This is the last post in the Letters to K series. I wrote this while I was staying at The Lodge at Wah in Palampur, an utterly delightful place.
(Raabta from Agent Vinod)
This is the last post in the Letters to K series. I wrote this while I was staying at The Lodge at Wah in Palampur, an utterly delightful place.
(Raabta from Agent Vinod)
Sunday, April 16, 2017
I’m not one to offer advice, but if there is one thing I would tell you, it is to avoid coming to Macleod over a long weekend. It’s like the whole of Delhi, Punjab, Noida etc. has descended here. And even though I’m as much an outsider here as they are, I started to take offence at the crowds and their loud, noisy prattle. Pfft.
It’s been an exhausting couple of days, mostly because I stepped out during the day and roamed quite a bit, and it’s quite hot during the day.
I told you about Illiterati Cafe the other day, right? I revisited the place two days back and sat there and worked for a few hours. Met a girl there, travelling on her own like me. We sat and chatted for a long time about this place and that. She about Ladakh and me about Spiti. And me, like I’m some expert on Macleod just because I’ve been here a few days more than her, gave her advice on where to go and what to do. *cue eye roll* And she gifted me a gorgeous little notebook she had picked up in Dharamkot!
Yesterday was a good day. I went to the Norbulingka Institute. Took a shared cab till Dharamshala, and a bus from there. They were playing Kumar Sanu songs in the bus. A spot of familiarity right there. 🙂
The Institute is beyond beautiful. For one, it felt as though I had entered some Japanese garden sort of place, with its greenery and constant sound of water flowing. It’s lovely. Visited the workshops where they do thangka painting, wood carving, metal carving, applique work etc.
And I’ve fallen in love with how blue the sky is! Look at it.
Went to Gyuto monastery after that. That place is sprawling! Especially the main monastery, where the chanting happens. And so many pretty flowers.
Oh by the way, I finally had some Old Monk yesterday. Yay!
Tonight’s my last night here. And I’m already dreading leaving. Where did the last seven days go? When I got here last Monday, I was like “I have SEVEN days. Wow.” And now I’m thinking I should’ve had more. In spite of how crowded it got, the place still has a charm, and I sure as hell am going to miss it. But I have Palampur and paragliding to look forward to next week, so I’ll keep the moping until later.
(Moh Moh ke Dhaage female version)
P.S. You are not partly responsible for this content I’m producing. You are ENTIRELY responsible for it. Thank you. So very much.*
*This was in response to K saying that he takes partial credit for the content I am producing through the emails.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
I spent the past 25 minutes trying to open a bottle of cherry wine. Why is that such a difficult task, you wonder? Because this bloody bottle is not the regular unscrew type one. This had a stubborn plastic cork type contraption that refused to budge. Pakshe ennoda kali! I tried everything possible and finally got it open. Nothing can keep a Mallu away from his/her alcohol, right? This is some locally made cherry wine. Pretty nice. Reminds me of Acchamma’s homemade grape wine.
I overslept this morning, waking up only at around 9:30 with a jolt and realising that I had to rush to the Main Square by 10:30, because the monk I met on Day 1 (who I ran into last night during dinner) told me that the Dalai Lama is coming back into town today, and if I wanted to catch a glimpse, I can go to Main Square by 10:30-11, as that’s when he would be passing by. I rushed through breakfast and went, stopping on the way at a notebook stall and picking up THE most gorgeous piece of brown something-like-leather notebook. Will send you a pic when I click one. It is so beautiful, I don’t even want to write my name on it.
Anyhow, I walked up to the Main Square, which is very very small and not all that main. Hung around for a while, looking here and there. But by 10:45, I was getting weary of waiting around. Plus, I think I was starting to look a little shady, staring at every passing car. So I left. Bad luck, Dalai Lama. You aren’t blessed enough to see my face (what’s that they say about sour grapes?)
