Posted on by rewasum

I, a mountain flaneur

A personal essay by Sonam C

On my way

There are times when I feel that I do not have a right to speak about my valley. After all, I have half a parentage from there. Since childhood, my sister and I have constantly juggled between identities that our multi-ethnic selves reflected in our facial features and body languages. If the places in which we lived commented on our not-so mainlandish features, our hometowns considered us the opposite. We looked quite different even from them. As the looks would always be an issue, I guess my family members tried looking at it from a different perspective. Instead of eyes, they would comment on how my hair resembled my aane’s. Instead of the tone of the skin, they would tell me that I behaved exactly like a Lahauli. Although I used to take these matters seriously, it’s only on reflection that I realize these were rueful complements to make me feel a part of the family, of the larger community.

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Posted on by rewasum

The love-hate relationship between Himachal and the monsoon.

Written by Drishti.

A stream that arose from a groundwater source from a hill near Garloni village. Photograph by Drishti.

It’s been fourteen days since that night when I witnessed the fields of my grandmother turn into debris. The lush green plants that used to crown those fields have now disappeared. What remains now are uprooted plants merged with soil and water flowing over them. The groundwater, surging from an overcharged aquifer, displayed a relentless determination to escape onto the Earth’s surface, washing the fields away. The night of 13th August 2023 will remain unforgettable. The fear of the unknown robbed me of sleep and caused my heart to pound. At the crack of dawn, I came out to check on the aftermath of the night. In front of my eyes lay the remains of the hard work of my guardians. Many emotions coursed through me, but the prevailing feeling was that of thankfulness for our survival. This incident had occurred when I was at my grandparents’ house near Garloni, which is about 4 km from Rewalsar town. Our phones were out of network for two days, and there was no electricity. Amid the rain, it was challenging to go out and find a spot with good network. But the urge to talk to my parents and loved ones kept me going out frequently. An old radio of my grandfather’s found a purpose after years of neglect; the news bulletin informed us that the situation in other places was much worse.

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