अग्नि पंख! अग्नि पंख! अग्नि पंख!!

वृक्ष हों भले खड़े

हों घने, हों बड़े

एक पत्र छाँह भी

मांग मत! मांग मत! मांग मत!

अग्निपथ! अग्निपथ! अग्निपथ!

These iconic verse by Dr Harivanshrai Bachchan were made more so with Amitabh reciting these in his deep baritone for his movie Agnipath.

As an avid Flamingo watcher, looking at them going about their business – stoically with a typical British upturned nose - on shore or at ponds under the watch of a hot Sun is such a joy. As they take walk or stand contemplating some philosophical thoughts of their kind on those long lanky limbs (ah, again that Amitabh connection) – suitable for a ramp walk  -  I find these verse of Dr Bachchan apt provided I replace the last line with the word “अग्नि पंख” – a moniker coined for Flamingos.

Agni Pankh - “the wings of fire” - suits them so perfectly; specially as they reach their breeding period & don the deep hues of flamming orange-red plummage. Perhaps these fiery wings are the reason for them to be equated to the mythical Phoenix who after living a long – a very long life of more than 500 years – would regenerate itself from the pyre of flames in which it has immolated itself. No wonder, they are termed scientifically Phoenicopterus, the only genus in the family Phoenicopteridae.

One of my earliest memories of these magnificent fliers is from a documentary on flamingos & their habitat in Kutch produced by Indian Films Division in mid 70s & for a long time was one of the sub-features in most of the cinema halls.  Little was I aware of their annual migration to the shores of my city. It was only a few years ago when my eyes opened to the whole new vista of huge flocks that grace this city every migratory season. Since then nothing has been able to deter me from visiting those haunts every season with my Canon 7D & lenses; sit at a distance with adequate nourishment (perhaps more than adequate, sometimes) and try to capture their moods. 

Here are a few of these labour of my love – set as usual to extracts from a couple of poems: one - "The Phoneix Bird" by none other than Hans Christian Anderson & another - "The Stately Flamingoes" by R M Ingersley. I am sure if not the images, the poems shall be good reason for you, too, have a fiery passion for them - to match their wings of fire:

The bird perished in the flames;
but from the red egg in the nest there fluttered aloft a new one
the one solitary Phoenix bird.
The fable tells that he dwells in Arabia,
and that every hundred years, he burns himself to death in his nest;

But each time a new Phoenix,
the only one in the world,
rises up from the red egg.
The bird flutters round us,
swift as light,
beauteous in color,
charming in song.

- See more at: http://www.mythicalrealm.com/creatures/phoenix2.html#sthash.VYNv99SO.dpuf

In the Garden of Paradise, 

beneath the Tree of Knowledge, 

bloomed a rose bush. 

Here, in the first rose, a bird was born. 

His flight was like the flashing of light, 

his plumage was beauteous, 

and his song ravishing. (Anderson)

 

FLAMINGOES rare that haunt the shimmering strand,

When slow, on stately wings, they wheel in flight,

Seem everchanging clouds of pink and white

And flashing scarlet, far above the land. (Ingersley)

 

The bird flutters round us, swift as light,

beauteous in color, charming in song.

He flies through the chamber of content,

and brings sunshine into it,

and the violets on the humble table smell doubly sweet. (Anderson)

Anon, the flock lights on the dreary bank

Of some great pestilential swamp, to feed,

Curving their necks amongst the tangled weed

They search, and not in vain, the herbage rank ;(Ingersley)

The Bird of Paradise- renewed each century

born in flame, ending in flame!

Thy picture, in a golden frame,

 hangs in the halls of the rich,

but thou thyself often fliest around,

lonely and disregarded, a myth- "The Phoenix of Arabia." (Anderson)

Now, when the feast is brought unto its end,

Or sentries warn with signals loud and harsh,

Echoing throughout the vastness of the marsh,

They mount in chainlike flight, and homeward wend,(Ingersley)

 

In Paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose,

beneath the Tree of Knowledge,

thou receivedst a kiss,

and thy right name was given thee - thy name,

Poetry! (Anderson)

P.S.: For more images of these stately flamingoes, please do visit my album Agni-Pankh at the following link:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.817641498283276.1073741859.398359763544787&type=1&l=d70effea7f

Yeh Zindagi ke Mele...

