Celestial Comma

When we hiked up to Jakhoo, the temple to Hanuman way up the hill in Shimla, we participated in the puja, which is a hindu prayer ceremony. James’ tika came out beautifully comma shaped, and I snapped this on the way down.

Blue Hour

I’m nothing if not excited by rich colors, and of course the blue hour (not even a full hour, really) just after sunset delivers. This church is just atop the hill in Shimla, which seems out of place until you realize that Shimla is a British hill station in the Himalayas, and was the British summer capital of India. Who wants to stay in Delhi May through September?

Sunset Over the Himalayas

While we were in Shimla, and James was falling for beautiful Himalayan princesses, I was busy losing my senses over the spectacular colors of the sunset. I’d like to share a few of these with you — 3 to be exact. I took so many pictures I couldn’t pick one that really outshone the others. So let me know which one you like.

The Himalayas are Huge!

Sorry it has taken so long to post, but we are living in true Bollywood fashion here in Bombay. Playing catch-up, let me fill everyone in on our trip to Shimla earlier this week.

Shimla is a hilltown located smack dab in the middle of the Himalayas. It’s partly famous because the decision to partition India and Pakistan occurred at their town hall, and because the British Raj used the town as their summer capitol. It’s also a choice retreat for honeymoon couples and Indian vacationers, and boasts several colleges. Shimla, the town, sprawls across several horizontal layers of the mountainside. Monkeys crawl across the tin roofs and skip along power wires, while ruddy-cheeked natives call out from their bazaar stalls featuring native clothing styles. Shimla is the first place in India where we could actually remember what the cold felt like. While the sun streamed down, we could wear just our t-shirts, but when night fell we were reminded that we were on top of a mountain range.

And no mere mountain range, at that. Elliot waxed ecstatic about the properties of the light settling over the nearby ridges, frantically searching for the best vantage point from which to take his photos. He and I would joke constantly about the fact that we were in the Himalayas:

“Hey Elliot, are you having soup right now?”

“Yep.”

“Elliot, would you say that you’re having soup in the Himalayas?“

“Yes, James. I would say that.”

For dinner, we scored some Tibetan food at a small restaurant. For more information about what happened there, I recommend you read my previous post.

Aftwerwards, we went up to Jakhoo temple. Jakhoo temple is a shrine set up for the Hindu monkey-god Hanuman, who supposedly rested there during the events of the epic Ramayana. The temple is at the highest point in all of Shimla, and we found ourselves climbing for a good twenty minutes before reaching the top. At points, we would stop and stare at the lights of Shimla town below us; the sun had already set and Shimla appeared like any American town. We had to remind ourselves that Shimla looks completely unlike any American city, being so stratified into horizontal bands of housing.

We continued to climb, our friend Manbhir joking that he was going to start working out once we reached the bottom. “Superbly fit” people are supposed to make the climb within thirty minutes. We took this as a challenge, and clocked in at around 28 minutes.

Jakhoo is dedicated to the monkey-god, so it fitting that it has a lot of monkeys. They stood on the roofs, singly and in groups, watching us approach their shrine. Danish informed me that I probably shouldn’t look them in the eye, so we walked past the monkey mob like a group of gunslingers. When we reached the shrine, we took off our shoes, rang the bell, and entered. We then received a traditional Hindu blessing; the priest put water in our hands, then food. He then gave us the ‘tikka’, the recognizable red dot in the middle of our forehead. Danish and I also received a red string around our wrists. Danish continued by telling us the story of Hanuman, which was conveniently displayed in several lavishly rendered pictures.

We went back down after that, joking that our knees were going to give out from all the downhill walking. We went to sleep early that night, waking up at dawn to see the sun break over the surrounding mountain tops. Again, Elliot hunted for his photo opportunity as if it some type of small animal that goes well with onions and potatoes. Finally, we left Shimla, playing the Boston comedian Dane Cook for our Punjabi friends.

“Hey Elliot, we’re listening to Dane Cook. In the Himalayas.“

“Give it a rest, James.”

 

-J. and E.

An Open Letter To My Himalayan Princess

My heart swelled beyond its borders the moment I met you, tucked into the side booth at the tiny Tibetan restaurant upon the Himalayan mountainside. Your skin was the slightest touch of cream, as if the Sun had gently brushed its lips across you at birth. The light bounced off your hair like the rays of the moon illumining the night sky. Your eyes, which timidly rose to meet mine, brought me unresisting to the altar of your beauty.

You left, bumping into my chair as you did so. We muttered, embarrassed, as you raised my sweater to me and gazed full into my face.

Oh, that the entirety of my being could be compressed into that glorious hopeful moment! That I could stand in awe before your silent smile! That the nearness of your presence could remain my utmost blessing!

And then you were gone. After a moment of indecision, I ran after you. But some cruel and insolent spirit, deciding to meddle with childish intent in the great affairs of love, kept you from me

My beauty, my grace, how can I forgive myself for ever letting you leave me? The majestic mountains of the Himalayas no longer hold any power over my eyes, which spend their moments in vain search of another glimpse of your beauty. Other have their breath removed by the altitude, but with each breath of mine, I sigh my longing for you into the sky. I cannot stand still; my heart is restless. I cannot find peace; my soul is on fire.

By not finding you, I betrayed my destiny, for our love was written in the stars. Until the day we meet again, I strive to be worthy of your affection. A mere mortal, I am undeserving to stand before your exquisite beauty. Surely patience is the only virtue which affords me any relief from my spiritual torment.

Oh, my breath, my soul! I pray that you should think of me with fondness. Take care, for you hold my heart within you.

With hope and tenderness,

James Tager