Why Would You Read Travel Memoirs? Why mine?
Travel journals or memoirs are self-indulgence. Why bother?
Allow me to start with a few definitions.
Merriam-Webster defines nostalgia as “a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for the return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.” Does travel writing fall into the category of nostalgia?
Merriam-Webster further describes self-indulgence as “excessive or unrestrained gratification of one's own appetites, desires, or whims.” Is travel writing an exercise in self-indulgence?
Travel writing has elements of self-indulgence, punctuated with nostalgia, and a sprinkling of self-importance. I travelled to a place, and I’d like you to see the place through my memory, and my eyes. Every author who creates and publishes these journals wants you, the reader, to experience the journey with them, experience what they experience, understand their interpretation of history and society, and journey into the past with them.
Well-known, and forgotten, travel writers.
Paul Theroux, Eric Newby, Wilfred Thesiger, Colin Thubron, Ramnath Biswas and Bimal Mukherjee are all well-known travel writers. Very few have heard of Ramnath Biswas or Bimal Mukherjee, even in India, because most of us read books published by Western authors. I won’t go into the reasons for this partiality towards Western writers beyond making two postulates. Many Western authors are brave souls who venture into the wilds to explore places, experience unusual forms of travel, mingle with locals, and leave themselves open to exploration and discomfort. Urban Indians—and I can only speak for India – pamper their children and flood the streets with tears when a child merely grazes their elbow. We need to embrace discomfort. Up until now, most publishing houses have focused on Western authors. Three, English is the global language so anyone writing in the vernacular will have a restricted audience.
Travel writing: a journey into the past.
Travel writing is a journey into the past, an exploration of personal history, and changing perceptions. I will focus on the last two words in a moment. Travel photos depict a place as it existed in the past, and become part of historical record. No place remains the same forever, with buildings built on buildings, rivers changing course, new infrastructure replacing old, customs changing, and pollution rising. The old gives way to the new, the white-haired remember the old ways, and adjust to the new before someone bundles them off to the funeral pyre or grave.
Anyone who expects to find Wilfred Thesiger’s world unchanged will be disappointed, with many modern Bedouin giving up their old lifestyles. In one of my earlier posts, I wrote of thugs and dacoits, claiming that politicians and neoliberal businesspeople have taken their role. Dacoits have not disappeared from India’s countryside but now we also have the modern version in our midst, driving their BMWs over people sleeping on the roadside.
The parable of your grandfather’s axe.
How many of you remember the parable of the grandfather’s axe: your father replaced the blade and you replaced the handle. Nothing of the original remains but you call it your grandfather’s axe. Why do you call it your grandfather’s axe when nothing material remains of the original? We call it our grandfather’s axe because the memory of your grandfather, his spirit, and his stories remain in the axe. You recall your ancestors, their legacy, and claim the axe as your own, possibly thinking of passing it to your descendants. I decided not to discard my first camera (the Olympus OM-2n) or my first digital SLR (the Nikon D70) but to pass them on to my children. If they appreciate the legacy, and my spirit, maybe my soul will rest in peace!
Do rivers offer a clue?
Many of us may be familiar with the saying, now almost a cliché, that you can never step into the same river twice. I am watching a series of Zen videos on Zen and the self. The Zen Master asks us to define a river: is it a thing, a place, a state? But allow me to dive deep into this question, and maybe you will understand my belief about travel journaling, blogging, and writing.
A river consists of water molecules, debris, and particles it picks up during its journey. The river’s flow is strong when it starts its journey, and becomes slower as it reaches the oceans. I won’t draw the obvious comparison to the stages of life from birth to death, so stay with me for a while longer.
The molecules of water pick up, and discard debris, much like we do. Imagine a vertical plane cutting through a river at any point in its journey, becoming the water front as the river moves onward to journey’s end. The shape of the waterfront changes as the river bed’s contour changes, moulding itself to the changing environment. Assume now, that some supernatural energy pauses the river’s flow for a moment, and the river front goes back to any point in its journey.
On the river front, this vertical plane will discover it cannot go back to the same place in the same manner, and you may ask why. Our friend, the riverfront, will discover that it’s shape has changed to adapt to its present stage, and cannot fit exactly into the historical point it has journeyed back to. This plane will also discover that the river bed has changed: the shape has been modified, the debris is different, and new animals, people and structures populate the shores and river bank.
All it can do, is recall the past, dredge up old memories, compare them to the current situation, and celebrate or lament. This riverfront will write about the past, compare it to the present, try to understand the changes, analyse them, and write about what it sees.
On travelling once, and many times.
Every traveller visiting a place for the first time will discover the town, village, road, and landscape and will not carry any historical baggage. However, this writer will compare the place to others they have visited, and maybe be open to understanding its history, culture and society. If you allow prejudice to color you, with the majority falling prey to prejudice in varying degrees, this filter will display itself in your writing and photography. Current issues will impact your writing, with those close to your heart occupying pride of place. I love food, history, and local culture, but am concerned with global warming, water stress, public health, religious strife, etc. These issues color my writing and photography.
When you travel to a place you have been to earlier, it is natural to dredge up old memories, experiences, and photographs and bring these memories to life. Memories, like rivers, are not static. During our life journey, memories of places, events, and incidents change, with these changes reflecting our changing outlook on life.
When I write, I don’t like to make a list of places to see, eat, stay, or urge you, with a gushing, breathless voice, to sample the latest delights. I am not an "influencer." Instead, instead I let you into my world, my perceptions, my interpretation of history, culture, environment, current issues, people, and everything that makes me laugh and cry.
What else is travel journaling about? If it is not a simultaneous inward and external exploration, then the writing remains superficial. Yes, you may term it an exercise in nostalgia and self-indulgence, but remember: as you age, the path backward becomes longer than the path forward. When you travel back and forth, you leave something, I hope, of value to others, and maybe you learn to treat memories, other people, and our world with respect.
Ilkley, England, & Kashmere Gate, Delhi.
![At Kashmere Gate, Delhi. The Streets.](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F4cc18552-fce1-4e61-b1f2-1a3574f1a9fb_2048x1366.jpeg)
![At Kashmere Gate, Delhi. The Streets.](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff7a7abd2-a2ba-40fc-9c9c-c01e777de8de_1200x800.jpeg)
I’d like to end with a story, and two photographs. Many years ago, when I was in Ilkley, England, I walked into a shop, and gurgled like a baby when I spotted a CD that had forgotten pop hits. The charming, elderly lady shop owner, looked at me, an indulgent smile covering her face.
“Young man,” she said. “You know you’re getting old when nostalgia is your favorite emotion.” I remember choking back my indignant response, she was too charming, but I’ve never forgotten her words. As we age, the road behind us becomes longer than the road ahead.
Nostalgia is not always easy, and sometimes it is impossible to conjure images of an imagined history while visiting a place. I will go further, and state that, sepia-toned images attempt to inject a whiff of old-world charm into an image. Now, examine the two images just above these last paragraphs. I shot the photograph with my Fujifilm X100V, balancing on a road divider, while the manic traffic whirled around me, leaving a micron’s gap between me and a few buses.
I was in the Kashmere Gate area of Delhi, and the blue structures you see remind me of the colonial era of India. Kashmere Gate itself was a hundred metres to my right, a forgotten reminder of those who died during the Great Uprising of 1857–58. Try as I might, I could not visualize old scenes, British officials walking down the street with their wives and mistresses, window shopping, or looking for an elegant café. The old days gave way to the modern era, and no living person can state with any conviction, that one is better than the other.
We don’t live in a quantum world. In our world, time marches on, but it also allows us to look over our shoulders at what has been, and what will never be again.