A few hours from now, we will up and leave home for a week's ramble in Kaziranga and Shillong. A week's worth of flights, bumpy road trips, much roaming and some room service.
The Discovery channel thoughtfully beams us a documentary on Kaziranga's famed wildlife reserve , so we can ooh and aah over the sights that, hopefully, await us there.
Elephant ride!, says K. We HAVE to spot a tiger!!
Baby rhino, aawwwww, says the Imp and then, a minute later, baby elephant, aawwww.
They list the other animals they need to look out for, the sounds that will identify them, the clues to spot wildlife ( mostly steaming dungpiles). K packs the camera and his Jim Corbett omnibus, the Imp finally agrees to leave baby Tara behind, but only because she probably wouldn't enjoy an elephant ride.
Then they wash up, brush their teeth, fall asleep.
They are ready to leave.
And here I am, cleaning the kitchen, sweeping the house, cleaning out the fridge, taking out the garbage, putting away folded laundry. I do this every year, before every overnight trip I make. Right till we walk out the door, I will straighten bed covers, plump pillows, wipe down that kitchen counter yet again. I will roam the house now, looking for things out of place, dust swathes forgotten, lone socks holding solitary vigil over a desolate washing line. I will brace myself for the possible death of some of my plants in the long dry spell of my absence, the curdling of that last half litre of milk in the fridge that no one wants to drink.
I will try to make sense - or light - of this compulsion, in a midnight blog post .
As much as the thrill of the unknown excites me, it is, for me, still a thrill nestled in the shadow of a greater comfort - a neat home, ready and waiting for my return.
The Discovery channel thoughtfully beams us a documentary on Kaziranga's famed wildlife reserve , so we can ooh and aah over the sights that, hopefully, await us there.
Elephant ride!, says K. We HAVE to spot a tiger!!
Baby rhino, aawwwww, says the Imp and then, a minute later, baby elephant, aawwww.
They list the other animals they need to look out for, the sounds that will identify them, the clues to spot wildlife ( mostly steaming dungpiles). K packs the camera and his Jim Corbett omnibus, the Imp finally agrees to leave baby Tara behind, but only because she probably wouldn't enjoy an elephant ride.
Then they wash up, brush their teeth, fall asleep.
They are ready to leave.
And here I am, cleaning the kitchen, sweeping the house, cleaning out the fridge, taking out the garbage, putting away folded laundry. I do this every year, before every overnight trip I make. Right till we walk out the door, I will straighten bed covers, plump pillows, wipe down that kitchen counter yet again. I will roam the house now, looking for things out of place, dust swathes forgotten, lone socks holding solitary vigil over a desolate washing line. I will brace myself for the possible death of some of my plants in the long dry spell of my absence, the curdling of that last half litre of milk in the fridge that no one wants to drink.
I will try to make sense - or light - of this compulsion, in a midnight blog post .
As much as the thrill of the unknown excites me, it is, for me, still a thrill nestled in the shadow of a greater comfort - a neat home, ready and waiting for my return.
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