In a realm of infinite possibilities, a wandering mind embraces random thoughts. Like a carousel, it spins, revealing new stories and unpredictable narratives. From fragments of dreams to fragments of reality, a captivating blend of imagination and truth unfolds.

Step aboard this thought carousel with me....

A Defining Moment

I was sitting by a stream that crossed our camp site, 4500 metre above sea level.

It was a beautiful day. There were traces of fresh snow on the tent, the grass and on the mountains around us. It made everything look so spectacular and gave a sense of both softness and ruggedness at the same time. An inspiration to take out my sketchbook, which had been untouched for a very long time now.

I sat there for a while, trying to decide what to draw. I saw the green leaves, the rocks, the tent and the snow-cladded mountains but didn’t know where to start.
What the hell! I said to myself, and started sketching the first thing I saw right in front of me. A rock!

Two minutes into the sketch I noticed how the river formed a thin transparent sheet above a portion of the rock which was underwater. This sheet reflected the sky above, and also gave a glimpse of the slow cladded peaks. Few more minutes into the sketch, I noticed a tiny green leaf which had found a way to grow between the stones, and was now taking shelter under an overhang formed by the rock, protecting itself from the running water.

After sometime when I looked back at my sketch, I realised that I had ended up drawing everything that I was trying to choose from! To think that I actually had a choice in the first place. So naïve, wasn’t it?

I laughed at my folly and was in awe of nature’s deception. There are so many things hidden behind what we see. The rock, as I first saw it, couldn’t be described by this single word, could it? It was a little bit of everything around it and its definition was unique to that particular moment. As I saw it then, that rock could be described as a saviour to a leaf and maybe even a mirror reflecting the sky. And at that time, no one can know what it could be tomorrow!

I stopped. Took a deep breath and wondered - if the existence of something is different with each passing moment, why do we always try to give a definition to ourselves and everything around us?

Today I may be a part of a family. Someone’s friend and a stranger to many. Should I let myself be defined by a single term like - a designer, a painter, an artist, a runner, a trekker, a traveller or anything else? Some days I could be all of these and on others I may be none.

I could be a storyteller, couldn’t I? Playing the role that needs to be played at a particular moment. A lost soul finding its way, like the river, which flows, not knowing whether it will be a waterfall the next minute, or will it break off into a tributary, or will it simply be still for a while and freeze till the time comes for it to melt and flow again. Or maybe a leaf, which is part of a tree today and doesn’t know when a gust of wind will start its journey to an unknown destination where a new adventure awaits.

Sitting by a stream, 4500m above sea level, I realised, the only thing we can say with the utmost certainty is – We are alive…until we are not. Everything else in between is a mystery.

The Survivor

“Destroy what destroys you,” says the surviving tree, fighting the concrete mass for its existence.

It’s strange how, beyond the everyday human struggles, we often fail to see other living beings fighting to survive amongst us.

If only…

Random Conversations

"Oh wow!" I exclaimed. "I can see the land meeting the ocean and the ocean meeting the sky!"

Nature laughed silently at my innocence and softly whispered in my ears, "My friend," it said.
"There is no land without the ocean, no ocean without the sky and no sky without the land. The same way there is no you without me and no me without you.

We don't merely exist next to each other to meet once in a while. We are all in this together as one."

Chanachoorwala

I was heading to Russel Street after more than ten years.

I had crossed it several times and each time I remembered, how as a child I would have puchka eating competition with my cousin. I think we had more than 50 at a time! (Definitely not advisable)

I was lost in this reverie, when this curly-haired old man, wearing a Gandhi topi and white uniform, carrying a basket of chipta chana, came up to me and asked how I was and why I was coming after so many years and if I had shifted out of Kolkata.

I roughly remembered him, as I always bought a packet of chipta chana from him once I was done with all the puchkas (shocking right :P) but I was surprised that he remembered me as well and I thought that it was probably a conversation starter to get me to buy something from him.

As though he knew what was going on in my mind, he smiled and asked me, “Aaj aapka competition nahin hain apne bhai ke saath.” (Today you are not competing with your brother?).

I was speechless for a moment and smiled back at him. It’s amazing how sometimes, unknowingly, we end up becoming a part of someone’s memory forever. I became a part of his story many years ago and that evening he became a part of my story as well.

Phoolwali

The flower market under the Howrah Bridge in Kolkata is a fascinating place. Colorful, vibrant and so full of energy that standing in the middle of the market, you would never once feel that it’s only 6 in the morning.

