haiku selection
I
sometimes the most
difficult thing in life
is to just - be
II
gracefully soaking poison
from life's sludge
blue lotus
III
'midst death, work
learning, giving, living
i still haiku
IV
Silver grey clouds
Pregnant with water droplets
give birth to rain
V
Read my Smile
let my Eyes talk
we will walk Miles
ps - # 2 has been written for a dear friend who is physically challenged and will probably never " hear" my words...
_____________________________________________________________________________________
part of an exercise which involved the use of specific words...
monday woke me, snuggled in the arms of Jupiter
smiling goofily, revelling in my Lord and Master
velevety baritone husked nonsensical nothings,
woozy watchmacallits, outrageous somethings
settling over me, like a rainbow quilt
tinkling gold coins woven in to her fibre-fill
post the customary fifty one passionate kisses
(not including the near misses)
extricated himself from my entwined body,
the way Casanova would leave his lady
deftly stepping around scattered pet orchids
lying in colourful abandon that forbids
yet a feeling of fullness I had caught
i might have just achieved Eternity, I thought
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Its been raining here and these lines flowed in the midst of assignments and cost functions and production functions……
Raindrops that surprise
Thunder, lightning that jolt
me out of complacency
and assumption that
the weather will get
Colder and drier
I forgot but
every single time
every single year
an unexpected shower or two
blesses me
before summer whispers
“ au revoir”
and winter nudges her way in
gently through a chink
in my doorway……
_____________________________________________________________________________________
such a market exists..close to the qutub minar in delhi, off the mehrauli gurgaon highway....
wholesale flower market
a lane at a crazy tangent
to a smoky, dusty highway
whizzing past a coloured blur
i stopped. peered.
down the length
of a muddy, slushy lane…
stones peeped out
to trip my high heeled vanity….
little tarpaulin covered shops
with blue plastic sheets
overflowed with flowers
flowers and more flowers….
little miniature rainbows
lay scattered around my feet
in fluorescent plastic tubs
begging to be lifted up…
velvety soft petals seeking
the caress of my fingertips and cheeks….
twinkling crystal dew droplets
tilting insanely over
their sheer drop to the ground …
or yearning to fall
onto my bare skin…
perfumes that jostled madly
for my nasal approval…
only to be swept away
by greedy, moneyed hands
for picture perfect synthesis
in lavish, empty homes…
by menials of the
hoity toity flower retailer
in an overpriced shopping conclave….
dumped carelessly
on a black bicycle backseat
tied down with black rubber tube….
melting in to the muck of the highway….
as the lane stripped
of its colour and perfume
grew desolate and empty
in its barren bareness…..
_____________________________________________________________________________________
all of this is old stuff from my early writing attempts...and it shows i guess !!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
verse exchange on sms
he
pale autumn morning
our connection falters
and gathers strength
for the distant morning tryst
me
snatches of officialese
job lists and
house cleaning prospects
painful client meetings
money matters threaten
our rendezvous beckons
he
an official kibbitzer
i follow the train card game
the private lingo
snatches of drums outside
hints of a tryst
how life finds riches
on a suburban train morning
pale autumn morning
our connection falters
and gathers strength
for the distant morning tryst
me
snatches of officialese
job lists and
house cleaning prospects
painful client meetings
money matters threaten
our rendezvous beckons
he
an official kibbitzer
i follow the train card game
the private lingo
snatches of drums outside
hints of a tryst
how life finds riches
on a suburban train morning
Friday, July 13, 2007
your silence speaks...
silence
your silence speaks volumes to me
of steely indifference that’s hard to bear
deafeningly quiet in its crystal clarity
it suits you now to break free
surrounded by crowds that adulate
your silence speaks volumes to me
pin-drop silence rules what cannot be
between us yawns an eternal void
deafeningly quiet in its crystal clarity
controlled by minions and brokers i see
all hungering to possess an atom of your mind
your silence speaks volumes to me
maybe you have evolved beyond love’s felicity
may be it was simply a trade-off for you
your silence speaks volumes to me
so this is how it is meant to be
no longer do you need the food of my soul
your silence speaks volumes to me
deafeningly quiet in its crystal clarity
picked out from a dusty caferati shelf - this is a villanelle by yours truly...
your silence speaks volumes to me
of steely indifference that’s hard to bear
deafeningly quiet in its crystal clarity
it suits you now to break free
surrounded by crowds that adulate
your silence speaks volumes to me
pin-drop silence rules what cannot be
between us yawns an eternal void
deafeningly quiet in its crystal clarity
controlled by minions and brokers i see
all hungering to possess an atom of your mind
your silence speaks volumes to me
maybe you have evolved beyond love’s felicity
may be it was simply a trade-off for you
your silence speaks volumes to me
so this is how it is meant to be
no longer do you need the food of my soul
your silence speaks volumes to me
deafeningly quiet in its crystal clarity
picked out from a dusty caferati shelf - this is a villanelle by yours truly...
Friday, July 06, 2007
an old forgotten piece....
your offliners
sound like
scrawls on
fluorescent
post-its
tacked on a
refrigerator
between comings
and goings
and the angst of
knowing
that we are
searching for
magic
sound like
scrawls on
fluorescent
post-its
tacked on a
refrigerator
between comings
and goings
and the angst of
knowing
that we are
searching for
magic
Thursday, May 31, 2007
trying ....
Trying to telepathically connect with you
Now halfway across the world
Trying to find you in bits of technology
And Call Received notifications
Silly Text messages that giggle
Trying to find memories of a two minute
Half asleep phone talk before boarding
Trying to be without you.....
Now halfway across the world
Trying to find you in bits of technology
And Call Received notifications
Silly Text messages that giggle
Trying to find memories of a two minute
Half asleep phone talk before boarding
Trying to be without you.....
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Varanasi’s Variety
Varanasi is curious mixture of the old and new, the sacred and profane…the trappings of today exist cheek by jowl with the remains of an ancient civilisation…
Where else can you find death and closure existing smack in the middle of everyday hurly burly, urchins playing, washing drying on the banks of the river, worship, rituals and tourist-hungry touts all together in a state of chaotic co-existence ?
Not to forget the all pervasive filth, stink, flies, pot-holed roads, and the dirty, dirty polluted river which makes one want to cry…
The Assi ghaat, where I stayed, is the first ghaat right at the southern most tip of the river as it enters Varanasi..this is one of the three ghaat’s where Ganga –ji is worshipped every evening with a ritualistic “aarti”…The river here flows North and thus the city acquires special significance because of this…
It is home to a lot of Western backpackers…who have found themselves shelter in the numerous guest-houses..in the houses by the riverside, for weeks on end to soak in and learn about Indian culture be it music, yoga, spiritualism or just to unwind in this quaintly exotic land of ours…
Needless to say, a river view is much sought after and commands a premium and if there is an AC thrown in so much the better…so one can see the holy river from the confines of cool comfort…
The food in Varanasi is all about the famous “tamaatar ki chaat” and assorted forms of street food.…but my culinary experiences were some what of a different sort…
My first meal in Varanasi was breakfast at the “Shiva Cafe - German Bakery" - which turned out to be at quite a distance - at Narad Ghat right next to Dashashwamedh.
When one finally reached the restaurant, winding through the bylanes of Narad
Ghat, it turned out to be choked with “gorAs.”
Me and my friend shared a table under a fan which didn’t work, with a short-cropped blonde German woman. It turned out that she was on a six month vacation from a hospital in Luebeck - with her husband - and they had been to Bombay, Goa, Pushkar, Diu, etc, and were in Varanasi for six weeks. She described Varanasi as “magical”
The menu was customised to Western tastes with different types of breakfasts – Continental, Israeli et.al. I chose the Cheese breakfast. Food was slow in coming but since it was cooked fresh – there was not much to complain about and any way the cheese toast was good…
The beauty of all the food that I ate in Varanasi was that it was always but always freshly cooked post our order. It was worth waiting for the extra time and I never fell sick.
I struck up a conversation with a young boy with light blue eyes and an earring who appeared to be the owner. Turned out he is. And he has learnt cuisines and the tricks of the trade from the Germans who came visiting…he started his career as a dish washer and now he has this place of his own…he has a multitude of cakes for sale but we pass.. he must obviously be doing something right – he comes highly recommended in “Lonely Planet"
Being in the vicinity of Westerners, it was obvious that food was mostly going to be as per their tastes… A few places which grace the pages of “Lonely Planet”… “Haifa”, for instance which claims to be Mediterranean but lacks character in terms of appearance and atmosphere…with its sunmica topped tables and Panchkuian road showroom type dining chairs…
The surprise was “Hayat” which was recommended by Rakesh ..the affable owner of the Harmony Bookstore close to Assi ghaat. A brief walk away from the river and set in a quiet locality ..”Hayat” which I think means “beautiful life ” in Arabic is owned by an affable and extremely friendly pair of brothers from Jordan …Tehsin and Mohammed Ainbosi, who have relocated and settled in India and one has even married an Indian girl…
Me and my companion were greeted with a smiling “namaskaar” from them as we walked in to the mud plastered courtyard dotted with cane chairs and tables…but what we made a beeline for was the section at the far end with whirring fans and low lying bed style seating complete with bolsters …once settled in with feet up, a glance at the menu promised Mediterranean as well as Western and Indian delights.
A serving boy hurrying past with two tall, frosted, lemon slice garnished glasses filled with an exotic, vivid green liquid caught my eye and I pounced …and demanded of him…get me what ever that is !!
A tentative sip – and I was transported.
