I entered my room at Joshimath and found myself rooted at the entrance for about 5 minutes or so. It wasn’t actually as horrible as I am about to make it out to be, but after 12 hours of roads that turn at impossible angles and the accumulation of enough dust in my hair for it to resemble a rock in texture and characteristics (due to the plethora of particles that entered the open windows of the non-AC car), my coloured perception may have been justified. But the journey was also characterized by the awe-inspiring view of the mountains that I seemed to be engaged with for the entirety of the drive. It unfurled like a seamless, endless painting, one that can be viewed from every possible angle in increasing intricacy (due to the amount of varying angles that the roads winded in) and in perfect clarity due to the proximity to it and lack of windows.
Fog laces the silhouettes of colossal structures.
Rain decorates leaves in undying bloom.
Clouds trace the sun with elegant lust
as he watches his creation destroy all,
Colour-coded, perfectly prepared.
children already being stuffed
into dormitories with identical caps and bags
(soon souls too)
making their way to obliviousness surprisingly fast.
Ceaseless smiles and pointless positivity surrounds them.
Fake plastic words decorate families, unchanging mouths trained to smile.
Their microcosmic lives seem delightful. How nice.