India here I come

by Lizzie Hobbs


Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I am surrounded by travel books and an open atlas. A squeal of excitement bubbles up inside my chest. The prospect of travelling gives me a thrill, thanks to the travel bug which bit me a few years ago. My hand comes to rest on India, my fingers gliding across the paper where the country is printed. There is almost a magnetic force; a connection.

After having searched for a pen which is still working, I open many tabs on the internet and start searching for flight prices, accommodation, and excursions. I scribble down notes on scraps of paper and pray the calculator will show me a pleasing cost.

Google Images present me with an electronic exhibition of colours, culture, and varied landscapes. The buzzing markets can almost be heard, and the smell of spices can almost be smelt. I look out of my window and am filled with the grey which floods London. The trees have been stripped naked of their leaves, the gloomy clouds promise an imminent rain shower, and the wind whistles around the edges of life. I feel chilled to the bone.

Turning back to my research on India, I see rays of sunshine and imagine the heat which winter recently sucked out of the UK. The sands of India are waiting for me, and I can feel it. It is tingling my skin, like the grains of sand itself.

My plans are slowly taking shape. To liven things up, I begin playing Bhangra music, which erupts into the air like musical fireworks. I look at the atlas again, spoilt for choice of where to go in India. Place names pepper the paper, and look like a jumble of black paperclips. Being a Libra, decision-making isn’t exactly my forte.

Having said that, I can be filled with certainty when it comes to India – its heartbeat matches mine and its spirit runs in my blood.