Matheran, first stop on my bucket list, hill station of horses and rust dust.

This is a quick chronicle of the zipline in Echo Valley. Or maybe not.

K, my cultural translator. My friend.

Born in Ethiopia. Formative years: Dubai. Married to a Gujarati, now moving. Moving, swimming, sailing, flying pass the Arabian Sea. Past our beloved subcontinent, landing underneath the sunny blue skies of the West Coast.

Today she once again patiently explains the intricacies of Indian society. Tightrope of layers. Social norms, for some chains. Chains that need to be snipped. Cut. So she can see the other side.

Last Saturday, she took her first long drive, hands clenching wheel. Careful. Planned. Determined. Strategic.

On this day, she mounted the zip line, eyes taking in the deep jagged ravine. She, held up by an invisible hand.

But she crossed the valley. Zip-lined it, in fact. And saw the other side.

And she will cross many more valleys. Zip-line them, in fact. And see the other side.