April 26, 2016

Football, uniting Kashmiris overseas

Below is an article submitted by me for certain social media channels for spreading awareness about the KFL league taking place in Dubai.

UAE over the past few years has become an overseas destination of choice for Kashmiris pursuing their livelihoods outside the subcontinent and Kashmiri expat community in Dubai has seen an exponential growth in the past decade owing to the numerous success stories of Kashmiri entrepreneurs and business executives in Middle East.

The usual work life in UAE can be quite exhausting with long working hours, congested commute routes and harsh climate. Last year a bunch of Kashmiris decided to get together every weekend and spend at least one hour sweating it out over a friendly match of football. They started with a cheerful group of six and met every Friday after sunset to burn few calories and play the game that they all loved. As the word spread, so did the numbers and new players kept joining in every week; some old and some young but all with a similar passion for the sport.
The number of players kept swelling and organizing matches became increasingly difficult till it caught the attention of some successful businesses in Dubai, namely, DRE Homes, Stone House Real Estate, Location Real Estate, and Ottomans International Technologies who decided to invest in an idea of a well organized football league for Kashmiris living in UAE which was finally realized on April  22, 2016 when the first season of Kashmir Football League kicked off with more than 50 players and four equally balanced teams: Wular Warriors, Jhelum Rangers,  Aharbal Dragons and Gulmarg Leopards.

The league has created a pleasant atmosphere of unity and brotherhood amongst the Kashmiri community across UAE with young and old playing together with passion and competing fiercely for their teams’ victory.  The league has gained tremendous popularity across social media and other channels of communication for the expats in UAE, many participants say that this league is the best two hours of their weekend and they eagerly wait for the weekend not because it is a holiday but because they get to put on their Football studs and be the hero on the pitch while their families endearingly cheer them on from the stands.

There is a unique mix of players across different teams with diverse backgrounds and various age groups. The veterans in their mid 40’s show tremendous leadership by commanding the young & energetic 20 years old boys into various formations and strategies. The athleticism and sportsmanship on display has received massive appreciation from the community and it has become one more reason to feel a sense of pride in collectively being referred to as Kashmiris. Football in Kashmir has definitely come a long way since Tyndale Biscoe introduced the first leather football in early years of 20th century to the current generation which has taken it overseas. The league is blessed with some serious talent too; there are current college team players from different colleges of Dubai, ex-national level players who have played in India and multiple university level players with varying level of accomplishments in football.

The games are played at high tempo and the skills on display are exquisite, however, the most remarkable moments are witnessed after the games as the teams get together and sit across a single table for a post match meal. These are some serious men with serious jobs, sitting besides each other, some rejoicing their goals and celebrating their victories while others contemplating their missed chances and regretting their loss. In the midst of all the enthusiasm and loud discussions of a typical Kashmiri gathering discussing about the beautiful game in their own beautiful language, they forget about their grown up lives and for once they are a bunch of cheerful lads sharing a well earned meal with each other and more importantly sharing an unbreakable bond of being connected back to their roots.

The league is in the middle of its’ first season and with backing of sponsors such as DRE Homes, Stonehouse Real Estate, Location Real Estate and Ottoman International Technologies it is set to become one of the largest overseas sporting event for Kashmiris living in lands far away from home.

For further updates, please follow the Kashmir Football League on their official Facebook page:

March 21, 2015


She met him as he landed in a city far away from home, a city of concrete jungle and sandstorms. Surprised, shocked and stumbling in his steps, he saw her, the girl with fizzy hair greeting him welcome to a land of no familiarity. Her eyes reminded him of the warmth of his beloved home, her smile reminded him of the innocence of his adolescence and her name was what caught his attention the most, ‘a blazing sun’. The warmth of her touch couldn’t be better explained than with the reference of her name; she shone through all the surrounding bright lights as if Lord himself had bestowed upon her the glorious lights of heaven.
The sun hid itself behind clouds as she stepped into daylight. Sitting besides the refreshing waters of the historic creek, which has seen many civilizations prosper and then perish, a storm gathered and her hair waved up and down in the wind as if mocking the temporariness of life itself. The wind was that of the centuries gone by, taking with it her fragrance to the beautiful shores of Constantinople. The Mystics, the Sufis, the Dervish all rejoiced as his heart was enchanted with the magic in the air.

