I met an Indonesian Lady in Himachal, India
And she wasn’t a tourist
I had a year-long dream of traveling the Himalayas solo. The circumstances changed towards the end of my college, and I had a strong obligation to bring friends along.
I didn’t mind it. But many things didn’t turn out the way I imagined them. More than the infamous destinations we visited, it was the little moments I remembered most. And it all happened simply so unimaginably.
Among them, this was one that I still remember ever so clearly. After 3 days in Manali, our next stop was Bir Billing — Asia’s highest paragliding spot.
Having a tight budget, we decided to make do with the public bus. It was around 7 7-hour beastly ride with cramped seats, dizzy curvy paths, and stops every kilometer or so. To date, I think that was the worst decision we had made on our trip.
To make matters worse, I had come down with a fever that morning. Both my head and back gave me hell throughout the journey. I vividly remember passing out as soon as we reached our hostel.
But even more vivid was my memory of a person I met before we started the horrible voyage.
Where are you from Auntie?
We boarded the seemingly rundown local bus and settled down with all our bags. We had yet to plan on the itinerary in Bir Billing. Being early birds, there was only one other person on the bus apart from us.
With vegetable market bags on her lap, it was safe to assume her a local. We ended up asking her for advice about Bir.
As my friends conversed, even in my half-conscious state I realized she spoke Hindi with difficulty. Pushing further, I asked, “Aunty, where are you from?”
She replied in broken Hindi again, “I am from Indonesia, but I came here years ago. I have my family here now.”
I looked at her intently. Then I smiled at her, “Ibu dari Indonesia ya? Saya jugah dari Indonesia.”
Spending most of my childhood in Indonesia, I was familiar with the language. And I wasn’t trying to test her — I knew immediately with her facial structure and complexion that there was nothing to doubt.
She was taken aback, but she replied, “Iiya, saya dari …(Sorry, I forgot the place). You can speak Indonesian?”
The Vegetable market Bags on her Lap
I laughed and told her about how my family lived in the Riau Islands of Indonesia 20 km South of Singapore. She exclaimed that she had been to Batam Riau as well.
With wrinkles spreading sideways across her eyes and cheeks pouched beneath her face bones, I could tell she had seen the world quite a bit.
I asked her about the places she had wandered. With the only bits of Hindi, English, and Indonesian that either of us could communicate in, we understood each other’s lives as much as we could.
As far as I can remember, she moved from Indonesia to the States and worked there for a decade or two. That’s where she had grasped her English speaking skills.
But somehow she had ended up in these offbeat northern mountains of India and had settled down, found her husband and her life here.
Then she revealed how she was a street vendor here in Manali and now she was returning home. As she spoke, she opened that vegetable market bag on her lap.
Curious, I peeped in. She took out a local deep-fried snack of sorts. She said, “I make these at home.”
She handed one to me and another to my friends. Even with my nausea still racing in the background, I couldn’t help but take a bite. It wasn’t the obligation — the thought of resisting simply didn’t cross my mind.
I vaguely remember its taste yet remember it being somewhat sweet.
Tailpiece
I know there were so many such events that happened across, if not all, most of my travels. Yet I can’t simply remember them as spontaneously.
It is unfortunate and enigmatic at the same time. But when I sit and dig through my mind of all the things that happened, that’s when something might spark up.
I never did ask the old lady’s name. Neither did we exchange contact information. But somehow as I write this, I have a good feeling that moment is to be well-imprinted on my mind now. And I don’t regret it.
I have always talked so much about how Traveling should be.
But as I dig deeper, there’s always something more to be learned — something more beautiful to be uncovered.