I met one of my colleagues yesterday, who is in Dharamshala attending a camp, and we went to this café that is one of the main reasons I have been wanting to come to Macleodganj – Illiterati Café. It’s so lovely, K! Small, with comfortable seating, AND bookshelves full of books! If I ever come around to realising my ultimate dream of opening my own bookstore, this is how I imagine it would look.
We sat there for a while, chatting, talking about the camp she is at, etc. From there, we came back towards the town and randomly walked around. Visited one of the Buddha temples that is in the middle of the busy street, met a Thai monk there who told me that the only Thai Buddhist monastery in India is just 3 km from Macleod (note to self: look up said monastery). Had lunch at a small resto that served the most amazing fries and yummy chowmein. By the way, there’s a local drink that you get here, called Chinar Apple Cider (non-alcoholic). It’s like Appy Fizz, but nicer because it’s less fizzy.
She left by evening and I walked around some more, before returning to my room, and ventured out later only for dinner. Dinners here are an early affair. Most cafes and restaurants, and shops, shut by 9. They are an early-to-bed-early-to-rise kind of people.
I worked till afternoon today, and stepped out when I started getting hungry. Ate a bowl of yummy Maggi on the way and proceeded to the Tibetan Museum inside Tsuglagkhang complex (which was closed on Monday when I went). Spent around 1.5 hours there, reading through the history of Tibet and the turmoil. It’s funny, you know. People who come to these museums, they don’t spend any time in going through the exhibits and reading, they don’t want to know anything, they only want to click their selfie, let loose their children to create havoc and return, but they will go back home and talk about how the Tibetan culture is this and that. After reading the entire history (of which I only had a vague knowledge, never bothered to find out more), I don’t even feel like bargaining with the Tibetan vendors now! The museum is stunning. You should go there sometime.
The museum closes at 6:00 pm, so I had to leave.
I walked up to the main Tsuglagkhang complex, thinking I’ll sit there for a while in silence. But oh boy, I got to witness something truly unique! When I was walking in, I saw a group of monks, young and old, rushing towards the complex. They all gathered in the verandah, some seated, some standing, and initially, it only seemed as though they were speaking. But it soon became rather clamorous, which isn’t something one would attribute to monks! It became clear that they weren’t simply talking, but this was some kind of ritual. The ones who were sitting were speaking calmly, and the ones standing were very loud and expressive, clapping their hands at the seated monk and stomping their foot. Of course, it was all in jest, as they were laughing in between. I mustered up the courage to ask a monk what was happening, and he told me that they were “debating”. I had actually read about this online, but was so glad I got to witness it. I believe it’s a ritual they follow, passed down from generations. But I have no idea what they were debating about. I’ll try going tomorrow and see if I can find out more. (I found out the next day from my B&B owner that they debate about topics regarding science, philosophy, etc.)
I found a nook on Temple Road that is like a view point. It’s tucked in between two stalls and is easy to miss, but I’d walked past it a few times over the last two days and found it. After leaving from the complex, I walked to the view point to catch the sunset. And you already know how that went.
Dinner was potato-cheese momos (you would have to try very hard to ruin that combo) and some underwhelming thukpa.
Did you notice how I began every paragraph with “I”? I have become one of those writers I love to hate. Redundancy!
Also, why does everyone keep asking me “again?”, “phir se?”, when I say where I am, thinking that because I went to Spiti last year, going to Himachal again is a preposterous idea? Is there a rule that you can visit one state only once? There is so much of Himachal to see! There is so much of India to see.
Also also, I am trying to eat at a different café for every meal. Want to see how many I can cover by the end of the stay. So far, I have eaten at five different cafes, had tea at two, Maggi at one chotu stall, and twice to Tibetan Quality Bakery, because that place is awesome. Oh did I tell you about the illustrations in the shelves? No? Here, see for yourself.