The depth in those brown eyes told a story of tough childhood and the innocence of those words spoke of an unrealized adulthood. She was insecure and yet she was strong as a rock. She was naive and yet she was self-assured. She was pampered and yet she lived a tragedy. She was sensible and yet she was insane. She was a loser and yet she was a winner. She was a fighter, with scars to show for it, and yet she was the most beautiful girl on earth.

She was the divine companion to his eternal solitude. Mesmerized by sweet warmth of this blazing sun, even sour Turkish poison tasted like nectar when taken from her hands.  She told him about her confidantes, her family, her values, her duties, her past, her present, her dreams…She told him about her life. He listened to her intently, analyzing each and every word, remembering each and every sentence as if a revelation by God himself. He was no Prophet and yet the purest part of his soul had awoken. He forgot about his dreams, his ambitions, his life and even his death. The Mystics, the Sufis, the Dervish all rejoiced as his heart was enchanted with the magic in the air.

It was now when his tightly locked heart ripped open from his chest and out came a river of suppressed emotions, which he had been hiding for his entire life. His stone-hearted walls had fallen, gushing like the water of Nile, wiping with them ‘her’ unwept tears. He was no longer in control of his will; he had become a puppet to the emotion of belonging, the purest emotion of love. He was eternally entranced, encaged and bonded to her. He could not undo his feelings, he could not understand why he laughed and cried at the same time. He could not understand the pain he felt in his chest and the continuous running down of water from his eyes.

He did not realize though, Gods had other plans. The Blazing Sun left him for her luxurious heaven, leaving him all by himself: helpless, handicapped, a cripple. 
Lost in his pain; soon the clouds dispersed, sun disappeared far in the horizon and darkness descended. That night he looked above into the heaven, searching for the single moon among many galaxies of stars. He asked the moon that why Sun left him alone, the moon replied back anxiously that it did not know why the Sun left him but every single night it prays that its’ own beloved Sun would return to be the savior of world from this darkness. The moon consolidated him on this night of raging storms by given him hope that ‘at the end of every night, there is a morning”. That night he didn’t sleep and wondered if his sun will ever come back or leave him all by himself in this world of darkness.

May 6, 2012


A weekday is a weekday, and a weekend is a weekend. Monday comes after Sunday and Friday after Thursday. Sunday is not every day and weekend is not every weekday, night is meant for sleeping and day for working. Sunrise is when a day begins and sunset when it ends. Breakfast is in morning and dinner every evening. 
Dear Lord, what has the world come to…These must be the end of days!

Looking at himself in the mirror, wearing a well ironed grey shirt and a black trouser with a black tie in his hand, he wonders. He wonders how long it has been since he tied a tie, since he polished a shoe, since he ironed a shirt, since he double checked his wallet, since he kept alarms on his clocks. It has been so long since he had a daily routine, a schedule…a purpose to his life other than enjoying every single day as if it were his last.

He used to live in an illusion of freedom and a perfect universe of unending happiness and joy. The freedom to do whatever he wishes whenever he wishes without any limits or restrictions. Any out of the world idea was reasonable and anything unreal was possible. A limitless world that submitted as he desired. A world without laws and restrictions, where he might have even challenged the laws of Physics itself. He lived in a carefree world of hypothetical realities where he could be the God himself creating his own rules as he went through each semester of college.

Staring deep into the mirror, he still has the tie in his hand. He hasn’t tied a tie since he left school some years ago, his cell phone starts ringing and he is late for his job interview. He looks up once more in the mirror and it hits him, a sudden realization that the time has come. The time to leave his nest and come crashing down to the real world of harsh realities. His happy carefree face frowns for the first time as he looks up one last time to see a fading smile.
Face in the mirror, is he a boy or a man?

By the time he processes his thoughts and gets time to bid goodbye to the life he lived in college, it’s already too late for his first job interview at a major company. His life is now no longer his, it’s controlled by expectations. Expectations of his parents to earn his livelihood, expectations of his colleagues to work extra time to prove his worth, expectations of his teachers at college to achieve success, expectations of his own ambitions to reach for the top. He is no longer a master of his universe, now the universe controls him and dictates what he can or cannot do. The responsibilities keep piling on his young shoulders as he keeps crashing down into the real world and sees his nest disappearing from his eyes far into the clouds.

