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ENCOUNTERING SOUL- FROM THANALA TO THANAMANDI

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                                 From Thanala to Thanamandi, from Bhaderwah to Rajouri, and from Chenab valley to Pir Panjal Valley I have encountered numerous people, places, witnessed events, and accounts of life, and saw changing weather, drove through mountain passes and left serene scenes behind. I witnessed clouds and birds floating and flying in Thanala in a linear motion and with sequence and symphony. The last resort from Bhaderwah to chamba is Thanala; we used to call Thanala- End of the world.   During the winters, Padri Pass gets blocked by snowfall, so does the way to Himachal.   Padri Pass connects Himachal with Bhaderwah, PKG (Peer Ki Gali) pass connects Kashmir with Rajouri and Poonch. Simthan top connects Kashmir with Kishtiward, and so does Banihal Pass connect Kashmir with Banihal and Jammu.   I was lucky to see and understand this geography because of my transfer from Anantnag to Bhaderwah, and then from Bhaderwah to Thanamandi (Rajouri). I would drive through man
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Sun Sets with life!

​The Sun sets in Kashmir either over the mountain shoulders or into the Dal Lake making the horizon red. A fascination for the travellers on land and water. I have not witnessed the sunset in air but if I do I will pull the latch to shield the sunset. I love to travel light without memories . But as they say sunsets are a proof that endings are beautiful too.  In my childhood sunset was perceived through conflict and it was said that the redness in the sky is the blood shed during the day. It did make some sense in an atmosphere where killings were rampant. The sunsets in this context were ferocious for me. It never carried a hope of a new dawn. The symptoms and symbols were fed in folklores and myths. The kashmir has its unique way of creating meanings. It believed in the legend of Nilmatpuran that Sharika Devi put in her beak the Hariparbat fort and buried Jalodbava, an underwater demon in it. His soul still lurks in that mountain and this is why kashmir never was at peace.  Imagine
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MY NAME IS RED

    Ai ada aur sunaeen bhi kya haal apna Umr ka lamba safar tay kiya Tanha humnay Arabs used to call inferior non-Arabs as "Red" In your presence and absence, I carry a pang of guilt for not being there with you. But I miss my own self when you disappeared, blabbering at midnight with a lisp in language and blood in my reed. Unsatisfactory zeal and indiscriminately connecting the dots, creating an image in a broken mirror with thousand splendid pieces reflecting the glare of yours. My name is Red. I am half-living and half-dead. My emotions are half-frozen and half-boiled. The breeze that touches my face is half warm and half cold. I am half-crying and half-smiling. In the midnight when the moon hangs like a lamp and stars stud poetry, only then my existence gets stripped off. My soul tears the cloth it wears during the day. It is half-naked and half-wrought with tattered clothes, and tears trickle down, like a noose hanging the memories. Then there was no hope and
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On Bhaderwah

  On Bhaderwah It was a routine transfer in the department of higher education that I was posted at Bhaderwah, a sub-district within Doda. It is a very old town as old as Harrapan civilizations. History has it that during the beginning of 19 th century Bhaderwah was fighting its own battle to accede with Jammu and Kashmir. Its people defeated the Chamba rulers from Himachal and acceded happily with Maharaja Gulab Singh in 1854. It is called mini Kashmir, not only of its picturesque beauty but its history resembles with Kashmir. It had floods, battles and misfortunes like Kashmir. Its old hero Jimat Vahan; a king sacrificed himself before Garura (Carrier of Lord Shiva) to end an old battle between Nagas and Garudas. Jimat vihan lived during the time when Lord Shiva resided in Kailash Mountain. In June 2022 someone desecrated the idol of Shiva in those mountains, and we witnessed clashes on the streets. Religious sentiment runs deep among the people. There is no end to the breathtak
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Pitter-Patter of Rain

 One night sleep came too late to my eyes, Rain was creating pitter-patter on the roof, water hitting the rocks, and my soul murmuring as if the water in the fountain wants to be heard, so-so my soul humming and irritating the flesh while picking the brains.  It has been a hectic day, certain schedules of life do not hit the dopamine but they pass the time, and when you end your day like a busy ant, you feel happy with your routine.  Subah hoti hai shaam hoti hai  Zindagi yun hi tamam hoti hai  Routine disturbs, and man wants to change. It may be a picnic to nearby Cafe Chill at Nalthi where friends catch up under a Gazebo and an aunty in their late early 50s serves a plate of Pakoda and Chai. The chill hits the face in winter or summer. When the heat rises tea is never replaced with cold drinks but, yes, we strip off and jump into the river nearby.  This place is amazingly beautiful, and so is Bhaderwah. You travel miles, and this river will never leave you alone. Neither will pine an
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Butterflies Cling

Butterflies Cling   Something that clings is a leech like substance in mothers womb. It shapes into bones and flesh, and then soul enters into it after sometimes to create a life. Staffroom in our college Bhaderwah has a unique aura and ambience within and outside. It has men and women with varied dispositions carrying smiles and frowns. It has a beautiful garden outside with a Chinar tree branching out amidst of the garden since time immemorial. And small plants whose fragile branches carry few birds left to chirp in the evening. Some flowers attract butterflies and few honeybees. I have seen these butterflies donot sit rather they cling. The main entrance of the garden has a long pole on which the tri-color Indian flag is unfurled. Somedays the wind blows the folded flag to stretch its shadows on the college library.  But the story begins with the butterfly because whenever it sits, rather clings on a flower, a beautiful women with eternal aesthetics unlocks the camera and shoots the
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