Chapter 1 — Sounds Fun
I am Nuo, the Unbegun
the silence before stars learned to burn.
And thus begins the Fourteenth Wandering of the Unbegun.
Now, children.
This one?
Not a prequel.
The council gasps.
A contemporary release?
Precisely.
Nothing wrong with prequels.
The Archive has spent considerable time excavating ancient nonsense from beneath the sediment of memory.
But this?
Fresh.
Recent.
Still warm.
Children.
This happened
two days ago.
The council immediately becomes attentive.
And before you begin imagining trains,
state borders,
ten hour buses,
mountains,
beaches,
hostels,
or some questionable vehicle acquired through circumstances best left unexplained
no.
I did not leave Kerala.
I did not leave Trivandrum.
Children.
I barely left the neighbourhood.
The council looks confused.
A Wandering?
Yes.
We have learned this lesson already.
Distance has never been the qualification.
A Wandering can cross half the country.
It can cross one city.
It can begin with a train ticket.
It can begin because a three year old saw something interesting and walked away from his mother.
The council nods toward Kochi.
Or
apparently
it can begin with:
Zoo sounds fun.
The council pauses.
Zoo?
Zoo.
Now.
I live in Trivandrum.
A good place.
Calm.
Mostly.
Nice people.
Also
mostly.
The council accepts these legally cautious endorsements.
And here in Trivandrum exists a place.
Not distant.
Not hidden.
Not requiring a pilgrimage.
Children.
Close.
Embarrassingly close.
Ten minutes by bus.
Twelve if traffic decides it has artistic ambitions.
Trivandrum Zoo.
The council nods.
A well established location.
Yes.
And I had never been.
Silence.
The council looks at Nuo.
You’ve lived there for years.
Correct.
Never?
Never.
Driven past it?
Many times.
Walked past it?
Yes.
Passed it through other forms of transport?
Also yes.
Children.
I had spent years orbiting the zoo
without ever crossing the threshold.
The place had become one of those landmarks that exists so close to home that your brain quietly files it under:
Later.
Tourists go.
School children go.
Families go.
People with planned Sundays go.
You?
You live here.
Therefore
somehow
you never go.
The council nods.
This is one of civilization’s stranger habits.
We will travel hundreds of kilometres to inspect something
while ignoring the interesting thing ten minutes away
because it has committed the crime of being convenient.
And so the zoo remained.
Nearby.
Patient.
Unvisited.
Now, children.
There was another detail.
Not only had I never visited Trivandrum Zoo.
I had never visited
any zoo.
The council stops.
Any?
Any.
In my entire life.
No zoo.
Children.
Apparently Nuo had managed decades of existence
without participating in one of humanity’s most basic childhood field trip institutions.
Kochi
my previous home
did not provide one.
At least not one that entered my life.
Then came colleges.
Three of them.
The council opens those files.
Educational institutions?
Technically.
But if the Archive is being accurate,
my college years occupied most of their operational bandwidth with:
friends,
gaming,
relationships,
recreational substance abuse,
and occasionally remembering academics existed.
The council sighs.
No zoo.
Then the Wanderings began surfacing.
Goa.
No zoo.
Kodaikanal.
No zoo.
Kasol.
Children.
The Great Himalayan Pilgrimage somehow failed to produce giraffes.
Rishikesh?
No lions.
Varkala?
Horse.
Yes.
But horse is not zoo.
Malpe?
Dog.
Carlos counts emotionally,
not zoologically.
Kapu?
Dogs,
horse,
jet ski.
Still no zoo.
The council checks the entire archive.
Nothing.
Correct.
I had encountered plenty of animals.
Dogs especially.
Children.
So many dogs.
The Dog Protocol has diplomatic relations across several Indian states.
But an actual zoo?
A structured place specifically designed around:
Look.
Animals.
Never.
Which meant that a few days ago,
sitting in my room,
some completely ordinary thought entered my head.
I should go to the zoo.
The council waits.
That was it?
That was it.
No calling.
No sadness.