Unsure of how he will fulfill all the expectations that life demands from him, he wishes to could go back to his safe and happy place where all that was expected from him was to smile and laugh and enjoy all the happiness that life had to offer. By the time he is done crying over what he has left behind, he is already too late to board the next bus. He is no longer sure of himself or what he wants from his life and doubts how he will manage to fill that empty belly of his.
He boasts of his past glories to his juniors at college and yet he is the most insignificant and unaccomplished man at office. He does not know what life has in store for him or what turn his life will take. Not yet prepared to go out there and work for his livelihood, he tries to find solace in hope of someone coming through for him, maybe once again as always a call from his mother to hide him in her arms from the hardships of life. Yet, he knows such hopes are not real and it is time to go out and face the world by himself.

It is all moving too fast, he wishes he could rewind the time and go back to the days when he used to fancy about working somewhere with a white collar shirt and well ironed trouser. Now, all that he fancies is his old denim jeans and animated t-shirts. He loathes every part of his new life which has taken a toll on his carefree youthful spirit and instilled in him a mature and careful adult with responsibilities and weight of expectations on his shoulders. Life is winning this battle against his spirit, he never thought he would be bowing down to rules of life and yet he sees himself becoming a part of this crowd as each day passes.

He has become what he feared the most, another face in the crowd. The challenge is to distinguish himself and live up to expectations, life has just begun yet when he thought it had ended looking back at his nest disappearing into clouds far far away…

He opens his eyes realizing he overslept on his first day at college. Thinking about the strange dream, he decides to skip the morning lectures and tell his friends how precious these four years will be.

July 27, 2011

From Gaza to Switzerland

Every year I wait for the best time of the year that is when the sun is baking the deserts of Middle East and concrete Jungles of Dubai, expats like me are busy booking their tickets and buying gifts for their loved ones preparing to go back to their home countries for a much awaited summer vacation. While students in my college are busy planning their trips to Europe and America, I count down the days till I reach home because for a fact I know the lure of ancient and romantic cities of Europe and the scenic Swiss Alps are not much of an attraction when u have been brought up in the valley of Kashmir.

The promise of a peaceful summer vacations at my home is what keeps me going through all the ups and downs and challenges of our otherwise easy college life. The promise of a perfect summer in the midst of snow capped Himalayas, the gushing waters of Aharbal, the glaciers of Sonamarg, the lush meadows of Gulmarg, the dense forests of Pahalgam, the sunset on Boulevard, and the infinitely many other equally beautiful places still to be explored.

Unfortunately for last three seasons, all the plans just remained a piece of writing on a white sheet of paper. Three consecutive summers of unrest and turmoil, it was as if Kashmir was on the verge of a breaking point either an unlikely revolution or a terrible civil war. And I didn’t know which side to be on, whether to think of the uprising as an ‘instigated’ violence by some vested interests against the system or whether to think of it as a genuine call for freedom against a foreign rule which has killed more than 100,000 innocent lives of our own. I didn’t know how to react, whether to be angry at my people for ruining otherwise a perfect tourist season and with it the livelihood of many locals or to stand tall shoulder to shoulder with my people and participate in this fight against injustice and oppression. In the end, inherited selfish human nature won over me and I preferred to stay inside the safety of my home cursing the people for ruining my hard earned summer vacations and did nothing while hundreds more sacrificed their lives for a just cause which may seem impossible and futile to a keen observer.

This year like the previous years we waited for the summer with same impatience and excitement although a fear of one more ruined vacation seemed to take hold of my sub conscience every now and then but I always pushed away the thoughts by planning trips hoping for perfect holidays at home. And then the time came for all of us to pack our bags and leave for our homes. As usual most of my friends flew to various parts of Europe while I boarded the same Air India flight which would take me to my beloved home, Kashmir.

To my surprise I was one of the only 4 or 5 Kashmiris waiting in the queue to board the flight whom I could recognize easily due to very peculiar characteristic traits and sharp facial features inherited in our race! Rest were from different parts of not just India but whole world as it seemed. It was clear from the excitement on their faces that they were tourists on a trip of their lifetime. I could recognize hearing German, French, Russian and even Persian being spoken by people sitting behind me and I myself sat with a bunch of Indian tourists. I didn’t know what to expect when my flight landed at Srinagar International Airport because if it was anything close to last three years than it would be a long journey home. I remember travelling from airport to home last year under immense protection as if a VIP travelling in the war zones of Gaza, Palestine.

