Dear Readers,
I love India. She is like a lady who knows how to conspicuously check you out from within a veil. No matter how well you know, one would never be able to understand her real character. She overawes her admirer with her beauty and intimidates the bravest to transform them into wimpy souls by unleashing her wild wrath. Sometimes, she showers her love upon you like water gushing out of a bursted dam provided you offer a total surrender after a long persistence.
You must be wondering what inspires me to confess my emotions tonight. Actually, I am thoroughly amazed by my lady love. Before, I have spent countless moments staring at the beauty of this diva like a true lover struck by the cupid for the first time but this time over, I was surprised to observe that each time one looks at her, he explores something new. I have at times had the luxury to stare blankly at some of the most breath taking views that this serendipitous sub-continent has to offer. However, today when I was repetitively gazing over a landscape that has come under my scanner time and again(the Aravallis), I was struck by its perennially ever changing face.
At times lofty mountains seem to be growing bald by the scalding heat. In the peak summer months, when you drive through the passes of the Aravallis to reach to greener and cooler patches, you see the hill tops and our modest peaks exposing a silvery black underskin. It appears that skin is made up of discarded aluminium foils used for smoking Heroine ( as they do in the war hit zones of Afghanistan). At other times, those very mountains bloom with a dense green foliage after a healthy monsoon. On a winter evening, as the Sun dips beyond their backs, one can see them draping themselves up in cozy quilts of pink and orange shades.
How lucky would be the ones who inhabit the foot hills of the Himalayas?......
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