A delightful tingle of mint, merged smoothly with the edge of lemon, in a setting that was cold yet sweet - without being cloyingly so.
I had just made the discovery of my trip…the nAnA.. is a ubiquitous essential on all the menus of the restaurants here. I guzzled a minimum of four ..yes four glasses per meal. And not once did I feel bloated or full…
Apart from nAnA’s at Hayat, we also had it at Phoolwari at Chowk..which is a restaurant set in the courtyard of a Kali temple with an entrance that opens out on the madness which is Chowk or the main market district of Varanasi…crowded with humanity and rickshaws… and sundry commercial dreams.
The name comes from the fact that mint in Arabic is called nAnA.
The recipe is so simple that I am surprised that no one ever thought of it before !!!
Of course individual ingredients can be customised to taste depending upon one ‘s taste which I am sure you will find out by trial and error !! A high-speed blender is necessary to put together this glassful of divinity but…
“nAnA” a la Varanasi
Ingredients ( makes one single glass) :
Half a handful of mint leaves – washed
Juice of half a lemon – can add less or more depending upon taste
Sugar – 1 ½ tablespoons
Ice cubes
Water or soda to top up
Method :
Whip the ingredients together in the blender for a few minutes till frothy.
Strain if you wish and transfer in to a tall glass. Garnish with a slice of lime and mint sprigs. Enjoy !!
We had both the strained and unstrained versions of the nAnA and found them both to be equally refreshing and enjoyable.
Each of the restaurant owners claimed to have invented and propagated the nAnA…
For an extra bite, add half a green chilli minus the seeds when you blend the drink. Or you can rim your glass with lime juice and dip it in rock salt for a nice twist !!
The food we ate for the rest of the trip was mostly Mediterranean – the platter at Hayat had a selection of pita bread with dips – tahini, hummus, baba ghanoush and labana served with salad, falafel and fries ( don’t know what they called that last thing in their lingo !! ) , the salad was a mix of cucumber, tomato, spring onions , feta cheese and black olives tossed in a lemony dressing that was yummy, light and filling without going too heavy on the tummy…
And of course not to forget the famous laddoos which were picked up as Prasad at the Sankat Mochan temple dedicated to Lord Hanuman made lately famous by the Big B and family…made of gur and ghee they are reputed to stay fresh for months on end .
And the “matthaa” which was being dished out at a subsidised cost of one rupee a glass outside a well known departmental store called “Jalan’s” – essentially whey water with rock salt stirred in – supposed to keep you cool in summer. Despite my hesitation I shared a good part of the five glasses we polished off together.
And then lived to tell this tale….
Where else can you find death and closure existing smack in the middle of everyday hurly burly, urchins playing, washing drying on the banks of the river, worship, rituals and tourist-hungry touts all together in a state of chaotic co-existence ?
Not to forget the all pervasive filth, stink, flies, pot-holed roads, and the dirty, dirty polluted river which makes one want to cry…
The Assi ghaat, where I stayed, is the first ghaat right at the southern most tip of the river as it enters Varanasi..this is one of the three ghaat’s where Ganga –ji is worshipped every evening with a ritualistic “aarti”…The river here flows North and thus the city acquires special significance because of this…
It is home to a lot of Western backpackers…who have found themselves shelter in the numerous guest-houses..in the houses by the riverside, for weeks on end to soak in and learn about Indian culture be it music, yoga, spiritualism or just to unwind in this quaintly exotic land of ours…
Needless to say, a river view is much sought after and commands a premium and if there is an AC thrown in so much the better…so one can see the holy river from the confines of cool comfort…
The food in Varanasi is all about the famous “tamaatar ki chaat” and assorted forms of street food.…but my culinary experiences were some what of a different sort…
My first meal in Varanasi was breakfast at the “Shiva Cafe - German Bakery" - which turned out to be at quite a distance - at Narad Ghat right next to Dashashwamedh.
When one finally reached the restaurant, winding through the bylanes of Narad
Ghat, it turned out to be choked with “gorAs.”
Me and my friend shared a table under a fan which didn’t work, with a short-cropped blonde German woman. It turned out that she was on a six month vacation from a hospital in Luebeck - with her husband - and they had been to Bombay, Goa, Pushkar, Diu, etc, and were in Varanasi for six weeks. She described Varanasi as “magical”
The menu was customised to Western tastes with different types of breakfasts – Continental, Israeli et.al. I chose the Cheese breakfast. Food was slow in coming but since it was cooked fresh – there was not much to complain about and any way the cheese toast was good…
The beauty of all the food that I ate in Varanasi was that it was always but always freshly cooked post our order. It was worth waiting for the extra time and I never fell sick.
I struck up a conversation with a young boy with light blue eyes and an earring who appeared to be the owner. Turned out he is. And he has learnt cuisines and the tricks of the trade from the Germans who came visiting…he started his career as a dish washer and now he has this place of his own…he has a multitude of cakes for sale but we pass.. he must obviously be doing something right – he comes highly recommended in “Lonely Planet"
Being in the vicinity of Westerners, it was obvious that food was mostly going to be as per their tastes… A few places which grace the pages of “Lonely Planet”… “Haifa”, for instance which claims to be Mediterranean but lacks character in terms of appearance and atmosphere…with its sunmica topped tables and Panchkuian road showroom type dining chairs…
The surprise was “Hayat” which was recommended by Rakesh ..the affable owner of the Harmony Bookstore close to Assi ghaat. A brief walk away from the river and set in a quiet locality ..”Hayat” which I think means “beautiful life ” in Arabic is owned by an affable and extremely friendly pair of brothers from Jordan …Tehsin and Mohammed Ainbosi, who have relocated and settled in India and one has even married an Indian girl…
Me and my companion were greeted with a smiling “namaskaar” from them as we walked in to the mud plastered courtyard dotted with cane chairs and tables…but what we made a beeline for was the section at the far end with whirring fans and low lying bed style seating complete with bolsters …once settled in with feet up, a glance at the menu promised Mediterranean as well as Western and Indian delights.
A serving boy hurrying past with two tall, frosted, lemon slice garnished glasses filled with an exotic, vivid green liquid caught my eye and I pounced …and demanded of him…get me what ever that is !!
A tentative sip – and I was transported.
A delightful tingle of mint, merged smoothly with the edge of lemon, in a setting that was cold yet sweet - without being cloyingly so.
I had just made the discovery of my trip…the nAnA.. is a ubiquitous essential on all the menus of the restaurants here. I guzzled a minimum of four ..yes four glasses per meal. And not once did I feel bloated or full…
Apart from nAnA’s at Hayat, we also had it at Phoolwari at Chowk..which is a restaurant set in the courtyard of a Kali temple with an entrance that opens out on the madness which is Chowk or the main market district of Varanasi…crowded with humanity and rickshaws… and sundry commercial dreams.
The name comes from the fact that mint in Arabic is called nAnA.
The recipe is so simple that I am surprised that no one ever thought of it before !!!
Of course individual ingredients can be customised to taste depending upon one ‘s taste which I am sure you will find out by trial and error !! A high-speed blender is necessary to put together this glassful of divinity but…
“nAnA” a la Varanasi
Ingredients ( makes one single glass) :
Half a handful of mint leaves – washed
Juice of half a lemon – can add less or more depending upon taste
Sugar – 1 ½ tablespoons
Ice cubes
Water or soda to top up
Method :
Whip the ingredients together in the blender for a few minutes till frothy.
Strain if you wish and transfer in to a tall glass. Garnish with a slice of lime and mint sprigs. Enjoy !!
We had both the strained and unstrained versions of the nAnA and found them both to be equally refreshing and enjoyable.
Each of the restaurant owners claimed to have invented and propagated the nAnA…
For an extra bite, add half a green chilli minus the seeds when you blend the drink. Or you can rim your glass with lime juice and dip it in rock salt for a nice twist !!
The food we ate for the rest of the trip was mostly Mediterranean – the platter at Hayat had a selection of pita bread with dips – tahini, hummus, baba ghanoush and labana served with salad, falafel and fries ( don’t know what they called that last thing in their lingo !! ) , the salad was a mix of cucumber, tomato, spring onions , feta cheese and black olives tossed in a lemony dressing that was yummy, light and filling without going too heavy on the tummy…
And of course not to forget the famous laddoos which were picked up as Prasad at the Sankat Mochan temple dedicated to Lord Hanuman made lately famous by the Big B and family…made of gur and ghee they are reputed to stay fresh for months on end .
And the “matthaa” which was being dished out at a subsidised cost of one rupee a glass outside a well known departmental store called “Jalan’s” – essentially whey water with rock salt stirred in – supposed to keep you cool in summer. Despite my hesitation I shared a good part of the five glasses we polished off together.
And then lived to tell this tale….
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
spring rain haiku....
triggered off by a sudden spring shower last night...
I
spring rain washes
winter's angst
life's kiss
II
rain laden leaves
windy gust
love's shower
III
glistening pearly leaves
sodium vapour neons
life's a party
I
spring rain washes
winter's angst
life's kiss
II
rain laden leaves
windy gust
love's shower
III
glistening pearly leaves
sodium vapour neons
life's a party
my own little show..partly at least !!!
log on to the freakiest, snappiest, wittiest TV channel right here on the world wide web...
www.nautanki.tv
stay here for a sneak peak...
stay tunned......!!!
www.nautanki.tv
stay here for a sneak peak...
stay tunned......!!!
