tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315117762024-03-07T16:54:35.376-08:00Down the Telegraph Road....with sand in my shoes....Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-5332504626973303302018-09-03T08:39:00.003-07:002022-07-19T09:07:13.709-07:00In Gratitude:
The road glistened after the shower, the tall buildings and
billboards with bright light cast its reflection on the empty late night
streets. The light drizzle hit our faces as our auto-rickshaw sped along. In
a serendipitous moment, one of my friends handed me her ipod to listen to a song. The song and that
moment have forever defined the city of Mumbai for me - the energy of the city,
Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-48473781418154057092018-02-28T09:24:00.000-08:002018-02-28T09:24:08.578-08:00When the East Wind Blows:
It’s a breeze, at the most – soft, quiet and light. But when it
gently blows in from the East, it can compel you leave everything and just feel
it - through your hair and skin. In the springtime, it will make you want to fall
in love and fill your days with hope; on a dark summer night, it lulls you to
sleep after a day made lazy; in winters, it overwhelms you with the sadness of nostalgia,
Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-46656273847072904562017-12-16T11:21:00.002-08:002017-12-16T11:21:57.434-08:00Into Another World:
It was heady. Unabashedly. Unapologetically. Heady.
This indescribable sensory blend of freedom, space and tranquility. Something
which I have never experienced before. Anywhere. This ability to walk into an
almost empty park, lie down under a tree full of yellow autumn leaves and just
watch them flutter down one by one whenever a hint of a breeze passed through.
This ability to just be Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-67197887110693224532017-05-01T09:58:00.001-07:002017-05-10T10:48:34.467-07:00Illusions:
Night fell even as I was taking down notes of the stories of a few
amazing women from a forest-fringe village in Chhattisgarh. Hundreds of stars
sparkled against the silhouettes of the massive trees; and I gazed and gazed
till I couldn’t strain my neck anymore. The outside temperature fell suddenly.
The talks moved invariably to ghost stories over piping hot dinner
served in the verandah of Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-29127367446240456802016-12-24T10:12:00.003-08:002016-12-25T01:18:34.841-08:00From the Heart of the Mountains:
He asked me: if I were to recall one key moment or experience from
our trip, what would that be.
It was early morning and we were sitting beside the Trisuli River;
the clouds hung low over the mountains and there was a sharp chill in the
morning air. Being in the heart of the Himalayas and captivated by its power
yet again, could I really think of just one moment or experience?
Lying in Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-33613003893166338642016-09-05T01:20:00.003-07:002016-09-05T01:20:59.113-07:00I Am the Feminine:
I am the force in the wind that blows through the trees and grass,
That lifts the birds, butterflies and take them high
I am the heat in the fire that creates and destroys life,
That which has kept the Earth alive
I am that energy which impels a seed to become a tree,
That which allows humans to live their true destiny
I am the mystery in the cold depths of these vast oceans,
That Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-21084502331549361482016-07-31T10:54:00.000-07:002016-07-31T10:54:14.601-07:00One Rainy Day:
At first I thought it was a new bird in the mango tree. The tree was
thick with new young-green leaves and I had to peer through the rain to spot
the source of the call. In some time I saw that it was just the Fantail happily
twirling and hopping about amongst the branches of the mango tree. Once in a
while, it let go of its clipped calls and burst into its actual melodious eight-note tune.
Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-31196152242624510872016-07-19T10:48:00.001-07:002016-07-19T10:48:06.804-07:00 Evanescence:
As we traversed the Eastern Freeway, numerous grey buildings in
various stages of construction could be seen lined across Mumbai’s grey
skyline. Intermittent rain and dark clouds played tricks with the mind, because
at one point in time it looked like a ghost city – devoid of greenery or life like
that in the movie Inception. A few birds
flying indicated it was not.
