A garden by the lakeside, quietly reading Shantaram and scribbling random thoughts and sketches over cups of milky tea after a lazy late breakfast, waking and strolling down from my room at Lakeside 6 on a sunlit Nepali morning and stopping to say cheery heartfelt namastes and have a chat with my neighbours whom i've become quite familiar with. Those languid Nepali days in Pokhara watching wooden boats glide on the lake, the smell of fresh morning air, a slight breeze casting ripples on the Phewa Tal, a water buffalo chewing green green grass with snowy mountains in the distance. I long to go back. Those days.
As for the song - its my Nepal song - Pokhara actually, softly singing along in the sweet light cool evenings after the afternoon monsoonal downpour walking down with a few friends that i've gotten to know quite well during our weeks in Pokhara to the main chowk (square) for dinner, and later hanging out late at night by the beautiful dark mirror-flat lake after a few drinks - the Busybee apparently the place to be when i was back in Pokhara, though i much preferred the quiet Amsterdam with plenty pool tables and free chips.
Humming along to Don McLean's sweet melancholic American Pie on long walks that lead us out of Pokhara, in all truth and beauty a village by the lake, into the nearby woods, where the trail climbs, worsens and narrows into the shade of tall shady evergreens.
Pokhara days with the torrential refreshing wind-swept rains at 3 o'clock sharp - running for shelter in hole-in-the-wall Tibetan kitchens and 3 table pop-and-mom restaurants, gratefully slurping on hot momo soup and black tea and watching the world go by in sheets of water from the Himalayan heavens.
No comments:
Post a Comment