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
in the footsteps of akira yamashita - a writing exercise
akira yamashita lives in the imagination of many.
this venerable japanese gentleman is part of a community of writers who congregate here
no one has actually met with or spoken with him. but he is a significant presence. with his delicately exquisite yet tautly minimalistic writing style.
he however reverts to a broken-english- incorrect-grammar style of writing in the course of other online interactions.
i chose the latter style to write in as part of a writing exercise and created a part fact part fiction travelogue and threw in some pictures for good measure.
Juno-san on the Mission Akira in the Tokyo
Now I am writing about the fine lady from Delhi who went to the Nippon.
The Juno-san works for a half Japanese half Indian office. But I am wondering how is it the cut in to the half and half ?
Juno- san is trying to explain to poor old Japanese man who knows only how to play sitar and is still trying to make the perfect sambhar and waiting patiently to find the Indian wife. I have the heard that Indian woman is best in the whole world. It is the possible that my old friend Professor Murthy-san may have said to me when I am first coming to the beautiful and colourful India. But now I do not the remember. May be I am getting the too old. May be I should be the brave and call the Professor-san and ask him about the Indian lady.
But, before that I tell you. The Juno-san sent me a message on the fine Ryze network and informed me that she was going to the Nippon, my father-land.
When she told me, I suddenly remembered my little baby and my beautiful Kimiko. And I was the thinking that I can ask the fine lady to go to meet Kimiko and tell her from me that it is all the over between us. Kimiko must not feel sadness for poor unworthy Akira and look for her new life in the other place. And with the other man.
Then I am helping with the problem. Juno-san is vegetarian lady.
She will not eat even the sushi.
She is the non-drink. She not drink the sake.
So, I asked her to eat dashi with wasabi. It is the seaweed soup in the Nippon. It is secret of my trim figure which Juno-san said she is wanting to the find.
The Juno-san had very long air flying to Singapore and then to the Tokyo.
My beloved JAL is not want to take her to fatherland, so no flight on day Juno-san was leaving. So the Singapore girl in sarong-kebaya is the taking her away .
When Juno-san is landed at the Narita, it was the dark and the cold. A sharp wind is blowing from across the Pacific Ocean. Juno-san carried the warm kimono and was happy in airport limousine bus for 70 km drive to Shinagawa in the downtown Tokyo.
Drive from the Narita to the Tokyo is the very different. There is no the empty land. Only the hotel, the factory, the buildings, the houses. Lots and lots of all.
The bright lights are so the many that poor Juno-san was dazzled since she comes from dark country.
this venerable japanese gentleman is part of a community of writers who congregate here
no one has actually met with or spoken with him. but he is a significant presence. with his delicately exquisite yet tautly minimalistic writing style.
he however reverts to a broken-english- incorrect-grammar style of writing in the course of other online interactions.
i chose the latter style to write in as part of a writing exercise and created a part fact part fiction travelogue and threw in some pictures for good measure.
Juno-san on the Mission Akira in the Tokyo
Now I am writing about the fine lady from Delhi who went to the Nippon.
The Juno-san works for a half Japanese half Indian office. But I am wondering how is it the cut in to the half and half ?
Juno- san is trying to explain to poor old Japanese man who knows only how to play sitar and is still trying to make the perfect sambhar and waiting patiently to find the Indian wife. I have the heard that Indian woman is best in the whole world. It is the possible that my old friend Professor Murthy-san may have said to me when I am first coming to the beautiful and colourful India. But now I do not the remember. May be I am getting the too old. May be I should be the brave and call the Professor-san and ask him about the Indian lady.
But, before that I tell you. The Juno-san sent me a message on the fine Ryze network and informed me that she was going to the Nippon, my father-land.
When she told me, I suddenly remembered my little baby and my beautiful Kimiko. And I was the thinking that I can ask the fine lady to go to meet Kimiko and tell her from me that it is all the over between us. Kimiko must not feel sadness for poor unworthy Akira and look for her new life in the other place. And with the other man.
Then I am helping with the problem. Juno-san is vegetarian lady.
She will not eat even the sushi.
She is the non-drink. She not drink the sake.
So, I asked her to eat dashi with wasabi. It is the seaweed soup in the Nippon. It is secret of my trim figure which Juno-san said she is wanting to the find.
The Juno-san had very long air flying to Singapore and then to the Tokyo.
My beloved JAL is not want to take her to fatherland, so no flight on day Juno-san was leaving. So the Singapore girl in sarong-kebaya is the taking her away .
When Juno-san is landed at the Narita, it was the dark and the cold. A sharp wind is blowing from across the Pacific Ocean. Juno-san carried the warm kimono and was happy in airport limousine bus for 70 km drive to Shinagawa in the downtown Tokyo.
Drive from the Narita to the Tokyo is the very different. There is no the empty land. Only the hotel, the factory, the buildings, the houses. Lots and lots of all.
The bright lights are so the many that poor Juno-san was dazzled since she comes from dark country.
Even the road is not the very large, she said , as it is in the fine city of the Delhi. But no so many cars. We are rich country, but not the many cars. Juno-san’s India not so rich but so many cars Juno-san is the telling. It is the very strange.
Juno-san reached hotel and gave phone call to my Kimiko. Juno-san was the given news that Kimiko is the working in the Roppongi in the bar.
I had asked the Juno-san not to go to Kimiko but she is the kind lady so she still is going to the Roppongi with all the bars and clubs. Brave lady I am the saying.
In bar in Roppongi, Juno-san asked for the Japanese dinner. And Noveau Boujeaulais wine. All for the my wishes. I am the honoured.
Kimiko was serving other table and Juno-san after doing the eating, got up and went to meet her.
My Kimiko is very sad when Juno-san is telling her about the lost and unfaithful Akira husband. Juno-san is the telling that she started crying, left her tray and is the running out of the restaurant.
Juno-san is the following, but in the Roppongi it is not being the easy. Many, many people from many world coming there for the fun. And the big black man blocking her way think she doing the bad thing.
Juno-san is the looking for her everywhere.
In the Roppongi Heights. Near Roppongi Tower. On the avenue of Keyakizaka which is lighting for Christmas and looking like fairy-world.
Juno-san is seeing Kimiko running in to Tsutaya book shop. She is going to find her but Kimiko is the vanished.
Juno-san is not the finding. She is having the jet-lag. Tired so she is having coffee at the Starbucks.
She is the going back to hotel in Tamachi and her single room.
Juno-san is the finding and wearing blue-striped Nippon nightshirt. I am wishing I could see the Juno-san looking so fine. She is being the so kind to an old Japanese man.
May be I will ask the Juno-san what she is the thinking of me? After all she is fine Indian lady. And I am the Japanese.
Juno-san is saying she is the half and half. Half Indian and the half Japanese. It is mystery.
Juno-san is having difficult night in strange bed in the Tokyo. It is the hot inside. Juno-san is not having water so she is going to vending machine to buy water bottle for 120 yen.
She is telling how she is getting awake at 5 am. She is the looking very careful at the Japanese style wash-closet. Juno-san is not the understanding the controls and the warm water flow. She is looking at instructions and is the happy.
Juno-san is going to take shinkansen train to Mishima to my and Kimiko’s old home.
It is the very cold but Juno-san is kindly doing all this for poor, miserable Akira.
It is the cold and dark morning at Shinagawa station. The platform is the deserted.
Juno-san is the afraid but in the land of the Nippon, it is the all right and correct.
Bullet train is the arriving with people coming to Tokyo for the work.
Shinkansen train is taking the Juno-san to Mishima. Juno-san is the told me that shinkansen is the so different from Indian train. I am happy that Juno-san is enjoying high-speed train. But Juno-san is seeing Mishima and is the getting off. Kind policeman is showing the great Fuji-san to Juno.
She is folding her hands and bowing to Fuji-san. I am happy that Juno-san is the doing Japanese way for Akira.
But the Juno-san is the honest lady. She is the looking for our old home to find clueing to the Kimiko disappear. Looking and looking. The people in the house are no helping. She is taking lots of the pictures to showing me when she comes back for proving she went there.
Then in the city, next she is going to the office where Kimiko would do the work. Yuriko-san who was the Kimiko’s boss is most kind. Yuriko-san is giving the help to her and telling her about Kimiko. Yuriko-san is calling the conference to discuss the way for finding Kimiko again.
The all kind people give Juno-san list of places to look for Kimiko.
Juno-san is weary now after long day and is the going to eat with kind people at Kimiko’s old office. But Juno-san is telling that it is the very strange – they are doing happy cheering with the Suntory Beer. Juno-san is having only the orange juice the good lady.
Next day Juno-san is telling how she is going all over Tokyo city to find and talk to my Kimiko.
Every place in the list given to her by the kind people at the office is the visited by Juno-san.
Asa-kusa is great Sensoji Buddhist Temple where Juno-san is the going to pray for peace and happiness of poor Kimiko and miserable Akira.
Juno-san is offering humble prayer and the temple priest is the calling her inside to ask her to sit there and offer the prayer. It is the good thing for us all. Juno-san is then buying lucky charm from temple for us all.
Then she is wandering the Nakamise street looking for a glimpse of Kimiko who is loving to come and shop there.
Juno-san is the looks and looks and then in the corner is seeing a flash of Kimiko’s red jacket. She is the rushing to follow Kimiko who is running to subway line. Juno is following Kimiko in to metro train and is the seeing here there. It is strange that metro which was first in Asia in 1927, and is older than me is still looking so fresh and I am the so old.
Kimiko is found at last by Juno-san.
They are sitting together and talking about my happiness.
