Popagandhi

In 2006, I spent a total of 76 days in India, 25 days in Thailand, 8 days in Bangladesh and 5 days in Laos, leading to a total of 114 days out of the country.

Of these, 6899 km was covered by train in India alone, spanning 128 hours (too many nights). The train rides, in total, cost me 5973 Indian rupees, or S$207 (US$134). A great way to see a great country, if you ask me. Accommodation had a min. of 110 rupees (US$2) and peaked at 990 rupees (US$22, in the most expensive cities of Mumbai and Bangalore).

Cities, states and towns, in chronological order, reflecting my route: Chiang Mai (Thailand), Chiang Dao, Calcutta (India), Darjeeling, Varanasi, Agra, Jaipur, Jaisalmer, Jodhpur, Udaipur, Ahmedabad, Mumbai, Goa, Bangalore, Bangalore again the next month, Calcutta again, Dhaka (Bangladesh), Sirajganj, Nilphamari, Calcutta (India) again, Guwahati, Shillong, Cherrapunjee, Shillong, Guwahati, Calcutta, Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur/Petaling Jaya, Bangkok, Chiang Khong, Huay Xai (Laos), Luang Prabang, Vang Vieng, Vientiane, Nong Khai, Bangkok, Krabi, Koh Phi Phi, Krabi.

Airlines flown this year: Jetstar (5 flights), Tiger (3 flights), Biman Bangladesh (2 flights), Air Deccan (1 flight on Guwahati-Cal), Druk Royal Bhutan Air (1 flight on CAL-BKK, probably the closest I’m getting to Paro!).

I set out with an incredible wanderlust, and found my peace and happiness in Chiang Dao, Calcutta, Darjeeling, Cherrapunjee, Mumbai, Bangalore. Each of these are places I collect and keep close to my heart. In Agra and Krabi I lost it, but just like thousands of immigrants from Bihar or Bhopal, Mumbai was where I found my dream. Because early next year, a top global magazine will publish 3500 words authored by yours truly, bringing with it what seemingly appears to be a foot into the door of “real”, gritty, dirty, living-out-of-your-backpack-for-years photojournalism, if I so wished.

Each of these places taught me a lesson. Even in remote, rural Sirajganj, Bangladesh, as street riots passed my door, and in the farms of Syedpur, Nilphamari, I found great warmth. In Northeast India my countenace gave me easy acceptance in those hill tribes, looking just like one of them, even if my spoken Khasi is pretty rudimentary. In the Khasi hills, in the monsoon in one of the world’s wettest places, I made my dinner by roasting fish and potatoes over a fireplace in my 60 rupee room. I returned again and again to Calcutta, Bangalore, and Bangkok, forging second homes in each city. A specific room in Sudder Street, Calcutta, close to specific people; a specific couch in a living room in Lad Prao, Bangkok.

I turned 21 this year, surrounded by all my best friends and the family I so love. Adulthood first felt like this, then looked like that. As of this moment, I ply my trade writing in English, switch to Putonghua (Mandarin) if I need to, will banter endlessly in Hokkien and Teochew if you got me going, have improved my Thai by about 200% with room for more, and toil away at my Hindi and Bengali books. Language gives me comfort, reference, and a home.

I told myself a long time ago, then promptly forgot about it, that the year I turned 21 I’d like to backpack around Asia, be at least semi-fluent in more Asian languages and dialects, and be properly published. I’d always wanted to take the rocket boat to Luang Prabang, too. Well, I think I managed pretty well.

To be sure, there were some emotionally ridiculous times. All I can say is that I’m glad Z. and S. are still my best friends, and that arrangement, I can safely assume, is far superior to the one in which you have to wine, dine, and romance me. And that I’m surprised they both managed something like 2 years apiece.

I really should be doing better at school, and I have just one more year to prove myself. But at 114 days out of the country this year, I looked at it as the extra-curricular, optional third term (16 weeks) in my school year. I would be writing mad essays about chronic poverty and micro-financing in the developing world one week, then actually there in the village of Botlagiri (Nilphamari, Bangladesh), the next week, interviewing and writing about chronic poverty, primitive diseases, and micro-financing, and be paid for it. One more year in school, and like most others in my position I’m pondering the future. They’re pondering jobs, family, career paths. I’m pondering changing cities, and careers which don’t sound like they would put rice on my table, but they just might. Like most other 21 year olds, at this point I’m just going to shrug and say: I don’t know. Whatever. We’ll see. Then again, at 21 we also think we can do everything and get away with it.

As a last minute end-of-year spectacular: I’ve switched to Ubuntu Linux. Which only goes to illustrate I guess, how my motto this year has been “keep going even if you don’t know where you’re going”. Tomorrow night, when I see M. and A. for the celebrations for the third year running, I might deviate a little from our usual wails about life, love, and women. There’s hardly anything to wail about this year, other than for how I have to move my &(#@-ing mess of my things into my home for the next 15 weeks.

Have yourself a good one, and see you next year.