pilgrims of love

For anonymous admirers...and ratifiers and all personas similar....i am posting here my most dreaded blog...for it seems not like me....but a moment of weakness cause me to spew this not-so-me-like blog writing....i apologise with a quote for those who think it is a case in point.... "far from being one code among many that a culture may utilize for endowing experience with meaning, narrative is a meta-code, a human universal on the basis of which transcultural messages about the nature of a shared reality can be transmitted" ......here is mine....me on a pilgrimage to my past..


I happened to take a journey into the past last night...with old friends...through the tormenting days one called college....torrential lovers....jealous rivals.....confused friends....it was depressing, traumatic, I am scarred for life, yet so nostalgic....today as I discussed my trips again with my colleague....the earlier days of extravagant youthfulness came back to me...the times when you backpacked to the hills without thinking about repercussions.....of secret loves, of little conspiracies.....long time ago, not really all that long...i was in love....or I thought I was....we were young...like fledglings learning to fly....struck by the sight and sounds of a new life....playful, yet so reflective....every move we made, every word we said seemed to have a meaning that could change the course of our life....then there were wasted days...when words were flung with disgust at each othet....arms were wrangled....struggles for an elusive freedom....hot tears....days when my phone was my worst enemy.....cause it always betrayed me...it made me weak....i swore never to call again....but alll to end up shouting anger word over that tempting device, amidst hot tears....all to end the day with the same words....words I swore I'd never repeat...the thought to escape into the hills arose on a dizzy day like that.....no on a daywhen holding hands made theworld around seem blurred......hills of dalai lama....it was a conspiracy...it was a taboo...i was not supposed to do it....i can't begin to count the reasons....parents disapproved, friends would be disgusted, I can't explain the rationale to myself....yet it seemed like the right thing to do....


So into the dark night I escaped with my backpack...and heady with the number of lies I had told that day.....to the world I had created a narrative...a fairy tale....it was risky, I had betrayed the world for one person....trust sometimes can be silly....love sometimes can be foolish...but here I was in a crowded bus-stand holding on to the palms of a man I knew not for long.....but then it signified all that existed ....i felt like Moses holding the ten commandments at mount sinai or Lord siva trailing the globe with the venom in his throat...it was heady yet dangerous.......through the mob we squeezed our way, never once letting go of the grip....sweaty palms searching for something, as if in an act of silent prayer......yet grounded so well....till we boarded that rickety bus that would take us miles away from the world we knew.....all night I shuddered....the cold?....the fear?....or the anticipation of a new beginning....this was not right...nothing was right....there were too many hearts at stake....to many bonds broken just so we could hold hands....but something felt right....deep within I felt whole


The hills were the most beautiful things I had ever seen....winding road that seems to usher you through....deep gorges that kept you close to one another.....snow capped mountain far yonder that made you gasp....apart from the gasping of tired legs.....monasteries, where silence itself was loud....where stooped men chimed the bells and chanted with their beads....like pilgrims we watched in awe as the world beyond rose before our eyes....like the clearing of a cloudy sky...we watched as humble damsels scurried around their business and monks chanted their hymns to the lovely abode where humans seemed to be just one of the tiny cogs in a large wheel of life....the golden Buddha in his sleep seemed to tell us that....torrential rains and ice cold winds seemed to sing them too...i remember, as we climbed up the hills in a place that seemed to be edged of the universe....it poured cats and dogs....we were stuck....the poor umbrella stretching its man-made limits.....fighting the winds to keep us covered....never after have I ever felt the shiver and warmth so distinctly as I stood helpless in the middle of a narrow winding lane in the pouring rain, holding the only person I wanted to be with.....never ever had chaos felt so good.....for I knew when evening cam I would stand at the rooftop and watch the world go to sleep under the comfort of these mountain....i can never forget the sound of my laughter....as I teased myself and my beloved companion in the rain


Every road we walked down, the road back seemed never ending...panting and nauseous...but never for a minute giving up the walk....of quaint restaurants were hot soups and exotic tea seemed to be nectar bracing us against the winds outside....of apple pies and tibetian cuisine....every sight was taken with religious care.....every step taken with the seriousness of a pilgrim in his temple after years of yearning.....every touch was holy....the deity was love and the temple was the snow capped hills....and here we were pilgrims in search for the deity for one last time....


The stricken path returned to my memories again...made me realise memories are like quicksand....u either stay away or you get sucked in.....i think I am getting sucked in.....somewhere between real and myth.....a narrative of my meaning of what i felt....i always seems to be on the threshold.....an abyss....it all seems a dream now...was I really there...did I hear those words....where there rains....or was it all a dream that my fetish mind made some cold winter night....