She was quietly sitting at the window, looking outside impassively. Her back resting along the wall, legs stretched out. The mild afternoon sunlight created patterns of the windowpanes on her face. The window was her favorite part of the house, where she could just be with herself, watching the trees and birds, listening to the…
The Rickshaw boy
It was a chilly January night. All passengers had kept their windows closed while darkness enveloped the inside of the bus and the world speeding by outside. Nothing was visible except for the intermittent flashes of headlights revealing the silhouette of the trees lining the road. For Arun, the six-hour ride to university on the…
A glass of scotch and the violin
A relaxing and sumptuous dinner is what Vikram and Sandhya needed at the Restaurant after a long day of sightseeing in Shimla. The four km hike to the Glen forest had tired Sandhya. She had sprained her ankle on the way back and now didn’t wish to walk even to her room. She was quietly…
The Bench
I feel like I have been here forever. I don’t even remember those who brought me here in the first place. When was it? Must have been long ago. That small pond in front of me had crystal clear water in those days. Over time, the growth of unwanted vegetation underneath has changed its color. However,…
Meditating on a cold morning in Dharamkot
It’s a cold and incessant drizzle. The sky is laden with clouds with thin streaks of sunlight trying to sneak through them intermittently. The cold wind shivers through my ears. In this weather I take the fifteen minute walk from my hostel in Upper Dharamkot to Lower Dharamkot on the rocky, uneven path wet with…
Finding meaning by the Baspa
A couple of months ago, I was sitting by the Baspa River near the India-Tibet Border Police checkpost in Chitkul which is the last Indian village on the India-Tibet border in Himachal Pradesh. I had been travelling in the Kinnaur region laden with yet to ripe apples for the last few days and Chitkul was…
Amsterdam – Reminiscing my first solo trip
When I exited the Amsterdam Central station and had my first look at a major European city, I didn’t have any clue of what to do or see but was buoyant with joy and enthusiasm. I bought a cup of bitter coffee and a tasteless hot dog at a kiosk in front of the station and wandered around aimlessly for hours. With my newly purchased first point and shoot camera, I took all sorts of random pictures with the enthusiasm of a kid in a chocolate shop. The architecture of the central station, the blue and white GVB trams, canals, canal houses, white pigeons fluttering on the canal gates, well mannered crowd of bicycles, coffee shops, souvenir shops, shops selling sex toys, yellow wooden shoes, costumed characters, people walking around with their dogs, impoverished backpackers who could do well with a wash and a meal and many more.
The idyllic serenity of Mcleodganj
Being home to the Tibetan government in exile since 1960 and the official residence of the 14th Dalai Lama, McLeodganj has a large Tibetan population and a strong Tibetan Buddhist influence. People here are peaceful, smiling and ready to help. The prayers of the aged Buddhist monks softly chanting mantras with meditation beads between their fingers seem to permeate through the air. It is an ideal getaway to just be with yourself in the lap of nature and not spend a lot of time and money on sightseeing tours. Go for long idle walks or read a book by the window in a quiet cafe over coffee with the mountains looking over you.
“Hello Indian Tourist”
That is how Francis greeted me as I boarded a local bus from Calangute to Baga on a hot and humid afternoon in Goa. I heard the words as I was taking a seat while talking to the conductor but didn’t pay attention to see who the speaker was as I didn’t think they were…
Travelling doesn’t provide life’s answers
We will travel to get out of our comfort zones. We will trek up to 5000 meters to witness first rays of the sun kissing the snow capped peaks surrounding us. We have, however, never seen the same sunrise from the balcony or terrace of our homes as we always wake up late and are rushing to work with a sandwich in our hands. We avoid talking to our family who have seen us through all the crests and troughs of our lives so far as they won’t understand the travails of our wandering heart. We don’t reach out to that old school or college friend whom we haven’t spoken to in years in spite of living in the same city. We can only open our hearts and laugh uninhibitedly during fleeting conversations with random strangers in an obscure bar in an obscure street in Amsterdam.
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