2nd July 2010
My father chose to rest in the room.
I and my mother stepped out.
The Gompa, the hills, the stream, the bridge and hundreds of stupas.
I had during my last visit climbed up the narrow path to the top of one of the hills, guided by the lad at the guest house.
But not this time.
But then, how did I take the pictures of the hills? The poplars, the trees, the electric wires all seem beneath me.
My memory is blurred.
One thing is for sure. A lot of things in this world are charming simply because of their novelty to us.
That’s not really disillusionment. That’s the realization that one must go on travelling. And one must rest sufficiently so travel itself does not lose its novelty!
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