In the two years Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-19406425596963302692016-04-19T06:27:00.000-07:002016-04-19T06:27:01.214-07:00The Connection:
There was a rustle outside the kitchen door. Then the door pushed
open and a lovely brown stray dog peeked his head in.
The kitchen was warm and cozy with a fire burning at the grate. A
cat slept next to the fire, so near that I thought it will get singed. I was
warned that temperature falls below zero in Pfutsero, but I was hugely
disappointed when the late December night turned out to be Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-87976704412818830512016-01-13T03:20:00.001-08:002016-01-13T03:20:19.818-08:00(Happy) New Year:
C: I listen to this for hours when I go mad; it helps me calm down.
I get up every day at 2am, listen to the music for two hours and then fall
asleep again.
The soft notes of the piano floated out into the forested valley.
The sun which had just come out from behind the steep ridge warmed our backs. An
all-encompassing silence overpowered the music. Time stretched hypnotically.
Me: Isn’tBips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-50995017536907210392015-10-28T07:37:00.003-07:002015-10-28T09:40:48.011-07:00Let’s Talk:
I want to talk. I want to talk till the moon slips into the sea and
the world falls silent except for our murmurs.
I want you to tell me about your imaginative childhood games and I
will tell you about the orchard with a tiled hut and the ghost in the
neighbourhood pond.
I want you to tell me about your best memories and I will tell you
about the boy with sad eyes and a small pup.
I Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-1719209182981976552015-08-15T11:43:00.000-07:002015-08-15T11:43:07.977-07:00Lost in Oneness:
“For the first time in my life, I was able to think. I do not mean
to think objectively or analytically, but rather to surrender thoughts to my
surroundings……It is then that the Eternal speaks, that the mutations of the
universe are apparent; the very atmosphere is filled with life and songs; the hills
are resolved from mere masses of snow, ice and rocks into something living…..”
Frank Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-55514815607129620612015-06-07T06:59:00.002-07:002015-06-07T06:59:15.206-07:00Horizon:
I love
flying in the evenings.
You are
higher up than the horizon down below. The sun that drops down this horizon
throws up colours that can only originate and multiply in the unknown space. Un-earthly. Colours, that no human or their brilliant
machines can ever be successful in replicating.
I love
flying in the evenings.
There is a
serenity in the darkening horizon that is Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-3772117632755336422015-04-14T11:47:00.003-07:002015-04-14T11:47:32.714-07:00An apology to my Earth:
“Nothing
lives long
Only the
Earth and the Mountains”
So goes the
death song sung by White Antelope, the war chief of the Cheyennes tribe when he
was killed by the white people.
Though I
still cry at the fate of the Native Indian tribes, I am beginning to believe
that it’s good that they are not here to see what has happened to their beloved
earth and the mountains. To my beloved earth,Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-41650885148921743652014-12-16T10:56:00.003-08:002014-12-16T22:24:27.635-08:00Hiraeth (n.):
Homesickness for a home to which you cannot
return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief
for the lost places of your past. (Welsh)
Apart from
the dirt and garbage all around, everything about the city was deeply altered by
time. Five years old flyovers which appeared aged and used, shopping arcades
where nothing existed, open spaces taken over by cramped up Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-41713213847100796362014-11-16T06:01:00.000-08:002014-11-16T06:54:17.662-08:00A Day I Will Never Forget:
As I looked
at the mountains from my room in Leh early in the morning, I knew for sure that I would
be leaving the high mountains that day. It had been snowing in the upper
reaches of these mountains since the past few days. But that day, the clouds
had turned darker and come down lower than usual. Up until then I
was uncertain as to when I would leave, trying my best to extend my stay as
much Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-1655255441435823462014-07-25T06:42:00.000-07:002014-07-25T06:44:07.298-07:00The Calling:
When the call comes, life in the city
begins to feel like one huge lie. You see the same people on the roads, friends
talking excitedly, families having lunch in expensive restaurants or going to
