When the roads become isolated,
and the green starts painting the mountains.
When suddenly the clatter transforms into melodious silence,
you know you are heading back to the mountains.
When the kids with apple-blush cheeks wave you from the distant hills,
and industrious women pass by, with heavy anklets jingling on their feet,
You start getting a homely feel in the solitary surroundings.
When the air you inhale carries the aroma of the scarlet rhododendrons,
and an army of known faces peck and hold you like a lost cousin.
Pat your back and unload the heavy backpack.
You, my friend, have finally returned to your home in the hills.
Thought behind the poem:
Though city life is comfortable, all the amenities and services are either a call or click away. But everything comes with a price. The maddening rush, the growing population, and the shrinking greens have deteriorated the quality of life. The birds have left the trees and there is little or no meaningful human connection. Although you are surrounded by many people, still it is hard to find someone to cherish the silence.
Amidst all this a little hope develops, when I visit our native home in the hills. Towards the mystical Himalayan region of Garhwal, Uttarakhand. It is like a big celebration, a reunion of our lovely people. It feels like home, it feels like heaven. When the verdant hills glow with the molten red hues of the sun. My heart thumps and expands to a hundredfold.
The essence of the Himalayan soil, the cold winds and the tiny-tots of Garhwal bring joy to my heart. When our distant cousins greet us with love and elderly people show affection, like we are still young. You want to stay there for the rest of your life, but you fear the challenges that’ll come along the way. The mountains don’t bend, they are strong, rigid and determined. The one who has unwavering faith in the mountains shall always thrive. Long live the mountains!
Let thy spirit be high in love. Namaste