Before I begin recounting my weekend in Idukki, I must say that I know, it’s a total cliche to read something along the lines of – ‘Oh, I travelled to this place recently, and it changed me!’ I’ve rolled my eyes so often at such statements that I’m sure I can pull off one of those party tricks where only the whites of my eyes show. I probably sound judgmental, and that’s only because I was. I was super-judgmental (I still am sometimes, and I’m working on it sometimes) of people who claimed that travel transformed them overnight into wondrous beings of light who could suddenly connect with everything around them, or they have been bestowed with the authority to impose their narrative onto others’ (the worst kind).

Here’s why that drove me up a wall. I consider travelling a privilege and a huge one at that. Not everyone has the means to travel – especially full-time – and not everyone has that bellyache to travel. Most of these ‘travel hath changed me’ stories I had encountered, therefore, came from those who either travel full-time or those who have the luxury to jet-set-and-go as and when they please – basically, they were completely unrelatable. They might have been genuine, but I could, in no way, fully understand them and therefore, appreciate them. I was of the belief that while travel is powerful, it couldn’t change someone.

And guess what? I was right. Travel cannot change someone, on its own.

A few years ago, I spent a weekend in Idukki, Kerala with a few friends for a ‘change of scenery’. You know how it gets – our days don a cloak of drivel and mundane activities, and we yearn for an escape so that when we are back, we can find the same weekly activities to be slightly more tolerable, until they become unbearable again, and the cycle continues. So there I was, prepared to spend two days in a beautiful place, with nothing on my agenda except to unwind.

That’s when it began.

As I sat outside my room, looking out at the vast expanse of jewel-green hills while the cool monsoon breeze covered me like an embrace, I started to get a bit irked, and I realized – I didn’t know how to unwind. Summer vacations – where I was a carefree child wearing cut-up denim shorts, slurping orange lollies till the juice dribbled down my chin and onto my shirt while I chased (or was chased by) my cousins around my grandma’s garden – were probably the last few times I did absolutely nothing and enjoyed it, and they were aeons behind me. Now, I was a working woman who simply didn’t know what to do with herself when she had no set agenda.

I knew I have a Type A personality (I sourced the following from Wikipedia) – outgoing (okay, I disagree completely), ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status-conscious, impatient, anxious, proactive, often high-achieving “workaholic”. I just didn’t realize that I was on the fag end of the spectrum where it was crippling to not have a set goal, whether I was at work or otherwise.

Wow! Just an hour into what was supposed to be a blissful weekend in the green jewel that is Idukki, it had already begun to turn sour. I had not planned to introspect or soul-search, but that’s the unfortunate perk of travel – it makes you. And it made me. I sank further and further into the rabbit hole of realization that I tie, with a sailor knot, my worth to being productive. If I am not producing something with my time and with my mind, if I’m not helping someone, if I’m not moving about trying to check things off my to-do (or to-see) list, I have no value.

As I realized this awful truth about myself while my friends seemed to have absolutely no trouble easing into a lazy evening of no plans, a lot of things began to make sense – for instance, why I didn’t really enjoy parties or events that I was invited to unless I was lending a hand or doing something for the host, or hosting it. Or why, my weekends at home are spent cleaning out my wardrobe, my room, and then every other corner of the house, instead of just curling up with a book or binge-watching something on Netflix (I often complain to friends that I simply don’t have the time to do this. I do have the time, I just choose to spend it feeding my personality quirk). Or, why, the very first thing I do when I get the itch to travel is, take out a notepad and a pen, open a browser, and start making a list of places to see and things to do, and get immensely riled up when things don’t go as I planned or penned. I HAVE TO BE PRODUCTIVE. Else, I’m useless.

I am no expert on the human psyche, so I can’t conclude whether this stems from some childhood event or it developed later on in my life. But I felt that something needed to be done about this, and it needed to be done ASAP! And there I was, back at it, trying to solve another problem, and this time, my need to solve the problem was the problem itself.

Stop! I screamed to myself mentally. This can’t go on. This isn’t healthy. What if, tomorrow, I lose my job? Or, I somehow have a day or two with nothing to do, no plans or goals to meet? How would I handle not being ‘useful’?

I breathe, and I let go.

