The adventures and misadventures of my solo travels

During my first ever solo long trip, all I remember is how I was literally at the edge of my seat throughout the journey.  It was a three hour bus ride from Tirunelveli to Madurai with an adventurous bus driver.  Clearly he was aspiring to be a pilot and assumed there was an auto pilot mode in the bus.  The ride completely took away my fear of solo travel at 17 years of age, and made me focus on keeping myself alive at the end of it. 

Tirunelveli to Madurai bus

My next solo travel was no better experience.  It was an overnight train journey from Madurai to Bangalore.  I was super excited to go to a prestigious institute for summer internship.  I discovered everyone else was equally excited too!  There was a mini stampede near the coach.  My parents, brother, uncle's family, couple of neighbours' families, family friends, my professor who had recommended me for the internship had all turned up. I suspect everyone was looking for an excuse to have that halwa opposite the junction in the pretext of seeing me off. My protective uncle did a reconnaissance of the coach; he pulled me aside and cautioned me as to who I should watch out for (practically everyone in the compartment except the TT).  That did me in; throughout the night, I was waiting for someone to snatch my bags or me!

My first ever flight journey happened to be as a solo traveller too, from Bangalore to Bombay.  I had never seen a plane at close range, forget flying in one. The gentleman who was seated next to me in that plane must still be remembering that day. I was in panic most of the time - when I could not unfasten the seat belt, when I could not put up the tea table up, when there was minor turbulence.  During the brief periods when things were peaceful in the flight, I was fretting about the upcoming interview.  I resisted visiting the loo, as I could not have taken the gentleman with me to help me out, in case I got stuck inside.  I literally let my breath out only when we landed.

My solo jaunts at hotels during my travels are another story.  My first job required extensive travel in the southern states of India. Initially I went with my parents' suggestion to stay with relatives in the city I was visiting. It became tedious; my hosts ranged from daughters of cousin thrice removed and acquaintances of friends who had not met each other in a decade. I convinced my parents to let me stay in a hotel, assuring I would choose a good, safe one.  It helped that we were eligible for 3 star hotels at that time in my company.

There was no turning back after that.  I fell in love with business related travel and stay. What else could one ask for?  An itinerary at my disposal, a room and TV for myself, the pampering of room service - I could go on and on.

I still remember a place I stayed in Calicut.  There was this hotel which would qualify as a heritage hotel in this age. I was given a suite (take any category of room that your DA allows was the office policy!) with a huge poster bed and a lounge room big enough to hold a conference with TV and fridge.  Unfortunately I did not even have any colleagues in the city and I had come to visit a dairy unit.   But that did not deter me from enjoying all that luxury. 

Another time, I was given a room in the hotel Ivory Tower in the famous Barton Centre in Bangalore.  I wish I could take that room today, ALONE, with that breathtaking view of the city from the balcony in the 13th or so floor. 

View from Barton Centre (Flickr)

I also had my share of misadventures.  At Windsor Manor in Bangalore where the entire office team was put up after a gala event, I was again given a large double room being the solo woman candidate in the team.   I just could not figure out how to lock the room! It was too late in the night and I was embarrassed to call the hotel staff. I did not want to disturb my colleagues at such late hour. Next morning, my male colleagues were wondering why I also had blood shot eyes (they all had raided the in-room liquor shelves!).

And the food experiences I had?!  I would hunt for and savour delicacies in cities I was visiting, find that famous hole in the wall eatery by asking around. What a joy it was to discover the Maharaja Pessarat in Hyderabad, the sambaram at Cochin, the missal pav at Mumbai, the gulkand at Bangalore!

The delicious gulkand (picture source : Wikipedia)

And what a pleasure to experiment, choose and order items from the room service with nobody to question you or give a quizzical look (well the room service boys have done that at times :>) There was this hotel in Cochin where I ordered for lemon soda after a long hot day and was given a glass of the soda along with a jar of thick luscious liquid.  After some sniffing and finger dipping and licking, I discovered it was sugar syrup.  It sounds downright silly, but it was sinful pleasure to have my own jar of sugar syrup at my wish which could be refilled too!  Ultimate food indulgence, isn't it?

The ultimate indulgence - sugar syrup

How can I forget the shopping experiences?  My habit of picking up souvenirs from every trip started then, just that the souvenirs mostly happened to be for my personal use.  It was absolute delight when there was a woman colleague available to accompany me and I discovered shopping lanes and goodies that one could never find out alone in a new city. I must have been the only travelling executive in the company who spent more than my allowance during the travel.

And I discovered the miracle of the century - the credit card! No worry of losing cash and let the company settle directly!

At least once in every trip, a client or a family member would ask me how I could travel, and if it did not affect my family life, etc.  It was mostly out of curiosity and concern and never with a wrong intent. I was having so much fun with my travels that my grin would give them the answer.