No recovery mission.
No quest for substances.
No tournament.
No broken camera.
No friend suggesting it.
No mysterious recommendation.
Just
I have never been to a zoo.
Zoos sound fun.
I’m going.
The council nods.
Extremely sophisticated decision making.
Now.
Was I planning for this to become the Fourteenth Wandering of the Unbegun?
Children.
Absolutely not.
There was no Wandering title card.
No:
Today I shall test the philosophical limits of movement.
No notebook entry.
No deliberate attempt to create material for the Archive.
Nothing.
This was supposed to be
an afternoon.
Perhaps a few hours.
Go see animals.
Return home.
Simple.
The council immediately distrusts the word.
Fair.
But genuinely simple.
And because no planning was involved,
the transition from thought to departure happened with the usual alarming efficiency.
One moment
my room.
The council watches.
I was rolling a joint.
Next moment
smoking the joint.
The council nods.
Sequence logical so far.
Next moment
bus.
The council blinks.
Already?
Yes.
Children.
There are people who decide to visit somewhere
and then perform research.
Opening hours.
Ticket prices.
Best time to go.
Which exhibits are available.
Weather.
Transport.
What to carry.
Whether food is allowed.
Maybe read reviews.
Perhaps choose sensible footwear.
Nuo?
Zoo.
Joint.
Bus.
The council writes:
PLANNING PHASE:
ABSENT.
And because the destination was ten minutes away,
there was no travel transition long enough for my brain to realize:
Oh.
We are doing something now.
No two day train ride.
No mountain roads.
No overnight bus.
No Fast Travel.
Just
room.
Smoke.
Bus.
Then
zoo.
Children.
A Wandering can apparently load faster when the map is small.
The bus carried me through familiar Trivandrum.
Nothing exotic.
Nothing new.
These were roads I knew.
Buildings I had seen.
Traffic I understood.
This was not the anonymity of Kasol.
Not Rishikesh calling from across states.
Not Kapu discovered through navigational incompetence.
Home city.
My city.
The council nods.
That distinction matters.
Because I wasn’t travelling into unfamiliar geography.
I was walking into an unfamiliar pocket
inside familiar geography.
A little blank area on a map I had otherwise been living inside for years.
And before long
bus stop.
Off.
Zoo nearby.
Walk.
Children.
Still no ceremony.
I approached.
People around.
Families.
Children.
Couples.
Tourists perhaps.
Normal human beings who had apparently discovered the concept of zoo before reaching adulthood.
The council looks at Nuo judgmentally.
Better late than never.
Ticket counter.
Ticket purchased.
Again
shockingly functional.
No missing booking.
No wrong train.
No demolished building claiming to be Currently Open.
No police gate.
No Hex required to negotiate.
The council grows suspicious.
Nuo acquired a ticket entirely by himself?
Yes.
Character development.
Do not overreact.
The transaction completed.
Ticket
mine.
And then I arrived at the entrance.
The threshold.
Children.
One of those mundane boundaries that suddenly feels interesting simply because you have never crossed it before.
Behind me
civilization.
Roads.
Vehicles.
Shops.
People moving through a normal city.
Ahead
wildlife safari.
Controlled Edition.
The council laughs.
Let us not exaggerate.
This was not Nuo venturing into an African savannah with a camera crew and a poorly insured jeep.
This was a zoo.
Walls.
Paths.
Enclosures.
Signboards.
Staff.
Animals arranged within the boundaries of human administration.
Wildlife,
but with opening hours.
The council writes:
SAFARI MODE:
BEGINNER.
Exactly.
Still
to me?
New.
And children,
novelty does not care whether something is globally extraordinary.
It cares whether you have experienced it.
Millions of people have been to zoos.
Fine.
I hadn’t.
Therefore,
at that threshold,
I was effectively a child with adult purchasing power and a mildly altered state of consciousness.
The council becomes concerned.
A dangerous combination?
Historically.
Yes.
But all I wanted was to see animals.
That was the objective.
The council opens the quest log.
