Reading Time: 3 min
I woke up way too early that day. I am not sure if I even slept much. It is like the less you sleep, the more you worry about sleep and the less you sleep again. I just woke up, picked my camera, a few chocolate bars and started walking. I was not really going anywhere. I was just ambling along the hill road, meandering through the turns, whiffing the cool morning mountain air. There is something about such mornings that makes it so difficult to describe.
Maybe that is why I like mountains, no two mountains are ever the same. They are impossible to describe. Can you really use words to illustrate every jagged edge, every sheer of the mountain face? Can you really recount which plants were lit by the morning sun? Can you portray how the snow will melt every time the magic happens? I cannot.
Yes, that is why I love the mountains. Something that has lasted for a long time and probably will stay for another few 100 million years keeps me guessing how the next moment will be.
I have always loved the sea. I do not think I will stop loving the seas, but, lately, I can hear the hills calling me. They are calling me to get lost in the winding roads. They want me to be astounded due to the thrill of height. They want to surprise me with the suddenness of weather change. They invite me to cool mornings where the smell of the mountain air wake me up. They want me to embrace their tranquil existence with exhilarating ecstasy.
All I want is to feel the insignificant in front of something magnificent. Everything falls in perspective.
What are men to rocks and mountains?
Jane Austen
The above image is clicked in Gulmarg, Kashmir. I wish I can go again there soon. Mountain air is a high in itself. Please follow my Instagram for more travel updates. Here is a link to an old post, a short story snippet discussing significance amongst magnificence.
