Why I Love To Travel

 Like most Bengali families, our small circle of three - my mum, dad and me - loves to travel. After some of weeks of going to school and clicking at a computer I find myself longing to just take my bag and go out and take a train or car to somewhere - it's just enough to know that I'm somewhere new and can explore all I want, no homework, no nothing to hold me back. And so, me and my family light out in our little car and drive out to a new place, with no more than three months of time between our last trip. Many don't understand my urge to just go into the wilderness (or into a mysterious passage in a deserted fort, for that matter). I'll try to explain.

Our latest trip was to Ajanta and Ellora, where we first visited the Ajanta caves. I was jumping in excitement since I myself love to draw and paint, and at Ajanta I could witness the work of masters.

 God knows that He himself might have painted those 1,900 year old paintings on those stone walls.Those paintings, the painstaking carvings of the pillars, and the stunning natural beauty of the place that moved me and many others, and still stir our souls, even after sixteen hundred years of erosion and vandalism. That such art, such pure beauty, still stuns and awes men of our age, phone stuck people that we are. It made me feel elated that I was standing where many great minds and skillful human beings had treaded. It opened my mind, and although I couldn't achieve a tenth of what they did in a thousand years, those artistic monks inspire me to no end.

You don't have to read and study to understand the world and its ways if you can travel. You don't need to pray for happiness or see miracles to believe in a higher power, if you can travel. If you feel like moving away from the harsh world of reality, or you want to learn of the struggles and joys of life, all you have to do is travel. Travelling makes our lives seem small and distant, our problems petty and insignificant. It opens our minds and fulfils our souls. You can trust me on that.

 

The Lonely Million - A Tale of the Hikikomori

Human beings are social animals and were made to work together and survive. So when the Japanese are literally locking themselves in, it's time to turn around and notice the turn we are taking. 

Hikikomori in Japanese means 'pulling inward', or being confined. Coined in the '90s, we now use the word to convey the image of a youngster who is an extreme introvert and a recluse; a shut-in in a nutshell. The youth of Japan, instead of becoming doctors, teachers, mechanics, engineers, and doing the work that keeps the society afloat, are shutting their doors on the world. 

The problem is spreading world wide. The US, Spain, South Korea and several other countries with a lot of dependency on technology have their own versions of the hikikomori. We have let the Internet, social media and phones take center stage in our lives, and we use these so much that they have, more than once, changed our nature. But why have the youth of Japan and countries like it taken to video gaming and consuming media, instead of using their skills where it is needed?

Thanks to technology, the need to interact with a fellow human being is declining. One can get by without maintaining social relationships. Therefore, people who have trouble fitting in and don't get along with others are rapidly following the hikikomori trend, with Japan at its center. Here, a million people, in the prime of their lives, are slouching over a computer in their bedrooms, shut in for over six months at a time.

Social norms are also the reason why so many young people are withdrawing from society. The pressure to secure a well paying job as soon as you're out of college, the competition for education, the harsh work culture of Japan, all combine to make it too much for this generation. That is why people struggling to fit in are pushed outside the mainstream.

An interview with a hikikomori gives us a glimpse of his life and his reasons on cutting himself off from the world.

Nieto is one of the 1.5 million hikikomori in Japan, living in the Japanese city of Kobe. More than a decade ago, he graduated from the University of Tokyo. When asked what he felt about Japanese work life, he says that he ''generally disliked Japanese work culture and relationships at the workplace''. So, he didn't take job hunting too seriously. According to him, this was why the companies didn't accept him. 

After deciding that he was done searching for a job, Nieto turned to writing. But his ideas and writing didn't fit in the market. ''I simply expressed my tastes and ignored the market. Finally I accepted that I couldn't live off my writing.'' Despite repeated setbacks, Nieto was determined to make a living off his own creations. So, he turned to Doujin, a form of fan produced work, usually in the form of anime, manga, or video games. 

That was when Nieto moved to Kobe, as he felt ''rushed to become financially independent.'' In his flat in Kobe, he became a hikikomori. Why? As he simply puts it- ''Feeling ashamed to go outside, I became a hikikomori.'' That was twelve years back. Today, Nieto is still creating video games in his apartment.

But how does a hikikomori feel about being isolated? Don't they feel lonely? Most shut-ins have been in their rooms for more than a year. The COVID pandemic has pushed even more people on the brink of their social lives. An account by an ex-hikikomori (who wishes to remain anonymous) gives us a lot of insight into the life and feelings of being in total isolation. 

Video games and the internet dominated his life. The little contact he had with the outside world was via the social media. Without that, he would not even have had any information on what was happening outside. Over a period of time, he lost his social skills, making him even more terrified of mingling with others. Even the instinct to respond to someone while talking was gone. 

Sometimes he would even have panic attacks because of his situation, along with irregular sleeping habits. After sometime, even though living with his parents, he was completely cut off from the rest of his family.

Despite the radical image of a hikikomori, many of them have devoted their lives to books, art, and music. According to them, even if you have the Internet available at all times, eventually it becomes boring. Moreover, people who have difficulty in expressing themselves in public revert to forms of art to voice their ideas.

