Jet, Set, Go

Day 1 – Entry in Penang

Almost everyone told that don’t visit Penang during Chinese New Year. It will be crowded, you’ll feel stuffy and CNY, as Chinese New Year is popularly known in Malaysia, is ‘just not the right time’ to visit Penang as most of the Chinese go back to meet their families in Penang. Honestly, I don’t understand this logic. The character of any city, town or village is because of its people. Why should I visit an empty street? Or a monument which is not bubbling and bursting with the energies of thousands of unknown people visiting it? What is fun if there is no crowd? Of course, this is debatable and to each his/her own, yet visiting Penang during CNY was the best decision as a traveler that I made and on-boarded fellow travelers too, on this plan. As against to my previous planning I was not traveling alone but with five more travelers; the more the merrier.

We had planned Penang for 4 days which is a good balance. An ideal balance would be a week in Penang. Penang doesn’t have the vibe of a fast city. The city sets its own pace. It is a place where you can escape time; beaches, arts, temples, mosques, streets every place has a character of its own setting its own pace. One can release the stiffness of life in Penang air and enjoy the carefree moments it offers.

We had booked the bus for Penang. One can’t help but notice how efficient the bus service in Malaysia is. Our bus operator was Billion Stars and I would give it a billion stars. The bus service was fantastic. TBS or the bus terminal in Kuala Lumpur can give competition to its American and European counterparts and win hands down. I have traveled in buses in America and Europe and I can say with confidence that Malaysian bus service is by far the best. The bus terminals were like airports which had big TVs running the schedule of arrival and departure of the buses. The bus network of Malaysia is quite strong as there are more than 160 bus operators along with more than 6k+ bus routes. Seats can be paid for and reserved either directly with operators or via online sites such as www.easybook.com . We did an online booking. For 6 persons we paid 712RM, to and fro journey which roughly is 175 USD or 29 USD approx. per person! Remember, most long-distance buses have air-con, often turned to frigid, so bring a sweater! The seats are comfortable with leather upholstery, ample of leg space (one of our fellow travelers was around 6 feet), recliner and leg support. The distance between Kuala Lumpur and Penang is 357.7 KM which the bus covers in 5 hours, this includes taking a single break. Hence, if you are wondering whether traveling via bus to Penang is safe then the answer is yes. You can also explore trains and flights but buses are dirt cheap with competitive facilities. Yes, the bus service gives competition to flight and train journey.

We reached Sungai Nibong, bus terminal at around 2:30 PM and booked a grab for our beach house. Grab operates in Penang and is one of the frequently used modes of commutation. Our Grab driver was Mr. Nathan who gave us some sound advice regarding the places to visit and also whether renting a car is a good option. Per his advice, which we agreed on, renting a car is not a good idea as car parking is a problem in general. In his words, “Don’t go and find the problem, la.” He gave us a glimpse of Penang’s history and its multiculturalism. Penang owes its rich culture and architectural splendor to the various races that found a home on the island during its years as a port. Penang’s modern history began with the establishment of George Town by Francis Light and was a part of British crown colony. Mr. Nathan’s knowledge about Penang was actually his undying proclamation of love for the city. He was courteous and good-natured. He stopped at a nearby Indian restaurant so we could pack lunch for ourselves and didn’t even charge us waiting charges.

At 3:30 PM we were in front of our beach house. We stayed in Oiduts Boutique Townhouse situated in Batu Ferringhi. One of the most amazing parts of the beach house were its walls which were made of glass. So the house looked quite big. We had a kitchen with an electric burner, utensils, and refrigerator, in short, all the amenities were present in case we opted to cook. The ambiance of the house was old fashioned yet elegant, lazy yet soft and intellectual yet cheerful (yes, there was a big bookshelf which had primarily architecture books but you could still find something to suit your taste). Oiduts is an inexpensive yet charming beach house to stay. It has a dining table for 6, a book rack for the nerds, a TV room and a WB Yeats Poem, tread on my dreams softly. I couldn’t have asked for more. The staircase to our room was circular which in a way fulfilled my childhood dream to have a circular staircase to my room. You can see the pictures and decide for yourself at the link

The nearest beach to our house was Miami Beach. The distance between the beach and the bus stop and the house was 2 minutes. Pantai Miami (as known locally) is clearly segregated by rocky promontories on both ends that separate it from Batu Ferringhi. There are no fashionable cafés or outlets, only a few basic food stalls selling snacks. Do try the lip-smacking combination of sweetcorn, butter, condensed milk, and corn flakes. There are no adjectives to describe how it tastes, if heavenly was a thing then it would be this. I love beaches. It is a world of limitlessness and imagination. The possibility of being one with nature is captivating. I can sit on the rocks and talk to the waves endlessly. Every wave is an unknown person to whom I can talk fearlessly. Even before the wave can decide or judge me, it disappears and its unknown counterpart acts as an unwavering replacement fully aware of its temporary substitution status. Nature is the best secret keeper. It will never let you down.

An unknown person had created a Batman logo. His mastery over it was commendable.

After frolicking across the rocky beach it was time to say goodbye so the weary travelers could grab some rest before they started exploring the nightlife.

A traveler crawls on its stomach just like a soldier. Malaysian cuisine is one of the most colorful cuisines in the world imbibing character from Malay, Chinese and Indian races. How I wish I could be open to tasting cuisines from across the world! I am a vegetarian and there is no scope to yo-yo from that position. Luckily for me, the group was vegetarian. Although our vegetarian status restricts us from experimenting, yet we faced no difficulty as Penang has Indian restaurants which do provide veg food. We explored Woodlands and Anand Bhawan. I would be partial towards Anand Bhawan only because of the luscious ‘Ghee Thosai’ offered there.

After eating to our heart’s content we decided to explore the streets in Little India. We walked towards the garden opposite to the town hall which had a line of lanterns, made by kids, hanging to celebrate the 2018 hot air balloon festival. The string of glowing lanterns looked like magic. It was a piece of happiness hanging on the string made by the kids. The vibe from the lanterns was positive and glowing. It made my day. There was nothing ingenious about those lanterns except that the little hands which made them were full of joy which got transferred when the lanterns were being made. I could spend the entire night walking under it and still not be contented with the gratification it brought.

It was past 10 and the garden was bubbling with kids, parents, teenagers, travelers, tourists, etc. The fancy stuff hawkers sell is worth mentioning. There was an electric tiara with flowers intertwined, a miniature airplane made of Thermocol which had lights on its tail and wings, bubbles, and I must have definitely missed mentioning others. This garden was ‘long lost fun found’. I bought for myself a tiara and the effect was picture worthy.

 

Our next destination was the famed ‘Chulia Street’. En route Chulia Street we admired the red lanterns which were hung to celebrate CNY. Usually, red lanterns are hung outside the doors to ward off bad luck. Legend has it that it all began with the Nian, a ferocious beast that would terrorize villagers on the New Year, eating crops, livestock, and even children. But villagers learned that this half bull with a lion head was afraid of three things: fire, noise, and the color red. Nian was defeated, and from then on, the color red was considered to bring good luck and good fortune to all.

Chulia Street, Georgetown = Pubs + Foreigners + Food Paradise + History in motion. Thanks to Mr. Nathan, I got to know a lot about Chulia Street. Originally, the street was named Malabar Street, after the Indians from Malabar who moved to George Town. The term ‘Chulia’ is a corruption of ‘Chulier’, which was once used to refer to the Indians who originated from the coastal areas of Tamil Nadu in India. That particular region was formerly part of the Chola Kingdom, hence the term ‘Chulier’. The early inhabitants were Muslims, and they subsequently built a number of religious buildings along Chulia Street, such as the Nagore Durgha Shrine and the Noordin Family Tomb. However, while the population of Indian Muslims along Chulia Street began to decline in the late 19th century, ethnic Chinese were simultaneously moving into the road, thus contributing to Chulia Street’s multicultural character. The decline in the Indian population was because Indians wanted to move back to India. Chinese in those days couldn’t send money to China. So when Indians sold their belongings, Chinese purchased, thus enabling Indians to take a large sum of money back to India thereby resulting in increased Chinese settlement. If you are a budget tourist do tread through the lanes of Chulia because it has a lot of budget hostels and guesthouses.

We didn’t have any drinks in any of the pubs in Chulia Street nor did we stop to eat anything. It was lingering across the street trying to figure out the magnetism with which it attracts tourists and travelers alike. The incomplete street visit was a promise to come again. I would definitely go back to Chulia Street, I had made a promise with myself then and there. Until then, dear street, just wait for me to come back.

Chapter 7 – Solivagant

In Baramulla, we stayed with my uncle. Standing in all its glory was the Chinar of Alfa Mess, which was planted in 1709 AD under the rule of Mughal Emperor Nawazish Khan as a part of a vegetation buffer along the riverbank to counter floods through the water drainage system. I wonder what historical events the Chinar would have witnessed after standing for three centuries. The rules of the Mughals, Afghans, and Dogras, and finally becoming a part of independent India in 1947. The wars and the counter-insurgency operations, and then becoming a part of the Officers’ Mess. The Chinar has seen it all. The Chinar knows how temporary we are in a permanent setup. The Chinar is the keeper of time as people position themselves to be photographed beneath it. The Chinar smiles. The Chinar is a philosopher who knows the power of love. It also knows that when we learn to leave, we learn to live. The leaves will leave Chinar every autumn with the promise of returning every spring. There is so much beauty in leaving, and still, we only feel the pain.