चर्च  का  गेट  है 
चर्च  है  लापता 
ई है बम्बई नगरिया
तू देख बबुआ

Remember the line from AB's rocking number of original "Don"? 

Well, such is the case with another landmark area: Kala Ghoda, a precinct where  "Kala Ghoda" - the black stallion - is conspicuous more by its absence.

Those interested in trivia of our city, here is the history behind this name - Kala Ghoda:

The place was so named because of presence of a black stone statue of King Edward VII mounted on a horse that was commissioned somewhere in mid 19th century by Jewish businessman and philanthropist Albert Abdullah David Sassoon. 

Of course, as the city developed and got crowded, in order to get more space perhaps, the statue was in mid sixties shifted to Rani Baag - the zoo at Byculla. However, the statue had existed here long enough for people to colloquially name the precinct after it; and we continue to call it so even after it was removed.

Last few years have brought the name again in lime light because of the annual art festival held here ‪#‎KalaGhodaArtFestival‬ (‪#‎KGAF‬) - a must visit experience for everyone. 

There exists a palpable energy, an endless eclectic mix of varied sights & sounds and the attractive art-works & ideas that reflect the themes trending in the society currently - in other words, a Kaleidoscope of humans. More than that what it offers is a unique experience for those interested in street photography. 

Here are a few of the captures from 2015 edition of this festival through my ‪#‎Canon7D‬.

As the setting Sun, behind the clouds turns the historic buildings of the precinct into a silhouette, let me unveil a few of them for you. 

The building in the far background is of-course the signature of Mumbai University - Rajabai Tower. The building with an expansive decor is well- known Army Navy Building - currently used by Tata group. 

However, it is the non-descript building on its right whose current status belies its rich past. This is Esplanade Mansion - formerly known as Watson Hotel - the swankiest hotel in the city in late 19th century. Apart from it being India's oldest surviving Cast Iron building, more interesting information - specially for the movie-buffs, is this being the first building in India to screen Lumière Brothers' Cinematographic invention - in 1896.

Coming back to the festival itself, amidst the kaleidoscope of moving images, you find a lot many who seem to be looking for inspirations, like this old man.. 





..  there are many who are trigger-happy, just like me, except they also create captivating sights  




Surely, befitting the reputation of this city of dreams,  it attracts those who are aspiring to be part of the Wall of Fame.. and find inspiration over here, just a cut above Khushwant Singh & Salvadore Dali, proving..
ख़ुशी हादसा है, ग़म हादसा है
हक़ीक़त भुला कर, हरेक भागता है

Not everyone has the opportunity for this short cut though. Amidst the crowd of revellers, you can not but stop noticing someone like her - prettier also, surrounded by glittering ornaments. Since all that glitters is not Gold, her melancholic look makes the overall sight so  poignant.




In another corner of the fair, the wheel of the pottery maker moves on, just like life. Every one tries their hand, yet few remember Kabir's 
माटी कहे कुम्हार से , तू क्या रौंदे मोहे 
एक दिन ऐसा आएगा , मैं रौंदूंगी तोहे




Of the variety of sights on streets here, what I love to capture the most are  the reflection of the city around in the bubbles. The light, as it moves through these bubbles, add rainbow colours, turning even the dreariest images into enigmatic ones. 

Surely, bubbles have very short life unless... it is related to the building in the background - towering over Rhythm House & the city. Here life span of bubbles change with the rhythm of the nation. No wonder, the graffitti on the outer wall of Rhythm House act as a reminder to underscore the essential of growth - Think & Feel comes before you Make.. and only when you do not forget to Share.

There are many more captures, but rather than crowding the blog here, let me showcase it here: "Yeh Zindagi Ke Mele"  &

"Yeh Bhi Zindagi ke Mele" at Facebook.

Also, when you visit, please do like the page for the regular updates.

Yeh Kaun Chitrakaar Hai..

Ah! The travails of a travel-blogger!!

Wondering, why this sigh?

Well, it is not an easy task to capture & write uniquely about the essence of a place that finds more than a lakh visitors thronging it each year – a number of them better writers & photographer than Yours Truly. Add to this that fact that in the days when digital imagery has captured a permanent space on everybody’s mobile & Facebook, it is all the more difficult to create a unique photo-journey of a place which attracts nature photography enthusiasts from all over the world.  I was facing this very dilemma that evening, when I stepped out into verandah.

