Oh, what a dumb way to begin with.
It has been a while.
My memory came back recently on a short-term basis.
So here I am, trying to publish before my memory fades away again.
[The following events took place during end of October ’17, kasol]
As I reached Kasol bus stop, I was thrown a challenge to get down as the hippie crowd were trying to get onboard to head manikaran. A sign board caught my eye which said,
This is a
Just a few steps into the street, the shops put out bongs in display. “Right place”., I reassured myself. While I was headed to the hills, some were headed back into the city since a long weekend came to an end. By the time I reach here, weekend party animals would leave this little habitat for the nomads. I was glad to have this calm place all to myself.
It was almost noon. I was on my foot headed to the hostel. I was a poor wayfarer after all. All along, I could hear the river. From faraway, music was flowing. An interesting trance. As I walked towards my destination, the clarity improved. I was drawn to the restaurant.
I settled at a table near to the river bank. The river was bringing along mystic breeze. The steep mountains with coniferous trees neatly arranged on the slopes reminded me of Sonamarg.
I was tripping already to the fusion of river and transcending beats. Watch the river flow wondering what lies beyond the turn. Every agent: the mountains, the sun, clouds, the river, the music, scent and food was competing to enhance the beauty of the moment to next level.
Parvati valley is not for everyone, with its reputation for drugs and shady characters.
Everything that we do in life, finds a reason. I was hesitant all the way to kasol, wondering if this is where I wanted to be. It’s the same cliché moment every time.
This constant search has become my journey.
While I was blending in, there were some ordinary regular moments. Which at later point of time became defining moments. One couldn’t spot out the best moment as it happens. can we? Its only in the future we realize its profound effect.
Excerpt of a finest conversation I had:
“In a family,
the First generation in the family is about survival : roti, kapda aur makaan
Second generation is about money : strong base, assets and money
third generation is all about passion dude : what the society thinks has no concerns with what you wanted to do with your life, its pure passion”
In the background, trance and hash( ) were killing at their jobs.
Trance is an excellent example of how music can express what words cannot. Its just a metronome at high tempo with minimal instrumentation. When the rhythm gets into the head, the heartbeat rises trying to sync with the beats. Allowing oneself to get inline with the beat imagining their own melody.
When I listen to what I made up in my mind, my heart is filled with melancholy and unbearable joy in equal measure.
I think we as humans need these moments where we just forget to move, forget to think, forget to be who the world wants us to be and just allow ourselves to feel beyond the perception of time and boundaries.
How can they stay at a place far away from home for months?
It has to be mystical places like these, which I dub as slice of heaven that can make one stay forever.
My love for kasol is in the air, but how deep is it? No clue 🙂
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