My uncle and I walked and talked beside the Chinar. We had soulful conversations at the jetty overlooking the Jhelum. He explained to me the importance of ignorance. There is logic in the things we choose to focus on and those we choose to ignore. One must choose their targets with care and then give rapt attention to living a focused life. One has to make a conscious decision to ignore things that suck the energy out of life. Life happens in a moment. It also ceases to exist in a moment. Therefore, it becomes essential that we curate our focus effectively. The small nuggets of delectable conversation that we had have left a lingering impression in my mind. Just like the Chinar, the effervescent Jhelum has also been a witness to some curated moments of my life, choreographed to perfection by the Almighty.

My uncle introduced me to fellow officers and their wives. The Indian Army is such a tight-knit family where each one cares for everyone. The sense of accountability comes from the sense of ownership. I found that there was a genuine care for people and a dedication to leading by example. Every single one of them was genuine. Their approach was not transactional, and perhaps this was the reason that ownership is an Indian Army culture, much like it is in the veins of the jawans and the officers and their families

Chapter 6 – Peregrinate

Baramulla is the third largest city in Kashmir after Srinagar and Anantnag and is situated on the banks of the river Jhelum. My uncle’s posting was in Baramulla, and he had arranged for us a fabulous trip to Kaman Post. Our joyrider for the day was Shafi, who had a thorough knowledge of the place. Shafi mentioned that the best walnuts come from Uri. There is a special variety of walnut that is called Kashmiri Kagazi Akhrot, which is basically in-shell Kashmiri walnuts. He also mentioned that Baramulla is famous for apples and baba ganoush.

We were moving along with Jhelum. My uncle asked Shafi to stop halfway so we could take some pictures. Jhelum was in her full glory. The din of the water was so strong that we could barely hear each other. Jhelum was surrounded by mountains and a dense pine forest. She was like a carefree young woman who knew her path and was confident about reaching her destination. Some of the best pictures that we clicked were here, thanks to the clear weather and a mesmerising Jhelum. One of the perks of travelling with my uncle was that we were able to see the Uri NHPC dam from within. The Uri-II power station is a run-of-the-river scheme to harness the hydropower potential of the river Jhelum. It is located very near to the Line of Control, the de facto border between India and Pakistan. The engineers gave us a fantastic overview of the power station. It was my first visit to a power station, and I was in awe of how electricity is generated, stored, and later transported to the remotest corners of India. No wonder Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru described the dams as the temples of modern India. This project is a run-of-the-river (ROR) hydroelectricity type. ROR utilises water’s natural potential energy by eliminating the need to burn coal or natural gas to generate the electricity required by consumers and industry. Because ROR lacks reservoirs, people continue to live on or near the river, and existing habitats are not flooded. In the end, humanity benefits from the continuous evolution of technology that supports sustainable and harmonious living with nature.

After a fruitful knowledge session with the NHPC engineers, we started our journey toward Kaman Aman Setu. Kaman Post, named after the late Lieutenant Colonel Kaman Singh Pathania, MVC, is the first post of the Indian Army on National Highway 1A, the Baramulla-Kaman road, which leads to Muzaffarabad in PoK. Kaman Post is one of the major attractions for visitors. The post is especially popular for its view across the Line of Control. On April 7, 2005, the then-Indian prime minister, Dr Manmohan Singh, flagged off the first cross-LOC bus service — titled Karwaan-e-Aman, or peace caravan — that connected Srinagar to Muzaffarabad. Later, the cross-LOC trade, established as a barter trade, began on October 21, 2008, across two routes — Salamabad (Uri)-Muzaffarabad and Poonch-Rawalakot. Traders on either side of the LOC were permitted to exchange 21 mutually agreed items. We were greeted by the Indian army. The captain gave us a detailed overview of Kaman Aman Setu. I especially liked how they dissolved jam in hot water and created a tasty beverage for us. The young captain was a gracious host and was kind to take us to the picture spot where we got ourselves clicked and framed.

As destiny had it, our next stop was Gurdwara Chhevin Patshahi, Parampila, situated on the banks of the river Jhelum. As per Sikh historical texts, the sixth Guru of Sikhs, Guru Hargobind Sahib Ji, conducted religious discourses while seated on a Thara (a stone platform) with five Muslim fakirs. The sacred stone platform (Thara Sahib) from which Guru Sahib held discourses with those five Muslim fakirs is still present and well preserved inside the Gurdwara. As I touched the Thara Sahib, I felt a rush of divine energy in my body and tears of gratitude started flowing through my eyes. Never in my life had I anticipated a visit to Kashmir, let alone a Gurudwara of such spiritual and historical importance. The blessings of Guru Maharaj made my Kashmir travel a piece of light, love, history, and stars glued together to experience the spiritual magic of the Divine.

The temples in Kashmir are under the protection of the Indian Army. Datta Mandir in Uri, Baramulla, is believed to have been built in the tenth century. Legend has it that this temple was actually built by the Pandavas during their exile. The stones used to build this temple were carried by Bheema all the way from the nearby mountains. This temple is situated on the banks of the Jhelum and is dedicated to Lord Vishnu. But today, there is no Vishnu idol. The Indian army has installed a beautiful marble, Shiva. There is an interesting ‘Bheem ka matka’, which is a huge clay pot in which Bheema used to fill water from the Jhelum River for Draupadi and his brothers every day. The clay pot is at least 5 feet deep. This is considered to be an extraordinary water source as the water level never reduces no matter how much water you take out. The water from this matka is used for daily rituals. One suspects an underground source of spring which has continued to nourish the perennial matka.

Buniyar Temple, about two miles above Rampur, situated along the Baramula-Uri road on the bank of the Jhelum, is often described as the “best preserved” specimen of Kashmiri architecture. The Buniyar temple had idols similar to those in Verinag, and I felt that perhaps they all belonged to the same age. There has definitely been some movement on the idols as one can see an uncanny resemblance between the idol of Jhelum placed in Verinag and the idols present in Buniyar. History never ceases to amaze us. While connecting the dots, we may perhaps end up with a significant discovery that may focus a lot more on ancient Kashmiri architecture.

As is the case with temples in Kashmir, the Indian Army is taking care of Buniyar Temple. The officers of the first field regiment, Meiktila, showed us around. They were also kind enough to share a few nuggets from history. One of them that is etched permanently in my memory is that of the Indian tricolour in which Mahatma Gandhi was wrapped and given the gun salute by the first field regiment, Meiktila. The officers also showed us the silver crockery used for the dining out of Lt. Col. Mt. Young, DSO, Commanding Officer, and other British officers of 1 Field Regiment (SP).

Our next stop was the temple guarded by BSF jawans, the temple of Mata Shelputri. The main entrance of the shrine is close to the road. This beautiful temple is surrounded by four mighty Chinar trees. Some big wild trees also form part of this complex, and it is said that in the entire Kashmir valley, these types of wild trees are only seen in MataShailputri Shrine. Within the premises is a holy spring, inside which stands a marble temple like the one at Kheer Bhawani, with a marble icon of Mother Shailputri facing towards the south. The BSF jawans are doing a fine job of not just guarding the temple but also ensuring that the prayers are conducted on time with all rituals in place. They say that a place reverberates with the vibes of the people who inhabit it. If the temple of Mata Shelputri gives you goosebumps, it is because the jawans have ensured that the divinity and sanctity of the place is never compromised. I felt blessed to be a part of the congregation that sang devotional songs in honour of the Goddess.

