Clouds in the valley...

Thunder rumbled across the skies. There was that distinct smell in the winds – that of trampled vegetation picked up by the winds, aided with a dip in temperature - which hits you just moments before the heavens open up. I couldn’t help stopping all that I did – in this case, packing up, to leave the beach – and stare at the contrasts that was flooding my senses: Turquoise blue, shallow playful waters of the white sandy lagoon below as against, the dark indigo blues of a moody, tempestuous sky above; The lull of the lapping waters of the sea, devoid of crashing waves as against the sparkling crackle of the lightning bolts; The taste of warm brine from my dip in the lagoon as against the taste of the cool moisture laden breeze; And then to cap it all, the sweaty, moisty warmth of a tropical island being washed anew with a coat of cool windward rains. Life loves contrasts indeed, the distinctions all the more perceptible when the contrasts are extremely disparate, thereby stret...

I cannot believe my eyes - in a city where it is rare to get that great rich taste of biryani that simultaneously blazes your tongue, yet soothes your nerves and appetite - I was staring at a plate of galouti kebabs.  Aficionados of Awadhi appetizers, or maniacs of Mughlai meals would be frantically shaking their heads in disbelief as what I had come upon serendipitously is often considered the holy grail of kebabs. And if every dish had a story, the Galouti’s would be a thumping Booker prize winner. Legends have it that the last nawabs of Awadh - Asaf-ud-daula and Wajid Ali had spoilt teeth, thanks to a continuous consumption of tobacco. Their appetite for meat though, thankfully, could not be spoiled. They would therefore invite khansamas or cooks from all over Lucknow to churn out the softest kebabs possible. The result was the galouti kebab - ‘that which melts in the mouth’ - made from pounded and finely minced meat, suffused with aromatic spices and fried delectably in ghee. E...

  I look again at the cute little turtle hatchling, its flippers flapping energetically, as if a sixth sense informing itself that it would soon get to merge with the salty waters, its natural home . On a white plastic tub, its black colour seems even more contrasting while I wonder in which sense is it an ‘olive’ ridley turtle. I guess growth dulls away the darkness of its complexion. It strangely faces the sea on the west though the waters are not visible given we are inside an enclosure on Kuta Beach. To check if it is a coincidence, I turn the tub and lo, it turns around again to face the sea! Instincts be like this, little one, I murmur between ourselves while an old Balinese conservationist comes forth and asks us all to move on to the sea to witness a grand spectacle. We form a chain of people - all tourists - more than a hundred of us, just a few metres away from the tumbling waves of the Indian Ocean. On the blow of a sharp whistle, we simultaneously release the hatchlings...

There are few things that can be more relaxing than dusk on a riverside. The unwinding seems even more well deserved if you had had a hard day’s work. Struggles and nerve-racking deadlines sometimes seem to compress time - things run too fast, the backlog is always overflowing, and a day seems to shamelessly underperform if it ticks for only 24 hours!  Which is when a small opportunity to stop still makes you really ‘feel’ the dilation of time. You can literally hear yourself breathe out, and all the bookish lessons of the sadhguru on meditation and mindfulness begin to make a lot of sense. My first job helped me learn exactly this. Straight out of college with stellar marks, I was expecting to design and configure transformers, induction machines and microprocessor chips. C’mon, I had read of Faraday and Tesla for four years - should I have aspired any less? The closest I ever got though, was when I had to approve delivery invoices that had scanty mention of these goods. The well-...

It was a cold November morning, and we two vagrants were, almost insanely, hiking through a freezing drizzle in search of a castle. There was hardly a soul on the wet and shiny asphalt roads, with even the cows in the paddocks giving us that these-guys-must-be-crazy looks. For the second least visited country in the world’s most visited continent, we could have jolly well been the only tourists that day. Or maybe even month (come winter, Europe happily shuts shop). I walked uphill with a trudge, smoke billowing out of my rasping nose, yet I couldn’t help notice the swathes of emerald green alpine forests that seemed to stretch ahead, and even up, higher on the hills. It was then that I froze, as my addled brain failed to process what I saw. Brain freeze, literally. Through my rain-specked glasses, I seemed to note a kind of bleaching on the green forests high up on the hills. And it was spreading fast, coming downhill. Wet, bedraggled, bereft of piping hot tea, it took a few seconds be...

And here they go to chase again, Those empty clouds that never rain, Raising dirt, kicking dust – As the only stream that flows is rust   And here they go to seek again, Clemency from the sun in vain, To burn us all, our truths and lies And then redeem us, at what a price   And here they strive, a Sisyphus each A goal that they will never reach, Yet every day, they roll with care A rock, a dream, an unblessed prayer   Why don’t I stop them, is that you ask? Why do I let them play the masque? Lessons that they have to learn – No words can teach us what’s a burn   But also perhaps, deep inside – Wants to wake a part that’s died – A part that wants to hope again That someday, it may start to rain…   9 th July’2021

Blue skies, the frozen South Ah! The glaciers we had kissed, And yet, those eyes that went unseen For Aoraki, we missed -  The reflection lakes, they came and went The sun, it smiled in jest, Knowing well that we would miss Mount Cook upon the crest. Those few minutes we could turn back Have all now turned to years, How long until the white peak’s seen, To blue a sky that clears They say, Aoraki sees and knows it all, Was it all then planned, I doubt To return again with a purer soul To the land of long, lost cloud… 5th June, 2021 It was a sparkling day, when stunned with the Fox Glacier - within arm’s reach - we headed back to Queenstown. New Zealand, Aotearoa, the land of the long lost cloud is a paradise, every turn a surprise, when temperate rainforest changes to stunning Tasman Coast to alpine lakes to gigantic sand dunes. In this land of plenty, the grandest spectacles have turned to Maori legends, the tallest of which is the celestial visitor, Aoraki, Mount Cook - the talles...