Special Edition: August
With love, from the mountains
Dearest,
I’m writing you this month’s special edition from the mountains. It’s been an overwhelming feeling of homecoming for me. For many years, a visit to Himachal was an annual ritual of sorts. The days just open up and let you know the pace they’d like, the trees, flowers all sing pretty tunes I hum along to, and the people are just the nicest.
As I write to you, it’s raining outside the cottage I’m staying at, which happens to be in an apple orchard in the middle of the forest. There’s pine trees surrounding me, and the clouds are almost at the door.
I took myself on a hike yesterday through a village named Soil and walked right into a dream. I won’t even bother trying to find the words to describe it, and let you see the surreal dreamscape for yourself:
I also befriended a lovely lady named Usha who gave me Maggi, chai and lingri ka achaar (fiddle fern pickle. delicious beyond words!) in the forest, and her adorable puppy Stella, who loves biting off the heads of flowers and keeps slipping on wet rocks:
The transient but beautiful interactions I have in these parts with every single person makes me feel like I belong. A part of who I am is definitely shaped by these mountains and pines. Maybe it’s just a primal familiarity, a feeling of safety that I feel even while exploring the densest forest trails alone.
Funnily, I’m neither missing nor can actively recall my life and home in Bangalore. I wonder how to carry back this feeling of home when it’s time for me to go back (suggestions are welcome).
Poems on Home
Afternoon in the House by Jane Kenyon
It’s quiet here. The cats
sprawl, each
in a favored place.
The geranium leans this way
to see if I’m writing about her:
head all petals, brown
stalks, and those green fans.
So you see,
I am writing about you.
I turn on the radio. Wrong.
Let’s not have any noise
in this room, except
the sound of a voice reading a poem.
The cats request