Chapter 5 – Smultronställe

It is the function of nature to renew our perception. What we are familiar with, we cease to see. Nature shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it. Gulmarg, the flower meadow, is one such place that will awaken your senses and sharpen your perception of the incomprehensible natural wonders patiently waiting to be explored by the travelling human mind. The distance between Gulmarg and Srinagar is about 55 km. From Srinagar to Tangmarg, it is mostly a straight drive on a flat road with very little incline. It is after Tangmarg that the actual steep drive starts and you climb up a winding road till Gulmarg. The mist trailing up the valley is a dreamy experience. The hill slopes turn into lush green carpets with white marsh marigold flowers appearing like ornamental motifs, turning the entire landscape into an exquisite piece of art. Abid dropped us off at the Diamond and Spade Dagger Huts cottage. Visible from our windows were the natural meadows of Gulmarg, which ran wild with flowers like daisies, forget-me-nots, buttercups, lupins, and white marsh marigolds. It absorbed us in a kind of melancholic trance. The raindrops skittering down our windows, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in the milieu, the wildflowers swaying away gently, all soaked us in an experience so alive and so pure. If the world is full of magic, Gulmarg is the place where its magic comes to life. We decided to go for a walk. As we ambled along the lush green scenery, the clouds flocked around us like mischievous children. The fluffy little white balls had already decided to play hide and seek with us and were not bothered by our reluctant participation. As had been the norm throughout this trip, my pictures were photobombed by the clouds. As the mist cleared and the fog became lighter, we were able to see fresh snow on the mountains. It was Mom’s first snowfall, and she was thrilled. One has to book a gondola in advance. I had made an advance gondola booking with JK Cable Cars, but as the weather was not supportive, the gondolas were not functioning. Here, I learned an important lesson: being without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness. Russell’s philosophy is deep and hits you at the uncanniest times. I would have loved to be on the gondola enjoying it with mum. But what mattered most was the moment of togetherness. Nothing, absolutely nothing of what we witnessed could have happened any other way. Not even in the least important details. Every single situation in life that we encounter is absolutely perfect, even when it defies our planning and our understanding. Mum and I dressed up to click pictures. She wore her pashmina, which we purchased en route to Gulmarg. I agree that pashminas are costly, but they are worth the price. The quality of the wool and the design on the shawl are both excellent, and it is unquestionably a must-buy from Kashmir. We clicked photos on the turns of the road, on the edge of the lakes, facing the mountains and capturing the fresh snow, along with the wildflowers, and hugging the pines and firs. At last, we were tired and retired to our beds. Even then, I felt a void. I didn’t want to leave, but every start must end, and for every hello there is a goodbye. With the promise to meet the natural beauty in the wee hours of the morning, I finally said good night. My uncle and I woke up at 6:00 AM. Standing outside by the edge of the cottage, we witnessed a refulgent sunrise. We got lucky by a split second because the nefarious clouds were at work again. We walked towards the Maharaja’s Gulmarg Palace. It was quite a walk with an ascent, but a worthwhile adventure. We reached there not just before the tourists but also before the guide, Riyaaz, who also doubles up as the caretaker of the place. Riyaaz is an extremely proud Kashmiri. He loves his land and knows its history. He was an educated gentleman, and he took us around the 15 palace rooms and also explained the dynamics of the bygone era. The palace itself is an architectural masterpiece. It is a highly decorated single-story wooden structure with wonderful turrets, a grand portico, and large windows fitted with glass. The curtains are made in the famous Kashmiri handicraft style, with exquisite chinar leaves embroidered on a white background. The furniture is intact and some bedrooms have fireplaces to keep rooms warm. There is also a room that displays the arms and ammunition used by the Maharaja. It is locked for public viewing by Riyaaz, but he allowed a sneak peek as there weren’t any nosy tourists at the time. The palace has an underground horse stable with old wooden beams and a timber ceiling. I was in awe of the place. We returned feeling satisfied by our early morning adventure. Abid was already there waiting for us. Our next destination was Baramulla. Abid was keen to show us Baba Reshi’s Dargah and Sharanz Falls. Baba Reshi’s Dargah is one of the major Sufi shrines in Kashmir. The dargah itself is located in quite a scenic location. It was built in 1480 and is located near Ramboh village in Baramulla District. Surrounded by lush green lawns, this shrine attracts thousands of visitors each year, both for its religious and historic significance. Abid’s unwavering faith convinced us to visit the Dargah. Every religion has prescribed ways of worship, but every religion unanimously agrees that the way to reach the divine is with a pure heart. With a heart filled with gratitude, we prayed to Baba Reshi for the well-being of Abid and the valley. From Dargah, we went to Sharanz waterfalls. Located in the lap of a picturesque area on the Nallah Ningli, the waterfall is at a distance of about 5 km from the Baba Reshi Shrine. The surrounding area in the fall is enriched with pine and fir trees. Abid even compared Sharanz Waterfall with that of Aharbal Waterfalls, located in Sophian, which is known as “The Niagra Fall of Kashmir”. For me, it was a moment of having a heart-to-heart conversation with nature. A moment to attract a soul connection. A moment to leave a piece of mine in the place that had invoked strong emotions in me. And a moment to carry a piece of Gulmarg in my heart forever.

Chapter 4 – Numinous

My uncle was amused that although Abid was a local boy, he had still not visited Verinag, where the Gods reside. My uncle thought of Verinag not merely as the Gateway of Kashmir but as the Stairway to Heaven. He had chalked out a day in the travel itinerary for Verinag. Verinag is about 78 km from Srinagar and lies in Anantnag district. Verinag also known as Vernag, is the spring from which emerges the Jhelum. It is unique in the sense that most of the rivers originate from glaciers, but Jhelum has the distinction of emerging from a spring.

In local Kashmiri parlance, Nag means spring. Once upon a time, at the foot of the Pir Panjal mountain range, a small, shapeless pond drew the attention of the Mughal emperor Jahangir, who fell in love with the crystal blue waters so clear that a grain of poppy-seed would be visible until it touched the bottom. Jahangir had directed that the depth be measured, which was approximately 54 feet. After his accession, Jahangir ordered the building of the sides of the spring round with stone. The magnificent architecture boasts a garden with a canal. The water has a limpid clarity and one can see the fish swimming in it. A thick cover of pine trees surrounds the octagonal tank. The reflection of pine trees in the crystal blue water creates a picturesque setting. It is akin to a rhythmical painting that manifests in nature. In my mind, I would describe the experience as heavenly, but in all honesty, the entire experience of visiting Verinag leaves you numb. You are both awed and fearful of nature, which can nourish and perish in the click of a moment. A beautiful spring transforms into a magnificent river, which over its course can be devastating and nourishing. Clearly, human potential is infinitesimally small in comparison to the vastness of the universe. 

The garden in Verinag is one of the most beautiful gardens you will see in Kashmir. Jahangir’s love for Verinag is still visible in the form of the ornate arcade surrounding it. It wasn’t only Jahangir who fell in love with Verinag. My mum too felt a similar sense of attachment. In fact, she exclaimed that Kashmir is heaven because of its rivers that form an extensive network of water nurturing the alluvial soil of Kashmir. Due to this, Kashmir has an excellent climate for horticulture and floriculture. She drew her hands closer in Namaste mudra and thanked the Almighty again and again for making the visit to Kashmir possible. In her words, “I would never have realised the power of the Divine, had I not seen Verinag for myself.”

As we strolled on the lawns around the springs, a few Kashmiri girls got hold of me and my mum and asked for our photographs. This was a first in my lifetime. Amidst the manicured green lawns and banks of colourful flowers, my mum and I were posing with the ethnic Kashmiri girls for photos. For a moment, that was a celebrity’s life. Outside the garden, one can quench their hunger with lip-smacking pakodas, parathas, and halwa made by Sajjad bhai. There is also provision for tea, coffee, and kahwa.

We also visited the Jawaharlal Nehru Memorial Botanical Garden in Srinagar. It was created in the memory of India’s first prime minister and contains a variety of plants and vegetation. It has a beautiful lake, which adds to the glory of the garden. The garden has an innumerable variety of ornamental plants. It is situated in the foothills of the Zabarwan mountain range. It has a dense temperate forest of oak trees. The Nehru Botanical Garden is calmer as compared to its counterparts. A well-landscaped garden, it is a treasure of cedar and willow trees.

It was a day filled with overwhelming emotions. Travel truly humbles us. A traveller will always believe in magic, for the world is filled with magical moments patiently waiting to be explored by an ever inquisitive mind.

Chapter 3 – Selcouth

Mornings in Kashmir are straight out of the movies; a cold wind hums and whistles through the pines, and dark rain clouds are swept along by the wind. In a life full of riddles and puzzles, mysteries and unanswered conundrums, Kashmir inspires us to live in the moment. Kashmir is like an ethereal painting that some ageing God paints each day, adding subtle nuances of art, making it complex and humane, leaving its audience awe-struck every time.

Our first destination was Pahalgam in the district of Anantnag. Abid, our joyrider, was super excited to show us around. On our way to Pahalgam, we passed through Pulwama. Pulwama is centrally located in the valley of Kashmir. One can see large swathes of empty land and paddy fields while passing through Pulwama. Abid told us that Pulwama is famous for rice production and is called the “rice bowl” of Kashmir. The empty land stretches are the places where saffron is cultivated. Pulwama is famous for quality saffron production all over the world. Abid told us that Pulwama is one of the prettiest spots in Kashmir because of its congenial climate, innumerable waterfalls, fragrant flowers, and delicious fruits. As our XUV 500 zoomed past Pulwama, I grabbed fresh air in my hands and splashed it on my face. A jawan zealously guarding the track smiled. I returned the favour with a lot of gratitude and respect for the jawan entrusted with safeguarding one of the toughest postings in India.

Mum’s observation skills are legendary. She uses all her five senses to analyse her surroundings. Her ability to be present in the present finds some of the smaller, less noticeable attributes in a situation or a setting. It was she who spotted that the route to Anantnag is not only scenic with trees on either side but also has a well-constructed road. As we zoomed past the residential area, she observed that Anantnag is more developed than Srinagar. My uncle and Abid both agreed on this point. Interestingly, Anantnag is among the 100 fastest economically developing cities. In the last decade, my uncle commanded a 126 light infantry AD composite and was posted in Anantnag. He had a couple of interesting insights about the city, like its second name is Islamabad. The town has taken its name from the great spring of Cesha or Anant Naga, which means the land of countless springs.

Abid stopped at one of the most scenic spots; a stream surrounded by a verdant meadow overlooked by mountains and studded with thick pine trees flowing into the Lidder river. Dense, floating, white clouds suspended in the sky covered it like a veil. Thick pine trees added vibrant greenery to the landscape, with the picture perfect stream becoming one with the Lidder river. It was an ideal place for clicking pictures. The place also has local Kashmiris selling Pashmina shawls and Kani shawls. My mum loves promoting local art and crafts. She made it a point to purchase a Kani shawl for me. Though she knew that it was a fake Kani shawl, she still went ahead and purchased it because it was the daily bread and butter of the local Kashmiris and this is the least that tourists can do to promote local employment. I didn’t complain because I felt a bit like emperor Akbar who was an avid collector of Kani shawls.

We followed the Lidder river and reached the Betaab valley. Originally called the Hajan valley or Hagan valley, the valley got its name from the Sunny Deol-Amrita Singh hit debut film. The crystal clear water of the stream bubbling down from the snowy hills is a delight. It invites, almost teases you, to explore it. I immediately got down in the stream to experience the chills. Mum and I walked along the stream, admiring the beauty of the place. The Betaab valley lies between the two Himalayan ranges—the Pir Panjal and Zanskar. Due to cold-air pools, we witnessed fog and clouds during the day, which made for a romantic setting. My pet peeve was getting clicked in different poses against a backdrop of mountains, rivers, and pines. Every time I posed, an innocent cloud came running to spoil my picture. I decided to take videos and realised that Betaab valley is not a one-time video valley but at least a five hundred-video valley. Nothing can do justice to the beauty of the place except for the experience which is absorbed deep in the soul for eternity.