You can hear so many different voices of people trying to get on with their daily business. You can smell a mix of fragrances from the various flowers, especially Rajnigandha. Tokris (baskets) of brilliant yellow and orange gendaphool (marigold), all stacked together, is a real treat for the eyes. It feels like, suddenly all your senses are wide awake!

All this was definitely amazing, but there was something else about this place that stayed with me.

It was here, in the early hours of the morning, that I saw the first ‘wali’ (female worker) amongst all the ‘walas’ (male workers) that I had come across in Kolkata. A few ladies were sitting in a line selling flowers. The rest were, ofcourse, all men. It was quite a refreshing change and it made me wonder -
How did the ladies find their way into this particular market?

The phoolwali was very busy and engaging in a conversation with her was impossible in all the hustle bustle. But later, when I pondered on this further, I wondered if it's because...

The flower market is an early morning business. So my guess is that, the women can conveniently
head back home after work, on time and carry on with their household chores without disrupting ‘’the usual’’ responsibility that the lady of the house has.

I may be entirely wrong, so will definitely ask them the next time I am there. But meanwhile, what do you think? Why are there only a few ‘walis’ around us? Why isn’t there a single chanachoorwali or a puchkawali or a paanwali?

Any thoughts?

Mystical Night

The moon rises high in the sky slowly hiding the stars with its brightness while the moonlight bounces off all the surfaces revealing the darkest corners down below.

I walk the trail hoping to unravel some of the mysteries of the night. But the more I see, the more I don't see.

Somethings can only be felt I suppose...like the magic of that full moon night, which showed me everything and nothing.

Kumartuli

Kumartuli is a fascinating place in North Kolkata. It has small lanes with workshops of clay sculptors on both sides, lined up with incomplete statues, waiting to dry.

I reached the end of one such lane and saw a man working on something. I stood entranced by the way he effortlessly gave shape to the clay in no time and created a statue we would soon worship.

I laughed to myself at the irony I had just witnessed. He had just created an idol of ‘God’ with clay, using his skilful hands. People will now go to any extent to please this idol and in the process, probably, destroy the very thing that created it.

Flowers will be plucked to be offered to this man-made God. Rivers will be polluted. There will be riots and people might even get killed. This will be done for something man-made, and yet no one will stop to think and appreciate what certainly is God-given: Nature. In fact, each and everything around us! Humans included.

Alas, such is the irony of men.

This is when I came to realise, it really isn’t whether you believe in God; or whether man created God or God created man. The question is: “Do you believe in a man-made God, or do you believe in a presence that can only be felt, not seen and respect everything that it has created?

P.S. This is not meant to hurt or offend anyone’s religious beliefs. It is just an experience I am sharing with everyone.

Balloonwala

“Let’s see if you can shoot two yellow balloons consecutively,” the sister challenged her brother.

“That’s easy!” says the brother sticking out his tongue. He picks up the gun and gets ready for war.

“Phhtt,” and the blue one (right next to the yellow) goes down with a burst. The air fills up with the girl’s laughter.

“I was aiming for the blue one!” yells the boy, annoyed at himself.

She takes the gun from him, aims carefully and ‘phhtt’, down goes the yellow one. Her eyes light up with excitement, as she dances around with joy, teasing her brother, but in the end teaches him her secrets of aiming.

The balloonwala fills up the gun with more pellets and secretly smiles. An evening well spent, he thinks to himself. He must have witnessed so many similar stories with kids of all ages and seen how this healthy competition leads to stronger bonds of friendship and spreads joy.

It's the simple things that always matters in end.

Daydream - Childhood Memories

Some places take you back in time and you start daydreaming. Like this place that took me back to my classroom in school.

What’s the first thing you drew as a kid? A mountain with the sun rising behind it and a river flowing from it onto a valley with a house and flowers in front? What happens when years later you see this in reality? Don’t you feel like a child again, mesmerised by the beauty in front of you.

Buggywala

Many must have seen the tum-tum near Victoria memorial, especially during winters when everyone is out enjoying the cold winter evenings. In this age of motor vehicles, it’s fascinating to see how horse-drawn carriages have managed to survive a man’s idea of progress.

The buggywala’s must have seen many stories taking place on their tum tum for sure.

Stories of love and marriage proposals; birthday and anniversary celebrations; stories of people visiting Kolkata for the first time; endless chatter of friends; laughter of children. Maidan would be incomplete without these stories.