But to add to my surprise there were no hartals or curfews, no calls, no demonstrations, no protests, no burning of tires or shouting of slogans, not even any pelting of stones. Every single native seemed to be occupied with some work of their own and the youth busy with their colleges and schools while a crowd of tourists happily passed by them. The smiling faces of foreigners clearly explained the excitement and pleasure they felt in just being here as if a chance of a lifetime. Maybe they had waited so long to see this land in all its glory for it had been famously described as being the heaven on earth. I could easily imagine them exclaiming in their minds…’’Heaven!’’

Elders of my family often used to tell me about the glory days of Kashmir before the violence broke out. How alongside the crystal clear waters of Dal and Nigeen, Boulevard would be crowded with the foreign crowds. When all you could see were people equally as fair as local Kashmiris but with various shades of hair color. They used to tell me of the days when everywhere your head turned you would recognize Bollywood stars posing for their shots and yet it was treated as just being a very ordinary event. They used to tell me of the days when people with blonde and red hair used to come from the various parts of the world just for a breathtaking sunset on Dal Lake, or for the exciting skiing on the slopes of Gulmarg, or for the challenging treks of Mahadev, Haramukh and Kolohoi, or for a taste of Wazwan and Kehwa,or to buy themselves the treasured handicraft furniture and rugs or simply just to stay here and enjoy the hospitable and warm nature of a typically cultured Kashmiri family as if this was the closest thing to heaven in this world.

All I could see today was something which reminded me of the same days of the old that my elders used to tell me of. Tourists from all parts of the world had lined up boulevard, the hotels were fully booked, shikaras loaded with tourists floated on the sparkling waters of Dal, Houseboats were getting some of their dedicated foreign tourists back after a break of two generations. And in the midst of all this I happened to meet a group of French, Swiss and Austrian tourists who after a brief conversation stated that even though their country is very beautiful and the Alps are glorious but it is nowhere near to what they had seen in the past 2 weeks in Kashmir. I even met some young tourists from Southern India who were otherwise very rigid vegetarians but couldn’t resist tasting the famous Wazwan of Kashmir!

I have never seen such perfect summers in Kashmir since the year of my birth which happens to be the most unfortunate year in the history of this land. Although it might be nothing new to elders to see the tourists crowding the valley as if Kashmir was the centre of world tourism but for people of my generation this might be a very rare sight. Comparing the current tourist season with any of the 80s or 70s the elders might shoot down the current season as just a rare and very small scaled glimpse of old but for people my age it is the best we have seen in past 20 years.

Seeing the vast contrasts of two summers separated by just 12 months is remarkable. It was as if just a year ago I had left my home in a war like situation where the people had stood up in unison against a power much greater, as if I had spent my last summer’s in a safe house in the heavily disturbed Gaza of Palestine and yet just one year later I come here as if coming to the serene and peaceful Switzerland of the East.

One just can’t resist but give in to the temptation of imagining what a peaceful Kashmir would look like. A booming economy, the tourist centre of the world, prosperity and peace to its people and once again a cultural and religious hub of the whole region in large. Once again a land of mystics and Sufis, untouched valleys and unseen treasures of nature. Even a possible centre of world adventure sports. Unmatched potential for progress and prosperity co existing with our old age customs and traditions of brotherhood and hospitality. A coexistence of the prosperous and modern new with our very unique old. Ahh… How I wish!

What an unfortunate generation I belong to, I never got to see the Kashmir I imagine in my dreams, which was a reality my elders lived. Dream it truly is and coming back to the actual current reality of today where an entire generation has been led aimlessly by leaders who themselves have failed to recognize an actual aim for struggle, a realistic goal. A rational mind tends to think that accepting our destiny and fate lies with the might of our foreign ruler may be the best option for a fact that no blood would be shed, no innocent lives would be lost and tourism based economy will once again boom. But for a passionate lover of his land it is very hard to accept a personal life of prosperity and peace when his land is still not free and the sacrifices of his brothers have been forgotten.