We started back to Anantnag. Our next stop was the Martand Sun Temple, which dates back to the eighth century AD and was dedicated to Surya, the chief solar deity in Hinduism. The temple was commissioned by Lalitaditya, a powerful ruler of the Karkota dynasty. Some 600 years after his death, the temple would be destroyed by Sikander Shah. The remnants of the Martand temple were further ruined by several earthquakes. Yet, in all its ruins, the structure stands in its full glory, overlooking the whole of the Kashmir valley. The Martand Sun Temple represents the Apogee of Kashmir’s temple architecture. It has been a silent witness to Kashmir’s history. It doesn’t feel like a site of national importance but more like a living, breathing monument that wants to talk to the people visiting it. One has to pause all their senses and listen intently while visiting the Martand Sun Temple. It will leave you mesmerized. I felt like I took a piece of history along while leaving a part of myself to give company to the Martand Sun Temple.

We started our return journey. En route, we stopped to buy famous Kashmiri dry fruits, saffron, and cardamom. Abid showed me a kahwa maker. We all had kahwa at the dry fruit shop. My mum was visibly tired. I too wanted to just break into bed and dream about all the good things that were part of our trip today. Kashmir’s selcouth beauty was both rare and striking. It left us wondering whether others too might have a similar experience.

Chapter 2 – Gadabout

The morning in Srinagar is filled with mist, and rain sweeps across the city. It is a gently cold day. Roses, bluebells, daisies, buttercups, and lupins have blossomed while birds make a racket in the branches of poplar trees. The world around me had slowed down. I was an attentive listener. Away from the honking that engulfs the cities, there are sounds that are good to hear. Amongst all these musical sounds, I heard a familiar voice, “Priya, welcome to the valley.” Uncle had reached Srinagar and was eager to take us around.

Our first stop was 25km away from Srinagar in the Ganderbal district, at the Kheer Bhawani temple. We took the route that ran along the Dal. It would take us nearly an hour to get to Kheer Bhawani temple. The temple is open from 6 AM to 8 PM every day. My uncle mentioned that this temple is one of the most important temples for Kashmiri Hindus. The road to Kheer Bhawani is idyllic. Chacha, as our joy-rider was lovingly called, stopped near a pond that was glowing with beautiful lotuses in pink and white. He was as excited as a kitten and couldn’t resist the temptation to walk through the marshy lands and pluck a beautiful pink lotus for my mother. My mother was beaming like a child who had just unwrapped a toy. By her looks, I knew she had already decided the fate of the lotus.

Devotion is a strong emotion. It is felt not only in our hearts but also in our actions. It transcends the limitations of the human body over time and reverberates in the environment. Kheer Bhawani will give you the feeling that the air is filled with pious and unconditional devotion to the Goddess, who equally protects and loves her devotees. I am not a devotee of the Goddess, but I could sense a feeling of trust and faith in Goddes Ragnya Devi, which made me her believer. The Goddess Ragnya Devi sits right in the centre of the septagonal spring. The devotees are on the other side, and the moat is filled with water from the spring. It is similar to an emperor having an audience with his subjects. The Goddess, in her full glory, listens attentively to each of her devotees, granting them patience and perseverance until their wishes are granted by her. It is said that the spring water changes colours, which is symbolic of the fortunes of the valley. A black shade is indicative of unfortunate times, and hues of red, pink, green, blue, and white indicate promising events. I had picked up milk and flowers from outside the complex where local Muslims had set up their stalls for the convenience of Hindu devotees. My mother gave the lotus to my uncle and asked him to devote it to the Goddess.

The prasad is kheer (rice pudding), as the name of the famed temple goes. The taste of the kheer would linger for a long time, just like the devotion of the people who prepare it. The seat of Mata Kheer Bhawani is surrounded by a couple of temples dedicated to different gods and goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon. The temple complex itself is nestled in the shade of mammoth Chinar trees. It is my observation that Kheer Bhawani is a Kashmiri culture which is integral to both Pandits and Muslims. While the Pandits are the devotees, the Muslim traders sell flowers, milk, and other items necessary for worship. The existence of one without the other would be akin to preparing a lavish meal that lacks salt. If there was one wish the Goddess would grant me, I would only ask for the peaceful existence of the two communities based on mutual love and respect for each other.

We grabbed lunch at the nearby Dhaba before setting out for Manasbal, India’s deepest lake. The zigzag route to Manasbal has gentle turns. The road was surrounded by an arc of meswak, mulberry, walnut, and chinar trees. Overlooking us were the green mountains, who bore the wisdom of ages and were unperturbed by the incessant teasing of the childlike, fluffy cumulus clouds. There comes a moment in every trip that one realises that the pleasure of travel is in the journey and not so much in reaching the destination. Seeing the world around crowd us while not cushioned in the comfort of an air-conditioned car can open our senses to the nature surrounding us. It is experiencing the unexpected, giving the world a chance to open its arms and welcome you while you celebrate its unfathomable beauty. Chacha decided to halt near the edge of Manasbal lake so we could get a first-hand chance to witness its beauty.

Manasbal is a freshwater lake that has infinite lotuses swimming on its surface, making it watery heaven on earth. In the lake’s catchment area, there are orchards of apple, mulberry, and chinar. Mom was perhaps the only person to spot a water tank. She enjoyed her stroll around the circumference of the lake. It forms a pitchersque background for photography. The buoyant lotus leaves the surface of the lake, stacking one on top of another, creating a cluster of togetherness that rarely reveals what lies beneath. As we wandered around the lake, spotting birds and lotuses and other water plants, we saw an army vehicle patrolling the lake. My uncle, who is also with the Indian Army, approached the company commander of the Rashtriya Rifles, who suggested we visit the Jharokha Bagh, a Mughal-era Garden built by Nurjehan. I can never thank the company commander enough for this stunning suggestion. As the name suggests, the garden acts like a window overlooking the lake. The ethereal experience was enhanced by the clear skies, the greens of the chinar, and meticulous landscaping. We soaked ourselves in the cool sun of June, had kahwa, and hugged each other. There is no happiness in preparation. Spontaneity is the way to embrace happiness. Every moment of happiness should be clutched in a tight embrace.

Chacha wanted us to visit Hazaratbal. It was like a wish granted by the heavens. I too wanted to visit Hazaratbal. But I was sceptical about my mom’s and uncle’s reactions. However, much to my joy, they agreed in unison. The joy of visiting Hazaratbal was boundless. Until this day, I had only read about it. Today I was finally going to see it. We started our return journey to Dal, whose northern bank houses Kashmir’s holiest Muslim shrine. For the uninitiated, Hazratbal is where a hair strand of the Prophet Mohammed is preserved. The hair is also called ‘the relic’ or the Moi-e-Muqaddas. In about an hour’s time, we were standing in front of the spectacular shrine that boasts mesmerising architecture. The dome is visible from a distance. A closer look reveals the influence of Mughal architecture. Chacha told us that Hazratbal is the only dome-shaped mosque in Kashmir; the rest have a pagoda-style roof. At the Dargah, we witnessed thousands of pigeons. Although the Dargah holds a special place in the hearts of Muslims, I too felt a sense of deep connection with the place. The divine presence of the shrine is empowering to the people of Kashmir. The shrine is a perfect example of the interwoven nature of faith and humanity. In the presence of the Almighty, one ceases to be a religious being and transcends into the realm of spirituality, where the world is in Him and from Him is the world.

Our next destination was Chashme Shahi. Chashme Shahi is a Mughal Garden designed by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan as a gift for his eldest son, Prince Dara Shikoh. The garden is located in the Zabarwan range, overlooking the Dal. The entry fee is standard across all the gardens in Srinagar; it is 24 INR per adult. My uncle mentioned that Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru only drank the pure waters of the Chashme Shahi spring, which is believed to have medicinal properties. Mom cupped her hands, scooped up the cold, gushing water, and took a big, refreshing gulp. She drank the water at least a couple of times before nudging me to also follow suit. In her words, “The water is refreshing and also has a distinct taste to it, the taste of purity.” Chashme Shahi is the smallest garden among the Mughal Gardens of Srinagar, but the presence of the spring makes it an unmissable destination. Interestingly, it is Chashme Sahibi in honour of the great female saint of Kashmir, Rupa Bhawani, who discovered the spring. Over the years, the name got corrupted and today the spring is known as Chashme Shahi. 

Five minutes drive from Chashme Shahi and we reached Pari Mahal. While Chashme Shahi is a three terraced garden, Pari Mahal is a seven terraced garden. There is an entry fee for Pari Mahal too. It is 24 INR per adult. The beauty of Pari Mahal lies in its landscaping. The weather was pleasant. Mom and I ambled through the splendiferous enclosures, occasionally waving to fellow travellers, sharing our smiles with native Kashmiris, and doing the most ritualistic thing of all: requesting pictures. Dara Shikoh used it as an observatory and for teaching astrology and astronomy. Pari Mahal gives you warm vibes. If the weather is cooperative, an entire day can be spent here. One truly feels like a fairy (Pari) visiting its long-lost home (Mahal). Standing as a glorious memento of the mediaeval age, Pari Mahal has stories of the past firmly engraved in its chest. One has to be an attentive listener to absorb the illustrious past as one traverses through past and present in the glorious enclosure guarded firmly by the security forces.