It was about 7 in the evening. After a long day’s walk through the woods & wetlands, my fellow traveller had decided to take a short nap. The weather was cold-rather, very cold-chilling to the bones even through the 5-6 layers of warm clothes that I had donned. In spite of the cold, with nothing much to do till dinner, I opened the door & got out. The sudden appearance of a biped startled a few spotted deer wandering idly just outside the room. I looked incredulously while they, stepping back to a bit of a safer distance, in their perception, stared back at me – an intruder  in their idyllic world - inquisitively and perhaps insolently. That was the moment I realized I had found my WALDEN.

WHEN I WROTE the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had built myself…

Thus begins Walden, the book which narrates Henry David Thoreau’s a year & a half long sojourn & tryst with nature in America of mid 19^th century. The experience afforded him an opportunity to discover and contemplate about the various facets of human life, and the synergy these share with nature. The book is also a kind of a treatise on transcendentalism – which links humanity & nature through divinity.

It is almost a decade ago when I first came across Walden while rummaging through old books in one of the cabinets of my office – which were part of my father-in-law’s collection. This was that phase when I was just turning 40, had already been in the midst and then, at the helm of corporate financial affairs, and had by that time set-up my own CA practice. The book’s curious beginning set me on to a journey which, over the years, brought me closer to nature.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

A good book eggs you on to experience the story.  Thoreau’s Walden had the same effect on me, and I longed to find my own Walden. It was easier thought than done though, accustomed as I have been to the city of comfort that existed within me. Unlike Thoreau, I did not find it as easily possible to lose myself in wilderness for such a long period. Hence, I took an easier path – wandering for brief communes with nature, with my wife or friends, accompanied by my camera & literature at my fingertips, seeking illumination from nature. 

I did manage to travel to places which I would not have thought of a decade ago. These wanderings not only provided wider perspective about nature & its interlinking paradigm, the path also took me to a whole new world of romanticists, Sufis & naturalists. The Walden however, remained elusive – for a long time.

For a long time; that is, till that evening in early January, this year – when I found myself face-to-face with that herd of deer. This was the Keoladeo Ghana National Park of Bharatpur, and to me, equivalent to Thoreau’s Walden.

Bharatpur is a sanctuary different in its setting and ambiance. The park, spread across 29 sq km, brings you in proximity to the miracle of nature in a way which is unmatchable. Here roam some of the bird species with such impudence around you that it is difficult to imagine this place as a once-upon-a-time hunting grounds for the royal gentry of Rajputana & their British friends. A huge plaque placed near the heart of the park lists down the exploits of various hunters during those years.

It is the reputation of it being a heaven for bird-watchers that had brought me to Bharatpur – my second visit in less than a year, and indeed, once again I was not disappointed. However, as I meandered through its wilderness seeking these winged species, I discovered another facet of Bharatpur. It is an absolute delight for those interested in landscapes – as a photographer, a painter or perhaps as a mere traveller.  

Something would remain amiss, if I left Lawrence Durrell, unquoted:  

It is there if you just close your eyes and breathe softly through your nose; you will hear the whispered message, for all landscapes ask the same question in the same whisper. 'I am watching you -- are you watching yourself in me?'

As the Sun traverses through it arc across this terrain, it unveils a view so picturesque that human language is incapable of capturing it. A generous mix of grasslands, woods & wetlands – with interlinked paths well suited for living those glorious, albeit brief, moments, of uncertain nomadic living; the ponds with carpet of moss of ethereal hues, the trees displaying shades of various stages of their life, those shaded paths bisecting the thickets, plumage of flora & fauna adding up to a riot of colours; even the rays of a wintry day’s Sun, mellow in its mood, could not help but glisten exuberantly the moment they touched the pond's surface.  

Indeed, it is difficult not to wonder, like John Dyer: Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view? 