DESTINATION:
Trivandrum Zoo.
OBJECTIVE:
Zoo.
Further clarification?
See zoo.
Very precise.
Potential sub objectives?
Unknown.
Excellent.
I stood there.
Ticket acquired.
Threshold crossed or about to be.
And I remember looking inward with that little flicker of curiosity that always appears when there is suddenly somewhere new in front of me.
Not:
What attractions are recommended?
Not:
Which route should I follow?
Children.
We know better.
The zoo undoubtedly had maps.
Suggested paths.
Directions.
Areas.
Perhaps an efficient sequence through which one could observe wildlife while minimizing unnecessary walking.
The council looks at Nuo.
And will you use it?
We have not reached that part yet.
Do not accuse Story Nuo before the crime.
The council withdraws.
For now,
I simply stood at the divide.
Outside:
Trivandrum.
Known.
Inside:
also Trivandrum.
But unknown.
That amused me.
Because perhaps I had unconsciously assumed Wanderings required departure.
Leaving.
Going elsewhere.
Some geographical act large enough to justify saying:
I travelled.
But there I was
ten minutes from home
standing in front of a place I had never experienced.
No state line crossed.
No district pilgrimage.
No luggage.
No accommodation.
No companion.
No grand objective.
Just curiosity.
Children.
Two days ago,
I was not trying to prove anything about Wandering.
That would be revisionist.
I wasn’t thinking:
Aha, this will redefine the philosophy.
No.
Story Nuo
who is practically Present Nuo in this case
thought:
I’ve never been to a zoo.
Let’s see the zoo.
The council approves.
Keep it simple.
And yet the Archive opens because something about the day apparently remained.
Enough that afterward,
I looked back
and recognized the shape.
But we do not get there yet.
We begin where it began.
A room.
A joint.
An impulse.
A bus.
A ticket.
A threshold.
Children.
That is all.
No dramatic departure.
No backpack.
No cheapest train across India.
No companion whose competence I could exploit.
No objective beyond the one written in giant letters directly ahead of me.
ZOO.
The council checks the distance travelled.
Ten minutes.
Twelve with traffic.
Disgraceful.
Perfect.
Because if Kochi taught us anything,
if Wonderla taught us anything,
if all these resurrected little journeys have taught us anything
perhaps scale was never the point.
But again.
That thought belongs to the Archive.
Not the idiot standing at the entrance.
He had more immediate concerns.
Animals.
The council nods.
What animals?
No idea.
Did I check?
No.
Which did you want to see most?
Children.
All of them.
I had zero zoo experience.
Every enclosure had theoretical potential.
Elephant?
Excellent.
Tiger?
Excellent.
Monkey?
I know enough humans,
but sure.
Giraffe?
Does Trivandrum Zoo even have giraffes?
At this stage,
I had no idea.
The council laughs.
The ignorance was complete.
And therefore
wonderfully useful.
No checklist.
No expectation.
No disappointment prepared in advance.
Just:
Go inside.
See what exists.
The sort of clean curiosity that old Nuo accidentally stumbles into more often than he deserves.
So
ticket in hand.
A little high.
Completely alone.
Ten minutes from home.
Standing at the entrance of the first zoo I had ever visited.
Behind me
civilisation.
Ahead
wildlife safari.
Controlled Edition.
The council steps aside.
And the Fourteenth Wandering begins.
Thus concludes Chapter One.
The Contemporary Wandering.
The Ten Minute Pilgrimage.
The Zoo I Had Passed For Years.
The Astonishing Absence Of Previous Zoos.
The Zero Planning Protocol.
The Joint.
The Bus.
The Ticket.
And The Threshold Between Familiar Trivandrum
and an unfamiliar pocket hiding inside it.
Children.
No state line was crossed.
No great distance travelled.
I did not even leave my city.
One moment,
I was in my room.
The next,
I had a zoo ticket.
And on the other side of the gate
animals.
The council opens the file.
Wandering Fourteen.
Trivandrum Zoo.
Let us see what lives inside.
