When I Travelled

9:30pm~ The road to Abisko is winding ahead of us. Clouds have gathered overhead and the little one cuddles closer to me in the backseat of the car. Up ahead, he has squeezed through some clouds and lit up the road. A baby reindeer makes an appearance by the side of the road. My brother slows down the car and we hold our breath. My sister-in-law reaches for her phone but it scampers away back into the grass. 12:15 am~ We are at Abisko, at the base of Aurora Sky station. We pile on the woollies we have carried with us. The ski lift that will take us up to the Sky Station, a few hundred feet up the mountain, is an open bench on moving ropes and our Indian temperament is already half-frozen. The clouds have blanketed the sky entirely. Have you broken your solstice oath and laid down in bed, I look up. He pierces the clouds, splits into seven colours and frowns, No. 2:00 am~ We settle into the ski lift in twos and descend back towards the base. The clouds and he hav...

What do you mean by sprinkled with 24K gold dust? K asked the waitress her finger scrolling down the variety of teas and coffees listed on the menu. Gold dust is sprinkled on the tea, ma’am. No, but what is it made of? Umm… gold, ma’am. I looked at M and we both rolled our eyes. And how does that taste? K asked her. I am considering jumping into the conversation to help out the waitress. But I figure she is probably used to all these questions about gold, working at the Burj al Arab where all that glitters is gold. Gold paint, gold TV screens, gold thread upholstery, gold shop facades – the place would give King Midas an identity crisis. We have indulged our pockets in a not-worth-its-miniscule-weight-in-gold high tea of assorted tiny sandwiches on gold platters and pastries garnished with gold leaf. I remember from my science lesson that gold falls under the heavy metal category. Not when it is consumed I realize. It rests lightly in the stomach and has me fantasizing about a light-on...

Shilparamam is everything that Google had promised. And if I hadn’t looked it up, the cultural symbols at the entrance underscored the handicraft village that lay within. The inspiration for a cultural timeout had struck me somewhere in the middle of the 2-day corporate workshop. It had wavered a little at the sight of IKEA enroute, and I almost asked the taxi to stop there instead. But, I bit my tongue. And here I was to soak in the government’s attempt to encourage traditional crafts. Rings, necklaces, authentic pearls, shouts one. Real pashmina, durrhies, calls out another. I continue my stroll through the lanes of the village. There is another hour to kill before heading for lunch. The calls follow me but I ignore them. A shop piled high with wooden mantle pieces and toys grabs my eye and I wait for him to call out. He catches my eye, holds my gaze for a second and returns to scrolling Insta stories on his phone. He’s smart, the boy, like his phone. He recognises me for...