6th March, 2015
This is my fifth consecutive Holi away from Delhi. Though I occasionally miss the terrace parties with family and friends, my journey across the various Himalayan ridges around this time, has been a fruitful one.
Up here, winter is still lingering on, while spring is taking its own sweet time to settle in. Like lovers aware that they'll be parted soon, winter and spring are making the most of these overcast days and the clear windy nights. And one can sense this fragile unison, in the colour of the trees, the bushes and the seasonal flowers. These colours are shy, delicate, may be a bit subdued, vulnerable. Only someone who is caring and patient enough, can acknowledge the vastness of the beauty they conceal. Like a whisper, they blend with the snow. And akin to a secret, they give themselves up to the memory of the grey-blue sky.
During my morning walk today, I came across a burgundy coloured flower, arched under the burden of fresh snow. I reached out to clear the snow, but as soon as I started to wipe it off, the flower started loosing it colour. Before I could realise what was happening, the flower was reduced to a pale imitation of its former self, while the snow I had wiped off was red"¦
What I perceived as burden, was love, untouched by speedy judgements and conclusions"¦I wish I can rectify my mistake, but I cannot"¦so I share with you a photograph of how things were, before I intervened"¦
Happy Holi, dear friends"¦