(Ab na jaa by Euphoria)
P.S. I had loads of pictures of the “debate”, but I seem to have lost them all. 😦 It must’ve gotten lost when I was changing laptops, didn’t back up properly. I’m pretty sure I deleted them from my camera memory card too.
When I was prepping for my first ever (almost) solo trip to Himachal earlier this year, a friend of mine – let’s call him K – told me that he wants to know “every single detail” about the trip. I laughed it off, because I knew there was no way I was going to blog about this or send updates to him or anyone else on Whatsapp. My agenda for the trip, partly, was to switch off completely. But I did post on Instagram almost every day.
I ended up writing these insanely long emails to him, documenting my trip and telling him about all that happened; all that I saw, felt, experienced. I must have sent him 3-4 emails over two weeks. I revisit those emails every once in a while, and I realised that I wouldn’t have wanted to document that trip in any other way. Those who know me well enough know how much I love receiving and sending letters and emails – the longer and more detailed, the better. Writing these emails helped me in ways that K may never understand, neither would those of you reading it. But that’s not what this is about. This is about the Macleodganj that I saw and experienced and shared with K. You won’t find listicles, best places to eat, best things to shop or anything. Just… what Macleoganj is to me.
So here goes, my Macleodganj trip, in the form of Letters to K. I have edited out certain details to make it suitable for publishing, so there may be gaps that may not make sense. Just bear with me, ya?
Note: Please do know that these are personal emails, and personal thoughts, and I’m putting myself in a vulnerable spot by putting it out here. If you really want to criticize, be gentle, ok? 🙂 Also, I’m writing about the places as and when I’m exploring them, so inaccuracies might be there.
Monday, April 10, 2017
*insanely long email. Feel free to skip over*
As I am writing this, “Aapki aankhon mein kuch, mehake hue se khwaab hai” is playing on my phone. Would you believe it if I told you that I have not listened to a single song all day long? I doubt whether I hummed anything either. That is so very unlike me. I went an entire day without listening to music!
I can’t even say it’s because I was busy. Because I wasn’t. I had a quiet, unhurried day. Reached Macleodganj sometime in the early hours. The first glimpse I caught of the Himalayas (the Dhauladhar range, to be precise), and the biggest smile lit up my sleep-deprived face. It kept popping up every now and then from behind the buildings, around this bend and that corner. As the bus meandered through the narrow streets, the funny feeling in my tummy kept growing. Part excitement, part nervousness. Took a cab from the bus stop to my B&B, all the while shivering in my thin jacket, teeth chattering as I am speaking to the driver.
The B&B folks were kind enough to check me in early, and I slept for a while, but not before walking along the verandah and taking in the full glory of the mountains awash in a faint golden glow.
When I woke up and stepped out for breakfast, imagine my delight at finding out that the school next door is a kindergarten! It was the cutest sight to see those adorable buttons walking down the steps, their maroon sweaters only a little darker than their apple-cheeks. I had half a mind to scoop them into my arms, but didn’t want to be up against any protective Tibetan mothers. After a breakfast of hot aloo parantha and surprisingly good coffee, I logged into work and worked for a few hours till my laptop ran out of charge (the power went around 10:00 am).
So I decided to step out. With my trusty backpack and camera for company, I set off. My B&B is on Jogiwara Road, which is a narrow road with shops, hotels, cafes, guest houses, etc. on either side. The idea was to go to Tsuglagkhang Complex, but before that, lunch. Jogiwara Road goes downhill, so I decided to walk down the road for a bit, before heading back up for lunch. Oh boy! By the time I walked back up, I was in a state! I’m pretty sure my calf muscles will be cursing me tomorrow.
