I recently met up with a friend, one of my writing buddies actually. Living at opposite ends of the city it takes careful planning and meticulous coordination for our get-together – we meet to discuss the progress of our writing, share poetry compositions, and a few laughs thrown in.

So there we were one afternoon in May seated in a really nice little place, food in front, talking fast for both had to be at different places after this.

She asked me about my recent trip. I had just returned from Las Vegas. Now there is something about Vegas that either puts people off or they reach heights of euphoria that is hard to fathom. She found my euphoria quite puzzling. Was I a gambler? I burst out laughing. I couldn’t tell one card from another, have never sat down to a card game, at least not in my adult life – the kid games don’t count, and during Diwali at our friends preferring to offer my services as general helper carrying tea etc. or listening to music occasionally looking in to see who was winning. So then what is this fascination with Sin City? My friend’s curiosity had been piqued.

I hemmed and hawed not quite sure what to say. Why do I like to visit Vegas?

For one, there are wonderful shows and this time we were lucky to have won two tickets with our hotel booking to a musical performance by a group from Australia. They were fantastic.

Then comes the atmosphere, the feeling of freedom, wandering in and out of gorgeous hotels, remarkable in architecture, glamorous in looks, shamefully blatant in their efforts to lure people to every kind of card game available, beginning from the entrance door right up to eating places and bars – rather like fattening the proverbial calf/pig/whatever before sending it to slaughter.

Here is a typical scene – we have just arrived from the airport (which had gaming machines), rather tired, and walking to the elevator to our room. But wait, before it can be reached we have to walk through a crowded casino (that’s the only way, not just at our hotel but in all of them). I passed a woman sitting in front of a gaming machine, looking so tired I presumed she hadn’t slept all night. A suitcase nestled beside her legs. Had she just arrived or was she leaving? Hard to tell.

Nights are magical there, each hotel playing a different theme out front for the hungry-for-any-kind-of entertainment crowd, taking countless pictures, and there is always the allure of the casino.

Who could resist being a part of this scene? I asked my friend, tongue in cheek. She nodded, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Closer to home I have another way to let loose, get away from it all and have a lovely time. There is a quaint little shop in our area, a tea house boasting just about any kind of tea you can imagine, tea from flowers, herbs, grains (honestly, for they have rice tea).

A friend of mine discovered this place and recently invited me to join her for tea. This is the person who once, when I was going through some challenges, asked me that all important question – what made me happiest. Writing, of course, I had answered. Then pick up a pen and start, she had challenged. That was the beginning of a very special friendship – she had managed to stoke that fire which had always been within me but somehow starting to get lost in the busyness of life. This was years ago.

So when she phoned I accepted and arrived ready for some heart to heart over tea.

Well, this is no ordinary shop as I soon found out.

The proprietress invited us to come up to a beautiful arrangement on a wall to the side of the room. Jars of tea leaves with names as wide ranging as Cuban mojito green tea, calm chamomile, Earl Grey black tea, organic pure chai, crimson hibiscus berry (now my favourite) – just to name a few, were arranged in neat rows.

We pointed to the jars of choice, then walked back to our seats by the window. How pretty everything was, I thought, running my eyes in appreciation over the room, decorations, furniture, even the window draperies were happy little things. Our tea arrived accompanied with a tiny glass timer. We could wait for the requisite sixty seconds for it to steep or pour immediately. We waited. At last it was time to pour. The heavenly aroma of crimson hibiscus and berry petals hit my nose as I brought up my cup – I closed my eyes taking in the fragrance of this concoction.

Who knew hibiscus and berry could make tea? We had a large hibiscus tree in our own garden in India that bloomed beautifully. We called it shoe flower, my sister and I tested its petals on our shoes to polish. Enquiring minds of children!

It’s good to be able to feel free once in a while returning refreshed and ready to take on life’s numerous challenges, something that will make us happy and carefree for a while, giving us breathing space, an escape route.

Here’s to the lighter side! And, to great friends with whom to share those rare moments.

Keep Well…..Keep Smiling

Purabi Das

Purabi Das is an emerging writer and poet living in Pickering who finds inspiration for her stories and poems from life in general. To find out more visit Purabi on www.facebook.com/purabisinhadas