Eight years in Naggar

I wrote this poem on the first day of my arrival here in the quaintness of this village naggar in one early summer in 2007. Its been some time. It was still not really known then. I had bought my first bike then. And riding 600 kilometres from Delhi was quiet a lot. When the evening fell that day; i started asking locals if there’s any place nearby i can stay for the night. And all pointed me to Naggar. One thing that my memory reminds me of this place, or of all those places that are, nestling somewhere in the mountains is the fragrance, from the Himalayan woods, the mystical trees of the gods. devdars. I wrote this poem on that short bike trip, that back home became big affair. I will keep it here for you, as it was the first time i was writing a poem looking at the beas from Krishna Temple.


Birdsong – while living in an apple farm near Krishna Temple

Bird song

Bulbs look like stars here
In nagger, at night
I, silence and zephyr
Hide amidst countable locals
And a few wood houses
only one restaurant here, a shop
More Russians
Acknowledging this village
acknowledging its culture
one of their Roreichs,
that he earned a home

My friend’s home is this
His memories of school are here
Should I call this, sereneness?
Or shall I name this a dalliance?
Stars above and stars down
Mastiffs bark and nightingales sound

A treaty with goddess has been done
Krishna mandir, a German café
Jana and malana
I am not in heaven
I am among celestials
Clouds so near, white
A sight
I cannot catch them
I cannot fly
Bigger than my vision
These mountains and terrain

Walks among devdar, kayal, rai and alpine
No need of wine
Intoxicated is air
Water
these mountains rare

I flew without wings
I dreamt without sleeps
of days like these
Sipping tea on the edge of a hill
Hot Maggie, from stove
People are generous here,
They still ask for the bill
I rode up and higher
I lived in the apple orchids
bathed in the waterfall
clapped to the Vishnu pond
and lost my way before Nashala

I saw little girls so shiny and white like a ripe peach
I saw skinny people trudging upwards and downwards;
smiling
I went into a monastery
I talked to little lamas
They talked about the difference between

It was a memory
devbhoomi, I went through
This journey, I grew

Birdsong – Walking with the children to the upper village Pulga, Himachal Pradesh

It became a second home and to many a seasons of writing and walking, breathing deep in the fragrance of all what Himalayas hold within them that only is magic.  

Birdsong – The start