Darjeeling, June 2011

Such green is not of us
Such green and cold
Breeds other people
Not us.

Woes are hid behind the cloud-capped hill
In the silence of the swollen tribal face.
The stones don’t speak, the water is tired
Busy flowing past the stones
   In oblivion with clouds
     Silent , going
      Down the trench.


Some pristine and lonely spirit
Haunts the hills.
Her prayer is said in silence
The vegetation follows
   Heads downtrodden with rain
Intermingling brute hunger with innocence
     Unlike us.

Relics stay, I ask, ―what is that for?
Behind the Old Catholic church
Some romantic and old misery hurts
Like a tribal story, like a bible thing
Appears so desolate
And green green green

Not for us at all!
(Its quite an old poem just thought that it fitted here )

From Darjeeling

(the toy train station...i added too much film grain i guess)

From Darjeeling

(the town)

From Darjeeling

(near the lake in Mirik)

From Darjeeling

(some memorial for the soldiers who died in Kargil)

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

(the blue umbrella)

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

(near Mirik lake)

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

(the corn sellers)

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

(a view from my hotel room)

From Darjeeling

From Darjeeling

(there is a raindrop on the lens)

From Darjeeling

(Globetrotter..eh?)