Just Another Leh Essay via Kaza ft. People, Places, Creatures – Part 1

A Travelogue about Leh-Ladakh, India.


A Mountain Dream

Last night hailed thunderstorm from all over the places and directions, it was windy and later it got rainy. This morning, it was one of those mornings when the ceiling fan is not needed yet you still want it to rotate with the whirling of the winds that comes fresh after touching the mountains around. […]

Just Around The Corner

It is a strange feeling. It’s a step yet it has so many infinitesimal sub-steps under it, so many if conditions applied to each one. I was just wondering what it’d be like to find places and roam around them. Especially if the places are in other countries. Meet people, spend nights in their rooms, and under open night skies, even if it’s raining sometimes. Spend nights talking to them, about their lives, their problems, their love, their everything and just keep listening until they ask me to tell something. Perhaps even make love with strangers who would not be strangers after I’d have talked to them in the nights, cooked with them, shared with them small wreckages while cooking them some Indian food in their kitchens, hitchhike on strangers’ land and roads.

I see a fellow blogger always having traveled so much since her teens it makes me feel jealous on nights like these. The biggest problem is exchange rates. I mean 1$ = 65 Rupees! My friends who’ve gone to US for higher studies share their dilemmas with me, where spending a dollar somewhere else means they’d have to walk for half an hour to get a bus back and the like. Here, I’m in between parents’ separation, being thankfully lifted and driven by God knows what, finances uncertain, job uncertain, what I want to do / can do uncertain. I’m 23 and it’s been over 2 years since someone has wanted to sit with me and talk. I haven’t talked to any friend let alone seen one in person for over 5 months. I don’t even know if I have friends after these. It’s frustrating sometimes, with the only option left to just write it down for no one else to read/see but the wayback machine.

I know people battle with problems more worse, and this is more of a desire and longing than a problem. But there is always more. This isn’t more really, this is like a compensatory longing for time spent by other’s choices or rules, be it a person or Indian society or lack of options or ignorance.

I’d just want to get away for a while, with a stranger, no matter if it sounds something that only happens in the movies, it’s a possibility. People have had experiences. I just keep asking to nobody in particular why not me. Why can I not tell my parents or anybody for that matter where I’m doing with whom, what I’ll do there. Why can’t I set out a foot towards the mountains and explore unchartered territories, perhaps just stare at the pink cheeks of beautiful upper Himalayan women. Why can’t I explore places? Why am I so afraid of things? Why am I writing this?


Northern Indian Winds During Feb-April

This period of a couple of months, Northern Indians enjoy this beautiful, pleasant wind. The mood is like:

Listen to the shuffling of the songs
as each pass their baton forward
and fall carelessly
from carrying too much sweat in their body

Source: [Nandini Varma’s Blog]

In Indian Calendar, this season is called Magha-Phalguna. 

The air is breathtakingly pleasant, and it’s still a little cold, which is a perfect fit. I feel like writing a poem, but the words aren’t coming right now. This wind is the culprit for the days’ long wars with my mother when I was a teenager. I’d want to grow my hair long, just so that I could let them loose in this wind. This is a kind of wind, you feel when you’re watching A Walk To Remember, especially the last scene:

But her love, it’s like the wind, I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

I’ll always remember, those late afternoons…

That’s the closest of the words I could find for the feeling when I walk these winds. I’m not kidding when I tell you, that in these winds, did I first start writing. It was like rush on the skin, but slow, smooth, and it blossoms you like the first words you use to greet someone you don’t know, with a smile of endless possibilities. And you know what the best part is? If you are in the mountains, this feeling manifolds transfigures through the shutting down of your eyes before you know it. At the edge of a precipice. Ah!

Now when the eyes are closed, and the wind wants to host you, you can’t help but think of nothing, the mind doesn’t chatter, the world doesn’t care, you don’t care about anything. You are nothing, then. You are right there, with yourself, with your most updated self, in the present, like when the hum of a mosquito shakes you up into the right now, action.

I wish the poem about this comes. Yes, my poems come. I don’t write them, I don’t know who does, I don’t even know if there is someone or something that does, or if it comes out of nothing like the flashes of light in the vacuum.

To the winds, outside the window! (It’s starting!)
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