Chapter 1 – Serendipity

My uncle’s posting coincided with our Kashmir trip. Mom couldn’t have been happier. It was true serendipity. She was ecstatic to see her brother after a long time. Uncle informed us that in Kashmir, only postpaid SIM cards work. Prepaid SIM cards from other states do not work because this is a border area and for security reasons. It is a vital tip considering how handicapped one feels without the ability to call other people or even browse general information over the internet.

Ours was a morning flight. From Mumbai, it takes about three hours to reach Srinagar. I eagerly awaited the first glimpse of snow-capped mountains; the Chinars, the Deodars, and the Kaayurs. I would never be able to tell a leaf from another leaf, yet I felt this deep sense of connection to the land I was visiting for the first time ever. My mum sat in the middle seat, and I was in the aisle. No sooner had the plane started its descent than I elated, “Himalayas.” The Kashmiri man sitting beside the window smiled. I wanted to take pictures, but at that very moment, the captain announced that since we are in an area controlled by the Army, taking pictures is prohibited. And this was my first lesson to not indulge in activities that could endanger the lives of people. As tourists, we are tempted to take pictures and post them all over social media. But we must remember that every single picture taken and shared on the web can be misused to cause greater harm, far more than we can imagine, and place a burden of guilt too difficult to hold in our hearts.

My uncle had arranged for us to be driven to the guest house he had booked for us. Javed Bhai took us to the guest house. Enroute, he talked about the various places we could visit. Since it was already afternoon, he suggested we do Shankaracharya, Dal, Shikaara over the Dal, and later on, if possible, a few gardens, for which Kashmir is so famous. I noticed and then continued to notice throughout my trip, that the Maruti 800 was a favourite car of Kashmiris. Kashmiris also prefer the Safari and XUV 500. The commonality between all three was a broken windscreen, which happens due to a difference in temperature when locals drive between Kashmir and Jammu.

Javed Bhai had a special pass. The advantage of this pass was that his car was allowed until the steps of Shankaracharya. In other cases, people had to get down about one and a half km and then walk their way to Shankaracharya. Javed Bhai took us through the famous Gupkar Road, the power avenue, home to Kashmir’s top politicians. Gupkar derives its name from the hill, Gopadari or Gopa, at whose feet it is situated. For different periods of time, Gupkar has remained a highly sought-after residential area for families close to power. Even today, you can smell the aristocracy in the air. I am sure Gupkar had a scenic landscape when it was sparsely populated. It is now dotted with offices and houses, detracting from its majestic grandeur. Today, Gupkar Road is a neatly manicured, chinar-lined street which is always guarded with an iron barricade.

From Gupkar Road, we drove toward Shankaracharya, our first tourist and religious destination. It is a 17-minute drive that passes through the extremely scenic Forest Reserve Road. You have to climb 243 steps before you finally meet the presiding deity, Lord Shiva. Shankaracharya, literally, is the concrete embodiment of Lord Shiva, who, in all his serenity, overlooks the city of Srinagar while sitting patiently on the Zabarwan range. No one knows the exact date of construction. Kashmiri Hindus believe Adi Shankara visited the temple in the 8th century CE and that it has been associated with him ever since; this is how the temple and hill got the name “Shankaracharya“. It is here that the literary work Soundarya Lahari was composed. It is said that verses 1–41 in Soundarya Lahari are the original works of Lord Shiva. The remaining verses, that is, 42–100, are composed by Adi Shankara himself, praising the appearance of the Goddess. A Sardarji, along with his son (I guess so), sits beside the steps, and you can purchase a copy of Soundarya Lahari from him. Isn’t this amazing, holding a version of a manuscript that is perhaps as old as time itself? Shankaracharya is history on a hill. The temple itself is an architectural marvel. There comes a moment when you take the final steps and eventually meet Lord Shiva as a lingam encircled by a snake. I still feel that moment. The air was moist and cold, and so was the lingam. It was a poignant meeting between the Divine and the mundane, the Immortal and the mortal, Time and the moment. Some moments in your life are etched in your memories forever. This was one such moment. Non-Hindus must visit Shankaracharya to absorb the history and also to oversee Srinagar from the top. It is indeed a view of a lifetime. During my visit, the clouds were playing hide and seek, and it was drizzling all the time. It was a day defined by romance. I enjoyed my romance with nature. Perhaps you may get luckier.

Javed Bhai has the patience of Buddha. He patiently waited for us while we frolicked in the weather and with some tourists too. Our next destination was Dal Lake.

Oh, Dal! How do I even eulogise your beauty?

It is as if nature created you.

To relax away from busy days,

An unintentional teardrop trickled onto the palm of Time,

Far too valuable to throw away,

A Painter’s vivid imagination,

whose brush could never leave your custody.

Dal Lake is called the “Jewel in the Crown of Kashmir”. Even on a rainy day, it was crowded with tourists and locals. Dal is not just about tourism but also commercial fishing and water plant harvesting. The shoreline of the lake, about 15.5 kilometres (9.6 mi), is encompassed by a boulevard lined with Mughal-era gardens, parks, houseboats, and hotels. Scenic views of the lake can be witnessed from the shorelines of Mughal gardens, such as Shalimar Bagh and Nishat Bagh, built during the reign of Mughal Emperor Jahangir, and from houseboats cruising along the lake in the colourful shikaras. The government has constructed ghats from which we can avail of the facility of Shikara. Beware of the shikara shikari (hunter). A cruise on the Shikara can be a big hole in your pocket. Thanks to Javed Bhai, we boarded Muskaan Shikara from ghat number 17 and paid 1500 INR for a ride that can typically cost you upwards of 5000 INR. Our shikara shikari was quite the shikari, Shambhoo! Immensely lovable and sharing tiny little details like floating gardens are known as “rad” in Kashmiri or a duck is called “jal murgi“. It was here that we had our first kahwa. He also showed us the floating garden and the associated houseboats. He was quite disappointed that our stay didn’t include a stay in the houseboat. But that also gave him a reason to cheer because it meant that we would visit again. Dal is located within a catchment area in the Zabarwan mountain valley. One can easily see the Shankaracharya temple from Dal. He showed us the historic Char Chinari. Dal Lake includes 3 islands, 2 of which are marked with beautiful Chinar trees. He lamented that the Char Chinari are no longer the majestic beings they used to be thanks to indiscriminate tree felling and floods. That the floriculture department of Jammu and Kashmir is making efforts to restore the island to its former glory brought a smile of hope and happiness to his face. He even told us that the famous song from the Asha Parekh and Rajesh Khanna movie, ‘Accha toh hum chalte hain‘, was filmed on Char Chinari. While on the shikara, I couldn’t help but hug my mom tightly. It felt surreal. It was as if destiny had planned our Kashmir trip. We had quite a mother-daughter moment that could moisten even the unsentimental amongst us. As our trip neared completion, we took a part of Dal in our hearts and a part of us hid deep inside the heart of Dal. It is customary to tip the shikara shikari. After all, he really impresses you with his knowledge of Dal, houseboats, floating gardens, and Char Chinari, and enables us to create beautiful memories while he exercises his might on the oars.

Our next destination was Nishat Bagh, which translates to ‘Garden of Delight’. The entry fee for the garden is 24 INR per adult person, which is a small amount for experiencing limitless joy. The Zabarwan mountains act as the backdrop to Nishat Bagh. It was built by Nur Jahan’s elder brother, Asif Khan. Nishat Bagh has twelve terraces, which represent the twelve zodiacal signs. I have never been a plant enthusiast, but Nishat Bagh was a true delight for my mother, who noticed the fat stems of roses. She was looking at every flower, observing keenly the soil, and enjoying the beauty of the magnificent garden. Her words still ring in my ears: “Kashmir is rightly called Heaven on Earth. But why? ” Her questions would be answered over the next few days. Until then, we were soaking in the warmth of Kashmir, which was like the embrace of a grandmother who was forever happy to see her grandkids.

Opposite Nishat Bagh is a shopping complex where you can buy Kashmiri items at reasonable rates. Everything in Kashmir is overpriced and this shopping complex is a sane place in terms of cost and you also get variety. We picked Kashmiri dress materials at an affordable price. Even then, we weren’t convinced about the prices. Little did we know that this would be the cheapest place we would visit on our entire trip. A tip: markets in Srinagar are closed on Sundays.

It had been a long day indeed, from Mumbai to Srinagar to all the touristy places one could visit in half a day. Everything was dreamlike. I, for once, wanted this dream to go on and on and on.

Kashmir Dairies – And so it happened…

“Lifetimes of ecstasy crowded into a single moment,” I yelled and banged The Innocents Abroad on the table. With a piercing gaze, this startled my father, who fumed, “That’s Twain’s bestseller, and respect wouldn’t be too much to ask.” I huddled around my father and said, “All travelogues are tiresome. All travels are needless. And this book is boring,” I purposefully stretched ‘boring’ to emphasise how tiresome it had been to read this highly recommended book by him.

My father was not convinced. He couldn’t digest that his recommendation was not accepted. He tried to convince me about travelling which led to a lengthy debate between him and me on the necessity of travel. I had my points. He had his. This argument outlived its shelf life. Finally, in a bid to end it, my father said, “When you travel, you don’t gain anything in terms of tangible material benefits. Travel adds depth to your soul. How else do you explain Gandhiji’s Indian travel before formally dedicating himself to the great Indian freedom struggle? Perhaps a better example would be you. Today your soul is a local garden.” This had me. I interrupted him and exclaimed, “So if I travel will it become a Malabar Hill garden?” Papa was not bothered by my sarcasm. He continued, “As you travel, you will pick from different nationalities, learn diversity, appreciate its necessity, embrace differences, but most important, celebrate those differences. You will realize that slowly your soul has turned into the garden of Eden, carefully nurtured by you. I’d say travel, click pictures, make memories, fall in love, suffer a heartbreak, become a child, and add maturity to your age. Don’t let anyone fool you. Travel opens up not just the mind and body but also the soul. Travel as long as you are capable of travelling. Later, you can read the travelogues better still write some.

