Clouds in the valley...

  ‘Where to from here?’ A fellow passenger asked ‘Kasar Devi,’ I responded To which he gave a sly smile   ‘Magic mushrooms?’ he whispered ‘Stars and Hippie Hill?’ He was all agog with excitement Delirious, excited   That, finally a traveller Could live his psychedelic dreams – Why else would any young soul Travel to Kasar Devi?   When all of Nanda Devi, Trishul Was visible in November’s skies Right here, panorama-wide At Chaukori’s horizon   ‘Have fun,’ he bid a sad adieu For his bus to Delhi was here And all his doped dreams were doused, Alive alone in a dinkum soul he met   I let him keep his joy His story, his to write How he would refer to this page In empty days of an ennui life Little did he know, From Mayawati, I had come this far In search of Swamiji’s trail, To see the heavens and the stars   To see the hills from temple cave With third eye that is seen, To mediate, get closer still To saffron monk, Himalayan green   To sit still, even if...

  Duende (Spanish, noun): a heightened state of emotion, expression and authenticity, often connected with a piece of art Iravati. the king’s delirious daughter Had come to the Atelier house; Dishevelled hair, smudged eyes She had come, Looking for a bit of inspiration In a piece of art Where the rest of the kingdom failed But the slopes of disappointment continued: The students showed her One art after another But the princess was unmoved – None touched the depths of her insane soul And she turned hysterical Blaming uselessness of the school Bland, emotionless, lacklustre She delighted in mockery As the students tried to outdo each other Impress the princess In hope for a coin of gold But they kept sliding In the abyss of her disappointment The princess turned to scream: They were useless All useless, Wasting fortunes of the kingdom Where was profundity in the brush? E motions in the colours? Melancholy in the canvas?...

    Vedriti, Slovenian: To shelter from the rain, waiting for the storm to pass   As grey clouds loom, I recollect Of summer’s yesterday’s younger days When I would always avoid the calming rains, Or heady storms on monsoon ways   For, one kiss of summer’s moistness, and I would surely catch another cold, Sniffles, coughs, paracetamol Countless cups of honey’s gold   Until one day, you mocked You will fall ill in any case, And I gave in to you, the evening rains A Nor’wester grey on sultry days   And I walked for long, in grumbling skies No umbrella for the day’s rescue More meds, I grumbled deep within Thanks for the silliness, to listen to you   Yet something changed, bedraggled me In indigo skies, and purple lights, No more colds or sapping coughs The cure itself, the stormy nights   Malady, remedy, I do not know All that I know is when it rains Its best to keep your coat behind An...

    Biroho / Viraha  Bengali / Hindi : The realisation of love that comes from separation   ‘Isn’t this a beautiful city?’ I was surprised, wondrous For the first time, You had called Bombay beautiful   ‘Cacophonic’, ‘populous’, ‘Claustrophobic’, ‘malodorous’ Multisyllabic words were what you used ‘Beautiful’ was not one of them   But after the rains, The Sahyadris are always beautiful You had to get awashed in the drizzle To clear the dirt in your eyes   At Kanheri’s hills that day The rains had done just that City and soul both washed Indigo clouds to shelter the sun   And all of Bombay staring back Tall skyscrapers here, a golden pagoda there And the giant Buddhas of Salsette   Bestowing wisdom, that of centuries   Was it the Bodhisattva’s grace, I had asked with a smile But you kept staring at the cityscapes Sadly shaking your head Now, when I look back, I know It was ...

Spanish: safe place one draws strength from.   Late at night, I found Maniram Staring at the hills on the horizon What was the chef staring at, I asked   And he pointed out a faraway light Twinkling Like a star on the earth’s bosom He said one word, Meghma   What’s so special, I wondered (Especially when You were posted in Darjeeling – Queen of the Hills)   Home, he said 4 hours away, On a rickety bus, broken roads Accessible once in a quarter   Was it very far, aloof, isolated - He nodded, No cell-phone towers Isolated, no electricity Save for the one light in the temple   Did he miss it? Did he long for home, Just like we all do, Not knowing it will never be the same But here, he surprised me He was happy at the isolation Let it remain far from reach, he said Let it remain hidden, unheard of   Even if it means Being cut off yourself And staring at a beacon lone Of querencia...

    Iktsuarpok - Inuit: the feeling of anticipation when you're expecting someone. It refers to the impatient excitement that makes you constantly check to see if they're coming   Sometimes, I still feel like yesterday. Looking out of the window, I seek for your indigo clouds on my sunny day When dry winds pick up pace Seeking dankness in lonely eyes   Slowly starts the drizzle of lost years - The cracked soils on the dried-out slopes Will take years to recover Better still, let it build into a downpour That will wash away the soils of yesterday   Alas, my lonely cottage today stares in sad envy Desiccating in the leeward slopes Of forever’s autumn The clouds, rains and emerald hills Disappear in a moment’s fade   But I can see still your blue umbrella – Visible from far as you walk, Adding colours of brightness to Forlorn footsteps forgotten now On the listless layers of a lonely hill The joys of walking ou...

    Japanese: Oubaitori, comes from the four trees that bloom in spring: cherry blossoms, plum, peach, and apricot. Each flower blooms in its own time, and the meaning behind the phrase / idiom is that we all grow and bloom at our own pace. It acts as a reminder that everyone has their own journey through life, and we should focus on our growth, and not compare ourselves so much to others, and to celebrate your individuality and your uniqueness.                Fallen so far behind, I wonder if I will catch up With my fellow hikers; Tshoka’s campground is far away, Ascending, my legs ache as I realise How a few kilometres Can take away all illusions Of youthfulness                Last man in the league Breathing in my burning lungs I hold onto a pine tree And admire the empires of moss; I dream of the warm Ra...