Clouds in the valley...

Where the two rivers meet, colours are found - Not just blue and green of swirling sound Or white with which, the peaks are bound. But all the colours we cannot see – Hope of the rafts that float away free Joy of the rivers to meet the sea Rise of the smoke from that house on the hill The crispy air and the hearts that fill   Above all - The colour of the wind, the rain and the song With which I hear my name from far along The colour of that call that fails to die To the passing time and the space that sigh The colour of the confluence that stays unchanged Far from   the heart, but not estranged…   24 th January, 2023   Anyone who has seen the green of the Teesta and Rangeet rivers in Sikkim and North Bengal will agree wholeheartedly that the colours of the mountain duo are unlike any other – teal and turquoise for Teesta, an emeraldine green for Rangeet. Each river sparkles on its own - imagine then their confluence of dark and...

Here, in this rain-laden winter’s day, I make a cup of tea, Black is good, no sugar, yet Sweet enough for me   I feel the granules in the packet loose, And a shiver runs down the spine, Each packed with a million memories Of snow-clad peaks and pine   My pilgrimage, after a decade’s dry, Was blessed by the peaks of gold, I can choose to smile and feel the warmth Even as my tea runs cold   And in every sip, I can see again The hills frenzied with tea, From Mim in Darjeeling’s wilderness, To Thurbo, Chamong, Phuguri   Green gold carpeted in the hills, Towering peaks above, Somewhere in between, for what is home Breaths of outright love   Was it just the hills, or just the greens, I wonder now as I think, Perhaps, there is more than any of these That can be writ’ in ink   There’s a homesick tug when you’ve moved this far A pain you cannot express, There may be so much you have got But then, ther...

  Too many dandelions in my backyard, Yellow flowers tall, No space for weeds in my garden On this side of the wall   I had to mow them down, the weeds But my daughter asks me why, Not roses they are at all, I say But my answer made her cry   ‘They are still flowers, aren’t they? Perfumed they maybe none, But don’t they add the brightly hues Yellow as the sun?’   Oh bright the many blooms of day Dancing with the grass, Yellow green, what a pair Beauty in the mass!     ‘And look at them thereafter, Fluffy balls of whites, One raspy breath of wind will launch A thousand feathery kites’   ‘Do you really need to tag them then, As a weed upon the green? Joyous flowers dancing all Forlorn but still a queen’   What wondrous ways to see the world, I cannot help but smile, Let all the dandelions survive Mile after earthy mile   The eyes with which you see the earth Gives us hope a...

  ‘Why do you seek pumpkin flowers?’ My friend asked, wondering why ‘Fritters…is that it?’ He wouldn’t understand, so I nodded - a terse reply ‘They make zucchini fritters here, Can those not suffice?’ Any replacement works when you are removed, Survival, existence – the way of the wise   Deep inside, you know It’s neither taste of fritter or flower; Rather, the flavour of memories Of childhood days, long ago and very far   Nothing left to reap and sow, A poor man’s food makes a rich man now….   28 th December, 2022

Years ago, in my ambles in the hills, I met a traveller on a pass, Not in search of ice white peaks Or even solitude, like few of us But in the mountain quest to seek The elusive brahma kamal bud, No, not for commerce or botany His quest in rain and mud   Why then? I asked him on that day ‘So that I don’t find the bloom at all’ Seeing my surprise, he smiled, ‘So that I keep walking in these mountains tall’ The flower that blooms a single night In the wait of an entire year, And on its pilgrimage trail, a soul With neither yearning nor a fear     What was then, the purpose in those endless trails? Not to find, neither to seek But just to see you make your prints On an ice-melt stream or creek Perhaps, in the brahma kamal’s trail, he sought The mountains’ blessing in a very heavy odd And then one day in heaven’s steps - Find flower, man and god…

  The rickety bus chugs along, The clogged veins in the City of Joy, Hazra, Rashbehari passes by, While lost is a dreamy-eyed college boy He yearns for the space, the skies and the seas The cities in the books he roam, But one deep breath of alstonia, And he smiles of the land that is always home   October’s Chhatim, as Durga beckons, Whenever else would you rather bloom? That timeless scent of an autumn dusk Rich enough to hide all gloom – The flowers usurp in all their white The city’s grime, the noise, the dirt In the rhythm of the dhaaki’s beat All you smell is the city’s mirth   That umbilical cord severs not Matters not wherever you go, Every autumn, the heartstrings tug The chhatim blooms and time runs slow; If you step there and smell that autumn’s dusk You’ll find that dreamy boy even today, A bit in you, and a bit in me – Smiling in a flower’s whitened way…   18 th December, 2022

  In Temi’s tea, a sea of green Looks to the mighty Kanchenjunga; While Rangeet runs far below, In his eternal quest for Teesta The cherries bloom in Autumn, The prayer flags all year round, While joins the crispy winter sun The lost with all the found   Lost, this vagrant soul returns To the silence of the hills, And in a cup of blackened tea His emptiness, he fills The hills attach to a cup of tea, Something to take along, Though the real peace is left behind In the silent mountains’ song   Now every time, a cup is brewed Even if miles away, Happiness rises with the steam, As if the vale clouds say – That wherever you are, what be your day In tea leaves used or new, If you can find a memory Can you lose the mountains inside you?   17 th December, 2022   Lines written in fond memory of the Temi Tea Gardens, Sikkim, where I was blessed with the views of the snow clad Himalaya, crowned by the Kanchenjun...