Lunch was at Peace Café, a quiet little place where everyone speaks in low volumes and the interiors are dimly lit. I ordered for Pocha, a Tibetan salted butter tea and thenthuk, which is like a cousin of thukpa. The Pocha was okayish, I’m not sure if I like it yet. Maybe a smaller cup would’ve been better. The thenthuk was delicious, loaded with veggies and tofu. While thukpa has regular noodles, thenthuk has flat square chewy noodles. It was so good, spicy and hot. A Tibetan monk shared the table with me, but I was on my guard, especially when he asked “Are you alone here?”. I guess that underlying feeling of fear is always going to be there. By the way, lunch was just 120 bucks. 🙂
I walked to Temple Road after lunch, which is where the complex is. All along the road, there are shops and stalls on either side selling Tibetan goods like silver jewellery, shawls, singing bowls, Buddha figurines, etc. So much temptation! But what I noticed is that none of the hawkers call out to you asking you to buy stuff.
At the end of this road is the Tsuglagkhang (pronounced Chug-la-kang) complex, which is the official residence of HH Dalai Lama, whenever he is in town. The complex also has a Tibetan museum (which was closed today as it is on all Mondays), the Kalachakra temple, and the Namgyal monastery. The complex is a sprawling one, with plenty of trees dotting the courtyard. The Dalai Lama’s residence is easy to figure out, what with all the armed guards standing outside. He is currently in Arunachal Pradesh, from what his website tells me.
I went up the stairs which has the temple and monastery. The temple has three deities mainly – Avalokitesvara, Kalachakra and Green Tara, each more resplendent than the other. The Kalachakra especially stood out. It had a certain ferociousness to it. But what really got me curious were the offerings kept in front of each deity. Are you ready? There were packs of Ferrero Rocher, Dabur Honey, MacVities Digestive biscuit, Leh Berry juice, to name a few. How bizarre is that! I tried asking the two monks who were there, but they didn’t seem to know much English, so I couldn’t get anything more than “puja” out of them (at least I think that’s what they were saying). After the temple, I walked around to the monastery. En route, there are prayer wheels set around a four-walled structure such that you have to do a circumambulation. The prayer wheels are massive, but oh what joy it is to turn them…
The Namgyal gompa had a prayer ritual going on when I got there. I sat there for a while, listening to the hypnotic rhythmic chanting of monks (and rolling my eyes at all those idiots who come in, take half a look at the monks, click a selfie and walk out. Still rolling my eyes. Geez). After that, I went down and sat in the courtyard, watching the groups of tourists walk in and out, monks and nuns go about their business, ancient Tibetan ladies praying, and some kids playing. How often do we do that, just sit and observe what is happening around us?
I walked back towards Temple Road and stopped at a small café for some ginger lemon honey tea. This was one of the best moments of the day. The café was empty, except for the people who run it. It was so quiet and peaceful – just me, my tea, and a book on my tab. I sat there and read for a while, occasionally looking out to the busy road outside. It was the most at peace I have felt in a long time. The past few months have been a roller coaster; what I needed was some alone time in a café far way in Himachal Pradesh.
On the way back, I stopped at a small bakery, Tibetan Quality Bakery, that sold confectionary items. I bought a slice of banana cake, a coffee, and sat on the steps to have it while street-watching. Have I ever told you that people-watching is one of my favourite pastimes? You see so many mannerisms, shapes, sizes… it’s fascinating.
The fancy artwork at Tibetan Quality Bakery
Back to the B&B, and thankfully, the power was back. Rested for a short while, and around 8:30, went for dinner to a café next to my place (Lotus cafe, I think). Hot soup and yummy momos – sigh! I usually don’t like to eat alone. I can travel alone, live alone, sleep alone, but I can’t eat alone. But today, I ate all my meals alone, and I was quite ok. I was either reading or watching people. There was no one to ask me what I am doing with my life, where I am heading, what my “plan” is (how I dread that word!). Just non-intrusive people who will let you have your meal in peace. I do miss Millie, though. Her chatter and her “Shall we read a book?” “Shall we play a puzzle?”.
So that was my quiet, unhurried day. I did everything at my own pace, as and when I wished to. No “plan” to stick to, no list of “must-visit places” that had to be covered during the day, no hurrying through everything because we have so many other places to get to. This is my kind of travelling (and living too, come to think of it).