Years later as I travelled across continents and countries, I realized my folly and how silly I had been. Travel has been the most efficient way to keep narrow-mindedness and bigotry at bay. It is also one of the easiest ways to fall in love and move on, pun intended. 2019 was the last time I had travelled before the world was shut down by the horrific coronavirus pandemic. After more than two years of being locked up and working long hours, Goa was my natural choice to unwind. Goa was also my mum’s choice of preference because she wanted to firsthand witness the Goan culture. But as we were booking the tickets from Mumbai to Dabolim, Goa, a ticker came up. The ticker was about Srinagar, Kashmir. It was a touristy advertisement about all the awesome things that can be done in Srinagar. Mum and I looked at each other. It was a moment of unison agreement. Perhaps the first time, mother and daughter had agreed without debating. Immediately, Dabolim was parked for another day. And Srinagar was booked. Little did I know that I had booked more than just tickets. I had booked ecstasy, memories, happiness, smiles, unknowns, knowns, and everything in that one click of a mouse.

Go where you feel most alive

Have you ever felt strong emotions at a place, any random place? When you are absorbed contemplating the subliminal beauty of a place do you feel an outpour of heavenly sensations? As if there is an evocative conversation going on between your soul and that place? Your heart quivers with ecstasy. You feel life is slowly draining away and that if you die at that moment, you won’t regret a thing. You walk but you feel like falling, you can’t hear others because you are engaged in a heart-to-heart conversation with that place, your hands shiver but your eyes don’t blink. You are hallucinating at that moment. If you’ve not yet experienced this then perhaps you haven’t seen a phenomenon of great beauty.

But what if you have? Then you are not alone in this world. I can tell you that you have at least one person to give you company (read me). And one more from the past. It has happened many times with me. Whenever I see nature in its full glory or an alluring piece of art, I feel as if a conversation has started between us. I savour the moment and exactly at that juncture I know that I have fulfilled my life by just being there. For a long time, I believed that this weirdness was a part of my personality. However, a few months back I read about Stendhal’s Syndrome and came to know that it is not just me or you, but a lot of people out there feeling this psychosomatic condition involving rapid heartbeat, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations. Stendhal described his experience with the phenomenon during his 1817 visit to Florence when he visited the Basilica of Santa Croce, where Niccolò Machiavelli, Michelangelo and Galileo Galilei are buried, he was overcome with profound emotion.

There is evidence that certain cerebral areas involved in emotional responses are activated during exposure to great art. I have experienced aesthetic happiness in nature’s arms and one such place is Fraser’s Hill.

2019 was the year when I clocking so much time in terms of travel. I had to tick off every item on my checklist in West Malaysia before I kissed my final goodbye to the country. I had invested so much effort in digging up information on the unseen areas around Kuala Lumpur. For me, 2019 was a year when I was picking up the sands from across the seas. I was leaving my soul footprint in every single place I visited and Fraser’s Hill was one such place which made me experience what a celestial encounter can be. I’ll never forget the 5th day of May, a Sunday when I finally decided to step on the Hill.

Fraser’s Hill lies about 100km away north from Kuala Lumpur (KL). If you have a car it is pretty easy, you start the car, on the GPS, follow the route, and reach the place. But if you are not having a car then you have to explore all means of public transport before reaching the coveted place. Due to the sheer complexity of the route, I decided it would be better to have a TBu. For those unfamiliar with TBu, it is an acronym made from the words Travel Buddy. I called my TBu at 6 in the morning and asked him the possibility of an exploratory trip outside KL. Since it was a Sunday it didn’t take much effort to convince and we decided to meet at the nearest station, Asia Jaya, at 7 AM.

By the time we reached Asia Jaya, it was 8 AM. Time is of the essence when you are planning day trips but is of no consequence when the same trips are unplanned. One has to be accommodating but remember time is the entity that is compromised the most. At around 8:20 AM we reached KL Sentral from Asia Jaya. TBu suggested we keep a timetable handy before proceeding any further on the trip. I agreed. By the time we got our hands over a timetable and understood the route, we had missed the last direct train to Kuala Kuku Baru (KKB). The only option we had was a connecting train via Sungai Buloh. Thus, started the journey via train which was intertwined with periods of fun and wait.

I love train journeys. The sight of people and things moving slowly away from you is therapeutic. For me, it symbolizes that one day everyone you know will leave and eventually you’ll have to make peace with what you have in life. I would have made countless train journeys until now. Each one is special and different from the previous one. I don’t remember everything that I experienced, but I do have a distinct memory of one thing that can sum up the entire experience of that journey.

When we were covering the distance from Sentral to Buloh, TBu wanted to talk. I didn’t. I simply wanted to see the train tracks. I didn’t want to engage in any conversation. Those train tracks were awesome because there wasn’t a shred of thought in my head when I saw those tracks hit each other, overlap with each other and sometimes just run parallel to each other. It relieved me from the constant maze of thoughts I am surrounded with. I paid no attention to TBu and after sometime slept off. He shrugged my shoulders when the train halted at Buloh. A sleepy-eyed me just followed him out of the train and waited patiently for another one. We did see an Indian couple having fun on the station but didn’t bother to start a conversation. I was still sleepy and irritated that the train was taking so long to come. TBu being his considerate self bought me a coconut bun and a coffee. As I sipped the coffee, I saw the young couple, full of life and happiness. It felt good to see people who were not trying to hide their happiness. The girl with curly hair was giggling on her partner’s joke. The boy was an ordinary-looking man but his smile made his ordinariness dazzle. Together the two of them glowed.

The train to KKB had arrived. We boarded the train. This time TBu wanted to sleep. I felt relaxed that I wasn’t going to force myself in an unwanted conversation. I started looking outside the window as the train crossed Buloh River, fields, barren lands, ugly-looking buildings, unclean stations, and as I remember, I slept off again. This time also TBu shrugged me when we reached KKB station. He smiled at me and said, “No amount of coffee can kill your sleep.” I was still sleepy and tried to smile. We got down. This time TBu took lead and talked with the couple. There are no coincidences in this Universe. The Universe follows your deepest desires and works day and night to make it a realization. Fraser’s Hill wouldn’t be a beautiful realization had it not been for that couple who joined us. Standing at KKB station we were still an hour away from Fraser’s Hill. With some difficulty, we found a cab which charged us 100 RM for Fraser’s Hill. We decided to book the cab back to KKB because there was no plan of staying back. The uphill road is so narrow that the final eight-kilometre stretch is limited to one-way traffic at any time. The direction changes every hour; odd hours are for ascending the hill, while even hours have been denoted for descending traffic. We got immediately started. The driver explained to us how the route is full of snakes and deep trenches. He also told us that the route was haunted and we must head back by 5 PM. This meant we had only 4 hours in Fraser’s Hill. Disappointed is a small word. What was I supposed to do in just 4 hours? With great difficulty, I controlled my emotions and yet few tears found their way out.

I tried to normalize myself because others seemingly were undaunted by this short duration. They were prepared to make most of it even if it was offered to them in bits. I found this attitude comforting. Slowly even I started chatting with them. Social media helped them in finding each other in Malaysia and now they were close friends. I found this unusual, social media is all about trolls and sickening comments. But there are exceptions to every case. I was happy I found a good company and wouldn’t have to enter in a forced discussion with TBu. TBu was glad some people didn’t sleep off in the journey. Navigating up the tight twists and turns of the road to this hill station was a stimulating experience. The driver gave us his number and asked us to be ready by 5 when he shall come to pick us up.

When we got down from the cab Fraser’s Hill clock tower welcomed us. The clock tower is hard-to-miss. It stands in the centre of the old English village square. It looked as if time had stood still and nothing had changed on this hill from its days as a British colonial hill resort. Everyone wanted a piece of it. There was a race among tourists to click pictures with the clock tower. The clock tower had stood the test of time. Wrapped in a green cover of climbers, it looked as if the clock had worn a coat made up of leaves. Its roof was made of red-coloured tiles and from a distance looked like an impressive nón lá. For me, the clock tower was a living entity and from here started the ecstasy of celestial sensations. It seemed to me that Fraser’s Hill was narrating its story to me. The clock tower was a handsome narrator talking about the bygone era. The glory of yesteryears. The pain of posing with tourists, yet the insecurity when someone amongst them commented on his height. The clock tower wasn’t amused when compared with other grand clock towers in the world. He was the man of his land and didn’t want those futile examinations by unknown strangers.

The temperature had dropped. There was a chill in the environment. The clouds had descended and it seemed as if they were running a race to finish. The clock tower told me that every afternoon during this season the clouds visit him and run toward the Abu Suradi Trail. The trail is famous for bird watching and little curiosities of nature. Was the clock tower talking to me or was I hallucinating? Whilst others are seemingly enjoying the beautiful nature, why is nature talking to me? At that precise moment, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I felt a surge of strength in my body, not to fight the world, but to explore it with my feet. To enjoy the greens and the blues, smell the flowers, watch the birds, indulge in the chill, and forget the past. I felt that if I died now, I wouldn’t regret a thing. I owned this moment. I started walking in the direction of Abu Suradi Trail. My gang asked if I knew this place and I told them to just follow. There is no need to know any place. The fun is in getting lost. Who knows everything? The maps are an illusion. The milestones are but stones. What you see is but a projection of your inner self. So how can you describe a place which is unique to you in ways only you can experience?

