Reflections

Only if you were in heaven would the clouds come to wish you Good morning as soon as you open the windows to your room. Or, if you are too lazy to go to heaven, you could take the 14 hour train journey from Delhi to The Misty Mountains Retreat in Jhaltola, Uttarakhand, with a stoppage at Kathgodam. Talking from experience, you get the same felling! I visited this retreat with a huge group of friends and was taken aback by the warmth of the staff, in complete contrast to the cool ambience of the place! This retreat is a quintessence of tranquility. The Misty Mountains Retreat offers you a perfect view of the mighty Himalayas on one side and the forests on the other. On days when you are very lucky, you can spot a leopard on the rocks near the retreat. An offbeat location, the retreat is a perfect getaway from the hustle bustle of the daily life. As you walk through the dining hall from your cottage, towards the innovatively designed auditoriu

“Sometimes, I wish going through life was as easy as reading a book. You moved from one chapter of your life to the other by just a flip of the page and were welcomed by a bold, italicized heading proclaiming “New Chapter”.’ Aanya yawned at this last thought of the day as she went to bed after trying to call her (ex) boyfriend for hours in vain. Like everything else she was not sure about why she wanted to talk. No particular reason, as usual. You don’t need a reason to talk to your “friends”, do you? And that’s what they were now, friends. It isn’t supposed to bother her that he did not answer her call, or that he was almost never there when she really needed a friend, even though that evening he had told her with eyes filled with tears that he would “always be there” for her “whether she wanted it or not”. And now that she wanted the presence of just someone who would listen to her, he was not there. Oh, but then she has other friends, oth

B EHOLD  her, single in the field,   Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself;   Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain,           And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt   More welcome notes to weary bands    Of travellers in some shady haunt,   Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas    Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings?—   Perhaps the plaintive nu