“What was your favorite story?” I asked a buggywala once. He thought for a while and then said…

....It was a late Friday afternoon, during winters I think, the maidan was crowded with a lot of tourists and families. I was standing, waiting for a passenger, when my attention was drawn towards a couple who seemed to be in the middle of a heated conversation. The girl was shouting at the boy about something and he was trying to talk to her but she would walk away as soon as he tried to say something.

Everyone around started noticing this and when the girl realized that their quarrel had become a little bit of a show for passer-by’s to watch, she quickly walked up to my carriage and sat down to get away from their unnecessary scrutiny. The boy followed her.

10 mins into the ride, no one had spoken a word and they simply sat there, lost in their thoughts.

Finally, this silence was broken by an almost inaudible whisper – “I love you”.

“I love you too”, came an immediate response.

Nothing else needed to be said and everything seemed to have worked out somehow. This made me happy.

The only thing that probably changed during this short ride was the fact that neither of them could walk away from a conversation and this probably made all the difference.

Thousands of words falls short when it’s falling on deaf ears and a few simple words are more than enough to convey a message when someone is listening.

It doesn’t always matter who said it first and who didn’t. The only thing that matters is that someone said it, and the person it was meant for, heard it.

Conversations. Don’t they make everything so much simpler?

Daydream - Doggo & me

Sometimes realities are like a dream come true moment and in those perfect moments you don’t want anything to change. These are the moments which gets captured like a painting.

Painting of a dream you once saw...

Daydream - Dancing Sunrays

I looked at that sun rising behind the mountain. It was absolutely stunning how the rays lit up everything that it slowly touched. It was a happy moment as though the sunrays are dancing with joy and colouring everything that it touches.

Yellow Butterflies

Yellow butterflies; though not a rare sight, something about them felt different today. The yellow on their wings was so bright, that it stood out from the blues and browns around. The landscape at the back ceased to exist as I could see them, only them, fluttering around carefree.

Lost in this reverie, I started thinking of the events that led up to this moment..
“Let’s go to Meghalaya,” my friend suggested over a dinner get-together.

I don’t remember how we started our conversation regarding a vacation, because I am sure we were discussing something entirely different. Probably, how we weren’t really sure what direction our life was taking or should be taking; a frequent topic of discussion in my generation these days.

So, it wasn’t surprising that my immediate reaction was “let’s go!” and within a week, we read up on a place, also known as the ‘abode of clouds’, packed our bags and started the journey that would in some ways change our lives forever.

The regular tourist activities were, of course, a part of our itinerary. The double-decker living root bridges was a fascinating collaboration between man and nature. We had never seen anything like this before. Their existence was proof that we can do wonders if we just decide to be on the same team with nature.

The dimly lit Mawsmai caves was a nightmare for a claustrophobic like me. “We should leave,” is all I remember chanting while I tried very hard not to hit my head on the low limestone overhangs and tried not to trip on the uneven ground.

The waterfalls of Cherrapunji, making their way through the rocks and trees, was a sight of grandeur. They were refreshing and a much-needed break from the cities (and the caves).

Kayaking on Umngot river wasn’t as adventurous as it sounds; nonetheless, it was fun. It doesn’t happen very often that you are kayaking on a river which is so clear that you can see the river bed. It gave the impression of floating mid air.

The cleanest village of India, Mawlynnong also lived up to its name and glory. There were more garbage bins in that not so populated place, than I have ever seen anywhere else.

Meghalaya gave us everything that we expected to find when we went there, but it definitely didn’t stop at that. There was more for us in that hidden paradise. Much more...

It showed us the true wonder of nature. We saw the greenery of the Khasi hills. But this time the green was not just a colour, it was thousand shades and million different patterns reflecting light in all directions. Here the trees danced a silent waltz while the wind played each note to perfection. Their’s was an act performed several times over. We swayed along with them, completely entranced by their movement.

Everything here moved in their own unique way and yet they fit so well together. Nature’s impeccable designs were all around us and just like a child with a new toy, we were lost in our new discovery, mesmerized by every small thing. From the morning sun to the night sky and everything else in between, it was just so effortless and flawless.

It was here, in one of the smallest villages of Meghalaya that we met a man truly satisfied and happy in his life. Everything Byron did, be it making breakfast for us, or putting his child to sleep, or emptying the garbage bin, he did with a smile on his face and love in his heart. The energy around him was of pure satisfaction and it was reflected in everything he did. One night he sang a Khasi song for us. I still remember the chills I felt while listening to him sing, as though he was welcoming us into his aura, an unknown territory of goodness. It was magical to feel this kind of serenity and see his passion for life.

