The hills are thickly forested, so thick that even the villagers find it difficult to go in. It's green, dark and enticing, as far as the eyes can see. The sparkling afternoon sun is creating patterns on the forest floor. There is an orchard of flowering mango trees and the air is filled with the sweet heady smell of childhood and climbing to pluck raw mangoes. The night is chilly with a glowing yellow moon lending a false sense of warmth.
I love this area in Sindhudurg and lap up every experience in these two days here, a brief relief from the city. But somewhere hidden deep is this feeling that I don't want to face. Something which you know exists but over the years of denial and constant movement to check the restlessness had receded deep at the back of the mind.
I didn't realise it then. I was just happy experiencing a new place. It's struck me now. I loved the place but beyond the beautiful green hills, there were no snow peaks. The chill of the night was refreshing but the sky was not filled with brilliant sparkling stars.
It's beginning to hurt. Five long years have passed without being in the Mountains. Just a few brief glimpses. The Mountains are holding me off...at an arm's distance. I am dying to just rush there, pour forth my soul.
But I am being tested. I have to wait till the Mountains call me.
Till then I remain here. Incomplete.
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