wrapped it it's own neuroticism. Maybe we will
grow old doing this. And look back and laugh at ourselves. At our unadulterated
zest. Our humongous stupidity. Our crazy impulses. And raise a toast to doing
more of it. I can see it happening.
By then, N and I would have done our Midnight Sun Marathon
in Norway, P and M would have done their epic road trip, G and S would have
lived in Leh, J and T would have soaked in the sun in Greece. We would all be
sitting next to a fireplace, sipping wine, mouthing our favourite line "So
many places, so little time." Many lives, one ending. Only one. No matter
when, that's the only way this will end. So many places, so little time......
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