As a kid, traveling meant going to Nani’s house once every
two years. We would travel by train, carry lunch boxes, Kismi toffee bars and
read Pinki and Champak on the way. Those journeys were great fun and the time
they took made no difference. God knows why we started flying.
My first flight was when I was 7 or 8. I got severe pain in
the ears. I remember crying, that’s it, that’s all I remember. My first flight
alone was when I was 18. I remember sitting next to a very handsome uncle reading
Archies. I think he was the shortest crush I had. For the shortest time, I
mean. Flying, suddenly, had a new meaning.
I think that was the time we got our passports made. There
was no particular reason. Maybe it was a fad. Afterall, who went abroad? But I
did. I went to Dubai in 2003 and fell in love with a foreign land. Zooming
cars, clean roads, diverse cuisine, and just basic order at every place left me awestruck. Little did I know that I would be living in a foreign land for the
longest time.
After 10 years, I got my passport renewed. It had two visa
stamps which wasn’t bad at all. Even though travelling abroad had become
economical and much easier, it wasn’t as frequent. Anyway, it’s been 3.5 years
since I got my new passport.
The point I’m trying to come to is – that passport is full!
It has visa stamps all over it. I’m counting the countries I’ve visited,
flights I’ve taken, miles I’ve accumulated. I’m relishing the memories I’ve
made, paths I’ve tread and remembering the people I’ve met.
Most of all, I’m counting my blessings.
I applied for a new passport booklet today – a jumbo one
this time. May God bless this one as well! And yes, I already thanked the Boy
for showing me the world.