As I switched job and had children, my business travelling did stop for some time.  And I was so thrilled to start it again about 9 years back, though in a different avatar.  Coming from development sector, it is now no-frills travel but equally charming.  I am privileged to collect heart warming memories and experiences, from a very unique perspective. 

With tribal women in Odisha

Solo business travel still tingles and excites me as it did when I went on my first trip! Just that it takes more than a jar of sugar syrup to please me these days!

Fragrant memories

The season of jasmine is here. For somebody who grew up in Madurai, the Mecca of jasmine, the memories associated with the flowers are far too many.  As I watch the first few buds shyly opening up and inhale the heady fragrance wafting through the garden, I am overcome by memories: some funny, some nice, some so old that I cannot believe they had registered in me!

Scary memory

One of my earliest memory with jasmine is a scary one.  It was one of those festival evenings with guests at home.  I was dressed in a silk lengha and had braided my hair with freshly strung jasmine flowers.  As the evening wore on and I suspect as the jasmine buds were opening up, somebody pointed out that there was huge wasp sitting inside one of those opening buds in my hair.  It was mayhem, with everyone shouting at me to do something and nobody venturing anywhere near me for fear of getting stung by the wasp.  While I vividly remember the shock and fear, I cannot recall what happened after that or how the wasp went away.  I assume it did so, because I should have remembered if it had stung me!

Weird memory

During my college years, I used to ride a two wheeler to go to my college.  On the way, there was this one boy who would wait promptly every day for me  on the road side with his bike.  He would then ride a short distance ahead of me in his bike.  I guess it was a sort of wooing he was trying in the typical filmy way. It used to anger me initially but I had learnt to ignore and treat it as a minor irritation, in that Pre #METOO era.

But there was this time towards the end of my course when he tried to strike conversation with me; there was a particularly harrowing week where he would ride alongside me in the bike and say that he wanted to see me wearing jasmine flowers the next day.

I used to love wearing flowers in my hair even to college.  And that season we were having beautiful jasmine buds being supplied to my house and my mother would string them for us to wear.    Suddenly I refused to wear them, when this boy's request came!  My mother was perplexed and then got angry with all those flowers being wasted after she had meticulously strung them.  I gave her some weird reasons ashamed of telling her the truth.  For quite some time after this, I avoided putting flowers in my hair, very regretfully but firmly.  And that  marked the end of my flower-flaunting days sadly.  Because, it so happened that just after this incident, I had to move out of the city to Delhi to pursue higher studies; then job in a different city happened followed by a bold action to cut my hair with no chance of putting flowers. 

Whenever I visited Madurai after that, I used to have this overwhelming desire to find that boy, give him a good shake and tell him that he was responsible for that abrupt end to my sweet flower flaunting days!

Shocking memory

Soon after this weird incident of me stopping wearing flowers, I landed up in Delhi for higher studies.   And was going through a cultural shock and a culinary shock.  I and a hostel mate found a good remedy for both by visiting the Malai mandir in RK Puram and dropping in at a distant relative's place close by for a simple south Indian meal. Which one was an excuse for the other one is anybody's guess.  During the first such trip, I was happy to see jasmine flowers (though no match to the one from Madurai) for sale in the temple, and promptly put them in my hair.  Ha, I thought, No boy to hold me back now.  I and my friend then rode the blue bus back to the hostel with the flowers in our hairs, and were greeted with some curious glances.  A little later, a north Indian girl ventured up to us and told us gently to avoid wearing flowers in Delhi especially in public places!  It took some time for both of us to understand and we were shocked as to how it could be interpreted in that blue bus in Delhi! Well that ensured that no more flowers for another year and a half!

Lingering memory 

Living in Madurai and in the outskirts meant we had abundant supply of fresh jasmine buds straight from the farmers' fields.  It used to a routine evening affair in most houses for ladies to sit in the front yard or verandah and string the flowers.  When the girls in our colony were young and going through phases of trying out one activity after another, there was this phase of learning to string the jasmine flowers.  The grand mothers and mothers would be sitting around, chatting and stringing them in the traditional way using the fibre from the banana stem.  It was a work of art and the hand movements were like an orchestra playing.  They would curl the fibre around the stem of the bud and go over it with an elegant knot and then move on to the next one;  the gap between the two buds was just enough to allow them to bloom fully but tight enough to not let the fibre be seen through.  The end result was stunning.  And no fabric thread or needle, just plain hand work with simple items easily available - rustic and rooted to the earth!  I suspect the stringing sisterhood remained as close as those jasmine buds in the string!  

After close to two decades since I stopped wearing the flowers in my hair, I am growing my hair now.  Who knows, I might end up stringing the jasmines from my garden and flaunt them one of these days.  And I am so looking forward to a new set of memories with these flowers, including being wooed!