Friday, August 26, 2016

Amidst Clouds, Hills and More


My first encounter with the hills was when I was barely 5 or 6 years old. The hills were something that enchanted my father, and probably, genetically, it was passed on to me.














My father, before marriage, often used to move out on his own, heading towards the mountains. He used to sit near them, writing and molding himself, just the way it molded me. The stories continued flowing after his marriage and my birth too. With time, he tagged me along, to share his experience and carry them for the rest of my life. 

The entire ambiance surrounding the mountains, standing tall for centuries, had so much to tell. Many stories, many experiences – so much alive in itself.

During each of my visits to the hills, I always felt that I am carried into a world of trance - thrown into a mysterious world, yet so familiar and known.


As I grew older, my visits to the hills increased. As a child with my parents, as a student with my university mates, as a woman with friends and family. Yet, the hills never made me feel worn out or tired.





With time, I started talking to the hills, or most of the times, just looking at them, their mystic beauty amazing me time and again. Apart from the beauty, what also enriched me is the life of the people living in the hills, the little children walking miles to reach school, the lamas – young and old, the wrinkled old man or lady smoking a cigarette – and more.

In fact, my encounter with the hills opened up paths for self-realization and self-analysis, enabling me to find inner peace and enjoy my solitude. I never felt lonely when the hills surrounded me from all corners, my pain or agony disappearing with the fogs – in such a voiceless way – enabling me to inhale them into my system and emerge out of it.







I am sharing a few photographs of various parts of Sikkim, which I visited twice a couple of years before.















The photographs were taken by me, with a Nikon Coolpix camera. Photography, again being something, passed on to me by my father, about which I will share in the future blogs.




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