Skip to main content

Hotels and travellers


A genuine traveller is not put off by the quotidian squalor and musty smell of budget hotels.  He is drawn by the place and its people.  Luxury hotels are not the place.  And people are not found in them either.  Take a place like Shimla, for instance.  The winding roads, crowded bus stands and cubicle-like tea shops are as fascinating as the mountains that circumscribe your view all around, the temples that stipple those mountains and the Mall Road that crowns the town.  Life thrives on those crowded roads and little cubicles.  The real people of the town are seen walking up and down the shortcuts that link one road to another, one mountain to another.  Those who seek their accommodation in the high-end hotels are alienated from real life.

A little girl who caught my fancy outside Shimla (2014)
Until a few years ago, I was a lover of travelling.  My travels took me to all sorts of places especially while I worked in Delhi.  Quite many of those travels were part of my profession as a teacher which entailed taking students on tours.  Along with students, I travelled to cities and historical places where we usually stayed in luxury hotels because my students came from affluent families.  Occasionally we also went on trekking expeditions in the Garhwal Himalayas where we stayed in tents or cheap hotels in transit camps. 

The inconveniences of the accommodation seldom bothered me except when I took my wife on private journeys.  The accommodation is merely a place to keep the baggage and perform the obligatory functions of the body.  Travel is about exploring the place and the people, not about staying in a hotel room. 

Having travelled quite a lot, I recall the mountains I climbed, the rivers whose rhythms soothed my soul, the cities whose crowds taught me varied lessons, and a whole lot of things.  I really don’t recall the luxuries of the hotel rooms or the inconveniences of the same. 

However, there is one resort in Uttarkashi where I spent two nights and a whole afternoon along with students en route to Gangotri, the final destination of our trekking expedition.  The resort continues to haunt my memory years after our stay there.  It was a conglomeration of huts - which were in fact permanent structures that looked like huts - on the bank of the Ganga.  Sitting inside our tents, we could listen to the rippling music of the holy river.  In the night some dam upriver was opened and the river roared like an angry monster.  Both the music and the roar of the Ganga still haunt my memories as a traveller. They would have had the same effect even if I had stayed in some cheap hotel instead of the expensive resort. 

A traveller should not be concerned with comforting illusions of luxury accommodation.  A journey is a lesson.  Its travails are ephemeral while the lessons linger on.  Isn’t life just a protracted journey?


PS. Written for IndiSpire Edition 193: #HotelStay

Comments

  1. Exactly my thoughts! :)
    Very well penned!

    ReplyDelete
  2. You said it Sir. Every journey is a lesson. And life itself is a protracted journey.

    ReplyDelete
  3. At last someone who thinks just like me!Luxury accommodations do take us away from the local people and we are deprived of the true essence of the place

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

William and the autumn of life

William and I were together only for one year, but our friendship has grown stronger year after year. The duration of that friendship is going to hit half a century. In the meanwhile both he and I changed many places. William was in Kerala when I was in Shillong. He was in Ireland when I was in Delhi. Now I am in Kerala where William is planning to migrate back. We were both novices of a religious congregation for one year at Kotagiri in Tamil Nadu. He was older than me by a few years and far more mature too. But we shared a cordial rapport which kept us in touch though we went in unexpected directions later. William’s conversations had the same pattern back then and now too. I’d call it Socratic. He questions a lot of things that you say with the intention of getting to the depth of the matter. The last conversation I had with him was when I decided to stop teaching. I mention this as an example of my conversations with William. “You are a good teacher. Why do you want to stop

Uriel the gargoyle-maker

Uriel was a multifaceted personality. He could stab with words, sting like Mike Tyson, and distort reality charmingly with the precision of a gifted cartoonist. He was sedate now and passionate the next moment. He could don the mantle of a carpenter, a plumber, or a mechanic, as situation demanded. He ran a school in Shillong in those days when I was there. That’s how I landed in the magic circle of his friendship. He made me a gargoyle. Gradually. When the refined side of human civilisation shaped magnificent castles and cathedrals, the darker side of the same homo sapiens gave birth to gargoyles. These grotesque shapes were erected on those beautiful works of architecture as if to prove that there is no human genius without a dash of perversion. In many parts of India, some such repulsive shape is placed in a prominent place of great edifices with the intention of warding off evil or, more commonly, the evil eye. I was Uriel’s gargoyle for warding off the evil eye from his sc

X the variable

X is the most versatile and hence a very precious entity in mathematics. Whenever there is an unknown quantity whose value has to be discovered, the mathematician begins with: Let the unknown quantity be x . This A2Z series presented a few personalities who played certain prominent roles in my life. They are not the only ones who touched my life, however. There are so many others, especially relatives, who left indelible marks on my psyche in many ways. I chose not to bring relatives into this series. Dealing with relatives is one of the most difficult jobs for me. I have failed in that task time and again. Miserably sometimes. When I think of relatives, O V Vijayan’s parable leaps to my mind. Father and little son are on a walk. “Be careful lest you fall,” father warns the boy. “What will happen if I fall?” The boy asks. The father’s answer is: “Relatives will laugh.” One of the harsh truths I have noticed as a teacher is that it is nearly impossible to teach your relatives – nephews