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.

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.

A Simple Life

      




Boko, Assam- I began 2011 here. Two beautiful months.

Art

 

    
  

     





        

    
             
        

           
   

Few of my favorite paintings of all time.