Personally, I still can’t decide what the future of my land should be. Peace and prosperity of my valley at the cost of true freedom or freedom at the cost of our economy and more importantly many more innocent lives. This is a question that can’t be asked because it can’t be answered. The answer can’t be asked from our leader or our ideal, it lies deep within our own patriotic souls. All we need to do is look deep into ourselves with a patriotic and yet very rational mind and see for ourselves what truly is the best for our mother land. I believe, God will answer.

For the time being I enjoy the very brief period of peace and prosperity that this summer is and take as many digital pictures as possible for my college so that when my Europe return friends meet me, they all will exclaim in unison…”Switzerland wasn’t this beautiful !”

August 3, 2010

Starry Night

It is early August and the beautiful summer season is into its maturity with flowers blossoming in my garden. Tonight the sky is clearer than usual and exposing all shinning wonders hidden beyond imagination. The stars appear brighter than they usually are; something is different about this night. Maybe they have assembled to bear witness to how paradise will burn into ashes.

Turning the head other way, and there they are moving in the sky as if being summoned by God himself. A cluster of shooting stars moving across the dark sky and slowly fading away behind the mighty mountains which limit my vision. I keep searching for the horizon and the shooting star but the farthest I see are the peaks of the snow clad Himalayas.

I hear voices echoing in the valley, this is nothing like I have heard before. An entire population singing in unison; singing as if charmed by the Pied Piper himself. They sing of their brotherhood, they sing of their patriotism, they sing of their nation, they sing of their freedom, they sing of their sacrifice, they sing of their martyrdom, they sing of their valley.

Decades of anger and frustration, an entire generation of oppressed and tortured unfortunates on the streets. A generation of my peers, a generation I have grown up with. A generation which has seen their fathers murdered, their brothers tortured, their sisters raped, their mothers widowed. An entire generation of youth which has grown up in fear of the men in camouflaged army uniforms. ‘

They gave up guns and bullets for a promise of better future, a future where they saw their freedom and prosperity. A promised ‘azaadi’. Twenty years later and the promises still remain unfulfilled. They have had enough of their leaders and their so called country. The limit has been reached and breached; they will no longer remain mute spectators to oppression. The fear of death is no longer a fear, they accept death as if martyrdom. Children, men and women all hand in hand, an entire population of ordinary unarmed Kashmiris protesting on streets for their freedom, fighting for their basic human rights, for their right to democracy and self determination of their nationality.

The bullets fail to deter their march past Indian paramilitary camp after camp, one falls and three more take his place and this time only with louder slogans and harsher tone. Young blood gushes through the gutters and smoke fills up the air. The frightening memories of losing their beloved to the men in uniform still haunts them, maybe this is what has made their hearts so strong that even the bullets don’t seem to stop them. The memories which never seem to die, reminders of their sacrifices. They ask of the 90,000 brothers which they lost to Indian forces, the 7000 brothers that disappeared in Indian custodies, the 100,000 children that have been orphaned, the 22,000 women that have been widowed, the 10,000 women that have been raped. They ask of their childhood which was spent hiding in the closet and now their youth which is lost in pelting stones at an enemy which was supposed to be a friend.

This is an entire generation which has been misunderstood by the rest of the patriotic India, which sees stone pelting as riots and mobs while ignoring and overlooking the basic causes of this anger and frustration.

Suddenly a massive explosion wakes me up from this procrastination and deafening screams of my brothers being murdered are heard from all directions; and yet the mountains refuse to stop the echoing voices in my ear”Sarfarosho Chalo...Cheenke lenge Azaadi Azaadi”

This time I see a shooting star blazing the night sky and I close my eyes and ask God for myself.

As I get ready to go inside and have a nice dinner with my family; tears fill my eyes and I can’t make out if it is the tear gas explosion which is making me cry or my inner conscience which asks of me what I have done for my valley.

August 11, 2009

On a brain vacation

The will to write is sometimes just not enough to make you write…Sometimes it takes a lot more than a sudden burst of immense youthful energy and revolutionary thoughts…And sometimes a lot more than an immaculate vocabulary to come up with even a single sentence…Sometimes the mind just goes blank without any memory of ever learning the technique of expressing itself through the ‘art of writing’…!
And yet sometimes the brain has not been polished enough to take up the ‘art’ or maybe sometimes it goes on a long vacation tired of burdening itself for making out logic from absurd…and every time come up with a new passage of genius thoughts to write, leaving behind scars from the brutal war between inherited ignorance and earned knowledge…

These scars can even become a reason for losing sanity…they need their time to heal…
Sometimes it really needs one hell of an effort to convince the brain to ask the will of your hands to sit in front of a keyboard and ask the fingers to start pressing some keys…!
And yet even after such a long vacation of slumber, the bloody brain (my brain!) still didn’t forget the places the fingers used to visit to meet their beloved…THE KEYS!(I mean the placing of keys on the qwerty keyboard…!!!)
It’s almost as if a love affair between the brain and the keyboard through fingers as an intermediating body…Or maybe a love triangle…!!!

