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Why do people travel? That may sound a bit strange coming from someone who does it for a living, but I think about it all the same. Perhaps it’s because I don’t know why I travel myself. I could throw in a few clichés here about wind in the hair and the urge to get away from it all, but that would be trite. It’s just ‘one of those things’, I guess – you’re not quite sure why you’re hundreds of miles away from the comfort of your home, but it feels good and you’re not complaining. I do know one thing, though. No matter where I am and regardless of the sort of mood I’m in, there are some places to where I’d go at the drop of a hat. Ooty, up in the Nilgiri hills, is one such place.
Those of you who’ve been there in the recent past may recoil in horror at the very mention of Ooty. ‘My God, the place has gone completely to seed’, a friend of mine had said when I asked him about his just-concluded trip there. ‘Why on earth do you want to go?’ ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly the Singapore of the hills even when we were in school there, so that doesn’t bother me much’ I said in reply. ‘And why do I want to go? Well, because we were in school there and I’m a nostalgic idiot, that’s why.’ Lots of things had changed in the last twelve years – my outlook on life and the size of my waist, to name but two – but one constant had been a longing to go back to school, as it were. I had been saddened to learn that my old school was in very bad shape; trustees were fighting among themselves, funds appeared to have been swindled away and the school was shut down for a long period. Thankfully, some concerned old boys and a spirited ex-teacher decided to do something about it, the result of which was the re-opening of the school on a small, baby-steps basis. I was overjoyed; here was as good a reason as any to go back to Ooty.
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