You’re already regretting telling me that you want to know every single detail, aren’t you? I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve written more than 1300 words!
(Maeri by Euphoria as I sign off)
Psst! Did you like reading this? I’m sceptical whether to post the rest of the emails or not. After all, who wants to read boring, long emails in these days of 140 characters.
What you need is courage.
I can hear many of you scoffing. “Ya, right! You’re probably saying that because you HAVE money.” I wish I could say that was true. I mean, sure, I’m not perennially broke like I used to be when I had just started working, barely managing to keep at least the minimum withdrawable amount in my bank account by the end of the month. I was living by myself, and all my money went into rent and eating out. I am better off (financially at least) now than that girl. But I’m by no means rich enough to take exotic international vacations once a quarter or even once a year.
So then what do I mean when I say that one doesn’t need money, but the courage to travel? Here’s what I have figured out. Money can be saved. You can plan ahead, save like crazy, and have enough in your account to travel at least once in three months if you want to. But you need courage. You need the courage to decide that you want to step out of your comfort zone and imbibe new experiences. Courage to walk up to your boss and ask for a week’s leave. Courage to tell your family that traveling is not just a hobby for you but a way of life, so please excuse for not wanting to waste your precious leave on attending that aunt’s husband’s brother’s daughter’s first wedding. Courage to just pick a place and book those damn tickets. Courage to decide that even if no one else is coming with you, you will be fine to travel on your own. Courage to make certain lifestyle choices that may not exactly be comfortable or conventional, but oh-so-rewarding.
Maybe courage is not the right word. But for me, it did take courage. I had traveled largely only with family, and that too the yearly summer vacation trips to grandparents’. The first major trip that I went on was with my friends to Goa in 2012. A post-breakup-I-need-to-be-drunk-out-of-my-wits trip. I remember how excited and terrified I was – taking a bus all the way to Goa, on my own. The amount of pride I felt at reaching Goa safely and figuring out how to get from the bus stop to my homestay was immeasurable.
Early last year, I decided to take my first ever solo trip, to Hampi. Booked the tickets before even booking the accommodation. Built up courage over a month to go on my own, but chickened out at the last minute and called a friend along. A few months later, a random friend-ing on Facebook from many years ago led me to Spiti. I went on THE most epic trip of my life with three women I was meeting for the first time. Many many kilometres away from all that was familiar to me, to a land of unforgiving terrain and wonderful people.
The Spiti trip only helped in stoking the fire in me. And this year, I finally decided to travel all by myself. No company, no back-up. Went from Chennai to Delhi by train, Delhi to Mcleodganj by bus. I heaved a sigh of relief only after I’d checked into my B&B and locked the room safely.
But I realised something last year once my Spiti trip was planned. Unconsciously, I had started saving money. Not that I was a big spendthrift earlier, but I had become even more careful once I knew that I would be traveling in four months. Cut down my excesses, so to say. Every new piece of clothing I was attracted to, I would ask myself, “Do I want this, or do I need this? I could buy one train ticket with this money.” And back it would go on the rack. I would browse through e-commerce apps during sale time, add a bunch of things to my cart, and then remove it all. Uninstalled most of the shopping apps from my phone. Stopped buying exorbitantly-priced bottles of Sriracha sauce and fish sauce (and that sauce that starts with W which I can neither spell nor pronounce) from supermarkets, which I wouldn’t use more than once. I started going to the neighbourhood kirana store to buy my staples so that I don’t get distracted by too many choices. I cut down on eating out, preferring to make at least roti and sabji at home as much as possible. Every spending decision of mine started revolving around travel. Without even realising it, I was saving money.
