Close Encounters of the First Kind

Trite as it may sound, it's very true: there's always a first time. And in some convoluted application of this cliched line, there were a few firsts in my last sojourn. The one to Vishakhapatnam, made a week ago.

I consider myself fairly well-traveled; regular family trips with the parents and siblings had ensured that we visited several beautiful parts of the country, the indescribable Srinagar, Gulmarg and Pehalgam included. Later, with my husband's bank making liberal provisions for LTA, the remaining terrains of our beautiful country right up to Kanyakumari and Vivekanand Point in the south, Puri in the east and Dwarka in the west-and some foreign terrain as well-were traversed with unconcealed gusto. And then, my stint with my current organisation completed whatever gaps there had remained, making me proud of the wide and varied geographical locales covered. But of all these destinations, one had eluded me and that was good ole Vizag. Though reservations to and from this beautiful coastal city had been made over two decades ago, and bags had almost been packed to visit our uncle there, Papa-not a very enthusiastic traveler at best-had suddenly decided that an impending Railway strike could mean our being stuck there for God knows how long and with uncharacteristic alacrity- and much to our collective chagrin-had cancelled the tickets. He had been at the receiving end of baleful glares and the silent treatment for days afterwards but had gone on his daily routine, unfazed.

So, and to cut a long story short finally, even for a seasoned traveler like me, this was decidedly a first.

Other firsts unfolded themselves bit by bit, right till the time of boarding, Nothing momentous, actually, just part of the processes being introduced every day, but firsts nevertheless. Fraught as everyday life has become with threats and dangers of myriad kinds, some rules that were more in the breach than the observance, seemed to have been revived suddenly. Each tag on hand baggage items had to be duly filled in, with the name and flight number and the security guys were returning them to passengers who hadn't done the needful. This was still routine but once we emerged on the other side after being frisked, everyone had to enter their names in a register before collecting the self same luggage. All these were firsts, a sad reflection of the times we live in-where though every day new wonders of technology amaze us-each passing day a new threat looms on the horizon, striking terror in our hearts and making us wonder what is lying in wait round the next corner. More and more preventive steps are getting added everywhere, demoralising the average citizen, crippling his innate high spirits, cramping his joie de vivre.

The next first though was a happy one for me. Not exactly one to rise with the lark, leaving home even before the proverbial crack of dawn (read 3.30 AM) had adversely impacted the usually sunny disposition; the careless whistle on the lips, the spring in the gait were conspicuous by their absence. Instead, I wound my weary way through T3 and the legend Gate no.48 did little to assuage the frayed nerves. Rather, it seemed to mock at my fragile sensibilities, not yet fully awake at that unearthly hour. The relics of a fractured foot, the half-asleep orientation all added to the sense of fatigue and I was wondering how on earth I would manage the feat of traipsing all that distance... when suddenly, I espied the all-too-familiar, but so far quite exclusive and elusive, golf cart that is a part of Terminal 3.

Before anyone could say anything to the contrary or there could be an intervention of any kind, I pulled my bag tightly on my shoulder and plonked myself on the empty seat at the back, displaying a look of confidence I was far from feeling. Luckily, no one seemed to think anything wrong with that and the driver took off in the general direction of the boarding gates.

An uneventful flight, a day of fulfilling training and another first of sorts was created with two hours of driving through the tourist attractions of the city, stopping, fleetingly, to check out the recommended spots and local sweets.

Wasn't it Eliot who said, "We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."