Ruskin Bond was, is, and will always be the primary source of the literary equivalent of comfort food. His work, now stretching across six decades, has long featured storytelling magnified by the ease with which he brings out the world of his stories, and by how succinct an image of post-Independence India he creates.
Tales of the Open Road is a travelogue that opens in the plains of North India and slowly makes its way up to the mighty Himalayas over four chapters, each dealing with a different region of the journey upwards. In designing the book so, Bond gives it a natural structure to enable his storytelling, rather than try to fit thins chronologically, which would not only result in a hodge-podge narrative but also test his reserves of memory, seeing as how the book recalls around fifty years of travel.
Bond takes you along on his journeys through the many open roads of this book with the simplicity of writing that is a trademark of his writing, narrating bits and pieces of treks to glaciers, walks through temple towns, and stories from the many places he has been to.
The open road along which the reader walks with Bond permits one to take it easy, to breathe in the smells and more than glimpse the sights. Like with a majority of his work, one feels like one is there with Bond as he braves an earthquake, sleeps in the open, and does all sorts of fun stuff.
I once again marvelled at Bond’s ability to make so entertaining, so interesting what might be routine in our lives, and probably is.