From Her Diary Boy Meets Girl

 

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Oh the dreariness of middle class life
the mediocrity of it
I know I should be grateful
but the path is too straight

I must be twisted to be longing
for something crooked
A road with numerous bends
That lead to passion, adventures
And yes even sadness

Alien emotions assuaging
my robotic existence

I am wallowing in too shallow waters
And in my inane concerns
My Siren feet keep pulling me down the deep end

Oh but what am I saying? I must be stupid or something.

I saw him again today as I was walking down the beach at sunset. I wanted to speak to him. Ask him why he always looks so morose in such a peaceful setting. What could that young man be thinking. It seemed as fathomless as the ocean in front of him.

I like his silly little curls neatly tucked behind both ears. He doesn’t look like his from around here. He looked exotic. Somewhat middle eastern? I can’t be sure. I am kind of stupid about this thing. Which reminds me I wanted to do some traveling in an exotic place like perhaps in Morocco? Daddy will be pissed. He’ll never let me. He will be too scared to let me go.

If I see that boy again tomorrow and he is still looking surly I will throw a stone at him to start a fight. It will be good fun. He could be good looking if he would just stop frowning….

*****

Ashok closed the diary. Closing his eyes he pressed his temples and drew a very long sigh. It was bittersweet to remember that day. Of course he had been noticing her since he started going to the beach every evening. That solitary girl walking along the shore completely lost in her own thoughts. But he was too shy to even looked at her then much less to speak to her.

That was when he was in his first year in that foreign country. He was friendless and lonely and mad at his parents for sending him abroad. His parents thought finishing a degree in a more advanced country would give him more chances to succeed financially in life. He could not see any merits on whatever they were planning for his future then. At that time he was only thinking about how he missed his friends back home and of course of his childhood sweetheart. And how some students in his college were too cruel to him.

But one good thing did happen to him while studying abroad and much to the chagrin of his parents. He met her. Have fallen in love with her. Got immersed in the beauty of her world. Discovered feelings he never knew existed.

Ashok opened his eyes and smiled.

A Parallel Life

©JMKhapra

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Lullabies In The Valley Of Dreams

 

A quaint little village in Sangla

Summer arrived, blazing and crackling. The air sizzled frying at forty-five degrees (Celsius). Fed up with living in air-conditioned existence, we decided it was time to leave the city.

So Hubby, Babar and I with our suitcases packed for a seven-day adventure, drove up and up the mountain chasing some chilly wind.

Narkanda highway
Wall of pine trees in Kufri
Heart-stopping roads in Kinnaur District

The roads tapered off as we were nearing the top, sending some nervous flutter in my heart.

Descending from Rampur, a pleasant drive along the river.
Babar enjoying the breeze. Ears flapping about.
If I have ears that long it will be flapping too.
Climbing extremely narrow roads on the way to Sangla.

 Then it soared when my eyes behold the snowy peaks in the horizons.

The lethal beauty of Sangla Valley at the height of 2800 meters.
Babar passed out after a whole day of driving.

As the sun was setting, finally we reached the camp. The signboard was on the road but darned it the campsite was way down below.

Kinner Camp

Holding my breath while Hubby turned the car around, tires rolling by a hair’s breadth on the edge of the cliff, I was left thinking the camp owners may have some sadistic streak. After enduring the torment of that snaky ascent, they make sure the thrill continues with the roller coaster descent.

Very comfortable accommodation with an attached bathroom ( western toilet and shower) unlike real camping at all.
The valley morning after.
Babar sleeping soundly in the fresh air.
Sharing a cup of chai with hubby.

Waking up the next morning after a very sound sleep, sipping tea in front of the tent with the mighty snowy mountain right in front of me, I was filled with a deep-seated feeling of well being.

Not a soul was stirring from the nearby tents. The silence was pure and sweet. A commune with nature in the truest sense.

The Mighty Baspa River

When Hubby and Babar finally roused, off, we went hiking towards the mighty stream. Furious cascading water thundering down from the melting snow of the northern Himalayan peaks.

The roaring stream.
Babar testing the waters.

The energetic canine run to and pro, going mad with the freedom to leap and bound. Once or twice, Babar braved the icy water and dipped his toes. Oh, how he loved the water! He would swim if not for the turbulent flow.

The water dog.

Lovely Chitkul Valley
Pashmina heaven.
Passing by surrealistic looking roads on our way to Kalpa

Snowy peaks in Kalpa

Days in the camp passed by like a dream. We were lulled into calmness and serenity. All our silly worldly cares momentarily forgotten.

Babar made a lot of new friends in the camp.
Little girls who were very fond of Babar.

I go to nature to be soothed and healed and to have my senses put in order.
-John Burroughs

©JMKhapra

Heart Away From Home

 

In the silence of the night next to the even rhythm of my husband’s breathing I lay awake with a pain clamped heavily around my heart. Eyes closed but mind alert riddled with thoughts darting to and pro in different directions. From the mundane to a constant anxiety I was unaware how it led to the image of my aging parents. Just the two of them, living away from all their children.

How could it happen when childhood attachments a precious cord too painful to sever bound the family so tightly? How could sons and daughters fled so far away from them? Could it be that too much love and closeness hinder independence? A suffocation from parental influence?

Flight for freedom away from the homely bubble sent us traipsing around the globe. Never did they complain nor prevented us from doing what we wanted. Which is worse because an argument would have ease the unspoken guilt. A chance to justify this selfish need to gratify the itching feet.

Remorse aggravated the pinch in my heart. It was so sudden it brought tears brimming in my eyes. I stifled a sob. I felt a hand touched my hair gently, sending the tears falling freely. I found myself enveloped in a warm embrace and felt a kiss on my forehead. My husband inquired if I was alright. And in between hiccups I murmured on his chest what’s ailing me. He is always very understanding and tender whenever homesickness hits me. He would be quiet and listening. Squeezing my arms every now and then. Until the storm within me wanes.

With his sleep laden voice he cracked a joke. I laughed heartily, tears all spent, heart unburdened. I snuggled close. Comforted in his arms. Sleepiness overtaking me.

” Honey, call them first thing in the morning.” I heard him whispered in my ears as I was just entering the gates of dreams.

©JMKhapra

Self Righteous Rantings

My ears are smarting from your self righteous ranting. Your keyboard is thundering from your passionate pounding. Hurling criticism here and there. But your words fall flat. Resounding with jealousy and insecurity. Broadcasting your own narrow mind. I think you just better shut up.
“Self-righteousness is much like a spiritual egocentricity. It constitutes a secular type of love that thrives under conditionality, one in which is only existent after an individual meets the adopted standards of the condemner.”
― Criss JamiSalomé: In Every Inch In Every Mile