In fact, for most of us, used to appreciate the man-made beauties in this concrete jungle, the architectural wonders, those urban-scapes, skylines, well manicured gardens, and artificial natural views, Bharatpur’s verdant and unadulterated lyrical vista is a necessity that raises the human spirit. The only thought that echoed in my mind came from a song penned by Bharat Vyas decades ago:

Apni to aankh ek hai us ki hazar hai 

Yeh kaun chitrakar hai 

Yeh kaun chitrakar hai

And birds? Well, while I was busy with my musings enjoying the bewitching landscapes, unknown to me, something else was brewing between Mother Nature & its brood of birds. I will come to that in some time. Meanwhile, you may enjoy more pictures from Bharatpur on the following link:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.627733907274037.1073741845.398359763544787&type=1&l=077a020762

And Quietly Flows the Chambal..

Beyond the edge of the world there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard. ~ Haruki Murakami

Emerson exhorted us to go where there is no path and leave a trail. This was the thought uppermost in my mind at the penultimate moments of planning our trip this season to experience wildlife - specially the birds, from close. The itinerary & destination was to be Bharatpur - when we realised that we have at least one extra day in hand. Not that, it could not have been well spent even at Bharatpur, but that streak to explore some unknown territory took over. 

One of the thoughts was to capture night view of Taj Mahal in Agra - but that seemed a bit cliched. Besides, visiting & capturing Taj would not have been same without my wife. (Those, who find it cheesy, please give me a break. A man needs to score some brownie points too once in a while). 

That is when destiny took over, and I came across a few images directing our attention towards Dholpur. A telephonic conversation with Shri Rajeev Tomar of Dholpur - who promised to guide us & did it so ably - tipped the scale. And, as I said at the beginning, Emerson's oft-quoted statement sealed the deal. 

So, off we were, getting down from train at Mathura and travelling towards Dholpur - taking the famous Agra-Mumbai Road. The task at hand, in the beginning was ardous - to goad the driver into driving fast - so that we can reach well in time, before fog gets into action & carpets the whole world. Hilariously enough, this extra cautious driver (Could he have been the inspiration for Imtiaz Ali’s taxi driver in Jab We Met?) was equally hell-bent on getting his car scratched - even in situations where it could have been easily avoided. 

Incidentally, travelling on any of the national highways acquaint one with a number of small, indistinguishable towns – normally lined on the either sides, while the highway cuts across through them. Such dusty  & unimpressive looking towns abound all over the country – seemingly cloned out of similar populace. You have seen one, you have seen them all.

This is how I felt when we reached Dholpur  - the last town of Rajasthan before NH3, the Agra-Mumbai Highway, enters into MP.

My first glimpse of Dholpur and I could not escape the usual feeling - been there, seen that - kind of.  This time, I soon realized that I had a reason to feel so.  Yes, I had been there earlier - years ago – in different circumstances, in different role.

(If you allow me a bit of a reminiscence, this is the point where I go into a flashback. If not, by all means, you may skip next couple of paragraphs.) 

The year was 1996. The monsoon days of July end looked wettest & bleakest then, all the more because I was away from home, in conditions, describing which as inhospitable, would be a typical British stiff-upper-lip kind of understatement.

I was on road, travelling from Morena, in a taxi which was taking me towards Agra, whereon I was to travel to Delhi for catching a homebound flight. On those wet roads, with rain pouring constantly, I was cold and tired, and all alone, and the home was at least a thousand miles and perhaps more than a day away. 

That is when my taxi was pulled over to side. Waking up from my weather-induced slumber, I stepped out in rain, to realise that the bridge ahead was now closed for traffic - because the river had just started flowing across, in fact  a couple of inches above the bridge. The scape ahead did look ominous, with a furious river lashing along the banks. Fortunately, my ignorance about river's real depth and the desperation to reach home somehow added that extra  edge in my desperate plea, which must have touched a chord and convinced the army officer patrolling the bank to allow my taxi to cross the bridge. Mine was the last vehicle after which the bridge was shut to traffic for next few days.

Despite the chilling rain & ominously dark afternoon, I still remember the warm smile of that officer as my taxi crossed the bridge & moved towards Agra – passing through another town that looked equally desolate that wet evening. 

The thought of returning to those roads, seeing that river, visiting that desolate town ever again in my life ahead was something which never crossed my mind.

That was then. This was now. Here I was – almost eighteen years later – on  a barely warm January afternoon trying to outrace the Sun moving towards horizon and a chilling evening - to get some time during bright daylight and experience the wildlife at National Chambal Sanctuary, and around that desolate town, which -  I now know – was Dholpur. The river was much more quieter, just murmuring along, in comparison to that monsoon evening of eighteen years ago.  