And once I made a conscious decision that travelling is going to be a significant part of my life – that it’s not going to be just a “hey it’s a long weekend, let’s go somewhere” thought but more of an “I’m going to travel to Himachal Pradesh and stay there for a month” choice – all my decisions were aligned to it. Career switch, financial decisions, the kind of people I choose to interact with, the people I follow on social media – everything.
If you have managed to read this far, a big thank you. You have tremendous patience. Now use that patience to save money, a little every month, and travel. Start that Recurring Deposit. Eat one less meal out. Shop less, refurbish your clothes if you must. Baby steps. At every step, question yourself – Do I want this, or do I needthis?
And ask yourself – do you want to travel, or do you need to travel? Because those are two very different things.
This article was originally written for The Way, the official magazine of Wandertrails.
To be completely honest, I hadn’t even heard of Bir Billing until last year. And I found out about it just like I have found out about a lot of other places – while doing research for another trip. My Spiti trip was a few months away, and I started Googling the life out of Himachal Pradesh. The two-week plan slowly panned out into a month-long one (that it didn’t happen is a different story I won’t bore you with), and that’s when I stumbled upon the names of Bir and Billing, and what significance it holds.
For the uninitiated, Bir and Billing are two little villages in Himachal Pradesh, known for being one of the best spots around the world for paragliding. In fact, India hosted the World Paragliding Championship in 2015. How cool is that! At an elevation of 2430 m, Billing is the ideal take off spot. It literally feels like you are on top of the world. And Bir is a tiny little town teeming with Tibetans, it being a Tibetan settlement.
So when I planned my second trip to Himachal, I was determined to make this happen. Come rain or shine, I will fly. Err, ok, maybe not in rain. April is a great time for paragliding, although except for the rainy season, paragliding is an all-weather sport. My pilot informed me that they fly for almost eight months in a year. Billing, the take-off site, is about 17 kms uphill from Bir, the landing site. The ride up to Billing is a delightful experience in itself – quiet, untouched by civilization, with bright red rhododendron flowers peeking out of the foliage all along.
“Oh look! Rhododendron flowers! Ruskin Bond, I can finally see what you’ve been raving about all this while.”
“I have to tell A (a fellow Bond fan) about this. Oh, shoot, no network. Maybe later then.”
“Imagine living up here. No network, no people. Bliss.”
“But how would I Instagram if there is no network?” #thestruggleisreal
And then we reached the take-off spot, with a sign board proudly announcing “Billing – 2430 m”. and I swear to god, my breath caught. I clambered onto the peaks like a mountain goat (who am I kidding? There is video evidence of my heavy panting serving as background score for a sweeping view of the mountains).
Once the initial excitement of seeing the colourful gliders wore off, the butterflies made their presence known in my tummy. I was literally going to jump off the edge of a cliff, and I was putting my life in the hands of a 20-something pahadi boy I had met just over an hour ago.
Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.
Wow! Just… wow!
Ok, I think I have to pee. Or should I wait? I’ll wait. It’s not that urgent.
*after five minutes of thinking only about whether I want to pee or not*
Maybe I should. What if it gets intense during the flight? And it might be cold too up there. Bladders may function differently up in the air. I might as well go.
*after realising that there is nothing in the vicinity except for a small shop selling chai and Maggi which clearly doesn’t have a restroom*
Umm.. maybe I’ll hold it. Or wait, I can go in the open. Why not? When I have mountains around me to give cover, why do I need walls? Ya, I’ll just go behind that peak over there.
See, that wasn’t so hard.
So there I was, bladder emptied, harness fitted, helmet on, heart thumping, trying not to look down. It was a tandem ride, so my pilot was right behind me. It took us a few minutes to get going, since it’s dependant on the wind, but once the wind caught the gliders, we were off. And honest to god, it’s hard to describe what it feels like. There’s panic initially, yes. Lots of panic.
What if my harness falls off?
What if I fall off the harness?
Will my spectacles fall off if I look down? I won’t even be able to enjoy the view then. Not to mention, the rest of my trip (I’m blind as a bat, you see).
