Drilling over what I dreamed.
Someone is aggressively drilling in the neighbourhood,
drilling through my skull,
And over what I dreamed last night.
They started from the back of the skull,
while I was asleep,
and have reached the top,
a midday synchronisation at 12:03.
They are going around the house now,
around the skull,
and there is no music loud enough to drown me.
Drilling is moving away
from […] [•] [^^]
I, I, I.
Of this earth.
I’m made of this earth. Of her spring water from the Himalaya and, when that spring water is too cold, I mix metallic-tasting water from the bathroom water heater to it, so I’m made of that too. I have eaten snow, gulped water while taking dips into the hot springs of Vashisht and the warm waters of the Arabian Sea. I have eaten random grass and leaves across the country, because I’m half sheep half man, because I like the idea of being able to pluck and chew on all kinds of grass on any road, any mountain. Such freedom. And before all of this, I have eaten sand when I was too little to understand that this is actually a good thing.
I’m all minerals and metals and rocks of this earth. I’m her grass, I’m her dust.
Discovering that I live next to the Reo Purgyil.
Yesterday around 5:30 pm, I went to a higher point near the monastery in the Nako village for selfies in the golden light about to disappear behind the western peaks along with the sun. As I was taking selfies, I noticed a high, snow-capped peak that I hadn’t seen before in my more than a week of stay in Nako. It was bathing in the golden light.
Today I looked up online and learned that it is the Reo Purgyil mountain, towering at 22,362 feet. Also that it is the highest mountain of the Himalaya in the state of Himachal Pradesh.
I had not seen Purgyil before largely because there are usually clouds hiding it and protecting its snow. And when you frequently see clouds whenever you gaze in that region, you don’t see the peak even on days when it’s visible. That’s what happened, until I happened to see it while taking selfies.
In this photograph, you can see Purgyil’s triangle face beyond the golden mountains and above my head in the shadow-selfie. It is covered in snow but looks partially grey from the little cloud’s shadow.
The Reo Purgyil mountain peak from the Nako village. Himachal Pradesh, India. September 2022.
Swimmer clouds.
Look at the clouds swimming along with fishes in the emerald-green lake of the village.
The lake is a dream placed at 12,000 feet. And the clouds are swimming in it. Swimming so good, swimming without getting wet.
Nako lake in the Nako village, Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh, India. September 2022.
Suddenly remembering a beautiful or intelligent thought that I missed to write down five days ago is my favourite magical thing about life.
For the sunlight I stay.
New home in a new village with new people surrounded by new mountains — and yet everything is the same, everything as wonderful as I make it to be.
I may be altered, but remain unchanged, remain forever who I am.
I’m in the Nako village right now. Initially thought to stay for a week but will be here for two. For the sunlight I will stay.
For the breathtaking golden light that falls on my face at 12,000 feet and on the face of the Reo Purgyil at 22,000 feet.
Cold on the mountain side.
A not-so-cold night five days ago. I open one of the large windows in my room in Kalpa and pull the curtain over it to prevent insects from drifting in.
When I go to the window after a while and pull the curtain away, a cold sensation passes through my hand. The curtain is warmish on the side facing the room but cold on the outside, the side facing the snow-capped Kinnaur Kailash mountains.
I want to live carelessly in a village in the Himalaya where today’s newspaper arrives tomorrow and tomorrow’s newspaper the day after.
Two delicious selfies.
In three days, I’ll be leaving my lovely Kalpa for Nako, for my ultimate journey towards the cold desert of the Spiti valley, a year after my visit to another cold desert: Ladakh.
As I’ll soon be inching closer on my bike towards the same kind of desert mountains, I wanted to share two watermelon selfies taken in August last year on the Leh-Manali highway, on my way to Leh from Vashisht.
A shimmering red slice of watermelon against the desert-yellow mountains of Ladakh.
It was a happy surprise, a gift from heavens when I spotted watermelons at a small restaurant in the middle of nowhere. I needed this, as I was exhausted from riding in the biting midday heat.
Selfie 1: The red slice posing for a selfie. Ladakh, India. August 2021. 
Selfie 2: The red slice posing for a selfie. Ladakh, India. August 2021.