Dearest Bhutan,
I had always wanted to time travel to Warsaw, walk the cobbled streets of Paris and safely return from Afghanistan. None have come true, though I have walked many safe cobbled streets and acquainted myself with much of history. You were just a destination arrived at without research, and on the good old charm of word of mouth. Honestly, I also quite liked it that you are 'foreign' without the problem of Passport and Visa. When I decided on you and began with my research it seemed as if the conspiracies of the world combined to pull me you-wards.
I admit I gambled with the number of days dedicated to you, but by then I had a faith that things were meant to be like this. And in that one step that separates political areas, I understood the conspiracies were correct. You were meant to happen. Having travelled to more than half a dozen countries, I always found similarities in them. Or at least, counted the differences. But I never came across any country which proclaims itself to be a "Kingdom of Happiness". In fact, I have never known the two ideas of Kingdom and Happiness to be juxtaposed with each other, in any context. Fairy-tales illustrated evil Kings, and Tragic Drama poeticised territories as personal dilemma. Never had I earlier read of any nation which has a policy of "Gross National Happiness". How do you do it? Your blueprint is alluring.
You are the fewest I have known who inhabit such an enormously accommodating soul. Mentioning your beauty as mesmerizing will be being repetitive. I could willingly visit you each month, and explore bits that remain unexplored. Your friendliness, most visible in the co-journey of the mountains and river, seems to be out of a story. It has fabled proportions. In fact I have spoken so much about you to others that they have come to believe that you live in me. Which you do.
I guess it was not just about the mountains or rivers and waterfalls, nor just about the fellow-traveller, it was more about the peace, and losing connection with selfish circles of identities to be reunited with the self. You welcomed me with open arms I believed could only belong to Shah Rukh Khan in his movies. You resurrected me from painful tunnels and aching wells and gifted me a smile which I had forgotten I was capable of. I owe your generosity a grand thank you. And I couldn't have done so without this letter.
A flurry of words flying your way,
K.
I had always wanted to time travel to Warsaw, walk the cobbled streets of Paris and safely return from Afghanistan. None have come true, though I have walked many safe cobbled streets and acquainted myself with much of history. You were just a destination arrived at without research, and on the good old charm of word of mouth. Honestly, I also quite liked it that you are 'foreign' without the problem of Passport and Visa. When I decided on you and began with my research it seemed as if the conspiracies of the world combined to pull me you-wards.
I admit I gambled with the number of days dedicated to you, but by then I had a faith that things were meant to be like this. And in that one step that separates political areas, I understood the conspiracies were correct. You were meant to happen. Having travelled to more than half a dozen countries, I always found similarities in them. Or at least, counted the differences. But I never came across any country which proclaims itself to be a "Kingdom of Happiness". In fact, I have never known the two ideas of Kingdom and Happiness to be juxtaposed with each other, in any context. Fairy-tales illustrated evil Kings, and Tragic Drama poeticised territories as personal dilemma. Never had I earlier read of any nation which has a policy of "Gross National Happiness". How do you do it? Your blueprint is alluring.
You are the fewest I have known who inhabit such an enormously accommodating soul. Mentioning your beauty as mesmerizing will be being repetitive. I could willingly visit you each month, and explore bits that remain unexplored. Your friendliness, most visible in the co-journey of the mountains and river, seems to be out of a story. It has fabled proportions. In fact I have spoken so much about you to others that they have come to believe that you live in me. Which you do.
I guess it was not just about the mountains or rivers and waterfalls, nor just about the fellow-traveller, it was more about the peace, and losing connection with selfish circles of identities to be reunited with the self. You welcomed me with open arms I believed could only belong to Shah Rukh Khan in his movies. You resurrected me from painful tunnels and aching wells and gifted me a smile which I had forgotten I was capable of. I owe your generosity a grand thank you. And I couldn't have done so without this letter.
A flurry of words flying your way,
K.
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