The women are so the wonderful, they are giving so much to the poor old Akira. Juno-san is the explaining to Kimiko about how happy Akira is in India.
Kimiko must find new life very soon. Juno-san and Kimiko hold the hands and people in metro look very strange at them.
At Otemachi station, Juno-san and Kimiko are going to Imperial Palace Gardens.
They go around the Ni-no-ma-ru castle and grove. Juno-san is having such big beautiful eyes says Kimiko. Juno-san is telling Kimiko that she is only humble friend of Akira and she only wishes everyone to be happy wherever they are.
After long talk, Kimiko is the understanding. And Kimiko and Juno-san are the good friends.
Kimiko is taking Juno-san for the Japanese shopping at Ginza and Tokyu Hands Store in Shibuya. Juno-san is the loving the shops. She is doing the shopping for Japanese presents. Juno-san very kind lady.
Kimiko is offering Juno-san to go to Tokyo Tower and see city lights.
Both Juno-san and Kimiko are seeing from high spot Tokyo lights. Then they are having the coffee and listening to Japanese singer in restaurant in Tower.
Now Juno-san’s work is the over. She takes the leave of Kimiko and both are tear-eyes. She is sending me my favourite candy and lots of affection.
But I am wondering how is Juno-san going to give me the all that ? After all, that Kimiko is sending but Juno-san is only my good friend.
But I will ask Juno-san and then let all kind members at Shakspear board know it all.
It will be the good thing. I am the sure. I am finding the peace.
Akira Yamashita
Juno-san reached hotel and gave phone call to my Kimiko. Juno-san was the given news that Kimiko is the working in the Roppongi in the bar.
I had asked the Juno-san not to go to Kimiko but she is the kind lady so she still is going to the Roppongi with all the bars and clubs. Brave lady I am the saying.
In bar in Roppongi, Juno-san asked for the Japanese dinner. And Noveau Boujeaulais wine. All for the my wishes. I am the honoured.
Kimiko was serving other table and Juno-san after doing the eating, got up and went to meet her.
My Kimiko is very sad when Juno-san is telling her about the lost and unfaithful Akira husband. Juno-san is the telling that she started crying, left her tray and is the running out of the restaurant.
Juno-san is the following, but in the Roppongi it is not being the easy. Many, many people from many world coming there for the fun. And the big black man blocking her way think she doing the bad thing.
Juno-san is the looking for her everywhere.
In the Roppongi Heights. Near Roppongi Tower. On the avenue of Keyakizaka which is lighting for Christmas and looking like fairy-world.
Juno-san is seeing Kimiko running in to Tsutaya book shop. She is going to find her but Kimiko is the vanished.
Juno-san is not the finding. She is having the jet-lag. Tired so she is having coffee at the Starbucks.
She is the going back to hotel in Tamachi and her single room.
Juno-san is the finding and wearing blue-striped Nippon nightshirt. I am wishing I could see the Juno-san looking so fine. She is being the so kind to an old Japanese man.
May be I will ask the Juno-san what she is the thinking of me? After all she is fine Indian lady. And I am the Japanese.
Juno-san is saying she is the half and half. Half Indian and the half Japanese. It is mystery.
Juno-san is having difficult night in strange bed in the Tokyo. It is the hot inside. Juno-san is not having water so she is going to vending machine to buy water bottle for 120 yen.
She is telling how she is getting awake at 5 am. She is the looking very careful at the Japanese style wash-closet. Juno-san is not the understanding the controls and the warm water flow. She is looking at instructions and is the happy.
Juno-san is going to take shinkansen train to Mishima to my and Kimiko’s old home.
It is the very cold but Juno-san is kindly doing all this for poor, miserable Akira.
It is the cold and dark morning at Shinagawa station. The platform is the deserted.
Juno-san is the afraid but in the land of the Nippon, it is the all right and correct.
Bullet train is the arriving with people coming to Tokyo for the work.
Shinkansen train is taking the Juno-san to Mishima. Juno-san is the told me that shinkansen is the so different from Indian train. I am happy that Juno-san is enjoying high-speed train. But Juno-san is seeing Mishima and is the getting off. Kind policeman is showing the great Fuji-san to Juno.
She is folding her hands and bowing to Fuji-san. I am happy that Juno-san is the doing Japanese way for Akira.
But the Juno-san is the honest lady. She is the looking for our old home to find clueing to the Kimiko disappear. Looking and looking. The people in the house are no helping. She is taking lots of the pictures to showing me when she comes back for proving she went there.
Then in the city, next she is going to the office where Kimiko would do the work. Yuriko-san who was the Kimiko’s boss is most kind. Yuriko-san is giving the help to her and telling her about Kimiko. Yuriko-san is calling the conference to discuss the way for finding Kimiko again.
The all kind people give Juno-san list of places to look for Kimiko.
Juno-san is weary now after long day and is the going to eat with kind people at Kimiko’s old office. But Juno-san is telling that it is the very strange – they are doing happy cheering with the Suntory Beer. Juno-san is having only the orange juice the good lady.
Next day Juno-san is telling how she is going all over Tokyo city to find and talk to my Kimiko.
Every place in the list given to her by the kind people at the office is the visited by Juno-san.
Asa-kusa is great Sensoji Buddhist Temple where Juno-san is the going to pray for peace and happiness of poor Kimiko and miserable Akira.
Juno-san is offering humble prayer and the temple priest is the calling her inside to ask her to sit there and offer the prayer. It is the good thing for us all. Juno-san is then buying lucky charm from temple for us all.
Then she is wandering the Nakamise street looking for a glimpse of Kimiko who is loving to come and shop there.
Juno-san is the looks and looks and then in the corner is seeing a flash of Kimiko’s red jacket. She is the rushing to follow Kimiko who is running to subway line. Juno is following Kimiko in to metro train and is the seeing here there. It is strange that metro which was first in Asia in 1927, and is older than me is still looking so fresh and I am the so old.
Kimiko is found at last by Juno-san.
They are sitting together and talking about my happiness.
The women are so the wonderful, they are giving so much to the poor old Akira. Juno-san is the explaining to Kimiko about how happy Akira is in India.
Kimiko must find new life very soon. Juno-san and Kimiko hold the hands and people in metro look very strange at them.
At Otemachi station, Juno-san and Kimiko are going to Imperial Palace Gardens.
They go around the Ni-no-ma-ru castle and grove. Juno-san is having such big beautiful eyes says Kimiko. Juno-san is telling Kimiko that she is only humble friend of Akira and she only wishes everyone to be happy wherever they are.
After long talk, Kimiko is the understanding. And Kimiko and Juno-san are the good friends.
Kimiko is taking Juno-san for the Japanese shopping at Ginza and Tokyu Hands Store in Shibuya. Juno-san is the loving the shops. She is doing the shopping for Japanese presents. Juno-san very kind lady.
Kimiko is offering Juno-san to go to Tokyo Tower and see city lights.
Both Juno-san and Kimiko are seeing from high spot Tokyo lights. Then they are having the coffee and listening to Japanese singer in restaurant in Tower.
Now Juno-san’s work is the over. She takes the leave of Kimiko and both are tear-eyes. She is sending me my favourite candy and lots of affection.
But I am wondering how is Juno-san going to give me the all that ? After all, that Kimiko is sending but Juno-san is only my good friend.
But I will ask Juno-san and then let all kind members at Shakspear board know it all.
It will be the good thing. I am the sure. I am finding the peace.
Akira Yamashita
Friday, January 19, 2007
Friday, December 22, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
who am i ???
a fall-out of my continued fascination with the discipline of the tarot. the fact that i have been told to not go in to it increases its allure....
Which Tarot Card Are You?
You are the Star card. The Star is the light of hope. Shining in the night, sending light into darkness, the stars provide direction to sailors and are a field on which to dream. Humanity used to look up at the sky and desire to be there, to find out what it all meant, and now we have been a distance into space and have elementary ideas of the makeup of all the different stars. This kind of achievement adds further fuel to our hopes. The eternal, slow-moving stars that will be long shining past the end of our own existence provide hope of immortality, and the vast space they suggest and the very mystery they hold provide us with excitement and knowledge yet to be discovered. Image from: Danielle Sylvie Taylor http://members.limitless.org/~morpheum/gallery.html
Take this quiz!
Quizilla |
Join
| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code
Which Tarot Card Are You?
You are the Star card. The Star is the light of hope. Shining in the night, sending light into darkness, the stars provide direction to sailors and are a field on which to dream. Humanity used to look up at the sky and desire to be there, to find out what it all meant, and now we have been a distance into space and have elementary ideas of the makeup of all the different stars. This kind of achievement adds further fuel to our hopes. The eternal, slow-moving stars that will be long shining past the end of our own existence provide hope of immortality, and the vast space they suggest and the very mystery they hold provide us with excitement and knowledge yet to be discovered. Image from: Danielle Sylvie Taylor http://members.limitless.org/~morpheum/gallery.html
Take this quiz!
Quizilla |
Join
| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code
Thursday, November 30, 2006
the time has come...
...to make a statement. of the new lands i have walked upon...and felt..and absorbed...this is only the beginning of such a long journey...
amen to that...
create your own visited country map
or check our Venice travel guide
still on a high post japan and singapore...
amen to that...
create your own visited country map
or check our Venice travel guide
still on a high post japan and singapore...
