'The Abode',as the dictionary says is a housing that someone is living in, your residence. I tend to question my childhood dream of an Abode-my small and happy world.
"Do i really want a residence where my travel would cease and i would get settled?"
"Does such an abode actually exist?"
"IF MY JOURNEY DEPRIVES ME OF 'MY ABODE',
I HAVE NO REGRETS!!"
No. Not your beauty and finesse which took me. Nor your arches and hues, engravings and calligraphy. They were magnificent, no doubt. But I have reached,felt, absorbed - the stone you are built up of - and how you have kept it - integrated - Because I know, That's what makes you stand tall. That's what will draw these birds to you each day. Because l know, You were built stone by stone.
A half written letter craves - to hear - that warmth in your chest curling around the trembling silence of its half- constructed sentences tonight once again quivered, once again stirred. To its envelope, it once again cribs : "Hide me from this cold cold world." Please.
There is this something about places and people. If you collide with the right ones, the ones made up of the same material as you are, you are changed. I have fallen in love with people. I have fallen in love with places. I have learnt to move on, to absorb new places and people. But this. But You. Yes You, the queen of hills. You have truly been , by far, the most powerful experience of my life. And so, its going to be difficult.
Its not just that you were beautiful physically. Beautiful to look at, beautiful to traverse, beautiful to touch, to feel and absorb. No, not that. But that we could see the souls of one another.
Like I had known you since ages as I climbed up on your boulders and cobbles. Like you had known me since ages, as I would find refuge in your conifer canopies.
Like you knew we were going to have those conversations, share that laughter, shed those tears. Like I knew, you were going to make me fall in love with you, and smile that it happened, and weep that it ended. Ended so soon.
You were beautiful to your core. And though I could never reach the magma you are made up of, I had felt it throb in your eyes and your touch. I had felt it stir you up, just as you had seen me stirred up so many times.
As I came back in a cab down the hills, and when I entered the plains, there was this song reverberating in my head. I kept playing it on a repeat in my earphones with wet eyes and a shivering body in may summer heat.
"I wonder why, I wonder how, I wonder where they are..
the days we had, the songs we sang together..
So I say a little prayer.
Hope my dreams will take me there
where the skies are blue to see you once again."
Now this is what I have to say to you.
"You were your rocks and boulders and pebbles. You were your cracks and crevices. You were your rivers and waterfalls. You were your curved roads and pathways. You were your clouds and sunshine. You were your breeze, and snow and hail.
You were your culture and music. You were food and wine and coffee. You were your jokes and tickles and scream s. You were your lights at night and sunrises at morning pt. You were the colours of buddhist flags and chants of Tibetan prayers. You were me.
You are me."
ps: Its been a day and a half back home, and I still am not here at my home. I am still there. I am still that. Its like a famous hindi song of the nineties:
Far away on those mountains, I see a small chalet, and there, a woman smiling at me with limpid eyes. She looks familiar. Like I can see myself in her, just a little older and wiser. Her eyes tell me she has traversed these paths before, and felt their soul. I can sense stories reeking out of her enchanting smile. Stories of love and loss, despondency and hope, of trust, of laughter, of togetherness, written right here, amidst these hills. Stories deprived of language, but containing within them all that music is. Stories sans alphabet. For all that was to be said, had been spoken amidst these mountains once. And understood. Absorbed. Between dusk and night. Between coffee and wine. Between sound and meaning. Between emotion and embrace.
As these stories reach me, a strange mountain breeze blows from somewhere and my hair and scarf drift me ahead. I feel myself borne onward along a force whose source seems to be in all that is, in the very beginning of things, in the core which sustains us. I am drawn towards the mountains and as the breeze reaches my ears, I can hear what those two brown wise eyes and one enchanting smile on the other side have to say to me - " Live. All that is here and now, is yours. Nothing more. Nothing less. Live. One day, you'll understand. And you'll smile, with wet limpid eyes. That day, you'll melt in these mountains, become one with them. After all, its for the molten magma inside, that the mountains rise. Live. "
This silence rushes like water - spills and spreads - through all the paths, it carefully treads.. This silence meanders. Boulders and cobbles and pebbles and clay whirl through its dreams and fears. This silence is a river, Whom its own debris keeps peeling. This silence needs - a healing - This silence combusts like a flame, burning red and orange and yellow and white. This silence flickers. It is shivering in its own light. This silence is an ignited gas trapped between - concealing and revealing - This silence needs - a healing - This silence is an aching bird, who's wings are melting away. Will the sky hold it? The bird still breathes, it is still feeling. This silence needs - a healing -
It was never about you winning or you losing. It was all about making you better. And then, did you actually want it so easy? Burn. It was not about victory taking away all your darkness. It never can. It was all about making you the light. It was never about you winning or you losing.
Right at that moment I wanted to feel the sea. Know it complete. Touch all that was buried inside his heart. Difficult he was. But believe me, it was like having found a friend who knows your melancholy, stirs it up, brings you face to face with your own turbulence. As if both of you were made up of the same material. Its all water you see. I wanted to cry in his blue arms. But I stood there smiling with wet eyes. Its all water you see.
शहरों से शहरों के बीच, तू मिल जाता है मुझको हर एक रास्ते पर हरा या पीला या सतरंगा कोई पेड़ बनके मैं गाड़ी की खिड़की से तकतीं हूँ , तेरी शाखों पर बंधे धागे - धागों से वादे - - वादों से नग़में - - और नग़मों से गुनगुनाती - मिट्टी की ख़ुशबू बारिश की थिरकन पत्तों की कंपन और आसमां का मुझपर आसरा। फिर भी इन शहरों में लोग अक्सर मुझसे पूछा करतें हैं, " तू है कहाँ ?"