I wish I came to this conclusion myself. Rather, it was the tranquillity of where I was, a stark contrast to the cacophony and chaos of my mind. I chanced a glance at the Western Ghats in front of me – those majestic hills that have been around for centuries, unmoving, yet teeming with life; unshakable, quiet, yet immensely valuable. I slowly realized – and this was over the course of the weekend in Idukki and after I was back home – that I held on to the reigns of what makes me worthy like a cavalry, fearful of falling on the battlefield of disapproval. Bit by bit, I had to let go of the reigns, no matter how scared I was. I would only be as worthless if unproductive as I’d let myself feel.

By the next morning, I found myself walking among the plantations at Little Flower Farms, playing in cool and clear waters with childlike glee, relishing home-cooked meals lovingly prepared using fresh produce from the farm, traversing up and down the botanical trails, and witnessing the hills paint a picturesque treat for eyes that had grown tired of the dull browns of tech parks and busy roads. There were several moments where I wanted to ‘snap out of this blissful dream and get back to reality’, but I did what I was told by everything around me. I breathed in, and I let go.

This doesn’t mean that I’m not Type A anymore. I cannot just wipe the slate clean, or Ctrl-Alt-Delete my personality. That isn’t changing, that is identity theft. But I did slightly tame my neurosis over the weekend in Idukki and managed to direct the source of my worth to something more internal – what I truly believe I am.

I also learnt to appreciate. Everything.

That little-yet-euphoric journey of self-realization and self-redirection also put me on another path, one that I thought I had conquered but was sadly mistaken.

I learnt what a scarily small place I occupy in this world.

Tiny, minuscule. Bordering on irrelevant in the larger scheme of things. There I was, in the shadow of looming hills, surrounded by incomprehensible natural beauty, and I couldn’t help but think – who are we to think that we are all-powerful in the face of something so mighty yet carries in it life that is so delicate and fragile? Why do we feel entitled, or owed anything? We were simply born, how does that make us worthy of all that we have?

At that moment, I heard the host speaking to a friend about how the Idukki property we were staying at for the weekend was once a barren hill. Large yet devoid of life. Our host’s family took it upon themselves to transform this hill into a life-sustaining plantation – one that houses not only people but creatures of all manner, one which births food from the earth, one that offers a constant stream of crystal clear water that continues to provide for this now-lush hill.

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun sweet berries of the Earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what they’re worth.

Colors Of The Wind

Related read: What makes travel such a remarkable teacher?

That action of altering something akin to a wasteland into a microcosm made me realize – that as small as we are, our footprint is tremendous. Everything we say, do think about, or even intend to do has a butterfly effect. Yet, we are owed nothing, because that’s how it should be. That is terrifying, but it is also wonderful – realizing the power of our being, despite how inconsequential we think we are. It made me appreciate everything for the gift that it is, a gift that is for me to enjoy, but not own – the soft crunch of fallen leaves under my feet, the caress of a gentle breeze across my face, the mighty roar of a thundercloud with its grey blanket shadowing the golden sun, the giggle of a happy stream, and the simple pleasure in doing absolutely nothing.

Did a weekend in Idukki actually transform me into a better person?

Remember I wrote that travel cannot change someone on its own? I still believe this is true.

Travel cannot change you, unless you want to be changed.

Unless we are aware of what needs to change, are willing to accept that something in us needs to change, and most importantly, are willing to do the work it takes – for me, it was my associating my worth to being productive – travel does little but take up space in hard-drives. It is a tool and a wonderful one, but in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to use it, it remains but a tool, often of little worth. Think of it as a photographer and their camera. The camera may be state-of-the-art, but it is just another camera in the hands of someone who does not know how to make the best use of it (that’s me. I am an amateur at novice photography). Also, the change does not happen overnight. Life isn’t Hogwarts and travel definitely isn’t the Elder wand.

Travel can only do what it does best. It lights the spark, and it is up to us to keep it aflame.

The weekend in Idukki taught me to pause and breathe, to unhurriedly savour each rare moment of calm, to catch raindrops in my palms and to also let them slip away, to spend time connecting with something bigger and more magnificent than myself and all my plans, and to just be. I was given a glimpse into the emerald heart of Nature and made to realize that while I am but a speck in front of her, I am worthy of being in her presence.

Did I transform into a better person? While I’d like to believe that a few positive changes did come about – such as my not spring-cleaning-level cleaning my room every weekend, and letting go of well-thought-out plans once in a while – I’ll let those who know me, and you, be the judge of that.