For a bird lover, this is one of the very few locations in India to sight Indian Skimmer, a vulnerable bird, in its natural habitat  – and we were not disappointed. 

As we turned a small bend on one of the sandy beaches of Chambal, a flock engaged in pre-mating rituals, went on to display their flying prowess to us – almost in a manner as if they had been rehearsing for this very occasion.
  

Another interesting specie to sight is Gharial – a handsome specie of crocodiles, and currently one of the critically endangered species. A Gharial with its raised jaws, en-sheathing sharp & vicious teeth,  looks like a smiling assassin. 

Of course, the crocodiles themselves were not too far from the reach of our lens. Fortunately, though the reverse was not the case.

Dholpur, however, is just not about the National Chambal Sanctuary. The nature, with its extreme temperatures, has created an eco-system, in sync with the river, that makes Dholpur a rich treasure-trove for all kind of birds - be it vultures & raptors, grass-birds & water-birds alike.

For the photographer in me, equally interesting was the topography around the river – carved out by nature through well-toiled efforts of centuries, in a manner that makes it inhospitable for one to live - and very easy for those who want to get lost.

English language uses the word Hinterland for such a place lying so beyond anything. In Hindi, however, the word to describe the region around the river near Dholpur was ‘ Beehad’, meaning  ravines. 

These were not just ravines with a very interesting & distinct landscape. These were part of the infamous ravines of Chambal – badlands of Northern India, infested with dacoits whose exploits were not only the part of local folklore, but were used also to drive the plots in Hindi movies –From Bandit Queen of early 90s to the most recent one,  Paan Singh Tomar.



One look at those unfathomable ravines, and it is easy to fathom the reason why these were the breeding grounds for the dacoits. 

To add to all this, the myriad colours that the terrain sports & the remnants of Dholpur's history is sufficiently enchanting for anyone to get hooked.

The architecture providing a glimpse of its rich heritage, those enigmatic & scary dusty ravines, the red stone plateau, covered with dense forest,  the lakes and smaller water-bodies - reflecting the sky & Mustard cultivation brightening the otherwise dull day. 

And the birds? Well, by the end of the trip, the count was almost 100, with a few lifers. Perhaps, we could have spent another couple of days in this rainbow, and I would have been as sad faced - but for another proverbial pot of nature's treasure at the other end, which was beckoning us from Bharatpur. 

So, while, I take a breather before narrating my experience of Bharatpur, here is a link for you all to feast your eyes on more images - specially of the variety of birds - from Dholpur:  

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.616681178379310.1073741844.398359763544787&type=1&l=2932d0e41c

And me, well, as far as I am  concerned, I now know exactly what Douglas Adam meant when he said:

I may not have gone where I intended to go,
but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.

Verse from a Picture Post-card Land!

FROM a lofty Alpine summit look down upon this land,            

It lies there like a volume all written by God’s hand;                 

The mountains are the letters, as leaves the fields unroll,        

Saint Gothard is only an asterisk in this gigantic scroll.             

Hear how her song magnificent thrills in the beating heart,                             

Freedom! freedom! she sings so that all our pulses start:                        

By heavens! with such a harmony never sang daughters of earth,          

And they who join in the chorus are surely of heavenly birth

~ Count Anton Alexander von Auersperg

Have you ever been on the receiving end of picture post-cards – sometimes carrying a detailed message – sometime a brief one? Possibly, could you be one of those who take time out to buy picture post-cards at whichever place you visit, and promptly send to all the near & dear ones (just to make it clear – to the ones not travelling with you; you would agree it would be useless spending money for sending such post cards to your fellow travellers!)?

Well, either way, irrespective of the length of the message scrolled at the back of the post card, a common way to end these is with a simple “Wish you were here”!

Now imagine, you get to enter into one such picture post-cards.

Difficult to imagine? I am sure your answer would be, No! After all imagination is something all of us human beings are comfortably capable of.

Possible to enter such picture post-cards? For a muggle, not a believer in the magic world of Harry Potter, if you are a polite person, your answer would be an emphatic NO. For those otherwise inclined, the counter-question to me would be, have you gone off in your head?