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
haiku - august 26th 2006
I
Giving in
Is easy
Masochism is easier
II
Not used to
Walking by your side
Butt bumps are fun
III
Peeping in to my gut
Camera-tic captures
I am beautiful
IV
Calorific nibbles
Sensually indulging
On your fingers
V
Backpacking plans
Rendezvous options
Castles in the air
VI
Dreams of Paris
Lovers' city
Wistful want
VII
Knowing you
More is less
Less is more
Giving in
Is easy
Masochism is easier
II
Not used to
Walking by your side
Butt bumps are fun
III
Peeping in to my gut
Camera-tic captures
I am beautiful
IV
Calorific nibbles
Sensually indulging
On your fingers
V
Backpacking plans
Rendezvous options
Castles in the air
VI
Dreams of Paris
Lovers' city
Wistful want
VII
Knowing you
More is less
Less is more
Friday, August 25, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
The Dull ' n ' Lousy Travelogue - or the Wonderful Walks of Dalhousie
“Dull and Lousy. ”
That was the disparaging comment that my teenage son threw at me when I announced my decision of trying a new location for our annual summer holiday.
After all, it was a bit much for him to get used to this new situation.
One which offered no skating. No video games. No cable car rides. No boating. No “mela” with its array of kitschy offerings – no balloon shooting, no magic tricks, no junk to buy.. and worst of all…possibly even no TV !!
But I had made up my mind. This time it was going to be Dalhousie.
My parents often spoke about their long summer vacations there in their young days in the 1950’s. Memories of long walks, “jalebi and samosa” evenings, names like Bakrota and Moti Tibba , Thandi sarak and Garam sarak, sounded quaintly enchanting. Notwithstanding Junior’s protests, I took the risk.
Short of being pulled along kicking and screaming, he had no option but to board the Jammu Mail on a sultry June night at Delhi Junction, with a very determined mother behind him.
I had it all planned. A bit of scrabbling around on the net well in advance of the summer season had me stumble upon the Silverton Estate located on Moti Tibba in Dalhousie.
A heritage property built by its present owner’s grandfather in the 1930’s its charming appearance plus a few phone chats with its warm and affable owner Vickramjit Singh and I had my stay worked out.
We didn’t have a particularly spectacular start.
Post an overnight journey, the drive up from Pathankot was.. well…like any other journey in to the mountains. The saving grace was a light drizzle which seemed like manna from heaven.
Carrying detailed instructions from Vickramjit, a brief stopover at a quaintly cute garden restaurant called “Maama’s Rasoi ” took care of breakfast pangs. Then on it was all the way up to the mountains.
Even after reaching Dalhousie and negotiating the steep climb up to Silverton which is located above the Circuit House, it still didn’t hit me. The place was as charming as it looked in the pictures. Lunch laid on especially for us, was just the way one would have it at home, albeit with extra attentive service thrown in. But was this all that one had come here for? Where was the “wow”?
Silverton Estate
Thankfully we had a lovely room with an attached dressing room and bathroom with a tiny living room and wonder of wonders, a portable TV !! I began to thank my lucky stars that at least I had this option to fall back upon.
On day one, things were nice enough. Though not outstandingly, ecstatically so.
How wrong I was…
Once settled in, Vickramjit handed me a slim guidebook to Dalhousie. It had all the necessary information that any first-timer would lap up in a flash. Notwithstanding the information and the pretty pictures, what set my mind working was the way our day ahead was planned by our host.
Knowing my dislike of doing the routine stuff and the need to avoid the crowds at the market places and that I also needed to keep child’s interest levels going, he painstakingly and meticulously worked out a daily schedule of activity for each day of our holiday.
In advance.
Dalhousie is a walkers paradise. Its charms are best discovered on foot. One can walk as little or as much as one wants to. Even unfit city slickers like yours truly can get royally hooked, as I discovered.
Walking downhill in the evening..
You get to enjoy clean, fresh pure mountain air. The clouds play with you as you walk though them, occasionally teasing you with a drizzle or warning you with a shower. The greenery is almost too green to be true. It is hard to believe that one is technically still “in” Dalhousie.
Day One.
Vickramjit had lined up the Inner Bakrota Walk for us. Armed with his detailed instructions we walked down to the GPO Chowk and took a cab up the 3 kilometre drive to the top of Bakrota Hill. As instructed, we got off at the water works and discovered the beginning of our walking trail. I had been reassured that this was not a “climb” but a level walk. Thank goodness. The trail was quiet and peaceful with accompanying birdsong. It was also wide and easy.
The Inner Bakrota Walk…
An occasional vehicle would drive past and occupants would gaze at us in wonder. I guess not many people would be seen walking on this stretch, let alone people who obviously did not seem to be locals!! Passing by well spaced out cottages and old fashioned bungalows with surrounding gardens and landscaping, one spotted name plates of service officers who lived there. An iron gate leading to a cottage located some distance away, was partly shrouded in the mist and looked straight out of “Harry Potter”!!
It’s pretty easy to go shutter happy over the trees and the lush foliage. As I did.
It was only later that I did my review-delete routine and kept what I thought were my best shots.
The trail twisted and turned around the reverse side of the mountain that we had climbed up in the car. It was so easy to get caught up in the stillness and quiet of the place that the sight of a young girl dressed in black who appeared from behind a bend in the trail made me stop for a second and wonder if she was real or a ghost !
The moment passed quickly enough and we emerged on the main road whence we had come from.
As instructed, we stopped by at a little fast food joint called “Chill Out” for lunch. Parked in the balcony of the restaurant, we amused ourselves by watching a bus and a truck trying to pass each other on the road which had been narrowed down due to a dump of bricks left there by some construction workers.
Walking down past colourful prayer flags fluttering in the breeze and in to the Kendriya Vidyalaya set up for the Tibetan settlers, we wended our way past their temple after turning the prayer wheels, to their carpet weaving centre.
Tibetan Weaver at the Carpet Weaving Centre
Pure wool carpets are hand woven here and are also for sale.
One has to scrabble around a bit for unusual colour combinations and designs. Though not priced particularly cheap, I did not mind paying that tad extra for all the effort the weavers put in at their looms.
As we stepped out of the Tibetan Centre, I noticed a little path trailing away behind the building in the general direction of the main chowk. On impulse, I took that route, disregarding instructions to use the main road back.
The path twisted and turned through the trees, sometimes with stone steps to enable our walk, at times narrow, at times broad. Local folk were questioned time and again as to whether this was the way back in town. Affirmative replies emboldened us and the steep twists and turns became fun since we were going downhill.
The wind shushed through the trees approvingly. And life seemed suddenly so …light. The path brought us on to the main Bakrota Hill road and we walked past groups of fellow tourists struggling up the steep climb. Before we knew it, civilisation had retuned full force to hit us smack between the eyes.
It seemed almost sacrilege to wait for child to finish playing a much begged for video game. Even the prospect of buying a newspaper seemed so depressing for it would bring me back to reality with a hard thump.
Things righted themselves once we got back.
The pretty lawns of Silverton are made for idling away the hours. A glorious sunset was followed by a candlelight dinner under the stars. With limited guests and no walk-ins, we were far from the madding crowd.
Day Two
The night had played host to thunder, lightning and rain.
Morning saw the sun peeping through scattered clouds. Today would be a walk from the Jandrighat Palace. We chose to drive one way and walk back the 3 km distance from the palace to the GPO Chowk. Once at the palace , we waited at the gates for the resident chowkidar, who we had been told we would need to request, for a quick tour .
Located on the edge of a mountain with a breathtaking view of Dalhousie, the Palace, originally part of the erstwhile state of Chamba, is now an official Government residence and often has local politicos and big-wigs staying there.
Jandrighat Palace
Despite having managed to get in to the grounds due to a partly open gate, the caretakers seemed unhappy at having us outsiders wandering around. A short, sharp shower enabled us to wait in the verandah and take a few pictures and observe the hunting trophies and old pictures on the walls. The other claim to fame that the Palace can make – portions of the movie “1942, A Love Story”, were shot here.
Post the shower we were quietly but firmly ushered out of the grounds. Not that I was too bothered. The mist and the quiet, deserted road beckoned us.
Walking in the mist is bliss…
Passing a little tea-shop the world seemed to be ours and ours alone. A mostly level walk (again ! ) bought us to a little spring called Subhash Ki Baoli.
Though now it looks like anything but that.
Its only a pipe jutting out of the hillside, with a trickle of water falling in to a cemented pool, with a raised ledge around it is further surrounded by benches on a marble floor.
Tourist vehicles congregate at the bottom of the steps leading up to the spring, with their boom boxes thumping out Himesh Reshammiya .
And to think, way back in 1937, when Netaji Subhash Bose was in jail and was suspected to be suffering from TB, he was sent by the British to Dalhousie to recuperate. He would take the walk from the main chowk to the spring every single day and return after drinking the water from it.
I frankly doubt if any one of us would be foolhardy enough to do what he did in this day and age. The place, too, could have been simple and peaceful. Instead, the tacky benches, the dirty looking spring and its water, the muddy floor and the hordes of tourists do nothing to preserve its sanctity.
Peace returned as we walked back on and reached the town centre again.
Lunch today was at Kwality’s restaurant. The same Kwality’s that we all know about and have grown up with. The wood panelled interiors, old –fashioned fans and the menu draw throngs of visitors and we were no exception.
Post lunch, child had to be bribed with his daily video-game fix and a pony ride back to Silverton while I cooled my heels and then huffed and puffed my way back uphill.
In the evening, I went for a short walk to the “garam sarak” to check out a place called Crag’s.