It was way past noon and yet the cool and unsteady breeze gave a feeling that it was early in the morning. The yon sanguine clouds were pleasantly intoxicating filling up the sunless sky. I ran behind them in a bootless attempt to catch them. They at times surrounded me and at times drifted away from me. Sometimes they deliberately trapped themselves between my fingers in an attempt to tease me. This playful moment lasted until TBu brought me back to reality. “If you keep dancing on the route, there is little chance that we will complete our trail on time,” TBu’s reminder jolted me away from the playful clouds.

The steep climb at the beginning of the trail from the town centre may put off a lot of people but soon after the trail ascends more gradually and pleasantly. It is a short and easy 500m jungle walk suitable for hikers of all ages. The trail is named after Abu Suradi who happened to be the first person to be awarded a mining lease at Fraser Hill. Because of its width and broadness, it is easy to traverse. You have to know the place to be able to select the trail. I was amazed how without any knowledge of the place, I had guided my gang to the trail with the help of Mr Clock Tower.

On this trail, you will spot some interesting plants like moss and wild ginger. At some points, the ground was dug by wild pigs for food with the footprints evident. The region is heavily inhabited by ants, bees, beetles, grasshoppers, spiders and termites. This wasn’t my first hike. But Fraser’s Hill is an enchantress. It casts a spell on you using its beauty. Nature here is pristine and interactive. You find the butterfly is rushing towards you, the spiders are tracing the route you are taking, and the bees are humming a secret song in your ears. At every point, you are not chasing Nature but Nature is indulging you. This makes the time spent on Fraser’s Hill gratifying. I have never been before to a place that has hugged me. Fraser’s Hill wrapped its arms around me as if it didn’t want me to leave.

The top of Abu Suradi Trail connects with Mager Trail. Mager Trail is a fairly easy 350-meter hike, named after the British engineer who was responsible for the initial development of Fraser’s Hill in 1918 as a colonial rest station. He completed the Gap road in 1921, utilising a gate system for alternating one-way traffic up and down the highlands. The Gap road is still the only access route up Fraser’s Hill for vehicles today, with a more recently-built road for downhill traffic. The trail ends near the Gap exit, just before the town centre leading us back to the point from where we started.

We could now see the clear blue sky. The architecture of Fraser’s Hill comprises old colonial influenced design. This for some of us means ‘great photo opportunities’. My gang grabbed this opportunity with both hands. Pics were clicked on the road, holding a tree, kissing a flower, and posing in front of a colonial-era bungalow. In the current era, click has replaced chirp. If there’s one thing to moan about then let us moan this.

The Sun had started to say its final goodbyes. The sky was painted in rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, and crimsons. We were getting transported into a realm of timeless existence. Mr Clock Tower smiled at me and said, “Yet again, the time has come. Do you really have to go?” Just as I was about to answer with a pleading no, TBu interjected, “Hey! Get in. The Cab’s here.” I wasn’t even able to say a proper goodbye. Hours ago I had tears rolling down my cheeks because of the limited time to explore the place and now I was upset because I had made a strong connection with the place in that limited timeframe.

Time is not the same for everyone everywhere. Time depends upon what connect we establish with our present. This can be then measured in hours in future but who is going to measure what was established in those hours? The feelings, the interactions, the exchange of thoughts, or perhaps there was no exchange but a silence which recorded the moment perfectly. Is it possible to time experience? To allocate days to a place? Can you say that the ruins of Rome have told you the untold story of deceit? Have you felt the magic of genius in Florence? Fraser’s Hill is no Rome or Florence. There is no manmade beauty or treachery in this place. Fraser’s Hill is an example of what unbridled nature can fill you with. Your take-home can be a strenuous hike or a delightful walk amongst the clouds, or perhaps just filling your lungs with oxygen. It depends on what you see and nature fills you with that.

As we drove back to KKB, the driver told us that on 28 April 2019, Fraser’s Hill celebrated 100th years of existence as a hill resort. He said that Unlike Genting Highlands and Cameron Highlands, Fraser’s Hill is not a centre for entertainment but rather a place for people to retreat from the hustle and bustle of city life. It is an ancient forest of moss-draped trees and ferns with the appearance that resembles prehistoric forests that kept constantly moist in the cloud layer. He told us about how the hill got its name (Fraser’s Hill is named after Louis James Fraser, a Scottish trader and accountant), the rich tin deposits, annual birdwatching events and even some haunting stories. He kept us all glued with his mesmerizing art of storytelling. There is so much more to a place if you just listen to the people of that place.

We were tired. Tired would look refreshed in front of us. I couldn’t feel my legs any longer. TBu looked like a zombie. The couple was dreadfully tired. We were trying to open our eyes but at some point, we just wanted to fall and sleep. We gathered our flagging bodies and moved towards the train. As the train left the station, I kept wondering if the clock tower would be thinking about me. What would he think of me? I didn’t even say a thank you or a goodbye. Will I ever get to correct my mistake? Will I ever visit Fraser’s Hill again? This time to just relax and know the place, a little bit better than before…

The Hidden Gems of Malaysia – Redang Island

Picture yourself as a treasure hunter who has braved the violent storms of the sea, fought against the anger of turbulent and unforgiving water and the mountain of waves so large that the vessel was dwarfed. And finally, you find the treasure chest on the crystal clear waters of the white sandy beach. With shaky, little hands you open the giant box hiding unknown possibilities of gold or silver or maybe even jewels. It is there you find the coveted doubloon hiding under the sand and shells and a few hermit crabs.

Redang Island is that doubloon for the travelers who brave the travel time and mode to reach nature’s best-kept secret hidden away from the eyes of the greedy tourists. In Malay, it is called Pulau Redang. Famous for its crystal clear water and white sandy beaches, the journey to Redang is quite an effort.

For travelers visiting West Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur (KL) is the base location. It is wise to keep KL as the base location because traveling to different places from KL is easy. One can reach Redang by air and that is the simplest way to travel. Berjaya Air offers direct flights to the island from Kuala Lumpur’s Subang Airport. However, if you are not the one to take the route frequently traveled then head towards Kuala Terengganu (KT) in a bus. The bus normally takes 6 to 7 hours depending upon the traffic. From bus head to Shahbandar jetty or Merang jetty directly to your resort.

You must time travel properly. I mistimed and underestimated traveling to Redang. You must remember that the holidays are the time when people rush to Redang. I decided to travel to Redang during Eid this year. In Malaysia, for Eid two days off are given. Since Eid was falling on Wednesday this year, even Friday was given an off in addition to Thursday. Even though Bumiputera (Malays and indigenous peoples, including Orang Asli, Dayak, Anak Negeri) form more than 60% of the population remember that Indian Malays and Chinese Malays head straight for an ideal vacation destination during the Eid celebrations which is called Hari Raya Puasa in Bahasa.

I cannot exactly say that I planned Redang. What I did doesn’t qualify in planning. It does qualify under manmade disaster and I have no qualms admitting that I am not the best learners around. In fact, I push my luck a little harder every time. Not an advisable attitude. The world has become so certain that any possibility of uncertainty can be easily ruled out for travels. My misadventures are tuned to encounter the unpredictable. It gives me the same feeling which someone might get jumping from the aircraft and falling at 200km/h. Some people call this imbecility as skydiving. I call mine ‘chancing’. Whether positive or negative, time will tell. Yet, it is (mis)adventurous.

Thus, on Tuesday night I booked a ticket using easybook to Kuala Terengganu. The website offers all kinds of bookings; bus, train, ferry, car rental, and even flights. My biggest mistake was not booking the ferry ticket online. As I said, I keep pushing my luck a little harder. It is advisable to do a night journey because the bus service in Malaysia is an A plus. The buses provide aircraft luxury and at times are even better than them. Night travel also ensures that you don’t ‘feel’ the journey more than the stipulated hours of travel. Another benefit is that you can easily come out of KL during the night if your stars are aligned properly. Traffic is a live horror experience in KL. Sometimes traveling to a location takes lesser time than coming out from KL. Tuesday was the wrong day. People were rushing home for Hari Raya and the traffic was horrendous. I slept once the bus started at 9 PM and woke up after about an hour only to find myself in KL. In fact, the bus hadn’t covered even a kilometer distance. At around 4:30 AM the bus reached KT, Shahbandar bus terminus. It is important to make note of where the bus is dropping you. All these names make a lot of sense once you reach there. At 4:30 AM the only option I had was to wait.

I am not a solo, female traveler. I tend to be a I-am-bored-what-to-do-lets-travel traveler. My types are not well prepared and they try to find options once they reach the place. This is not advisable because one can encounter situations which are uncomfortable and difficult to deal with. However, the ever-expanding Universe has been kindly ignoring my antics and placing people on my journey who make my life easy. I found a bunch of fellow travelers who were like me but in a bunch. I asked them if I could join their group and they happily had me in. Now that I was in the group, I felt relaxed. In the next 15 minutes, I realized I cannot relax. The group was more clueless than domesticated turkeys and I am being kind here. Therefore, I had to take the reins of travel in my hands in order to ensure I reach Redang which was still about 2 hours far.

