Mountains and the blue whale.
The moonlight on the snowy mountains, the towering hard rocks, it makes them look so gentle and modest that the memory1 of a blue whale gliding under the surface crosses my mind.
Memory made from internet videos.↩︎
The moon in the Himalaya.
The mountains look lonely without the moon presiding over them.
Where there is moonlight,
there are mountains.
Without it, they can only pretend to exist.
Like industrial glue.
I can neither be forgotten nor replaced, once you come to know me well. I bring life into the nothingness, into solitary abysses. I stick to your soul like industrial glue. Whether or not you can admit it, you feel even in my absence my clear and absolute presence. I bring something interesting in the mundane and mediocre vastness of modern life. Can’t you see I am too good to be true? Here I am and I am there too.
A half-finished statue of mountains.
Under the faint moonlight of the waning moon, the snow-topped mountains look like a half-finished marble statue of mountains.
Signals from above.
Dear god draws me to wonderful places and people that I could not have dreamed of, let alone intend to meet. And He draws them to me.
Just as He made flowers so that bees are drawn to them, just as He made bees to draw them to the flowers.
I call them coincidences — signals from above.
To be friends with a snow leopard.
Loitering in the Pin Valley, next to the Pin river tribunary, next to the Pin Valley National Park, next to the snow leopards loitering on the high peaks.
If I become friends with a snow leopard, I am not coming back.
Dropped pin on Google Maps, till this point I came riding on the bike (X-Pulse 200) from the Mud/Mudh village in the Pin Valley. September 2022.
Good swimmers.
Today, I saw mountains of the Himalaya swimming in cold, powerful winds rushing through the valleys.
Who knew mountains were such good swimmers!
September 27, 2022. Langza village, Spiti Valley.
For truth with a sense of humour.
Sometimes I say some truth jokingly, sometimes I say something that seems like truth but is a joke.
No one but I know how to tell one apart from the other, and I usually don’t. For it keeps life interesting and fun.
Who am I writing for?
I am writing for only about six to seven people who may like it.
One of them is me — perhaps the only one who reads this blog regularly.
I care only for these six to seven readers. I write for them.