Sahyadrica

That time I looked at the sea, I did not think much of it. It was the warm feeling the usual place gives. It felt like strolling leisurely, but I quite dislike becoming comfortable with this feeling because it makes me invisible to things – they don’t present themselves like they used to. When that happens, moving away from the place, as I often do for long intervals, helps me reflect upon it, makes me think of things I didn’t realise earlier, makes me long even. It is winter, and I miss the sea, even as I long for the distant snow-capped Kangto I see once in a while through a sheet of fog. But time makes it difficult to reminisce. It becomes difficult to write, not because I cannot recollect, but as memories become more distant, emotions explode. Collecting them and weaving them in a string of thoughts is exhilarating if not overwhelming. But here I am, thinking about that moment I knew I would write about. Years later, I thought to myself then, I would look back at this cherished...

He’s lived in this town long enough to forget the breath of the morning. Although he plans his escapades on practically every weekend, he longs for the smell of the warm summer air. In this town that he lives in, you can’t smell a thing. The first rains drips over the garbage dumps, restraining the petrichor from reaching your senses. The scent of Alstonia is overridden by the stench from the drains. When you walk on the street, you must watch your feet for cracks in the pavement. He maybe complaining like a subterranean homesick alien, but last week, he and his friends vowed to escape. For two days they remained aloof, cherishing the breath of the morning, the smell of the fresh air, and the sound of the sea. By the coast of Maharashtra, a little over hundred miles south of Mumbai, lies a little town of Nagaon – a small, cosy place dotted with cottages and hotels, looking over the mighty Arabian Sea. It has been a place of nirvana for many, and dipping yourself into this sacred sea i...