A few steps ahead from the artificial flower shops of Central Market, Lajpat Nagar on the Feroze Gandhi road, there is a cozy park. It takes a little maneuver to access the park. The park well hidden behind the street hawkers high rise display of plastic flowers and cloth masks. On the approach road, one needs to jostle the sedans. A turn along the edge of the park fence, brings to the gate of the park. A white bougainvillea greets as while entering the park. There is a only one bench under the Spanish cherry tree, perfect to devour a ice lollipop on a hot humid Sunday afternoon.
Delhiites are honking hard, the marigolds seems to be oblivious to their hurriness. They are at their own fancy at their cozy home. I kept gazing at their nonchalance until a well managed conspiracy has been hatched by marigolds and their soldiers, red ants. The ants crawled my shoes and they were on a full scale attack on my legs by the time I realized. I retaliated, rubbed away the ants from my leg ,moved away and stopped gazing at the marigolds. By now, the winner is clear. The marigolds were singing the victory song.
Matheran is India’s smallest hill station. Situated in the Western Ghats range in the state of Maharashtra, and easily accessible from India’s largest metropolis Mumbai, Matheran makes a perfect getaway for seekers of nature and solitude. Matheran is an eco-sensitive zone and no vehicles are allowed except emergency vehicles. The mode of conveyance is horse riding, or one may choose to walk, which we did. Although a toy train used to ply from Neral to Matheran, due to a technical snag, it was not functional.
Dawki, the border town of Meghalaya with Bangladesh, is situated at 70 km from Shillong towards the south. The other side of the border lies the Tamabil town in Bangladesh.
The border is mostly busy with the trucks transporting stones from India to Bangladesh.
“If you go down in the streets today, baby, you better
You better open your eyes,
Folk down there really don’t care, really don’t care, don’t care, really don’t
Which, which way the pressure lies
So I’ve decided what I’m gonna do now
So I’m packin’ my bags for the misty mountains, where the spirits go now
Over the hills where the spirits fly” – Led Zeppelin
Pondering at the edge of the mountain, the three peaks of Dauladhar range from which Triund gets its name (Tri = Three/ Und = Peaks) stood in front of me majestically, and I looked back. A few tents studded across the meadows. The day hikers preparing to return back and the crowd became thin. I trod on the rocky mountain observing the vastness of the mountain and the expanse of the Kangra Valley. There was an eerie silence, for which I have traveled solo a few thousand miles.