Lonely walks in deep woods

When I booked my tickets to Muir woods from San Francisco it occurred to me that I am proceeding on my mindless tourism freak with an intention to complete my itinerary with obsessive compulsion. After my long haul of expedition I came to the point of conclusion that where ever I go I am sure to get a large dose of museums, obeviously some piers if it is a sea coast or bay area, or some hopeless island where things are exhibited to the extent of exaggeration, or some shopping areas, ready to put a hole in my pocket. Am I on a constant quest for something new and exiting? Or is it some kind of monotony creeping into me? I am yet to figure it out. Evidently memories get overlapped if tours are done in quick succession.

On the day of my tour, after a brief travel on a hassal free train, I was received by an enthusiastic man who introduced himself as Pitt. He is supposed to be my guide cum driver. Obeviously people are rare commodity here. Apparently he had learnt the art of browsing the google maps and wikiepedia. "I was in the industry for over twenty years" he said jokingly with immediate correction which speaks that he joined the job only 3 weeks ago. While driving the cab he talked about so many things under the sky and shared his love for music and hatred for Bush with many other co passengers who happened to be whites.Honestly some of their mutter and strange expressions did not catch my imagination. Alas! Films are different from real time experiences. However I tried to be confident, my colonial past made me to shrink shorter and shorter in stature as the day progressed and my accent started looking uglier and uglier and my skin darker and darker. I felt like a hopeless creature. Eventually at one point of time I thought of taking a brave front with my glorious past.

Pitt stopped us at Muir woods as planned before.But by the time I turned my head I found all my coo passengers disappeared in all the directions.Whatever may be the reason these people are more adventurous and fun loving. There are special occasions where they enjoy their good times in a group but they can be equally comfortable being alone. I took my lonely dream walk into the Red woods . It was like a sudden burst of a Andean flute in the midst of deep silence. The trees looked unimaginably tall ,and some old ones stood strong dating back to twelve hundred years. It is hard for the sun to penetrate into the woods. Trees with wide burrows appeared as though they are trying to tell us so much about their past. These are the trees who witnessed so many events in their turbulent past. Yet are quite innocent of the numerous political changes that took place outside their world. Whether they remain under the controlled territories of Red Indians or Whites they really don't seem to care. They withstood so many tornadoes, hurricanes, wild fires and earth quakes.They fall, they rise. Still as though untouched by the disasters they continue to bloom and gently wave their heads to the gushing winds.I can't hear any thing except the twirling sounds of stream flowing besides them with occasional chirping of teetering birds which sounded like rhythmic musical expression of the nature. Squirrels, and rabbits scurry here and there fearlessly as there is no one to disturb them, with humongous belt of trees protecting them behind. The sun rays which penetrate with difficulty are painting the leaves to the gold. The whole of imposing serene beauty could inspire the most unpoetical minds to sing a song, and aesthetic minds to paint or capture their breath taking pictures. I touched their coarse bark with my hand to feel their their life and antiquity. It seemed they were speaking to me, so peacefully, so calmly, so magnificently, so soulfully . I found the key stone of my heart lying there, with this nature.Here I bathe, I sing, I cherish , I meditate, I transcend, I flourish, and perish. I was no different from what is surrounding me. The pebbles of the stream, the squirrels, the ferns, the fallen trees, the wide burrows in tree trunks, I seem to be a tiny part of them, hiding in them as a refugee, begging for their mercy to be fallen on me. They don't seem to discriminate who is white or who is black. The trees did not appear to be specifically American. They are same every where in the world . The same kind of life , the same kind of love, the same kind of enormity. They stand watching the world around with detached attachment.. I loved it. I loved it. Am I using the right word? I think I faltered.It is much beyond. I revered it. From some where Robert Frost is striking me with his lines from his stopping by woods on a snowy evening "Miles to go before I sleep." I remembered Words Worth, Keats and even Shelley, the English country side, and their deeper woods which I cherished to see for long in my childhood. I was glued to the posters showing their springs and autumns. Do they still exist ? I do not know. In India it is increasingly difficult to find them with tremendous human activity.One of the most bio-diverse heavens on earth has gradually lost it's galore. Even the remote corners of North East have been devastated with human aggression. The kind of peace I got while traveling via Coramandel coast through plantations near Kollur, between swelling streams and betel nut grooves,watching the foggy land scape of Hornad and Sringeri and touching of the pepper creepers, I experienced once again here miles away. The land never seemed foreign to me. It was not created differently. It is only a part of that marvelous creation. One earth, one magnificent cast of spell, then why a human different?

I had to rush back as I have keep my timing. Pitt was appreciative of my punctuality. As we proceeded on our wine country tour he asked me which wine I like the most. I replied that I never tasted it. It was a surprise to many of them.I was forced by a compulsion of pleasing them. I told them that I would be buying one for my son and sought for their help in selecting the right one, and soon they asked with what kind of food it is taken quoting steaks and smokes. I felt that it will be weird for me if I say we don't eat meat either.What kind of a life am I leading? I never felt so rustic before. Should it be all right if I say it is with palli masala or mirchi bajji? I did not want to look like a crude tribe from a remote land . I replied that he doesn't drink before me which evoked still ecstatic response. How values can be different from one place to another! What is civilization for you need not necessarily be a civilization for somebody. I explained to Pitt in his solitary moments that most women in India don't drink or smoke and children respect their parents. How did he look at me? I can't exactly explain.

He took us to Sonoma Valley wineries. I was made to sit on a table along with others with some wine in a glass in front of me. I tried my level best to gulp it. But smell of alcohol was nauseating and I ended up throwing away my wine in most cases. My wine country tour ended up with tasting wine with no kind of exposure to wine making. I desperately wanted to see the trampling of the grapes under their dirty feet. " It is not the season for that" I was told by my guide. Tour operators in America did not prove to be very different from India, and I suspected that Pitt would certainly be carrying a free bottle of wine as a complementary for getting more tourists to the wineries.All my friends seemed to be too happy with their wine tasting and no body was too serious about making.

I talked about India when few questions were posed to me by my co-passenger who was already tipsy with cocktail of various brands of wine during tasting session.Finally I reached my destination. I was dropped and Pitt cared to open the van door for me.I really hated this tip business. I reluctantly kept ten dollar bill in his palm while shaking hands. He smiled and bid fare well to me by saying " I stayed in India for 6 months.. you know, of course it was backpack tour" I was astonished.I felt I was cheated. Why he didn't he tell me before? He allowed me to speak all the ethical nonsense about my country. But I am sure as a back packer he would have seen the worst of India!