D,

We've had a summer ritual which we unknowingly observed for the last three years with (almost) religious piety. The gulmohar tree outside the window had burst into a fiery orange. Yesterday the first rains reluctantly trickled down the city and doused the flames of the forest.The sholay of May will soon drop into a puddle of rain water and our summer rite still remains incomplete.

We missed the nine buck train ride for a warm, sunny lunch washed down with cold lemon iced tea, laced with conversations. We've also foregone the ritualistic pattern of scourging our brains and every city guide for a 'new' place to eat at, only to ultimately find ourselves (for the nth time) in our good old favorite joint.

Its pouring in all its splendour now and I can hear a distant rumble of thunder. I will miss hearing you go shrill over the joy that the rain brings you, interjected only by your mutter of how you dislike your feet getting wet. :)

As I tip toe over keechad and jump over potholes, I'll think of you with your long umbrella and your dad's raincoat. Another summer passes by and the city will be washed clean yet again. I hope you won't miss seeing our city soaked to the bone, too much. There will be more scorching summers with renewed rites and rains. Till then I'll drink a glass of deep purple kaala khatta to you, just for old times' sake.

Of that which my Nikon didn't capture.

His stately moustache seemed to fan out as his pleasant face creased into a smile when I appreciated his taste of music, safely tucked away in his glove compartment. He didn't speak much, but conveyed a sense of happy camaraderie to his co-passengers. After trekking in the Himachal for almost a week, with no mode of conveyance but feet, sitting in a jeep felt surreal and luxurious.

My stay in Solang was drawing to a close and I was doing my best to lap up everything I saw and sensed around me, and lock it all into some crevice of my head. The first two days had been reserved for acclimatization walks around our camp site. Trudging over huge stones, crossing over gushing rivers and gingerly walking a narrow, winding trail, had been anything but easy.

A foot slipped, a hand extended, a sun burn, some more sun block splattered.

A loose stone in the river bed...PLOP! Into the ice cold water! The sock irredeemably wet.

Panting up steep gradients. Power-stops only for sips of water and some more sun block.

Having acquired requisite 'trekking skills,' by day three, we found ourselves at the base camp in Dhundi. At the end of a six hour long trek, we found ourselves at a lovely tented camp site on the banks of the Beas. Bereft of most things that define my consumerist status, (cell phone, my i-pod, television) I didn't feel alone and bored. Life suddenly seemed to be brimming with little. I sincerely felt happy. There is a joy in less.

As the jeep glided down the narrow roads of Solang, with my moustached friend waving one hand to every other passer-by and using the other to deftly steer his vehicle, I wished I could make a mental imprint of everything to the last detail; the mountains, the green, the colorful people, the thin weightless air, the children in white and blue, the wild goats, the cane baskets, the smell of weed, the foot prints in snow, the blue sky, the white stone beds, the steaming hot momos, the quaint bridges, the arduous yet joyful treks, the hot mornings, the sweet tea, the cold nights, the soft tripping feet of the river....

There is a lot that my Nikon did not capture. But they remain...in some crevice.

"And then it seems that happiness, like peace or passion, comes most freely when it isn’t pursued." - Pico Iyer.