It was Thanksgiving Day and we had gotten lucky. There were three of us driving to the Grand Canyon and exactly three others had canceled their reservations. Our bags packed with food and water, enough to last a couple of days, overjoyed, we started descending the canyon.

You walk and you walk, in the sweltering sun, a few minutes pass, then a few hours. The throngs start dwindling and slowly you forget the “rest of the world”. You focus on your breath to not get tired, you are sweating, exerting, you feel the dust sticking to your brow.

You start truly noticing the arid desert around you, the lack of wind and the silences. The features change rapidly at first but then they slow down. A familiarity seeps in, the largeness of the rocks and the ancientness of the land humbles you. You start noticing the various shades of black, brown, and ochre, shades with no names. You move from one desolation to another. You have been walking for hours and there are hours more to go. And that is just today. The desert becomes the new reality.

Every time I have done backpacking, there comes a point when a switch in my mind gets flipped and the floodgates open. What I feel then is not enjoyment or beauty or serenity. It is a feeling of understanding, of perspective.

But it takes a really long time for me to get to that place. I have to be hiking for hours at a length. Sometimes days. It is a meditative state when you appreciate and comprehend the world viscerally and instinctually. The same thing happens when I am engrossed in a good novel.

Time is the price you pay for opening the gates.

—

It has been a month since the lockdown started in my university and only now am I starting to get to that place. I understood what was going on, but only superficially. But now, I can finally feel the cracks sealing. The desert has become the new reality.

Already, I have started using the phrase “before lockdown” frequently.

In a weird way, I do not feel anxious or scared.

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.