The Cottage at Crag’s where the folks would spend their vacations 50 odd years ago
My parents used to stay in the cottages during their summer vacations. The place is now in rather a run-down condition but seems popular with foreigners. Of course, it was rather nice to meet and reminisce with the owner about days gone by. On the way back, a short visit to St. Francis’ Church could have been nice but with the swarms of tourists milling around, I beat a hasty retreat.
Day Three
This was the long awaited trip to Khajjiar. Do I really need to say anything about its Swizerland-ish appearance here ?
Be warned that if you are hiring cabs in Dalhousie, you are virtually at the mercy of the local taxi union’s pre-fixed rates. This irritant aside, the drive is through a thickly forested road that twists downhill, and one can spot tantalising glimpses of a green carpet far away below the mountain.
At this moment, the dark rain clouds threatened to spoil our day. It was so dark that it seemed like twilight. Our sharp descent however, enabled us to leave the clouds behind and suddenly the lush, emerald-green carpet of Khajjiar was below our feet.
Khajjiar’s beauty
Despite the vastness of the meadow and the dense deodhar forests surrounding it, which gave the place a look straight out of our childhood fairytale books, the place stank of pony droppings and the grassy ground didn’t appear too clean up close.
A clutch of eating joints on one side of the meadow, were a little distance away from a little overbridge that led on to a pond in the centre of the saucer-shaped meadow.
Up close, the whole place was noisy, smelly and dirty. The Khajji Nag temple after which the place is named lay deserted and was full of flies.
Open drains behind and around the buildings and loud mouthed touristy types made us cut short our visit. Abandoning plans for lunch at the Kwality’s branch at Khajjiar, we munched our way through packets of chips and biscuits in the car.
Now the town of Chamba beckoned. As we traveled further down hill in to the valley of the Ravi river, where the town is located, the hillsides grew browner and rockier. The weather grew warmer.
We drove past a tiny ledge jutting out of the mountain-side, with a forlorn looking Shiva temple. Looking beyond and across the mountains in the distance, albeit now covered by monsoon clouds was a little gap between the craggy ranges, where we were told nestled the mighty Mount Kailash. Never have I wished so much for x-ray vision as I did right then…
Chamba was a curious mix of the old and the new. Capital of the former princely state, it nestles deep in a valley and is known for its annual Minjar Fair.
Today, as flying visitors, we could only take in the Lakshmi Narayan Temple and its State Museum.
The approach to the temple was through a maze of narrow alleys and “gallies” which didn’t smell too good.. but we persevered up the short climb.
Lakshmi Narayan Temple, Chamba
Built in the typical pahadi-style ( is there a genre such as that ?? ) the main temple building was surrounded by smaller versions of itself, scattered around a stone paved courtyard, each one dedicated to a different deity. The floor was hot enough to burn the soles of our feet so we stuck to the carpeted pathways created across it.
On the way out of the temple complex we came across a little shop fully equipped with Sony Play-station machines hooked up to large 29 inch flat screen TV’s with stereophonic sound effects blaring out of the speakers. Offering a full thirty minutes of play time for a princely sum of ten rupees.
So while young man in life was gainfully employed in using his thumbs and fingers on the gaming console, I wandered off the State Museum.
Walking past tiny jewellery shops and “kaarkhaanas” engaged in creating artifacts and statues covered with gold foil...I resisted the urge to stop and check out things. Else would have run out of both time and money.
The Chamba Museum is a comprehensive and impressive documentation of what the state is famous for, and showcases bits of its history.
Things to marvel over included intricately carved wooden doors, Chamba “rumaal’s” -intricately embroidered with incredibly detailed scenes from royal life of yore, costumes, footwear, jewellery and even a metallic coat of armour which may have been a silent witness to many wars.
Leaving Chamba and the heat behind, we drove out and parallel to the Ravi river.
Our driver proudly pointed the shooting locations of the movies “Taal” and “Gaddar” to us. Having been suitably briefed by our host, we stopped at a relatively safe spot where we could walk down and perch on the rocks and dangle our feet in the cold waters of the river.
Further downstream, the Chamera dam made a breathtaking sight from the road high above.
The Ravi river just before the Chamera Dam
Day Four
Dainkund – the place where the “dain” or witch lived in olden times. Vickramjit had told me in detail and raved about this particular walk. At the end of which was a temple devoted to Palaani Mata. There was much to look forward to as we drove up to the point from where the walk began. I wasn’t disappointed.
The path was a tiny one and twisted and turned uphill for a sizeable distance. We had already driven uphill before commencing our walk and this was about the last stretch before we reached the top of the mountain. Huffing and puffing and rueing my lack of fitness, I was determined to get to the top, from whereon I had been told was a level walk to the temple.
The walk was lush green and the path manageable. I realised that we had reached the limit of the tree line and our surroundings were now meadows carpeted with wildflowers.
Wildflower meadow at Dainkund
The silence was bliss and the walk was unlike anything I have ever experienced before.
We were surrounded by mountains on almost three sides. To the south was an expansive view of the Ranjit Sagar Lake opening out in to the plains. To the West were the Pir Panjal and the Pangi ranges. Beyond them lay the plains of Punjab, with the rivers Ravi Chenab and Beas flowing through. On a clear night in October, the lights of Amritsar are visible from here. And through binoculars one can spot the lights of Lahore as well.
The north and the east were surrounded by layers and layers of mountains of the great Himalayan range. Again, on a clear day, Mount Kailash is clearly visible from here.
Himalayas at Dainkund
In order to grab as breathtaking views from here, make sure you have a high end camera with a telephoto or zoom lens to max out your mountain images.
The utter stillness of the place and the forks in the paths made us wonder if we were on the right track.
We were.
The temple of Palaani Mata is a tiny one set in a little niche on top of a cemented platform. The resident dog in attendance would happily wander around and muck up all the offerings laid out in front of the goddess but no one seemed to mind. Amidst a cluster of tinkling bells we tied a red chunri as our offering. Grabbing a cup of tea and packets of aloo bhujia from the makeshift shop nearby, the walk back was tinged with regret at leaving this magical place….
On our way down at the Lakkar Mandi Chowk was the entrance to Kalatop Wildlife Sanctuary. The 3 km walk inside can and should be done on foot, but lacking the time and the energy we took the easy way out and a permit to drive inside.
The thick forest and the utter stillness of the place was simply amazing. I made a note of a paricular spot which was like a clearing between the trees, with a grassy carpet. Just the place to take a picnic basket and laze the day away…have stored it away for future reference. The Forest rest house in the middle of the sanctuary is a charming cottage built on British times and if one wants to spend a night there one needs to book in advance.
Forest Rest house at Kalatop
Little pathways around and behind the rest-house are made for exploration but the arrival of a horde of cars with people spilling out with their coke cans and packets of chips and loud voices made us shiver and beat a hasty retreat.
Wish we could have stayed on and done more…
Our time in Dalhousie was nearly over.. there was a tiny twinge of regret at leaving behind such beauty was coupled with delightful memories of all that we had seen and enjoyed. I plan to go back and do the Dainkund trek again when the skies are clear and with a better camera.
There are other walks and treks that we missed out on – the one in Kalatop and the trek down from Lakkar Mandi to Khajjiar. Those are on my “ must do ” list .
As always, child had the last word on the dusty drive back to Pathankot.
When asked if Dalhouse was still Dull and Lousy the answer was succinct and spot on ..
“ No Ma, its bright and shining !!”
Dalhousie Fact Sheet :
Dalhousie is a town with a colonial past and located along the Dhauladhar Range in Himachal Pradesh, 80 kms from Pathankot at an altitude of approximately 7,000 feet. It’s the perfect place to be as active or as lazy as you want to be. The days move by at a gentle pace everything seems different and the appetite multiplies enormously.
Getting there :
By train: Take an overnight train to Pathankot from Delhi (Jammu Mail Rs 836 2 AC). From there drive up in a taxi ( Rs.1,150 upwards )
By road: 555 km from Delhi, 190 km from Jammu, 300 km from Chandigarh
Where to stay :
Silverton Estate Guesthouse, above Circuit House, Moti Tibba. Rs 800- 3,000 (EP)
Tel: +91 9418010674
www.heritagehotels.com/silverton (Closed Jan 15-Mar 25).
When to go :
Summer: May-June is the best time. The weather is cool, but fickle.
Autumn: Mid September-first week November. Crisp cold , clear skies..
What to Carry :
Woollens and a windbreaker. Sunscreen. A pair of sturdy walking shoes is a must .
Walks of Dalhousie :
Mini walks :
- Thandi Sarak which connects Subhash Chowk and GPO Chowk – good only on weekdays and in the evenings or in the mornings since vehicular traffic moves here.
- Garam Sarak which is a walk on the other side of Moti Tibba again connecting Subhash Chowk and GPO Chowk. No traffic here so walking is a breeze. Check out the St. Francis’ Church at Subhash Chowk or walk down Court Road to DC Khanna and Sons – departmental store that’s over a hundred years old. The gracious owners let you mooch around and even click pictures. Park yourself at the next door verandah cafe and watch life go by..
Longer walks / treks :
- Inner Bakrota walk from water works around the Bakrota hill down to Chill Out Café and then to the Tibetan Centre. Past Neelam Hospital on the path behind, ( Vickramjit calls it “Sudden Death” ) down to the Bakrota Hill and further on to GPO Chowk. Total distance should be approximately 3 - 4 kms
- GPO Chowk to and from Jandrighat Palace - 3 kms one way.
- Lakkar Mandi to Khajjiar – about 12 kms of steep downhill trek one way. A local guide would be needed.
