Posts Tagged ‘kite’

The kite conundrum
It is that time of the year again. When my city plunges into the depths of insanity. We love to bask in its unmatched profound revelry, and make a silent promise to ourselves, holding out strings of time in our hands whilst looking up at the sky in the backdrop,

“To never growing up!”

Turning the time handle to revisit glimpses from past, I remember, clear as crystal, doing the “kite-talk” with my friends at school. Some would be curious to know how many kites each one of us would be buying just to slap back condescendingly at our numbers, some would be bragging about their kite-flying skills, some would be teaching the correct manoeuvre to take down enemy kites, some would throw in unheard of kite-jargon making things even harder for the newbies to grasp, whilst I would be busy listening to each one of them with jaws wide open in awe. I remember rushing back home and sharing it all with my brother. Something had me convinced, if there was any truth in the world, it would only spew from the mouths of my friends.

With gusto written all over my face, I would always be found on the roof, every evening, months before the actual festival knocked on our doors. Hours wasted in sheer hope of catching a fleeting kite, ‘cause nothing compares the ecstasy of scoring one. When I would catch a fish, I would keep pestering my dad into flying it. I would initially be the live audience, the one that fuels the passion of the protagonist. “Papa! Cut the red one! Go compete with the green one!” would resound like little dares whilst my father would come back triumphantly, “Now, which one?”

Come the day of the festival and I would go loco! I used to be fond of a star-studded sky. But finding myself ‘neath a kite-studded one, hurled me into pits of unmatched euphoria. Those were my learning days. When slackened kites hovered over me, I would leave my own to catch hold of the ailing plaything. Sometimes I would wake up with dreams of strings that flew past mocking me.  I ended up being the joke of the town. Talk to my mom, and she still has my kite stories on the tip of her tongue. She loves that stuff! Having a good ‘ol laugh at stupid things I did!

Time taught me the ‘how’, and my verve got the better of me. Oncoming years found me a fad I am still trying to reason with. Two days of festivity under the hood of the punishing sun. But that’s not how our brains look at it. We see fun! Downright orgasmic leisure!

With tanned skin leaving my face burnt as cinders, I would be surprised to find out my friends talking to me normally at school. I would actually go with extreme honesty, “Dude, are you able to recognize me?” Then our relentless showing off would commence! We would flaunt our injured fingers, then the taped ones, then laugh at those who had all ten of them intact, brag about uncooked parts of our faces, (goggles would often leave an unmarked territory around our eyes) and we would pretend like superheroes, talk about our high scores or come up with a funny account.

Even today, the fever hasn’t run out and the fire is still burning. It is quite surprising how every year I somehow make it home during the festival. To that I am really grateful.

Name it as you may! You can call it Lohri, Makar Sankranti, Pongal or Uttarayan. We really don’t care as long as we get our badass kites to soar! That’s the only thing we know of. This day has only one significance to us.

The Perpendicular Universe Dhauladhar range

I can’t seem to shake it off. That view! The dark greenish hue of the mountain that was so high and far that it would occasionally blend in with the whites of the clouds. Complementing it gorgeously was another colossal mountain covered in a brownish tint measuring it from a distance, which had almost disappeared, if it weren’t for our keen eyes that were successful in scaling its edges across the heaven.

The latter reminded me of the kite I would fly, back at home – when I would slacken it till it would disappear into the sky. My kite would then blend into the colours of the sea and would get lost. One minor distraction, and lo! It would be hard to tell what I was really holding on to. It would appear as if I was steering the whole sky. Reeling it to make it go further, and pulling sometimes to see if I could bring its blue enormity closer.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the capped freak staring at me from a distance. There were smudges on its body, probably glaciers running down, that seemed silent like a pond from my vantage. Occasionally clouds would cover the beast up, afraid it was showing too much skin. At times, its peak would peak from the blankets to see who the stranger was and why his eyes carried mad love. And why wouldn’t he stop staring?

As our car galloped onto the Kangra road, the mountain followed us. It was inquisitive, while I couldn’t stop myself from gawking. The world must be wondering- “How imprudent!”

About 12 hours earlier we were right there. If not at the top then probably somewhere around its bosom. Heading towards Dharamshala on a bike, we would occasionally take a pit-stop just to marvel at the scenic orgasmic vista the mountain manifested. Cameras would come out at once to capture our perspective in style so that we never forget the unforgettable. Our bike roared in pain as it lunged into the unknown roads. It was hard to tell if we could make it. But the beauty beckoned, and there was no turning back.

From a distance, the ridges looked as if they were drenched in dark. There were shadows over it while the whole world burned alight. It seemed to be sleeping. Quiet like a lifeless thing, which can never be awaken. It slept while its rivers wept. It was written in green. Trees stretched all across its body.

We crossed Dharamshala soon and headed towards McLeodganj. The ascent was punishing. The moment we got closer, it began raining. It struck me at once that the dark was owing to the clouds there. Within seconds we were drenched in the downpour. There was no place to hide, and then we thought, “Let’s do this!” We stormed off to the renowned Bhagsu water fall. The place offered one helluva panorama. My eyes captured it the moment I set them on it.

I was told the summit turns into an alp during the winter season. I just tried to imagine how badass it must look then. The green on the mountains metamorphosing into the white of the snow. As if they have called for a quilt to beat the cold.

When I came back to the same jaded life I live, suddenly I found myself surrounded by a relentless smoke of depression. I wanted to be there. Into the Mountains. Free. Adventurous. Marvelling at the invincible beauty. Taking in the serenity. Breathing in the phenomenal. Gawking at the lively ridges.

Alas! Now I am here. Everything is dead again.