To the Bugyals we are yet to walk

 

Every time I walk upon

The meadows of the Farm,

Hope stirs up from deep within

Pensive, yet so warm

 

The meadow greens remind of home,

Of the alpine bugyals there,

And I long to smell its grass again -

I say a silent prayer

 

Gorson, Chopta, Chenap Vale

They call me from afar

One tent upon the empty hills

Above, a thousand star

 

Is it a call from the blue Yogi

Who there had found his home,

Kedarkantha, Madhmaheshwar

Where else would you rather roam?

 

And Mandini’s valley of the gods indeed,

Pushtar, Panwali too,

Dayara, Deoban, Deoria

There is a lot to do

 

Reminding of the bugyals’ herds,

The Farm’s sheep stroll in view,

The universe all connected

Gives me another clue

But there is no despair, not today

I see both sun and shade

There’s joy as well, in a longing list

Hope in the miles to tread

 

(This wistfulness has tendrils of time -

Fruition from future days,

Enjoin me here in the past of long

To embark on hillside ways)

 

I start again. and walk once more,

This meadow’s played its part

I need to wake old shoes and souls,

New journeys to restart…

 

8^th October’2023

 

Everyday I walk in the Farm here, the green expanse reminds me of the Bugyals in the Himalaya. I had tasted that vintaged wine only once at the Khalia top bugyal, years back in Munsiyari and was mesmerised. That was only a beginner, there’s so much more left in the mighty hills – these recent days, I have felt that yearning of white snow and green grass even more, thereby making me call old souls and friends to make ‘aspirational’ plans to go on a trek again. It is hard to coordinate a trip as this, across continents, over careers, kindred and commitments but sometimes all it takes is planting a seed of wistfulness in the soil of endless dreams. The last time we had trekked, it was over 12 years back in the Kanchenjunga National Park – next time perhaps it will be in the Govind Pashu Vihar National Park, who knows? We will need to aspire, and we will need to inspire, but one day, we will get there – the seed will turn into a mighty tree. Or perhaps just a blade of grass, but on a beautiful green alpine meadow…