- Kalatop Sanctuary from entrance to Forest Rest house - 3 kms one way. You can also explore the forest path ways around the rest-house.
- Dainkund – At 9,000 feet. A two kilometer distance each way, some of it is uphill. Post that it’s a level walk.
Use sunscreen and carry drinking water to rehydrate you on the walks and to prevent muscles from cramping up.
That was the disparaging comment that my teenage son threw at me when I announced my decision of trying a new location for our annual summer holiday.
After all, it was a bit much for him to get used to this new situation.
One which offered no skating. No video games. No cable car rides. No boating. No “mela” with its array of kitschy offerings – no balloon shooting, no magic tricks, no junk to buy.. and worst of all…possibly even no TV !!
But I had made up my mind. This time it was going to be Dalhousie.
My parents often spoke about their long summer vacations there in their young days in the 1950’s. Memories of long walks, “jalebi and samosa” evenings, names like Bakrota and Moti Tibba , Thandi sarak and Garam sarak, sounded quaintly enchanting. Notwithstanding Junior’s protests, I took the risk.
Short of being pulled along kicking and screaming, he had no option but to board the Jammu Mail on a sultry June night at Delhi Junction, with a very determined mother behind him.
I had it all planned. A bit of scrabbling around on the net well in advance of the summer season had me stumble upon the Silverton Estate located on Moti Tibba in Dalhousie.
A heritage property built by its present owner’s grandfather in the 1930’s its charming appearance plus a few phone chats with its warm and affable owner Vickramjit Singh and I had my stay worked out.
We didn’t have a particularly spectacular start.
Post an overnight journey, the drive up from Pathankot was.. well…like any other journey in to the mountains. The saving grace was a light drizzle which seemed like manna from heaven.
Carrying detailed instructions from Vickramjit, a brief stopover at a quaintly cute garden restaurant called “Maama’s Rasoi ” took care of breakfast pangs. Then on it was all the way up to the mountains.
Even after reaching Dalhousie and negotiating the steep climb up to Silverton which is located above the Circuit House, it still didn’t hit me. The place was as charming as it looked in the pictures. Lunch laid on especially for us, was just the way one would have it at home, albeit with extra attentive service thrown in. But was this all that one had come here for? Where was the “wow”?
Silverton Estate
Thankfully we had a lovely room with an attached dressing room and bathroom with a tiny living room and wonder of wonders, a portable TV !! I began to thank my lucky stars that at least I had this option to fall back upon.
On day one, things were nice enough. Though not outstandingly, ecstatically so.
How wrong I was…
Once settled in, Vickramjit handed me a slim guidebook to Dalhousie. It had all the necessary information that any first-timer would lap up in a flash. Notwithstanding the information and the pretty pictures, what set my mind working was the way our day ahead was planned by our host.
Knowing my dislike of doing the routine stuff and the need to avoid the crowds at the market places and that I also needed to keep child’s interest levels going, he painstakingly and meticulously worked out a daily schedule of activity for each day of our holiday.
In advance.
Dalhousie is a walkers paradise. Its charms are best discovered on foot. One can walk as little or as much as one wants to. Even unfit city slickers like yours truly can get royally hooked, as I discovered.
Walking downhill in the evening..
You get to enjoy clean, fresh pure mountain air. The clouds play with you as you walk though them, occasionally teasing you with a drizzle or warning you with a shower. The greenery is almost too green to be true. It is hard to believe that one is technically still “in” Dalhousie.
Day One.
Vickramjit had lined up the Inner Bakrota Walk for us. Armed with his detailed instructions we walked down to the GPO Chowk and took a cab up the 3 kilometre drive to the top of Bakrota Hill. As instructed, we got off at the water works and discovered the beginning of our walking trail. I had been reassured that this was not a “climb” but a level walk. Thank goodness. The trail was quiet and peaceful with accompanying birdsong. It was also wide and easy.
The Inner Bakrota Walk…
An occasional vehicle would drive past and occupants would gaze at us in wonder. I guess not many people would be seen walking on this stretch, let alone people who obviously did not seem to be locals!! Passing by well spaced out cottages and old fashioned bungalows with surrounding gardens and landscaping, one spotted name plates of service officers who lived there. An iron gate leading to a cottage located some distance away, was partly shrouded in the mist and looked straight out of “Harry Potter”!!
It’s pretty easy to go shutter happy over the trees and the lush foliage. As I did.
It was only later that I did my review-delete routine and kept what I thought were my best shots.
The trail twisted and turned around the reverse side of the mountain that we had climbed up in the car. It was so easy to get caught up in the stillness and quiet of the place that the sight of a young girl dressed in black who appeared from behind a bend in the trail made me stop for a second and wonder if she was real or a ghost !
The moment passed quickly enough and we emerged on the main road whence we had come from.
As instructed, we stopped by at a little fast food joint called “Chill Out” for lunch. Parked in the balcony of the restaurant, we amused ourselves by watching a bus and a truck trying to pass each other on the road which had been narrowed down due to a dump of bricks left there by some construction workers.
Walking down past colourful prayer flags fluttering in the breeze and in to the Kendriya Vidyalaya set up for the Tibetan settlers, we wended our way past their temple after turning the prayer wheels, to their carpet weaving centre.
Tibetan Weaver at the Carpet Weaving Centre
Pure wool carpets are hand woven here and are also for sale.
One has to scrabble around a bit for unusual colour combinations and designs. Though not priced particularly cheap, I did not mind paying that tad extra for all the effort the weavers put in at their looms.
As we stepped out of the Tibetan Centre, I noticed a little path trailing away behind the building in the general direction of the main chowk. On impulse, I took that route, disregarding instructions to use the main road back.
The path twisted and turned through the trees, sometimes with stone steps to enable our walk, at times narrow, at times broad. Local folk were questioned time and again as to whether this was the way back in town. Affirmative replies emboldened us and the steep twists and turns became fun since we were going downhill.
The wind shushed through the trees approvingly. And life seemed suddenly so …light. The path brought us on to the main Bakrota Hill road and we walked past groups of fellow tourists struggling up the steep climb. Before we knew it, civilisation had retuned full force to hit us smack between the eyes.
It seemed almost sacrilege to wait for child to finish playing a much begged for video game. Even the prospect of buying a newspaper seemed so depressing for it would bring me back to reality with a hard thump.
Things righted themselves once we got back.
The pretty lawns of Silverton are made for idling away the hours. A glorious sunset was followed by a candlelight dinner under the stars. With limited guests and no walk-ins, we were far from the madding crowd.
Day Two
The night had played host to thunder, lightning and rain.
Morning saw the sun peeping through scattered clouds. Today would be a walk from the Jandrighat Palace. We chose to drive one way and walk back the 3 km distance from the palace to the GPO Chowk. Once at the palace , we waited at the gates for the resident chowkidar, who we had been told we would need to request, for a quick tour .
Located on the edge of a mountain with a breathtaking view of Dalhousie, the Palace, originally part of the erstwhile state of Chamba, is now an official Government residence and often has local politicos and big-wigs staying there.
Jandrighat Palace
Despite having managed to get in to the grounds due to a partly open gate, the caretakers seemed unhappy at having us outsiders wandering around. A short, sharp shower enabled us to wait in the verandah and take a few pictures and observe the hunting trophies and old pictures on the walls. The other claim to fame that the Palace can make – portions of the movie “1942, A Love Story”, were shot here.
Post the shower we were quietly but firmly ushered out of the grounds. Not that I was too bothered. The mist and the quiet, deserted road beckoned us.
Walking in the mist is bliss…
Passing a little tea-shop the world seemed to be ours and ours alone. A mostly level walk (again ! ) bought us to a little spring called Subhash Ki Baoli.
Though now it looks like anything but that.
Its only a pipe jutting out of the hillside, with a trickle of water falling in to a cemented pool, with a raised ledge around it is further surrounded by benches on a marble floor.
Tourist vehicles congregate at the bottom of the steps leading up to the spring, with their boom boxes thumping out Himesh Reshammiya .
And to think, way back in 1937, when Netaji Subhash Bose was in jail and was suspected to be suffering from TB, he was sent by the British to Dalhousie to recuperate. He would take the walk from the main chowk to the spring every single day and return after drinking the water from it.
I frankly doubt if any one of us would be foolhardy enough to do what he did in this day and age. The place, too, could have been simple and peaceful. Instead, the tacky benches, the dirty looking spring and its water, the muddy floor and the hordes of tourists do nothing to preserve its sanctity.
Peace returned as we walked back on and reached the town centre again.
Lunch today was at Kwality’s restaurant. The same Kwality’s that we all know about and have grown up with. The wood panelled interiors, old –fashioned fans and the menu draw throngs of visitors and we were no exception.
Post lunch, child had to be bribed with his daily video-game fix and a pony ride back to Silverton while I cooled my heels and then huffed and puffed my way back uphill.
In the evening, I went for a short walk to the “garam sarak” to check out a place called Crag’s.
The Cottage at Crag’s where the folks would spend their vacations 50 odd years ago
My parents used to stay in the cottages during their summer vacations. The place is now in rather a run-down condition but seems popular with foreigners. Of course, it was rather nice to meet and reminisce with the owner about days gone by. On the way back, a short visit to St. Francis’ Church could have been nice but with the swarms of tourists milling around, I beat a hasty retreat.
Day Three
This was the long awaited trip to Khajjiar. Do I really need to say anything about its Swizerland-ish appearance here ?
