Frozen

Why do I feel that this poem resonates so deeply with everything I feel? Frozen by Natasha Head I have seen a life laid to waste,in the name of pure stubbornness,in the absolute definition of denial. I see my own life.Caught up on the same rails,charging full steam ahead,to a tunnel where no light shines.

When A Run Does Not Mean Running Away

I think I am guilty of that – sometimes, I feel I have run away from problems. Every time I am unhappy, I find myself flying to China. But then, I think that’s not running away – it’s running towards happiness. Today, I ran a different race. For the first time ever, I ran a

A Wedding.

He looked at the clock ticking away. It was already 9PM. Dinner crumbled in his hands, a mash of potato palya and white rice forming a smooth ball in his smooth-as-silk hands. He was supposed to be there, not here. The wedding was to have taken place at 10:33PM. It was an odd hour. But

Click Click

I have had a long weekend. Friday was a holiday, and it was a welcome recharge. I was asking a good friend of mine – how are you happy every day? Or rather not being sad in this the 21st century itself is a sign of happiness, is it not? “I just get through each

When Little Things Mean Something

I wake up these days feeling like I have never slept. I don’t know what it is – the lethargy of a hot summer kicking in? Or the ennui of each day that yawns itself into monotony? Or just the excesses of an adrenaline-packed week in Shanghai? After a gap of just over 7 months,

A Post That Can Have No Title

There are times when I think that I ought to write in this blog everyday. But then, I wonder, why make the effort? No one reads this anyway. Why would I want to post virtually anonymous ramblings of mine on a disjointed medium? Surely, there are friends to talk to than a computer? And yet,

Cannons of a Mind

These days it appears I write little. On the contrary, I wrote in a frenzy. I finished 40,000 plus words for a book and now I don’t know what to write. It’s like the thoughts that gave way to that writing burned themselves out. I search for the embers, the flickering spark amongst the dead

A last kiss to Karakoram

July 12 The sun is out already by 4AM. I lie awake for sometime in my yurt. Both Jorg and Birdy are still asleep. Inside the yurt it is pitch black, but I can see little sparkles of light through the netting. I have a few quilts on me, and I feel a bit hot,

Uncertainties

It’s been a while since I wrote here. Time plays such a cruel hand, I am sure if Time plays poker, we know who holds the aces all the time. But it’s not lack of time that has stopped me from writing here, but rather lack of something to write. Over the past two months,

Mustagh Ata

It’s not easy to miss Mustagh Ata. This majestic mountain towers over Karakul Lake, a guardian of its peace. Surprisingly, for one of the tallest mountains in the world, Mustagh Ata looks pretty small. Both Jorg and I wonder why. We are already at an altitude of 3500m – is it because of that Mustagh