From Shahbandar Bus terminus we went to Shahbandar jetty which is at a 5-minute distance from the bus stop. At the jetty, we had to wait because the ticket counter opens only at 8 AM and the first jetty departs at 9 AM. Timing is subjected to change. People around advised waiting until 6 when the cleaner comes to open the office. Thus came the realization that patience is an undervalued virtue and the prerequisite for any purpose in life. We waited patiently until 6:30 AM when the cleaner arrived. He told us that all the seats in the ferry departing at 9 AM are full and there is no chance to board the 9 AM ferry, however, he could manage tickets in the 3:30 PM ferry. Here lies the point, islands should be visited during the morning time. Generally, as the sun begins to set, there are chances of heavy rainfall. 3:30 PM meant we would reach around 4:30 on the island which would leave us with nothing to do. Time was of the essence. Hence, after thorough deliberation with the turkeys, I insisted we hire a speedboat and go to the island. The turkeys were not comfortable with the idea and I was pushing the idea because we were practically wasting our entire day waiting. Though patience is a virtue but waiting when you have options is unnecessary. Of course, good sense prevailed and we finally spotted a man who was an agent for private speedboat owners.

The cost to travel from the ferry and from the speedboat is same; 55 RM each way which makes the to and fro journey 110 RM. We were supposed to pay a part to the agent and the remaining to the speedboat owner. The catch is private speedboats depart from private jetties. While Shahbandar jetty was approx. 5-minute distance from the bus terminus, Merang jetty from where we were supposed to catch the speedboat, was a good 1 hour plus the distance from the bus terminus. This being the Raya time there were no Grabs available. Grab is the Malaysian equivalent of Ola cars. If you are wondering how big Grab is, it acquired Uber in Malaysia! Grab services are reasonable and you will not be cheated. This is, however, not true for holiday time because most of the Grab drivers are Malay and they take off during Raya. So we were left with the only option of using a taxi service. For an hour distance, the taxi charged us 80 RM per taxi. We were 7 and paid 160 RM for 2 taxis. This may seem costly but if you do the math it comes to roughly 23 RM per person which is an affordable deal.

So started another journey. I think we were rightly charged the amount. It took us more than an hour but less than 2 to reach the private jetty in Merang. This was on a holiday morning without any traffic. We reached the private jetty paid the remaining amount to the speedboat owner who gave us a receipt of the amount paid. The receipt is basically a piece of paper which claims that the amount has been paid. You have to pay for to and fro together. But don’t worry about the amount paid. The speedboats operate in honesty and they will drop you as well as fetch you. They have their timings and do remember to ask when they depart. They will accommodate a few minutes delay too. Remember to take the phone number of the speedboat owner so you can coordinate the departure timings.

And started another journey of close to an hour.

At around 10 in the morning, we finally reached the Shore of Redang Island. The name of our resort was Delima resort. Only I had pre-booked the resort. I realized that the turkeys were far more adventurous than me. They didn’t have any booking and were relying on a remote possibility of accommodation in Delima resort. Not to mention that I had given them the hope that there will be room available. I give hope away as if I am made of it. Should I analyze whether it is right or wrong? I don’t think so. It is essential to enjoy the moments that makeup life. Worrying on the possibilities of the future is an injustice to the beautiful present we have.

When the speedboat arrived on the Shore of Redang I had already traveled 13 hours via bus, cab, and speedboat. I was sleep deprived and grumpy. I had started questioning my decision to come to Redang. And this is when Redang happened to me. Like a treasure hunter, I had found my doubloon. The crystal clear blue waters were home to different fishes who were swimming happily. The beautiful white corals were carelessly scattered along the shore. Conch shells of different shapes and sizes were adorning the bluish shore. The moment I stepped on the island shore I felt like a free bird ready to claim its sky. Every single minute of the travel seemed worth the effort. The light from the sun seemed brighter than the one which wakes me up every morning in my apartment. The air was fresher than what I breathed in KL. It felt good to breathe pure oxygen after so many days. The coconut trees planted aimlessly around the island were a picture straight out from the sceneries we have seen. The feeling which can neither be described nor be relived is forever captured in my soul.

I was a picture of delight even for myself. I didn’t even wait to enter the room. I splashed in the crystal clear blue water and swam across the shore. It would be better to say semi-walked across the shore, collecting corals and shells and conches on way. This was my moment. This was the moment which I will keep revisiting in my memories. This was the moment which will penetrate my soul and stay with me forever. This was the moment of a lifetime.

Canopy of coconut trees

Lined for greatness

White Sand, Blue Sky and Blue Water

Doubloon

Doubloon

Paradise

I swam and ran in water completely forgetting the group I had come along with. After some time I realized my mistake and checked if they got any room, luckily they did. My poor planning is reflected in almost everything I do. I am a vegetarian and the maximum I can stretch myself is to eat an egg. That’s about it. Redang islands are isolated from the world. It is all about seafood over there. The maximum they could offer in vegetarian was plain white rice. When hunger first crawled in my stomach, I didn’t care much. But when it crawled in my head, I became angry and teary at the same time. It is then that I realized what a moron I was. I could have packed bread and butter along with jam. But in my attempt to ’chancing’, I ascertained my death by hunger. Besides Delima resort was Lagoona resort where I rushed for food. Unfortunately for me, hunger had taken over my senses and I was not able to find Lagoona’s restaurant and came back to Delima tired and hungrier than before.

When I touch water

Can life really be this cool?

It is then when the turkeys saw me and asked me if I would like to join them for food. Turned out that they were vegetarians too and had come prepared. This was my moment of shame. What a selfish person I was. All the while I was making fun of them in my head and eventually, they were the people who helped me out. I thanked them profusely and cursed my shallow nature for calling them turkeys and straying away from the group. I practice gratitude but realized how selective I am in practicing it. I felt disgusted at myself for being shallow and selfish and thankless. I decided in my mind to make it up for my bad behavior.

At around 3 in the afternoon, I asked the group if they were up for a hike to the nearby hill. It was about 300ft from sea level and the route apparently was demarcated by the locals so it would be easy to hike. This was my first group activity. The group happily joined. It was a difficult terrain even though marked by the locals. There were ropes tied to the strong barks of the trees in case help is required. We had to be careful because one slip and we would end up rolling down the slope. The uneven terrain became more difficult with the occurrence of scorpions and tarantulas. We managed to reach the top. Top of the hill was a revelation. The blue water from the top looked surreal. The hill was covered with dense forest and when we reached the top we realized that the forest had its own melody. The crickets and the frogs added to the symphony. The occasional occurrence of the birds who brought their own musical composition to the symphony filled the forest with harmony. This is also when I realized that every forest is a different experience. The wind would blow the leaves whose blades would clap with each other to create a unique sound. The blades of these leaves would also touch the bark to create a light sound which felt as though the forest is whispering in our ears. The rustling of the leaves combined with the croaking of the frogs and the chirping of the crickets made the experience of hike unforgettable. We took pictures of the beach from the top. We clicked each other. We found a dream catcher hanging to one of the trees at the top. It was made from plastic waste. There were different items hanging from the dream catcher; shells, small conches, bottles, messages. Someone took the efforts to knit a dream catcher and hang it on the summit, people have the capability to surprise.

View from 300ft

I hiked!

With the dream catcher

Panoramic view of the sea from the top

The descent was easy and quick. We decided to take a dip again in the blue waters and this time I did not stray. I took pictures and got drinks for the group and didn’t behave like a miss-know-it-all. I even took care of mobiles for some time but then the greed to be in the water again took over me and I made a splash again. I understood the importance of being in a group and collaborating without sounding condescending. What is the point if you don’t learn a lesson or two while traveling!

The next day was planned for diving and snorkeling. Redang Island is one of the nine islands which form a marine sanctuary park and is a conservation site for sea turtles. The indiscriminate economic exploitation of turtle eggs caused fewer turtles returning to the nest on the island. With great efforts of locals and KT government, the situation has now improved. I am a strong believer in letting nature be. This means that I don’t like disturbing the natural habitat. Too much of snorkeling and diving has disturbed the corals. I excused from being a part of diving and snorkeling. I was happy to see the island and grabbed the opportunity to swim. In my view, this too disturbs the sea. It is not just one person but multiple people who swim and end up polluting the sea with human waste and plastic waste. The sea had given me enough adventure for the trip. I decided to rest on the hammock while the group enjoyed the activities for the next day. In case you are interested in snorkeling, let the resort know in advance so they can arrange an instructor for you.

In the night it started to rain heavily on the island. Island rains are different than what we experience in the cities. The waves increase in height and the water enters the island from the sea. Thus, the island floods if there is rain. It is a natural thing to happen but since I was seeing it for the first time, I felt as if I would never come out alive from the island. Luckily for me, the rain stopped after about 3 hours.

In the morning the group went for snorkeling while I explored the island. It is disheartening to see tourists leaving plastic bottles and plastic waste on a serene island. People have to be responsible and carry back their waste if they cannot then they must not travel. Polluting any place should not just be a heinous crime but also a grave sin. I cleaned up whatever plastic I could and then returned to lie down on the hammock.

Around 2 in the afternoon we decided to start our return journey. The resort keeper told us about MyBas which we can get from Merang public jetty. The ticket was 5RM per person. Mybas operated by Maraliner will drop you to the main bus terminus from where buses to Kuala Lumpur operate almost every hour or so.

The blues of the sky and the water did a great job in rejuvenating a tired mind. Although my return journey was slow and tedious due to the traffic and rains, the beauty of the beach refused to leave my eyes. Redang is totally worth your time, money and efforts. Plan it properly so you can get enough time to stay there and soak yourself in the sea. It is one of the hidden gems of Malaysia. Explore it like a traveler and not like a tourist. Ensure in responsible travel so the place remains as serene as it was before human exploitation and exploration.