What if there is a giant hole in the glider that they did not know about because of which I will be plummeting to my death very soon?!
Would I plummet straight down or crash into these trees? I hope I get a few rhododendron flowers stuck in my hair if I do. At least I would be a pretty corpse.
What if the pilot loses control of the glider and we float all the way up to Dharamshala (which I was told is a good 3-hour glide away)? That wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose.
But then the panic subsides and you settle in. You just need to let go and admire the beauty laid out in front of you. And maybe try to hush the voices inside your head. Yeah, good luck with that.
Damn, I hope my shoes don’t fall off, why did I have to wear these ballerinas, why couldn’t have I worn my sneakers?
What if it falls off? What if just one shoe falls off? Should I let the other one drop too?
I mean, what will I do with just one anyway?
I hope it doesn’t fall on the bald head of a monk. Dear god, no!
Hey, I see a monastery there! I wonder which one that is. So gorgeous.
On top of this, they gave me the Go Pro to hold, attached to a heavy selfie stick. A moment here to pay respects to all those regular selfie-stick wielders. Like, how? How do you do it! So I was supposed to hold on to the stick for the entirety of the flight so that I could get videos, but I was more worried that I would drop it, even though it is attached to my harness by a rope. And the pilot kept telling me to look into the camera and smile. *cue heavy eye rolling here*
Oh god, this selfie stick is so darn heavy. Maybe I’ll switch hands.
Oh wait, what if it falls while I’m switching? Will I have to pay them for the camera?
Damn, how much does a Go Pro cost? No less than 10k, I’m guessing. I could buy one for myself with that money.
And of course, the eternal “What if I die?” question.
To which my mind promptly answered, “Well, not many people get to die with a view like that. What exactly are you complaining about? I mean, just look around. Forget about your shoes, forget about the camera, forget about the trees you might crash into. This is what you came out here for. For the view, and for that whirlpool feeling in your tummy. Try to enjoy that, will you?”
Before I knew it, it was time for me to land. I could see the landing spot come into view, a vast empty field with plenty of onlookers, all with their heads turned skywards. I could hear my pilot giving me instructions for safe landing.
“Madam, as soon you touch the ground, you have to kneel down.” Which I heard as “Madam, as soon as you touch the ground, you have to fall flat on your face and then get up as though it’s all cool.”
(This piece was originally written for The Way, the official magazine of Wandertrails).
I don’t need a man to give me orgasms. I don’t need anyone to give me an orgasm. I can take care of that for myself.
Can you turn me on with your thoughts? Can you light a fire in me without even touching me?
Can you see the naked me before you even strip my clothes? More importantly, would you still want me when you have seen the real deal, when all the flaws are out in the open? When you come to know of all the insecurities, eccentricities, the bouts of depression, moody silences, enthusiastic chatter, would you still want to hug me and tell me that I am as wonderful as sunshine on a winter’s day?
If one day, I don’t wish to make love, but want to stay up into the wee hours of the night talking, baring my soul, telling you things I’ve never told anyone, things that I have never spoken out loud to even myself for fear of judgment, would you want to stay awake with me and listen to it all? What if it is my mask that comes off instead of my clothes when the lights are turned off, would you want to keep undressing me? When my demons scream louder than I do in the whirls of passion, would you still want to hear me out?
Can you make love to me with your words? Not by whispering sweet nothings to me. I don’t want that. I want meaningful somethings. Thought provoking anythings. Mindblowing everythings. I want to be seduced by your voice – the excitement in it when you tell me of all the places you want to see; the melancholy in it when you speak of your lost loves; the longing when you talk about your eternal search for the one.
But can I tell you a secret? There is no such thing as “the one”. There is me, there is you, and there is now.
There are our beautiful minds. And when two beautiful minds mate, magic happens. The earth shifts. The stars realign. The gods smile. Flowers high-five each other.
Can you make that happen? Can we make magic with our minds?