By Mahima Chaudhary
I wonder why I love travelling as much as I do.
Is it because the breathing trees offer oxygen to my city-dead lungs.
Or because I see birds that look like they’ve finally found home.
Is it the breeze which doesn’t just touch my skin and retreat, but goes deeper to heal my worked up organs and weary soul.
Is it the mighty mountains, whose glistening aura shows a mirror to my amplifying ego, telling me humble down.
Or the endless, everlasting ocean teaching me a lesson on transience of life and the need to live in the moment.
Is it the people I meet here?
People who don’t know me and don’t meet me with prefixed judgements.
People I don’t have to impress with my talent, work or face.
People tucked away from the 24X7 lifestyle and the laughable concept of running for five days to relax in two.
People who are strolling through life while we are running marathons.
Or is it me?
Escaping from my life that I created myself.
Taking time for the old wounds to heal, the old thoughts to fade and obscure vision to repair.
To shed the old skin and wear a newer, fresher one.
So that even though I return from the travel,
the traveller in me remains.
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