Mawphlang Sacred Grove, Shillong: And It Was Everything I imagined It To Be.

Arrival. A forest awaits.

Leaves crackled underneath our feet. The lone sound. No bird calls.

Black, lithe limbs arising in a web of a green. We stooped. We jumped.

Moss and Mushroom.

Undisturbed, the forest flourishes. I walked through a jungle.

Flora breeds Flora. An unassuming red orchid.

The thicket leaks an eerie green light.

The tree with the bulbous nose.

Moss covered roots. Do they hide burrows to a Wonderland?

The guide tells us this frail white plant is used in the manufacture of 'incense sticks'.

A fan of red mushroom peeks from a log.

Fallen. Casualty of a storm? Victim of human hands?

A leafy canopy. A green shroud.

Tangled roots.

It conjured images of the Slytherin monster.

Shades of nature. Brown and Green.

Stone relics. Monuments to souls of the past.

I hallucinated. "Snakes!", I screamed.

A rare clearing. A carpet of crunchy, brown leaves.

A pop of clementine. More mushrooms.

Entry and Exit point. "Pray to the forest God before you step in", the guide advises.

Lilliputian yellow suns in a goliath green ground. Pretty flowers.

Soaking in more greenery. Oxygenated. Rejuvenated.

How green IS my valley.

Untamed. Pristine.

The sun-bathers.

 

 

 

 

 

I might visit the Eiffel Tower someday. Or the Pyramids. Even the vast Amazon. But this sacred grove in all its untamed, undisturbed and eerily calm allure will be lodged in my heart as a refuge from modernity, a mystical place where elfs or goblins might be watching from behind shrubs, the pulsing and wildly throbbing heart of nature, and even a Narnia sans the lamp post. I will return, someday.

Shillong: The Charmer

Polo Grounds. Soaking in the sun. 5pm.

Old world charm of Hotel Pinewood. 4pm.

Dying sun, a few trees, a large green ground. Sunset at Polo Grounds. 5:30 pm.

Dark alleys and narrow passageways. 8pm.

  

Starry skies. A terrace. Three Sisters. Long talks. 11pm.

Blurry view from my window. 4am.

I still wonder who sits there every evening. Crush :) 4:10am.

A green roof. A light drizzle. 4:20am.

More roofs. A red one too. 4:22am.

Ivy-lined stone wall. 5am.

I sipped tea and watched pigeons on a red roof. 4:30 am.

I yearn for a home in the hills. 5am.

I stood under a tree with pink blossoms. Morning walk. 5:30 am

 

The sun shone through a mist. 6am.

Stealthy climb. 6:15am.

Purple delight. I stopped here on the way back. 6:30am.

I sat at worn-out tables and sipped steaming cups of coffee in quaint cafes. I bonded with family, a little more. I soaked in the sun and the lush greenery. I bought books and a key chain of a doll with stringy hair. I searched for bargains at Police Bazaar. I went on long walks and knew how to define 'happy'. I let the breeze ruffle my hair. 

I fell in love with a charmer. With a town. With Shillong. I wrote about the trip here.

Poesy through Lens

 New year, new thoughts, new words, a new journal.

 Winter mornings...icy, silken fog obscuring my trees.

 Owls make noises here. Every night.

Isolation in abode of trees.

Uruka fire, January 2012, Jorhat. Home. Warmth. Love. Hope.

An old pine tree. We were neck to neck a dozen years ago. My growth stunted along the way.

Reeds. Bamboo thicket. In front of my old home. Futile attempts every day to shield the sun.

 Trees on my path. Rural Kamrup.

 I slept through this heaven on earth for a month, slouching in the backseat of the car, too tired at the end of the day. And one day, I peeked through the window as we crossed a rickety wooden bridge and turning into this lane, I drove through the most beautiful path in my life.

 Narakachal Hill, Guwahati. Late evening. Long, quiet halt.

Fishermen wade through it with nets, and fishing hooks fling into it in unison. Busy mornings are followed by serene, crimson evenings. Rural Kamrup.

My home front. Winter had stripped the trees naked of foliage but the bare branches, jutting out awkwardly, look beautiful on a moonlit night.