Any bloated ego would have to humbly kneel down before either a vast expanse of the seas, or the mighty heights of the snowy mountains. Our vulnerability, and timidity against the forces of nature is never so profound like in the midst of tall mountains, blowing icy winds on your numbed face.
For one, who has been visiting mountains every year around the world, I never fail to get enchanted like a child on each visit. The mountains seem to know my visit in advance, quieting their playful aberrations. They do seem to know I care not a bit, if there is snow or if the snow has melted, if it rains, or the rays of the sun singes my jawbones.
Like I prepare for the visit, for any eventual mood of the mountains, they seem to also love my presence, behaving mostly like a teasing lover, yielding finally that I lustfully enjoy. Many a time, I arrive by night at a remote motel, darkness all around, for even the kerosene freezes or is dear. Insects have all moved down the slopes to the valleys, where they hang on to their lives and hurry to the heights, once the snow melts and yet again the green grass smiles.
The first rays that peep to the crevice of the weathered woods, tap me on the head to rush and enjoy the beauty that nature has spread like a beautiful spread of choice food. It is always the same feeling, every time, like lifting the veil of my wife the first night of our marriage, shy in the beginning and devouring thereafter.
The rose petaled cover that adorn the peaks change in a few moments to a golden canopy, making me feel the love for gold seems to engulf the mighty hills too. The bright sun somewhere in the long distant horizon seems to wake the hilltop, even before spreading its scarlet cloak in the lowlands and the sea. I enjoy the pristine beauty from the ringside, long before mankind awakes, and feel proud.
Soon the heat taps the condensed clouds, flirting with the leafless trees and they all rise, as if in revolt, against the short-lived rays of the shining sun, covering every height and every peak in sight. True romance indeed it could be, as I see they, like the young lovers, as the clouds listlessly linger around the peaks for all the day long and further beyond.
A stray yak herd passes by smiling, as does a man carrying a water can. The prayer flags like stiff frozen souls, wait for the summer winds to arrive to breath life into them to flutter again. I watch with amazement, the contrast black ravens which at any height seem to befriend man and stay, and the few furred mongrels that could make even mink-foxes shy.
I get never tired in wondering as to what the peaks and the clouds ever would be doing in the hiding of the thick white sheets, but leave my thoughts without reaching any end. It is always fun to leave the best secrets as it be, unknown and untold!
I long to go back to the snowy hills, each day and every other day. Enjoy Eid, Onam and Maha Laxmi Viratam.