Clouds in the valley...

  A polar blast with winter comes, I need a tea at noon, My frozen hands begin to thaw My mind awakens soon   Not just the waft of cardamom Or sugar rushing fast, The tea frees up my heart to feel Winters from the past   Calcutta’s cold or Bombay’s bite, Winters fuelled by tea, How many cities wake anew In gingered memory   See the sea of emerald green Tea gardens, Darjeeling A Himachal tent wakes with tea While the Munias sing   Tea with sambar sour and sweet The backwaters, they gleam By a shanty tent on Teesta’s way In another Himalayan dream   Tea with fritters, winter-drenched In the many ghats of west, At 2am on a Goanese shack, There is no sense of haste   And many more drops of tannin gold For the places still to go, From Lahaul, Spiti to Havelock’s white Sip them warm and slow   My cup, here south, has emptied now The dregs though full of zeal, Home comes back in a...

    At 13000 feet, The world should have looked different: It did, at first. Little snowflakes wafting in late autumn’s sky Giant boulders heaped from a glacial past Our escape from the city, what indeed a break And then I see A vendor on a cycle, selling bhel Here in these dizzying heights? Indeed, incredibly His flattened pot, big and golden, Shine like a rising sun Maggi and tea, I had countless times That day, perhaps it was the murmura’s turn   Salty yes, but they were a tad soggy Perhaps it is the snowflakes and the soft hail; What makes you come this far? I wanted to hear More of this ardent vendor’s tale: He had come from some hamlet far below At this height, we coudn’t stand and breathe in free Yet he had exerted this far above, Some cyclist he had to be Babu, the snow will choke the roads and us For six months, we are cut off from the rest Hence, a few more paisa to stock some food It stuck me more than the...

We headed to the dainty dales Of the distant mountains Blue, To tiny towns, their gardens grand To catch late Autumn’s hue   But when we reached, all that we had Were a lazy summer’s green Despite the cold, Autumn’s blush Was not yet to be seen   We searched for colours everywhere Every hamlet, every vale But perhaps, we were too early for Late Autumn’s blazing tale   And so we turned back, dejected Our sojourn all a waste Leaving Nature to her patterns own, Neither slow nor haste   Entrenched in city life, days passed Until a few days on, I stopped upon a lonely track On a morose, misty morn   There - right in the heart of bricks and walls In the early morning light Endless stood the maples, oaks In scarlet crimson bright     The avenue glowed brighter still As the sun rose on the day Wher’ver you turned, colours splashed Each tree upon the way   And everyday, from that day on ...

  We headed to the dainty dales Of the distant mountains Blue, To tiny towns, their gardens grand To catch late Autumn’s hue   Mount Wilson, Tomah, Banks and more Bell’s line of Road beckoned, Their trees now singing Autumn’s song Turning red and blonde   They say, over a hundred years before The settlers longed for home, They planted leaves of memory In these lands they were to roam   And hence grew English chestnut, oak The maple, birch and elm Deciduous trees defying what The native gum trees claim   And every autumn, the exiled trees Remember home and sigh, Their leaves turn orange, yellow, red To shed and say goodbye   Do they still remember home In this evergreen southern land? It is a sigh we passers-by Will perhaps not understand     The most that we can do is then, As Autumn pilgrims lone Exalt how, in weak this soil They have risen large and grown   And whisper ...

Do you remember still, That day, in Paris When the city got wrapped In winter’s first snow And you had snuggled closer still One late Autumn’s kiss – Was it the cold, was it the flakes? I did not want to know   In warm mittens, Enmeshed our hands (I had wished I could reach beyond And touch your smiling soul) Walking by the Seine Snow instead of the sands White the flakes of magic In soft, slow-motioned roll   It was perhaps, The best day of my spring There, watching your glowing smile Replace the hiding sun Notre Dame behind us chimed Its bells starting to ring. (You had even forgotten Shakespeare With its books all overrun)   Standing on that bridge then I wished we had a lock To trap that moment in a million hearts And the keys into the Seine You read my eyes, perhaps we knew We were bluffing both, the clock No words then, but just a smile In the wet of snow and rain   The first snowfall of ou...

  I long to return to winter’s home, Beyond autumn’s gold and grey For, in that cold lay warmth of time - Blue skies, Maidan , yesterday   Crisp that cold of December Forgiveness in the sun, Short the breath of winter’s day Yet, so much to be done   To walk across the Maidan’s spread, There - Victoria evergreen, The Fort, the zoo, farther still Waiting to be seen   Sanchi’s dome beckons as well, But you sit upon the grass, While dreams of Boimela chorus With St. Paul’s and its mass   After a while, the sun mellows, Nandan, then to Park, Rolls, Oxford, dainty stores That light up in the dark   Ochterlony’s beam of white, For a cigarette, moments more The city of lights has woken up, So many memories in her lore   Then, a rickety bus to anywhere Perhaps anywhere in the world Yet, so much in my city’s home Left to be unfurled   Metcalfe, Princep, Outram Ghat The Bridge in purpl...

  I had woken up today at 6am for a change. After all, it was a Saturday. All foggy, the wintry May morning was anticipating the morning sun to rise, just like me. In the meanwhile, I was getting ready with the excitement of a 10-year-old boy. For I was planning to go to a bookfair. By the time the sun had woke up and warmed the frigid morn, I was ready and walking to the station, all tucked in, in woolly comfort. One metro ride, followed by a train and I was to reach the suburb hosting the fair. Which was nothing too spectacular, let’s be honest. Housed in a somewhat large hall, it was a noble fundraiser - a quarterly affair that raised funds from the sale of used books. As a booklover, though, the event was exciting – the experience of going through piles of books, neatly classified by sections, recognising a few common titles, discovering some never-before-seen titles was stimulating indeed. In the travel section, you could wander through half the globe in a basket laden with ...