One Year in the hills

A Lonely Tree

Across the winding roads
in the dense of the hills
among the mist and fogs
amidst the unknown thrills…

On days which are bright
on days which are grey
across the mountain trails
I love to lose my way…

Tracing the lonely tune
from a far away flute..
of some shepherd boy
on some unknown route…

In a jungle maybe..
playing with shadows
walking in slow steps
across plains and meadows..

With a smiling mind
no love no hate!
across the bridge of time
no destiny no fate…

Next week we will complete a year in this remote Himalayan village. So far it has been the best year of my life. A natural state of living with people close to mother earth – with the trees, with the river, the waterfalls, birds, clouds and the mountains full of ancient wisdom who stands tall in solemn solitude… an uneventful year when the clamor of the city life was drowned by the murmur of the brook.

True, we do not had many a things here… things with which we got accustomed but we never missed anything… maybe they never formed an habit… Its like a distant past life standing at a distance in a smoky haze but never waving at me… its like traveling in a train when you leave the noisy station far behind and journey through the meadows and the plains…

The hills are now green. The fields have been tilled and sowed and ploughed. Its just a waiting for the new crops and vegetables to peep out. The apple orchards holds a big promise this year with abundant display of small young green apples. Small green walnuts, apricots wake up everyday swaying with the new sun … even the bushes along the river banks invite bees with waving little bright flowers while miniature yellow flowers on top of tall stems stand in clusters along the grass green meadows shaking their infant heads maybe in wonder. Evenings are now filled with the chatter of barbets and finches flying around the waterfall which woke up after a long slumber.

Schools are open and young boys march down every morning spinning their copy books on one finger above their heads while young girls flock together swinging pigtails in bright blue dresses. The days are longer with the sun setting late painting the hills with a golden glow as the women folk return from the fields along with their long shadow following them across the mountain trail. Clouds float around leisurely touching the top of the peaks with occasional drizzle much to the delight of the village folks here. Its still cold at night with temperatures around five – six deg. Mornings we wait for the sun as it comes around the peaks touching the millions of dew drops all across.

So long …