Roaming around the streets of Katwaria Sarai at 4 in the morning with a 19.6 kg trolley and climbing 4 floors with the same, thrice, is a bad thing to do, after you had just spent about 6 hours in a flight and 3 hours in a airport deportation room with a fucked up 6 months old #Micromax, praying illogically that at least one of your friends would be waiting for your release at the terminal, disappointed as you find none, as you traverse the entire airport, illogically. You start questioning yourself and the things planned for you.
A week that marks your first international trip or your first flight for that matter ought to be good, one would say. A careless market hunting in the rains with a passport, uncovered, in your bag pack, as it dripped wet spoiling your photograph marked the start of a trip that you wish would end soon.
Because of the damaged passport you spend your night roaming in the HK streets and your hotel with a can of beer, alone as your friends have the time of their life in Macau, the place you so desperately wanted to go. You are happy for the fun they had, but deep inside you regret your own undoing and the times you could have had. You spend more time alone in a college trip of 109 than you do together.
Because of the damaged passport you have to manage sneaking out of#OceanPark for a couple of hours to collect your evacuation certificate and come back in that vast myriad and search your friends without a phone.
Because of the wretched trip and fucked up #Micromax, you have angry parents at home.
But as you write the parts of self loathing, you do remember the bright lights of your venture.
A Pakistani guy, who couldn't stop bad mouthing the average Hong Konger, helping you find your hotel address as you soaked in the rains.
An Indian girl who helped you sneaking in and breaking a long taxi queue.
The Cantonese 7Eleven retail guy who end up greeting you every time and wishing you goodbye and another taxi guy who went out of his way of learning English, just so that your friend who might call back would get your message.
Travelling more metros lines in HK than you did in New Delhi.
A mind blowing roller coaster that instantly wipes your every worry and makes you feel alive. By far, the best thing you ever did. #HairRaiser.
And that fantastic Friday as everything appeared to fall in place as you find your friend in red in that gigantic park, without any form of communication, and cry inside with relief seeing the red as it somehow signals the stop all your the plights. You start believing - All is well that ends fuckin' well.
There were a lot more worth the honorable mentions but well...
There would be people who live a more dire life than what I just experienced for a few days. This is not a relative case study.
Just an extract of a trip that could have been so much more, if not for a moment of recklessness. It just shows that a single error can significantly trickle down and ruin everything. It also shows that no matter how low you fall, you rise again. And for sure, you will fall again.
That is how it goes, just taking the falls and waiting to use the escalator for the way up.
A trip to remember, it is.
