Another version of back-packing

Many of us dream of back-packing around our country or other countries. The thought of it gives a sense of freedom and adventure and conjures up visions of the young and spontaneous.

Fortunate indeed are those who manage to get their backpacking done when they are proverbially footloose and fancy free. When they are independent earners but not yet weighed down by too many domestic duties, they can set off with just a change of clothes and a extra pair of shoes on their backs, live in dormitories or hostels, travel by train and bus and ferry, walk from one end of a city to the other, trek along paths in the hills, earn a bit when they’re broke, go where their hearts dictate ...

And literally make their come true.

From sometime

in my

dreams

20s, backpacking I managed with a back-pack was to get my toddler to school with snacks, books and other essentials and then to the park at the end of the street with more snacks, drinks and other not-soessentials, invariably ending the day carrying my back-pack, the toddler’s back-pack and the toddler as well.

It was, no doubt, an adventure in its own right — with returns and bonuses that I had least expected — but, it had consumed a huge amount of time and energy and thus, by the time the opportunity to travel arrived at my doorstep, all I could do was wonder if my no-longer-so-young back could take any kind of pack!

But if I wanted to travel, a backpack, like it or not, was the way to go. I not only needed an extra pair of socks, a scarf, a cap and a jacket in case of plummeting mercury, I also needed to carry extra money just in case my legs gave up and we needed the luxury of a cab, or we saw something in a shop that we just “could not live without”...

So, there I was at last. Back-packing. Trying desperately to maintain an easily erect posture and a steady gait as we negotiated our way through lanes and alleys and crowded streets.

“We’re doing fine for late-bloomer back-packers,” I thought blithely, seconds before my spouse found that wily pickpockets had made off with all — yes, ALL — his money from his back-pack.

We realised in horror that for the rest of our travels, we had only one ‘share’ of money to assuage hunger pangs. “No more dreaming of indulging oneself,” I ranted. “And we certainly can’t afford the luxury of getting tired — or lost. Where’s the money for a cab?”

That depleted back-pack thankfully still held the spouse’s passport and enough small change to use the rest rooms, but to me it looked like a beacon for all other pick-pockets. “Hand it over,” I snapped. “I’ll look after the small change too from now on ....”

Of course, there was no place on my back, so it was slung over my shoulders and suspended in front. Suddenly, there was less of me and more of backpacks — and for the rest of the trip, I resembled a mobile hold-all instead of a happy tourist or an energetic backpacker.

Obviously, back-packing is not for everyone. For some, it’s just too much pack and too little back.

Cheryl Rao is a freelance journalist based in India.