First drop of mist

first ray of sunlight

first filght in the sky

first breath after long run

fragrance of first rain

first pause between seconds

hmm guess what??

Eternal Sunshine

Early Morning 5:30 AM.

Yes, What a climb! I was scared of falling from peak. I've never been so high up in past years. I took in a deep , experimental breath of strange air. It was Fresh, and that's all nothing more. No fragrance. No Scent, No content, No humidity it was wonderful air.
Yes, the atmosphere is famous. But the place doesn't look its best tonight. Sometimes it makes better impression especially when there is rain. But you get sick of looking at it.

A large red sandstone bench in the middle of wild flowers was still warmed by last sun of summer. Last blossom of yellow wild flowers indicating summer end and ready to be harvested by birds , social ants & termites. Slowly but steadily sun climbed towards zenith.

A mansion sandwiched between two hills , built in early years of century, in the western-classic style of architecture. It was painted a depressing weather-color and walls covered by patches of dead algae. It had windows going down to the floor and furnished with cast-iron grills, there were two floors.

Signboard 'Hotel' without any name? Seems to me little philosophical. So I decided to give it a try ,

......

A Wave (Monsoon journey)

At Sea-Bird
The sea and sky were almost dark. Fishing boat dancing on sheet of wilder water at far reaches of harbor; the wind brought sound foam shells, scent & new mildness "Yes , the south" I shouted with satisfaction, raising my both hand in air, a gush of wind greeting me with giant wave crashing of bed of sea-rock.

By mid morning I seated a hundred feet above the Surf which crashed and foamed white around mountain with giant root sleeping under ton of sand. The sky was brilliant on warm summer evening early monsoon clods were making lightning show at distant horizon, on the other side of mountain city"s rusty and dry red or sometime moss covered roof looked like, open folded brochure's among them tall tree competing against city's growing height, I let a group of tourist drift pass me out of my eyesight.

I looked out to sea, beyond forested island, to the faded horizon, from that direction the foreign ships had come, brining warriors or trade? Their blue, red gold banners restless under same glittering sky . Perhaps those ships I imagined on horizon were not simply part of a colorful history.

After I return to hotel reception handed me a call , otherside sounded very familiar
"Come after two weeks form now and we'll get back to work"
I must have blinked even my dissertation sounded unreal to me " yes, okay.."
"two weeks from now" he said cheerfully
"All right" I said.
"Bring me a bag of cashunut" he said shamelessly.

Monsoon journey

Back-pack
Once again this wanderer was traveling, in summer-end from his overcrowded city of Mumbai to southern part of India, on three weeks visit

From Mumbai to south India is long journey indeed too long for three weeks of visit. It crosses other half of country goes uphill and down dale, descend from Sahyadri to Deccan Plato to cascading mountains of western ghat to shore of Great Arabian sea , over its bounding waves & sandy beaches thought to be bottomless.

At this point of journey, this has been so far over roof of bus watching power-lines running across the sky , there are numerous stops & formalities (No details). At the border of state a small town where you have to change here, after long wait and search
I mounted a thundering motorbike with small but powerful engine gets underway. There begins the thrilling part of journey, a steep and steady climb that seems never to come end . For this small lies in relatively low altitude but now the wild & rocky route pushes grimly onward into western ghat itself.

Such was experience day's travel separated from my own world, all thoughts and routines; far more than I had dreamed it would when I sat on saddle of motorbike The space, engine rolling and revolving between me and this native heat, possessed and wielded me to this big metal piece called 'Enfield'.

I drove motor bike into parking space near town and my arrival was noticed by a thin neatly dressed in snow white shirt and trousers , as a hospitality gesture hotel owner helped me to take out my luggage, while entering into hotel main entrance had giant doors neatly curved figurine. "It is too early to check in at the hotel" he said promptly , he changed his offer of hot drink after looking at my dust laden jacket and trousers. he pointed to the shaded kept backyard of hotel in the garden.. i quickly got out of reception nearly jumped from steps. "Here" he suddenly darted forward, i followed him at run he had found entrance to an densly covered cool graden house with blue flowered arches beside it a small pond covered with hundreds of water-lily stems.

continue.....

1857

In January India will be celebrating 150 anniversary of Indian revolt of 1857 or unity of different race for common goal, as the 1857 progressed from winter the small rebellion to full fledged war in India.

After 1857 the event was only remebered after 52 year by nationalist Savarkar.

Cloistered life

The heart still shook occasionally as the heart rumbled in memory groaned as if it would deny what had happened.
it was my third day of riding "catch monsoon" to many rider monsoon is bad time to travel, But here we are again to get away from Cloistered lifestyle ready to take on monsoon, With absence of weather channel and with No plan we moved out of Banaglore, a blessing of rain now nature seems to be playing act of Van Gogh 'Impressionist'. I woke up from my day-riding dream by bars of raindrop hitting through my thick rain jacket. A broad green-black smear of moss crossed frequently through my way to green hills.
The air turned thick cloud, the cloud to sunlight liquefied. Strange animal sounds born below
the cloud-capped range of peaks that gave mountains their names, the wind blew east from heavily crowded horizon of west.
once below the sea of Arabia, before breaking of earth by parashurama. From west to south
it flailed into valleys and rivers, into tangled region called western ghat. For all that monsoon should have come a good month since, the wind carried rain filled clouds as if it cannot bear sun.

Pilgrimage

"My God" my friend prayed suddenly against the twittering sky. Unusually sky was filled with swallows and Bea-eater above us,sun was at horizon waiting for swallows to return home. We shouldn't be waiting here with long ride ahead of us tomorrow "Pilgrims are supposed to turn in early".

We set off along moonless streets, I felt that sadness that comes dropping down from height , leaving anything lofty. I squeezed the Handel bar and rushed in front. Before I turned the corner of old mango tree, I glanced back once, to pin that spot of light in my memory jumping in dark grey. There it was again , gleaming above street tumbling like toon character . Curious I slowed down to watch a light shivering with a skeleton of machine. Still looking at it for moment, I looked hard at it then light winked.

After a cuppa of steaming but strangely no so hot tea I Kicked it again.. As I moved my leg; my back had fallen asleep surrounding felt suddenly soft to sharp, impossibly uncomfortable, especially with thought of bed looming ahead of me.

Surreal

It was early july we were on the road again, and the FATIGUE of our last trip to the mangalore seemed far behind us.The south-west monsoon wind was combing my hair and I liked the feel of it some time it was strange though some time cool breezy air gushing and like barbaric devil pushing everywhere like crazy willow,
watching at strained Neem trees along roadside by power of devil wind "What". I shouted

My friend again unintelligible pointed me to tree top. A huge colony of “Fruit eating bats” were making some sort of body rituals during windy afternoon. It was surreal but amusing site, on this yellow-brown scale less tree these dark brown fox like creatures screaming during afternoon, which was edge of crowded town. After a we passed the town and again rows of paddy field started we gave a break to our thump. We looked at each other we both still hearing noises from bats coming out of our heads.

As an passionate person we have often known that peculiar legacy time brings to traveler hmm.. the longing to seek out a place a second time, to find deliberately what we stumbled upon once before, to recapture the feeling of discovery . Sometime we search out again to even a place that was not remarkable itself , but we simply look for it because we remember it . if we do find it , of course everything is different. The day was cloudy instead of clear, it was monsoon instead of winter , we were alone instead of together.
All traveler knows little of this phenomenon , but before I knew it in myself i saw it in nature. I sensed in nature rather read clearly it.