Well, not really, because I have been into a land which is nothing short of a picture post-card.

As a result, when those nice people at www.yatra.com  decided to run this contest called "Creating Happy Travellers", I could think of no other place but this one.

Land-locked, situated at a height amidst the mountainous region of Alps and its valleys, here exists a part of this earth, which is nothing short of natural beauty personified, and further enhanced by human efforts. This is a country, which Bollywood has made us Indians dream of romancing in.

Yes, this is about Switzerland – A country which inspired Thomas Campbell to go absolutely lyrical as he wrote

It was Sunset, ……

And lights were o’er the Helvetian mountains flung,                    

That gave the glacier tops their richest glow,                                   

And tinged the lakes like molten gold below.                                  

.

Earth’s features so harmoniously were linked,                             

She seemed one great glad form, with life instinct,                    

That felt Heaven’s ardent breath, and smiled below                  

Its flush of love, with consentaneous glow.                                   

 

Switzerland is where the nature can be seen in its resplendent glory – perhaps because the human beings have respected it enough and have styled their life so as to preserve its bounty. Be it snow-clad mountain peaks or the valleys – ever smiling in the language of flowers or the huge lakes inviting those at the banks to take a cruise to experience how free breeze feels like; Switzerland has it all, like the garden of Eden, without a lurking snake though, for making an entire family happy.

The best way to tour this lovely country is through its vast & very efficient rail network – whose punctuality & cleaniliness could come as a shock to most of us Indians. (Ain ji, trainen itni saaf bhi ho sakti hain?).

So, this is what we would do first, to pick up a Swiss rail pass for the family, and then, off we go, to celebrate a vacation that has no parallel in the world.

 

Running through the length & breadth as well as height & depth of this lovely country, the railways, literally, takes you to the places. In the process, they cross mountains, go through innumerable tunnels, run along the stream at a moment and suddenly taking you to the heights. 

If you find time from the pampering that the train staff gives you, including providing a live music performance, the view outside could be as varied as from the view of lake & mountains overlooking the train to the train overlooking a street where houses resemble a Lego-land.

Of course, each journey needs to have a purpose or a destination. An ideal destination to begin this happiness journey would be the Swiss Miniatur, a theme park located in Lugano, which provides you, at one place, all the attractions of Switzerland – in miniature form.

Lugano also provides one of the best vantage point for the breath-taking  landscape of southern Switzerland with a lake straddled by the mountains on one side, and a bi-secting drive through that takes you further down into Italy. 

The view, available from San Salvatore, can be accessed by reaching the top through a funicular - which while taking you to the top, also provides a lovely view of the Lugano town.

Situated amidst Alps, the country naturally provide a choice to those who are interested in experiencing being on top of the snow-clad mountains - without having mountaineering skills & the preferred destinations are Mount Titlis & Jungfrau. 

Of course, for those, inclined for a bit more adventure, there are also opportunities to go for skiing destination around. The truth is, a few hours spent in those lovely mountains can create an impression that may last lifelong, and no one would be surprised by your reciting the poem by Johann Uhland:

The mountain is my own domain:
It calls its storms from sea and plain;
From north to south they howl afar;
My voice is heard amid their war.
The mountain boy am I!

If the end of one of the most ardous rail journeys in the world through these mountains has left you tired, there is always a cruise through lake Lucern, to refresh the body and the mind.

Lucern lake and the city at its banks, is one one of the most romantic locations in Switzerland, inspiring someone like William Bowles to write:

SHORES of Lucerne! where many a winding bay      

Shone beauteous to the morn’s returning ray;     

Where rosy tints upon the blue lake shone,         

And touched the rock with colors not their own;      

A perfect trip any day would end with a stroll around one of numerous small lakes, with setting sun, spraying its beams, making the shadows longer. Yet, in a land like this, melancholy would be far, far away

These scenes, these sounds,

could many a joy impart,

With sadness mixed.

The wandering youth, whose heart

Was sick with many sorrows,

resting here At such an hour,

forgot his starting tear;

This setting Sun, would be the cue for me to send a picture post-card from this land of beauty to all you at www.yatra.com and the only thing scrolled at the back of the card would be:

Thank you for making me go down my memory lane for taking this journey. 

Wish, you were here too!