The road to Aizawl | Milaap

The road to Aizawl

[caption id="attachment_7317" align="alignnone" width="2000"]A bowl of wonders called Aizawl A bowl of wonders called Aizawl[/caption] The incessant change in the itinerary plans, early arrival at the airport due to excitement, followed by dismay due to delay of the flight, a pile of doubts and inhibitions about the new place swept by excessively optimistic thoughts - all these served as perfect ingredients to spice up the curiosity of an unexplored land of wonder.The North-east region has been like a pen-friend to me, with whom one has all kinds of conversations, and sharing of notions. Then one fine day you decide to meet. I remember the exact scenery that I breathed through my eyes as I landed in Aizawl - the flight sickness was gradually soothed by the damp wind. As we took on to the road which inhabited a string of petty shops courageously standing on bamboo pillars at the edge of the hill my eyes were in constant commotion until met by the blurry mountains peeking from far off horizon. The curves of the road would eject us towards the brink giving an essence of the green valley flowing down the road. Some hills seemed tired of being upright and decided to slide down on the road, “Landslides are a common sight here,” informed Alfred, the guy accompanying me to Aizawl. This interesting road harboured a ‘sinking point’, where the road drops. Ahead of the ‘sinking point’, I could see a landscape which had innumerable colourful houses, garnishing a green hill. I knew it was Aizawl, and as the road turned flat in no time, we became a part of that landscape.The city was draped in white when we reached; one could taste the flowing mist, which was beckoning the rain. It was beautiful to breathe the air soaked in the smell of land. As the rainy twilight unfolded, an energy seeped in. The rain did not disturb the market scene, and the hustle-bustle continued. A palette was poured out on the road in the form of colourful moving umbrellas. I too found solace in an underground Korean café embellished with silken curtains and tapestries, holding a cup of ‘thingpui’ (a local tea) and waiting for my order I was contemplating how my pen-friend has struck me dumb on the very first day.