Story#4: Maheshwar

A river carries many things with its natural flow of water: some strings of history, a few abstract from cultures and the whole circle of life itself. Every great civilization is flourished on the bank of a river, deriving not only their source of life but also their sense of identity, spirituality and whole meaning of existence. But this metamorphosis of the river takes a long way of transitions and understanding. When the river starts to accumulate life in her arms, and it’s ever-changing currents start to sing with the birds and dance with the boats, it’s rhythmic sounds harmonize … Continue readingStory#4: Maheshwar

Story#3: Mrignayani

There is a thin line between myths and legends, and often the truth gets lost while traveling through time and ages. But sometimes history does create magic, stories stranger than fiction, ordinary lives no less than legends. The hills of Gwalior, its magnificent fort has witnessed many such legends. But one legend stands out of others, The Tale of Queen Mrignayani, whose impressions are still alive within these ramparts of Gujari Mahal. Ninni, too was fond of these stories, their legends, and mythologies. She’d never sleep until she had listened to many such stories from her grandmother, and wouldn’t wake up … Continue readingStory#3: Mrignayani

Story#2: From Queen’s Meadow

As the winding road takes each turn, slowly to avoid interrupting the stillness of these mountains, a slight bit of Ranikhet unfolds itself to me. And with next turn hides again, only to open up more. This shyness is not anew for hill towns, but Ranikhet plays this game of intimidation quite extraordinarily. Perhaps this is why it was named Ranikhet: The Queen’s Meadow. Or perhaps it does have the most beautiful meadows I’ve seen, perhaps ever. Only one way to know, the winding road.

Story#1: Tales from Keoladeo

And once again, here I amlost in the woods, but not aloneas I have found, a friend in theseheavy clouds and low trees,in grass green, in that tiny stream,and in singing birds, in running squirrelsAnd yet again, wandering through these woodsI have found myself, I have found my soul.