There is something nice about taking a Druk Air flight out of Kolkata. You are assured that the plane will land at a place that has great weather, pretty hills, green paddy fields, a gurgling river, approachable people and a laid back lifestyle.
I am writing this today from Bhutan, where I will be spending the next eight days driving through mountainous landscapes in looking out for interactions with the hill people, watching monks going through their daily routine, making long walks through paddy fields overlooking green hills, dipping my feet in cold water of the streams and watching festivals in which monks wear halloween-like masks and dance to a huge gathering of people.
Every moment I spend in Bhutan, I distinctly get the feeling that I should just pack my bags and migrate here and retire. And do it today. The country is so peaceful, quiet and seems alien to all sins that the human life is associated with. Sometimes I feel, all that I need are slopes filled with grass to walk on, a clear stream flowing down the mountains to put my feet in and wade across, wildflowers that fill the heart and tall snowy peaks that can be faraway but fill the eyes. And along with this, if people live a life without conflict, there is nothing else to yearn for. Bhutan has all of them. But why am I still going back to place that I call home? I do not know. May be because home is where you belong, or home is where you feel an attachment to the soil or may be simply that’s how things are supposed to be. I do not know.