Paths and Poems

A poem was born,

When I saw this path:

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Years from now,
in the winter of our life,
when you come back,
we will walk here.
Hold hands, again.
Talk about the colour of our soul
or may be the texture of pain that kept us apart all these years.
We’ll talk about what happened to that little dream cafe of yours.
It wont be a “hey let’s get a beer” conversation!
We’ll talk about the shooting stars of our endless journey.
All this, without a word!
In the winter of our life.
When you come back.
© Daastan-e-Musafir
Place: Chitkul
October,2017

P.S: Romance sells!

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I, write this!

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I write, as the last bidi finds it’s way into the ashtray. I write this at 04.30 in the morning.

Writing, because the backpack resting at the corner of my room, stares at me, with a little dust settled on the un-promised adventures.

Next to it lies a pair of trekking boots, yearning to go out there.

Aching of restfulness, lies a rugged camouflage jacket on the chair.

Next to the chair is a table full of maps.

Maps of hamlets and towns, sleeping at the moment.

Thus, sweet sleeps the travel journal, dreaming of the blank pages to be bloomed by the awaited adventures.

So, wakes up the wandering soul!

P.S : This is dedicated to all you travellers out there, aching of wanderlust! To all the mountain beasts caught in the concrete jungle. I love you all, I really do! And soon, we shall all embark on a new adventure! Until then, I know my pep talk doesn’t help much!

 

Auli, his childhood dream!

Quick downpour:

This story starts at an altitude of 10,000 ft.

498 km away from cabbage-head, Delhi

This is about the euphoria  of exploring a realm surrounded by the revered peaks of Nanda Devi, Chaukhamba, Panch Chuli, Mana and Kamet.

This story is about, the dreamland called Auli bugyal!

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Here’s what happened:

Windows rolled down. involuntary, I craned my neck out like a happy dog. We were about to reach Rishikesh. When about Uttarakhand, Rishikesh always announces the beginning of an adventure.

Auli was sleeping when we reached, late at night. Heavy breathed, we climbed 56 stairs to get to our room in the GMVN guesthouse. Such a labyrinth!

If you are there:

– Ignore the caretaker, wearing a strange monkey cap

Auli  rained its way through the morning, slowly and calmly. It wasn’t a rebellious one, it was one of those rains that sweeps all the sorrows away. Stepping an octave down this philosophical tone, it was raining cats and dogs, plain and simple!

It washed away all my time-lapse dreams, at once.

But as a photographer you are a, stubborn soul! You lurk in the ambush like Satan, waiting for Eve to step in the garden. It did and how…

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The Fated Shot!

I am an honest “John Snow” when it comes to monasteries, Bhuddhism, rather any “ism”! But I intimately cherish the calm they resonate. I usually never plan, but happen to cross paths with “God”, sometimes.

This time around when Chaddha ji and gang, were retreating from Nubra Valley to Leh, there was another chance meeting, fated, in two and a half hours.

Lopsang, our full swag driver,  who meditates almost all winter and works in summer, suggested that we stop at the Diskit monastery. Hey wait, isn’t that interesting, meditating your entire-way-through-winters? Cozy!

That’s when I happen to get this shot:

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Diskit Monastery

P.S: I still wont bother about the details of this “ism”. But I am sure Google can help!

Behind the lens

Whenever I look at a photograph, I wonder about the moments exactly before it was captured.

What were the thoughts of the photographer? Was it shot by chance or did he hold his breath still? Did he lie flat on the burning marble or cold ice for long?

How fast did he run to take another shot at life? Did he smile when he pictured the shot in his head before pressing the click button?

A photograph becomes a moment, even before captured!

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Sehri (Deo Tibba), Himachal

©Ambika Bhardwaj