Be warned that if you are hiring cabs in Dalhousie, you are virtually at the mercy of the local taxi union’s pre-fixed rates. This irritant aside, the drive is through a thickly forested road that twists downhill, and one can spot tantalising glimpses of a green carpet far away below the mountain.
At this moment, the dark rain clouds threatened to spoil our day. It was so dark that it seemed like twilight. Our sharp descent however, enabled us to leave the clouds behind and suddenly the lush, emerald-green carpet of Khajjiar was below our feet.
Khajjiar’s beauty
Despite the vastness of the meadow and the dense deodhar forests surrounding it, which gave the place a look straight out of our childhood fairytale books, the place stank of pony droppings and the grassy ground didn’t appear too clean up close.
A clutch of eating joints on one side of the meadow, were a little distance away from a little overbridge that led on to a pond in the centre of the saucer-shaped meadow.
Up close, the whole place was noisy, smelly and dirty. The Khajji Nag temple after which the place is named lay deserted and was full of flies.
Open drains behind and around the buildings and loud mouthed touristy types made us cut short our visit. Abandoning plans for lunch at the Kwality’s branch at Khajjiar, we munched our way through packets of chips and biscuits in the car.
Now the town of Chamba beckoned. As we traveled further down hill in to the valley of the Ravi river, where the town is located, the hillsides grew browner and rockier. The weather grew warmer.
We drove past a tiny ledge jutting out of the mountain-side, with a forlorn looking Shiva temple. Looking beyond and across the mountains in the distance, albeit now covered by monsoon clouds was a little gap between the craggy ranges, where we were told nestled the mighty Mount Kailash. Never have I wished so much for x-ray vision as I did right then…
Chamba was a curious mix of the old and the new. Capital of the former princely state, it nestles deep in a valley and is known for its annual Minjar Fair.
Today, as flying visitors, we could only take in the Lakshmi Narayan Temple and its State Museum.
The approach to the temple was through a maze of narrow alleys and “gallies” which didn’t smell too good.. but we persevered up the short climb.
Lakshmi Narayan Temple, Chamba
Built in the typical pahadi-style ( is there a genre such as that ?? ) the main temple building was surrounded by smaller versions of itself, scattered around a stone paved courtyard, each one dedicated to a different deity. The floor was hot enough to burn the soles of our feet so we stuck to the carpeted pathways created across it.
On the way out of the temple complex we came across a little shop fully equipped with Sony Play-station machines hooked up to large 29 inch flat screen TV’s with stereophonic sound effects blaring out of the speakers. Offering a full thirty minutes of play time for a princely sum of ten rupees.
So while young man in life was gainfully employed in using his thumbs and fingers on the gaming console, I wandered off the State Museum.
Walking past tiny jewellery shops and “kaarkhaanas” engaged in creating artifacts and statues covered with gold foil...I resisted the urge to stop and check out things. Else would have run out of both time and money.
The Chamba Museum is a comprehensive and impressive documentation of what the state is famous for, and showcases bits of its history.
Things to marvel over included intricately carved wooden doors, Chamba “rumaal’s” -intricately embroidered with incredibly detailed scenes from royal life of yore, costumes, footwear, jewellery and even a metallic coat of armour which may have been a silent witness to many wars.
Leaving Chamba and the heat behind, we drove out and parallel to the Ravi river.
Our driver proudly pointed the shooting locations of the movies “Taal” and “Gaddar” to us. Having been suitably briefed by our host, we stopped at a relatively safe spot where we could walk down and perch on the rocks and dangle our feet in the cold waters of the river.
Further downstream, the Chamera dam made a breathtaking sight from the road high above.
The Ravi river just before the Chamera Dam
Day Four
Dainkund – the place where the “dain” or witch lived in olden times. Vickramjit had told me in detail and raved about this particular walk. At the end of which was a temple devoted to Palaani Mata. There was much to look forward to as we drove up to the point from where the walk began. I wasn’t disappointed.
The path was a tiny one and twisted and turned uphill for a sizeable distance. We had already driven uphill before commencing our walk and this was about the last stretch before we reached the top of the mountain. Huffing and puffing and rueing my lack of fitness, I was determined to get to the top, from whereon I had been told was a level walk to the temple.
The walk was lush green and the path manageable. I realised that we had reached the limit of the tree line and our surroundings were now meadows carpeted with wildflowers.
Wildflower meadow at Dainkund
The silence was bliss and the walk was unlike anything I have ever experienced before.
We were surrounded by mountains on almost three sides. To the south was an expansive view of the Ranjit Sagar Lake opening out in to the plains. To the West were the Pir Panjal and the Pangi ranges. Beyond them lay the plains of Punjab, with the rivers Ravi Chenab and Beas flowing through. On a clear night in October, the lights of Amritsar are visible from here. And through binoculars one can spot the lights of Lahore as well.
The north and the east were surrounded by layers and layers of mountains of the great Himalayan range. Again, on a clear day, Mount Kailash is clearly visible from here.
Himalayas at Dainkund
In order to grab as breathtaking views from here, make sure you have a high end camera with a telephoto or zoom lens to max out your mountain images.
The utter stillness of the place and the forks in the paths made us wonder if we were on the right track.
We were.
The temple of Palaani Mata is a tiny one set in a little niche on top of a cemented platform. The resident dog in attendance would happily wander around and muck up all the offerings laid out in front of the goddess but no one seemed to mind. Amidst a cluster of tinkling bells we tied a red chunri as our offering. Grabbing a cup of tea and packets of aloo bhujia from the makeshift shop nearby, the walk back was tinged with regret at leaving this magical place….
On our way down at the Lakkar Mandi Chowk was the entrance to Kalatop Wildlife Sanctuary. The 3 km walk inside can and should be done on foot, but lacking the time and the energy we took the easy way out and a permit to drive inside.
The thick forest and the utter stillness of the place was simply amazing. I made a note of a paricular spot which was like a clearing between the trees, with a grassy carpet. Just the place to take a picnic basket and laze the day away…have stored it away for future reference. The Forest rest house in the middle of the sanctuary is a charming cottage built on British times and if one wants to spend a night there one needs to book in advance.
Forest Rest house at Kalatop
Little pathways around and behind the rest-house are made for exploration but the arrival of a horde of cars with people spilling out with their coke cans and packets of chips and loud voices made us shiver and beat a hasty retreat.
Wish we could have stayed on and done more…
Our time in Dalhousie was nearly over.. there was a tiny twinge of regret at leaving behind such beauty was coupled with delightful memories of all that we had seen and enjoyed. I plan to go back and do the Dainkund trek again when the skies are clear and with a better camera.
There are other walks and treks that we missed out on – the one in Kalatop and the trek down from Lakkar Mandi to Khajjiar. Those are on my “ must do ” list .
As always, child had the last word on the dusty drive back to Pathankot.
When asked if Dalhouse was still Dull and Lousy the answer was succinct and spot on ..
“ No Ma, its bright and shining !!”
Dalhousie Fact Sheet :
Dalhousie is a town with a colonial past and located along the Dhauladhar Range in Himachal Pradesh, 80 kms from Pathankot at an altitude of approximately 7,000 feet. It’s the perfect place to be as active or as lazy as you want to be. The days move by at a gentle pace everything seems different and the appetite multiplies enormously.
Getting there :
By train: Take an overnight train to Pathankot from Delhi (Jammu Mail Rs 836 2 AC). From there drive up in a taxi ( Rs.1,150 upwards )
By road: 555 km from Delhi, 190 km from Jammu, 300 km from Chandigarh
Where to stay :
Silverton Estate Guesthouse, above Circuit House, Moti Tibba. Rs 800- 3,000 (EP)
Tel: +91 9418010674
www.heritagehotels.com/silverton (Closed Jan 15-Mar 25).
When to go :
Summer: May-June is the best time. The weather is cool, but fickle.
Autumn: Mid September-first week November. Crisp cold , clear skies..
What to Carry :
Woollens and a windbreaker. Sunscreen. A pair of sturdy walking shoes is a must .
Walks of Dalhousie :
Mini walks :
- Thandi Sarak which connects Subhash Chowk and GPO Chowk – good only on weekdays and in the evenings or in the mornings since vehicular traffic moves here.
- Garam Sarak which is a walk on the other side of Moti Tibba again connecting Subhash Chowk and GPO Chowk. No traffic here so walking is a breeze. Check out the St. Francis’ Church at Subhash Chowk or walk down Court Road to DC Khanna and Sons – departmental store that’s over a hundred years old. The gracious owners let you mooch around and even click pictures. Park yourself at the next door verandah cafe and watch life go by..
Longer walks / treks :
- Inner Bakrota walk from water works around the Bakrota hill down to Chill Out Café and then to the Tibetan Centre. Past Neelam Hospital on the path behind, ( Vickramjit calls it “Sudden Death” ) down to the Bakrota Hill and further on to GPO Chowk. Total distance should be approximately 3 - 4 kms
- GPO Chowk to and from Jandrighat Palace - 3 kms one way.
- Lakkar Mandi to Khajjiar – about 12 kms of steep downhill trek one way. A local guide would be needed.
- Kalatop Sanctuary from entrance to Forest Rest house - 3 kms one way. You can also explore the forest path ways around the rest-house.
- Dainkund – At 9,000 feet. A two kilometer distance each way, some of it is uphill. Post that it’s a level walk.
Use sunscreen and carry drinking water to rehydrate you on the walks and to prevent muscles from cramping up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- junoesque
- all things digital & social. a brand planner's discipline. ideas & integration. still learning. mom. walker. traveller. sunshine