Travel Tales: A story on Valentine's day

Among various things, one entity that will always leave you spell-bound and immensely in the wake of what you’ve witnessed is travel. External exploration is almost as thought-provoking as the internal one; both leaving you in awe with what you’ve just experienced. These explorations usually educate a man that there is more than one way to live; something that is a ground-breaking and shattering insight. This usually leads me to travel and this year, an intrinsic craving for a solo-travel arose during the month of January.

So, in February, I decided I’d venture alone not deciding the place and getting on to a bus to Mysore from Bangalore. I had three choices; head to Ooty, South; head to Coorg, East and head to Waynad, South-West. Although it would be quite fancy to say that I hadn’t made a choice until I had reached Mysore, I wouldn’t add so much fiction into my recount of an event. On the way to Mysore, I had decided I’d travel to Waynad. And so it was, I took another bus to Kalpetta, visited the Pookode lake, ate the local Puttu and watched a Malayalam flick, Action Hero Biju.

After a long and tiring trek to the Chembra Peak the next day, the 14^th of February, I was heading to Varkala, a cliff beach on the southern part of Kerala, about 400 kilometres along the thin strip of land that Kerala is. My misjudgement led me to believe that I might find a direct sleeper/semi-sleeper bus to Trivandrum but realised that I might have to change at Calicut. I did so and as I approached the counter well past 7 PM, to my horror the man behind told me that all the buses were full. I could not believe my luck, rather the lack of it.

Settling down for a costly AC Volvo bus to Kochi, I reflected on how I was going to get myself further South. My mathematics, generally not of great repute derived that I might reach Kochi around mid-night considering the distance and speed. Striving for some shut eye, I pushed that thought away but nevertheless, I was at Kochi, 12 O’ clock. I half wanted to just take a rickshaw, which my Italian friends (ones whom I met during the trek) fondly referred to a tuk-tuk, to my aunt’s place. I even knew the route to her flat from the bus stand.

Another thought that I brushed away without any deliberation, another possibility removed. Like a true Keralite, I headed to a tea shop, in the death of night, which did not really feel that way because of the huge crowd presence at the bus stand for God-knows-what bus. Sipping some tea, I was considering alternatives. I could not spawn one. Although mysteriously, I saw an old dingy bus just behind the platforms of the bus stand re-fuelling. It was packed with people just about everyone neatly occupying their seats. I walked up to a conductor who vigorously nodded his head when I asked if the bus would go to Trivandrum. I got into it with glee and just after it headed out of Kochi, I truly began to believe that I’d make it to Varkala at least for the sunrise.

It took the bus about an hour to eat up the 53 kilometres between Kochi and Alleppey by which time I had made acquaintance with my short, burly and bearded companion (who was unfortunately the only other person who was standing in the bus for the rest were in a deep slumber in their seats), Sebastian. Sebastian was a student of architecture at Trivandrum. The only annoying thing about him was that he went on long monologues about how he and his friends enjoy their college life which created a bit of agitation in me. I studied in an “Engineering” college in Tamil Nadu where you are banned from even speaking to girls. One can’t blame me, can they?

There was a point when I asked myself if Sebastian would stop at all. Thankfully he did and instead threw the ball into my court. Now, I had no fancy stories to tell him about how “Enjoyable” my college life was. Instead, I told him that I liked travelling and was in fact, just travelling across the state. He, like other hoteliers, co-passengers and conductors was taken aback when I said I was travelling alone. They could not conceive the idea at all. Sebastian laughed it off and I felt a wee hurt. 

To switch topics, I asked him where he had travelled to.

‘Back from a marriage in Calicut. Bro, how was your Valentine’s day?’ he asked abruptly.

I had absolutely no relevance to the day. It was as relatable as Jupiter is to marmalade. I had always been single and I had been single of the worst kind. Valentine’s day no longer even meant anything to me.

‘I trekked up the Chembra and visited the heart shaped lake at the peak. That’s the remotest I got to this year’s Valentine’s Day (not that I got any closer during the other years),’ I said.

He giggled, a girlish one and said, ‘Bro, ask me how my Valentine’s Day was.’

That was quite demanding. I had no choice. I feared he’d go on another long monologue about how he met his girlfriend or how they had made love during the thali was being tied around the bride’s neck in the marriage. But I had no choice. This dude just demanded that I return his question. I did.

‘The marriage I attended was my girlfriend’s,’ he said.