Hikikomori is spreading among the younger generations. But what impact will this have on us, and life in general? If people stop working as teachers, doctors and engineers, society will collapse as a whole. Who else, if not us, will do this work, our duty to society? The average age will go up, and most people will retire. In short, people will stop working. And our parents can't sustain us forever. The well-oiled machine of mankind will stop running if this chain breaks and people go their own ways. 

But there is still hope. Humans are resourceful and we have fought many battles in our journey of evolution. This is perhaps another test of our mettle.

The Tale of a Spiritual Slipper

'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'- what an apt expression to describe the bizarre incidents I experienced on my trip to Bhutan. These happenings occurred a couple of years back and now that I have in retrospect, thought about the event many times, I can put them down on paper.

Bhutan is truly a paradise, and the tiny Himalayan kingdom holds many hidden treasures for the wandering traveler, with many stunning destinations off the beaten track. Excited to explore this beautiful country, I had driven there in my trusty steed, my ten year old Suzuki Alto.

I had explored all the breathtaking waterfalls, forests, mountains and temples that Bhutan had to offer and had almost reached the end of my itinerary. My last stop was to be the Katsho goemba, an old, out of the way Buddhist temple situated on the top of  a dizzying cliff. This was to be the highlight of my visit. 

After a strenuous hike, I reached the top where I could see glimpses of the temple. There was a mild chill in the air. The mellow sunshine glistened off the dew on the grass. A koel was cuckooing in the distance, from the cherry trees in full bloom, growing on the edges of the cliff. The sky was a pure, light blue, the kind you see very rarely. The temple itself was a majestic sight. Rich, red-brown gables, fairy windows, geometrical doorways. Painstakingly carved pillars and prayer wheels in shades of gold, blue, red. Tapestries of Buddha, birds and animals adorning the walls. Traditional Tibetan butter lamps everywhere. Its timeless feel was completed with a couple of robed monks, huddled on the floor, meditating.

I had long forgotten the ache in my knees from the steep trek. I  stepped into the goemba entrance in a spell like state. I had barely looked around when a pink cheeked lady rushed towards me. She was wearing an elegant kira (a Bhutanese robe for women), her hair pinned at the back of her head with a gold bun-pin. Her frantic gestures at my feet were at odds with her otherwise relaxed composure. 

After a couple of minutes of jabbering and pointing, I figured out that she wanted me to remove my shoes. I quickly slipped my Mitsubishi slippers off when she pointed at a stone plaque. It read-'Please remove your foot ware at the entrance as it is forbidden to enter a holy place with shoes on' in Bhutanese as the woman explained after another minute of gesturing. After apologizing to the woman, I went on to enjoy the rest of my visit. I was ushered into a prayer hall which was a small room with an earthen floor, prayer flags hung up on the walls. Butter lamps shone their light across the room. And in the center of the room was a priest in full prayer attire, surrounded by brass jugs, a dong, a worn book and a scroll with scriptures, among other things. I sat cross legged at the back of the room with the other visitors. 

The experience was breathtaking. The monk chanted beautiful hymns, and it was so heavenly I could've stayed there for hours, absorbing his divine energy. I came out of the room a refreshed person.

I stepped out into a chilly breeze. The sun  had been replaced by a couple of clouds. Just as I had reached my car and was about to bid Katsho goemba farewell, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to meet a monk. He had a beatific smile.

''I saw- you know, uhm...'' He looked up at the now greyish sky. ''Yes!''

I was wondering what he saw.

''Aah, now I remember. You came into the goemba with shoes, no?'' said he.

''Umm, yes, my apologies, I missed the sign'' I was confused. What did this monk want with me? ''But I took them off immediately after I was told''

''Ohh, good, good.'' He gave a sigh of relief. ''At least the effects will wear off.''

Before I could ask him any more, the monk turned around without a word and walked off with an air of finality. Confused, I opened the car door and was about to get in. All of a sudden, I felt an overwhelming dizziness. My head started spinning, I saw stars, and I slumped to the ground. It all happened in a flash. The rest was just a vague memory- it felt like I was watching everything unfold on television. A group of monks gathered around me and picked me up. I was driven to a hospital and wheeled into a room with blinding white lights. That is it, I do not have a single recollection of what happened after. What followed was two full months of probing and puzzling by the doctors. And then, as inexplicably as it had all happened, I woke up from my slumber. Later, the doctors told me that none of them had a clue about what happened to me. They had run all the tests that they could and yet, they had no explanation.

Well, what is my take on it? Frankly, I don't think I can explain any of this. It's still far too hard for me to understand, even after running the sequence of events in my head a gazillion times, for two long years. But this I know for sure- Bhutan has always been a mystical place and it will remain an enigma wrapped in mystery for me.

The memory of the monk, looking back at me with a knowing smile when I was being carried away, will forever remain etched on my memory. And when I was lying in that hospital bed without a clue of what had happened to me- all I saw were my well worn Mitsubishi slippers, floating around in the cloud of my dream.