1700 Meter

The car rumbles softly, the slow hum of tires sinking into the road.

Pine trees pass by as we sway from side to side, following the winding spine of the mountains.

It’s cold, but the sun is out so it’s okay.

Now and then, a small house slips past.

A sudden burst of color catches my eye wild and brief against all the green.

Cows wander freely, owning the single lane road.

The roadside glows with the lime of new leaves, glistening under the sun:

katana camara, floss flowers, carrot grass.

1,700 meters above sea level.

I look down.

The mountains are carved into steps and roads,

half-hidden by a thin white mist 

I can’t tell if it’s natural, or the afterglow of Diwali smoke.

After rushing from city to city these past few days,

even a few hours of this quiet feel like home.

A home not made of bricks,

but of the presence of those close by.

It’s been a while since the mountains have felt me.

Green signs flicker past,

curves lined with steel guardrails.

Electric poles descend the slope

like an impossible hike.

toh mann mein bas ek Piku ka dialogue yaad aata hai 

“Bina kuch bole, shanti se baith jaayein.”