Where the Mountains Remember Me!
Some vacations are for rest. Others are for remembering who you are.
It’s been a while since I wrote. The kids were on vacation, which meant round-the-clock duty for me so writing had to wait. But I’m deeply grateful to those of you who checked in, asking why I hadn’t posted these past few weeks. You reminded me that this space matters, and that means a lot.
Lately, I’ve been reminiscing about my childhood vacations. Back then, holidays meant either staying at home or visiting relatives. We were in Munnar, where school breaks were different. Instead of summer holidays, we had monsoon holidays which means weeks off because of the heavy rains.
And oh, how I loved the rains.
The cozy comfort of being indoors, wrapped in my favorite blanket, sipping hot tea and watching TV while it poured outside and that was pure heaven. Even today, a rainy day still brings that feeling back.
Once a year, our parents would take us to our native place. It was a big deal. We packed lots of clothes and always tea powder for the relatives, since my parents worked for Tata Tea Ltd. I still remember the moment we’d open our suitcase. That unique aroma of tea and freshly washed clothes, it’s a scent I carry with me even now, in memory.
Traveling was its own adventure. We took the bus and no online bookings or seat reservations like today. We'd wait at the bus stand, luggage in tow, and the moment the bus pulled in, my parents would sprint forward, claiming seats by throwing towels, bags, or handkerchiefs onto them. It was wild and chaotic and somehow fun.
I never could tolerate heat. Whenever we traveled to the plains, I’d break out in rashes. But as the bus began climbing back into the mountains and that cool breeze hit my face, I’d feel everything melt away. The itching. The discomfort. The heaviness. The hills always healed me. Even today, when I see mountains, something inside me says, “You’re home.”
And perhaps the most beautiful part of this vacation was meeting my childhood best friend after 25 long years. We didn’t have much time together, but it didn’t matter. In those few hours, we laughed, reminisced, and revisited the little world we once shared. Being with her felt like home, like nothing had changed.
I miss those days. I miss her.
I miss the child I was.
And I miss home—the mountains.
You might call me crazy, but something about the mountains still feels like the safest place on Earth. Maybe it’s the air, or the silence, or the memories nestled among the trees. But every time I see a mist-covered peak, I feel like I’ve been gently reminded of who I truly am.
Thanks for tagging along down memory lane!
If you’ve got a “home is a mountain” kind of place or an old friend who still feels like your soul twin, go give them a call (or book that trip!).
Until next time, stay cozy, stay curious, and never underestimate the magic of tea, rain, and good old chaos at the bus stand. 😄
Big hugs,
Nancy Kavin.
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