soliloquies of a footloose
The thing about limited means is that it ensures contentment, an amusing irony if you will… for all its glitzy advertorials, material abundance fails to guarantee a lasting gratification… that a majority of us are in the grip of its whirlpool despite most life philosophies advising otherwise is another matter, but the fact remains that …
monsoons bring their own unique romance to the mountains, neither comparable to the pure white vistas of winter nor quite like the salubriousness of spring or autumn… the summers preceding them are not really scorching but still do tend to get on one’s nerves that the rains pacify, beginning with the petrichor and then moving …
there are walks in the mountains while hiking that one underestimates, naïve enough not to pay heed to the illusions of a simple way up wild gorges… the day elongates proportionally with the trail, disaggregated into phases that seem like days unto themselves, each phase anchored to its own particular memory… there’s a brief period …
Raptors, despite their preoccupation with death, are seldom disparaged… a captivation since prehistoric times, mutual respect between hunters, in awe of the acrobatics in the air, that lethal stare with a focus and intent beyond human ability… no other avifauna has been able to capture human imagination for so long… entrenched in petroglyphs and adorning …
Musings on clouds in meadows, treks across Western Himalaya…
Musings on Shiva in Himalayan contexts…
Chortens are one of those religious structures that are universally revered, a harbinger of constructive contemplation – one that leads towards inner peace through reminiscent journeys – these trapezoids stacked over one another and topped with a crown are but Buddha posing himself they say… a structural representation of different stages of his mortal journey… …
The mangroves of Sundarbans face increasing frequency and magnitude of natural disasters, making human subsistence difficult with every passing year…
desert … arid, dryness… dehydration, oasis… the sands are, for obvious reasons, representative of desolation, dreariness and despondence… a rite of passage beyond which lie many a virtue – justice, fame, wealth, enlightenment… the ramblings on enjoying the journey rather than the destination doesn’t really ring true in these landscapes though… in the …
ruins of forts, beneath their decaying exteriors, are wizened storytellers… at peace with the encroaching shrubbery, defecating humans and tenant bats, as their stories retire into the annals of history, they subtly assume role of observers in stasis… between warrior kings and wasted princes, the sombre chambers let go of the bricks and mortar… the …