The good thing about journeys along roads not taken before is that you get overwhelmed by the sights and sounds along the way. You notice everything; things take on an unblemished clarity and become mental souvenirs that glow through the years in remembrance.
The journey itself, transitory as it is, is a sensory train. You keep flitting ahead, your shadow skiing the sides, and the mind is a little child in the toy-section of a supermarket. There is nothing greater or relevant than the world you find yourself in.
Somewhere, on the Gudalur – Mudumalai road, we stopped for a few minutes. The hills in the distance were a hazy blue, the air redolent with the fragrance of wild flowers and down below, the countryside reveled in the free-play of Nature. In that natural disorder, I saw this colourful wicket gate making a statement of its own.
Who are we to build gates, colorful or not, in the natural course of things?