Such crazy thoughts are just a few symptoms of this ‘brain block syndrome’ which has kept me away from my passion…passion to write my heart out
A rusted rough mind which has lost the skill and touch needed to take up the art of polished writing…!
The cerebrum might be partially damaged due to the continuous overburdening of its think tank in the past or maybe the tank might have fired a few missiles back at the thoughts which used to fire it up…!
This brain vacation is something as difficult to fight as it is to comprehend the last few paragraphs of utter bullshit…!!!(Gosh sometimes even a sleeping cerebrum can come up with such authentic sounding, praisworthy bullshit! )

This mind vacation is so difficult to overcome that not even the will power of the brain itself is strong enough to create a way for a passage of thoughts to flow through…Maybe sometimes where there is a will there ain’t a way…(What if the will itself is corrupt and has sided with the brain…!!!)…Now really it proves my point…I am on the verge of losing sanity…!!! (and I am so unfit to write!)
Dear folks, it’s called mind block syndrome…!

Hey folks…You may go ahead and shout out loud at this waste of time…the confusing, meaningless BULLSHIT…start cursing me or do what ever you want to, but I hardly care because my brain has stopped taking any offences…The offences which made it write when the paradise (valley) burnt or when a true spirit was murdered or when a divine intervention never happened…!!!

Maybe this imaginary vacation might never end and I will never ever see the old brain which used to give me some ideas thoughts and inspiration to type on this beautiful keyboard (there it goes again…told you “it’s” totally hitting on this keyboard !!!)…

Maybe the mind is trying to play some mind games…(here I go again with another insane thought…!!!)
Really it pisses me off to see such an immense talent for writing being ruined by an insane brain vacation which has kept my fingers away from the beautiful keyboard since ages…(almost a year now)
Let’s pray and hope for the reunion of the romantic fingers and the beautiful keyboard…A short lived marriage which made me blog for a year with some virtual success and imaginary fan following…

And there it goes again….ALL BLANK…

“I can’t feel no pain for others anymore, I am occupied with my own agony…I can’t see no injustice anymore, I am blind with my own dreams…I can’t raise a voice anymore, I am speaking only for my own sake…”

Maybe unknowingly we all are on a brain vacation...

