Cruising over the South China Sea rather uncomfortably( like being driven on the roads of Bangalore, replete with potholes, by an irate auto rickshaw driver) I start to pen down my experiences of what I believe is my most adventurous holiday.
Now, why I should be inspired on a bumpy plane, sleep deprived and kicked continuously by a "little beast"(brat, devil's soldier or just a kid) in the seat behind me is logic that eludes me.
My musings begin with the strangeness of the situation, that for someone who is always writing or doodling away, I have not even scribbled on sheets of paper to check my expenses( on day 6 of my twelve day vacation). Have I been that happy, content and in control? Or has it then, killed my creativity? And then suddenly, it hits me that neither of these situations were true. I have firmly believed that documenting anything removes you from the experience and makes it impersonal.
The art and the stories are still there, more potent than all others and maybe, right now, all I am supposed to do is relax, soak up and feel the vacation on my skin, in the sharpness of the air against my tongue and in the blankness of my mind. The stories and the doodles are biding their time, they will come and bring with them a different surge of happiness.
14th August, 2016