movies, the guy selling idlis at the street corner, the auto-wallahs not ready
to take you where you want to go, the locals still running 10 minutes behind
schedule. All the sights which once made you Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-7581327556294307602014-06-01T11:42:00.001-07:002014-06-02T00:07:03.962-07:00The Selfie:
Whose image are you staring at? Is that you
or is that somebody who you want others to believe you are? You live your whole life chasing an image,
enhancing it, doing things which the person in the image would do if he/she
were to actually exist. Your relationships are based on what that person would
want, you keep ‘friends’ who will make you look good. No, you are not capable
of falling in Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-48172531340514486722014-03-22T09:26:00.000-07:002014-03-22T09:27:32.154-07:00The Race:
It is beautiful still
It was a race
Between the setting sun and me
I caught up just as it turned bright orange
With red flecks and saw it slip behind a hill
I glimpsed upon its reflection
On the misty waters of a quiet lake below
I turned with a sign
To the far horizon on the other side
Where a flimsy orange moon
Was getting bolder by the minute
I lay there on top of a hill
Caught Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-50810022973704286992013-12-25T07:48:00.000-08:002013-12-25T07:49:24.624-08:00How to ride a bicycle and be carefree:
Just go to Vietnam! It’s a bicycle country.
Everybody rides bicycle here – men, women, children, dogs, cats, in cities, in
rural areas, everywhere. So cyclists have the right of way and more importantly
other heavy vehicles on the roads keep a lookout for them.
What struck me when we landed in Hanoi was
that everything looked similar, like Delhi was before Commonwealth. Muddy
little lanes Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-19253162506518881222013-10-16T03:18:00.001-07:002013-10-16T03:18:58.128-07:00Innocence:
Recently I went for a workshop in Himachal;
to a village verging on turning into a small town but not quite there yet. The snow peaks were covered by clouds testing
me once more. Pretty valleys surrounded us but wherever I looked, I saw signs
of human habitation spreading like an octupus’ tentacles – modern buildings,
mobile towers, cars, garbage etc.
My workshop was full of energetic Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-42132644670087669962013-07-30T11:33:00.000-07:002013-07-30T11:33:51.954-07:00Dolce far Niente!
I had forgotten just how sweet it can be.
I had forgotten just how good it feels when
you can remain snuggled under the cover, in the darkness listening to the heavy
fall of rain outside. I let an hour pass as I turned from side to side drifting
in and out of sleep. I decided to finally get up after the domestic help had
left and the house had fallen silent. I switched off all the fans and Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-53091430279857223862013-06-17T11:42:00.003-07:002013-06-17T11:44:44.022-07:00Putting a Finger:
My month and a half escape to pure freedom
is nearing a decade and so is my journey with writing. Looking back, it seems
like a defining decade and journey - a decade which constantly kept me on my
toes, forever shifting, forever questioning. Chapters opened and chapters
closed in quick succession egging me on to the path where I should be. I rose
to great heights and fell from greater heights Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-26993604482517215492013-05-06T04:18:00.003-07:002013-05-06T04:18:31.169-07:00Randomness:
It’s the night, always the night that makes
you think.
Sitting by the window and watching the distant
twinkling lights of the airport, the silent buzz of traffic on the tarmac that
never ceases, the occasional sound of a flight taxing down the runway in the
dead of the night, tends to make me feel
terribly and strangely lonely yet fuzzily warm all at the same time.
I sit by the Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511776.post-88704670040839143462013-03-30T11:30:00.001-07:002013-05-06T04:19:34.054-07:00Sometimes I Wonder:
Is this how I wanted the world around me to be? I remember
times in those years gone by when I would sit by the window or verandah and dream
about a world. Not this. Now that world in my head seems so distant and hazy
that I cannot remember a thing in it. But it was definitely not this. This
world lacks the innocence of my world, the enchantment of finding a never
discovered place, the Bips mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02852970935145449176noreply@blogger.com0