April 10, 2009

In Gods lap

“If you want to find God, find him in yourself...
And if you still can’t...then head for the mountains...!”
The magnificent Himalayas surrounding the Kashmir valley protect it like a great wall against the mythical dragons and evil spirits...the mountain range provides the valley with breathtaking natural beauty and its own patches of paradise on earth...It also provides mountaineers with great opportunities to conquer the mightiest mountains and the toughest peaks ever known....
The famous Sufi saints of the valley drew their inspiration from the mountains...The mountains form a part of the famous legends and myths and an integral part of the mystical world...
It was during my famous and rigorous Biscoe school camps that I got curious to know why some people give up all their worldly wealth and come to mountains, leaving behind their ‘few’ friends, families and desperate enemies...giving up all the earthly pleasures and luxuries and all the glory just for the sake of sitting on a mountain peak and gazing at the sky...!
It all seemed so inappropriate and crazy for such successful people to give away their fortune and take up the life of a homeless wanderer with nothing to lose...Maybe they were possessed by the demons or maybe they were insane...Whatever it was, it never made any sense...
The good old Biscoe days when we were made to scale the traditional tough terrains with heavy haversacks on our adolescent backs and wood for camp fire in our soft hands...
Even long before we hit puberty, we were already scaling the mighty Himalayas aimlessly in search of something we knew not....!
And that something was something we were never aware of...All the while I used to wonder the point of punishing our bodies and going beyond limits into unknown terrains and territories...Maybe it was the lure of conquering the mighty mountain and the treasured feeling of standing on the highest peak as if proclaiming our superiority over all other creatures or maybe it was the adrenaline rush of walking the treacherous and most dangerous narrow paths...I believed it was the natural greed of the human nature for glory which kept us going even in the worst situations...
But how wrong could I have been...!!!
Having passed all the physical endurance tests and conquered all the mountains...Still the same question haunted the adolescent mind...
The question which had no answer...Some gave up and moved ahead into a world of unsatisfied accomplishments where they would always find something missing from their lives, an internal peace and satisfaction which would haunt them for the rest of their mortal life...
But some persevered and resisted until they lost their sense of existence in search of the answer...
Some say the mountains are haunted by the Jinn’s and the wandering spirits and some say by the walking snowman called ‘Yetis’...and sometimes such unbelievable myths come to life when you gaze on the giant footsteps in the snow or an exorcism being performed on a mountain side...
Sometimes what you see is hard to believe...and sometimes such truths shake your soul inside out awakening it to an unbelievable reality...!
Many monks climb the steep slopes in search of the eternal Shangri-la and many Sadhus wander in hope of finding the mighty Shiva in the mountains...
The tough treks up the steep mountain slopes and the uphill battle against the elements... Maybe I used to interpret such voluntary self torture as the human nature of ambition and greed for power...But the truths hidden in the mountains never lie and they speak of the divine...
The gigantic mountains are a source of mystical experiences...Breath taking sunset and sunrise, the lush green forests, the treacherous steep slopes, spine chilling piercing winds...the melting glaciers and the fresh snow...the huge rocks surrounded by wild flowers...the gushing white waters...sparkling fresh morning dew...the unending long days and the starry nights...the uncertainty of time...the calm of the valley...everything a mortal could ask for...and yet the same old greed of wanting more...the desire to fulfil all the unsatisfied emotions, an ambition to go to the top...a struggle for an internal satisfaction and peace...a fight for power and desires...a fight for the title of strongest and most powerful
When the mountain finally beats you down to earth...tired and beaten...ashamed of the unsuccessful efforts...defeated and broken, having lost to the mother nature...then for the first time in your life you start looking around yourself, admiring all the gifts that nature has bestowed on us...contemplating and reflecting on how the water always manages to break through such massive rocks and make its way forward...how the weakest of creatures manages to survive in the most hostile environment...how each and every creation is unique and wonderful as if designed by God himself...humbled by the experience, you watch the tall mountain in awe and wonder...

And finally a DIVINE intervention....!
The spirit is awakened...a divine satisfaction and peace blesses the soul...
A soul which suddenly wakes up after years of slender and wakes to the voice of nature...The Gods nature....you give up and let yourself be defeated and feel like having achieved all that was to achieve...you no longer want to win...
It’s the feeling when you realise how small is your existence...how powerless are your most powerful attributes...a true realisation, as if you have conquered death itself
this feeling of being mortal and weak makes you lie back and enjoy the painful moment of your defeat...the moment when you look up at the sky, close your eyes with the last bit of strength left in your body...you see yourself elevate to a land unknown to this world...a land of the pure and divine...a land of freedom from desire and ambition...a land of fulfilled promises and wishes...a land of peace and satisfaction....a land of perfection and blessings...a land of joy and justice
Sitting on the peak of the mountain and looking at the world with a changed perspective, praising the God who created you from dust...
All the achievements and all the wealth are of no value any longer...All the ambitions and desires disappear into thin air...Finally you have found the answer, an answer to all your questions... you bow down and gaze with utter humility at your own humble soul...
Opening your eyes, you find yourself lying back in Gods own lap...
The mountain is no longer a question of intimidation...it’s no longer a challenge...you move on with respect for each and every step that the mountain allows you to take on its back...the soul has finally awakened to the reality of this world and the world after...
God always gives you traces of his existence...it’s we who need to open our eyes, awaken our humble spirit and start admiring God in everything that has been created...it maybe the mighty mountains or the vast plains or even a simple rock lying by a river...God flows through all his creations
A divine realisation of our mere existence and a divine creator of all...a humbling experience...an eternal peace and satisfaction found in the magical mountains and mystical valleys where you find yourself lying in Gods own lap...
Your own Shangri-la, an answer to all the questions...

About Me

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Fresh college graduate trying to restart blogging after 4 awesome years.