It surely must have been the effect of this magical aura, that we wandered into this little paradise where we came across our golden treasure flying around. In the middle of nowhere we found a pool of water, so blue and clear that even the sky seemed colorless next to it. A small waterfall in the corner, gave the sound that was so soothing to the ears. The rocks and trees all around must have been hiding this place for years, but something that day made them change their mind. We just sat there for hours, not wanting our lucky day to end.

I remember reading somewhere not long ago, that yellow butterflies are a symbol of hope, guidance and transformation in some cultures. I don’t know what these cultures are and what they represent, but in that moment, it seemed believable.

Sometimes what we are looking for comes when we are not looking at all. That day, as everything around us slowly came alive when the sun rays fell on them, one such unexpected thing did happen. Those yellow butterflies came into our lives, bringing with them the hope and guidance we secretly desired. We sat there smiling to ourselves, because in that moment we just knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Dynamism vs Monotony

The birds, they fly so effortlessly with their wings, while the fish swim around in the deep oceans with the help of their fins. Do you see how they are different and yet so similar?

See the infinite circle created by the sky, the rain and the ocean. Each incomplete without the other. The sky is the ocean while the ocean is the sky.

Look around and notice how the same color changes its pattern and shape to get a different definition, while the same shapes in varied colors have different meanings.

Everything around us is meant to change. It is the only thing constant.

Then why, my friends, do we try to follow a singular path to reach a destination we know nothing off. Why do we restrict ourselves to unnecessary expectations?

Why can't we simply be free and live to make our journey as colorful as everything around us and embrace the change which is inevitable and makes everything more beautiful?

Daydream - Crossing the Rainbow bridge

Two rainbows - what a beautiful sight it was! A little bit of heaven on earth. And if heaven is where my best friends Ginger & Buzo are, then in this moment I can see myself with them again. A little window where heaven and earth are one again.

Daydream - Dream House

I saw that little abandoned hut in the middle of nowhere.
The next minute I saw my dream house. Yellow walls, smoke from the chimney, a front garden full of dogs and me & you just holding hands and enjoying the view.

It's a simple dream...but it's my dream.

एक कहानी

कुछ लम्हों की बातें अलग होती हैं,
खामोशियों में छिपी एक कहानी होती हैं।

ज़ुबान से कुछ कहने की जब जरूरत नहीं,
मुस्कुराहट ही सब बयान कर जाती है।

वक्त भी थम सा जाता हैं, क्यूंकि,
दिल हर एक पल दोबारा जीना चाहता हैं।

ऐसे लम्हों कि बात ही कुछ और होती हैं,
इनमें छिपी एक सच्चाई होती हैं।।

Yes! I am Addicted!

“It feels good to be lost in the right direction”
Not many people will be able to relate to the above line, but those who do, will understand it completely.
They say addiction is bad, but what if you are addicted to the right thing. It took me a while to understand but my last trek to the valley of flowers made me realise it. Yes! I am addicted.

To understand this better, let me walk you through my four stages of addiction.

STAGE 1: EXPERIMENTATION
It starts with an innocent idea of going for an end of college trip with friends. Bored of going to the beaches so time to try something new. This is usually the first step towards the mountains and eventually to will become the driving force for all future decisions.

STAGE 2: REGULAR USE
The mountains now continuously pull you towards it and you will find yourself falling into the second stage. A holiday would always mean going to the mountains. In fact you might even start looking for jobs related to mountaineering. Any reason to go to the mountains. As they say- the mountains are calling!

STAGE 3: RISKY USE
This is the stage that our parents probably get nightmares about. Their warnings like- the weather is bad ,forecasts about the rains, the probability of landslides , or the network issues – makes no difference to your decision of going to the mountains. All you can think of is the next journey, that walk that will make everything alright.

STAGE 4: DEPENDANCE
By now, the sound of the rivers, the birds chirping, the conversation that the insects might be having, the starry nights, the beautiful views, the fresh air, all this become a very important part of you. A continuous dosage of this is required to feel fully alive. This pull is something beyond the power of words to describe.

This dialogue from the movie has stayed with me - “The truth is – when I am not in the mountains, there is a dark cloud that covers me, it’s like something is calling out to me and I just have to listen. And when I am out there, it’s like living right now in that very moment and feeling completely alive.”

Olive Diaries

Illustrations showing life with my pet Olive