166: Back To The Mountains

16 Jun

We’ve landed in the midst of my immediate and extended in-law family, who have come from near and far to spend their summer in the hills. There are cousins, aunts, uncles, servants, cooks, and what have you. It’s madness, there’s chaos, and there’s also the peace that mountains tend to automatically emanate selflessly.

Our drive yesterday was rather long, but we were thrilled to find our maggi point guy’s stall standing as we climbed up the mountains this time. Maggi stalls speak of the arrival of mountains by default. We pulled up the only two chairs that were lined near his cart that was parked under the conifers, and we ordered ourselves some omelettes and tea, to go with the methi paranthas ma had packed for us. My appetite didn’t permit an extra greedy order of maggi, but I was mighty pleased with a crispy, juicy masala omelette that can only be found on roadside carts, to be honest.

Life is simple here. People work, and people go. There are no extra frills of unending thoughts and webs of worry that mar their faces. They smile, they walk on. Even the corncob boys sit around, reclined, waiting for annoying tourists to disturb their reverie.

As much as I love coming to the mountains, I still haven’t gotten used to the serpentine roads as I clench my stomach while we swerve from turn to turn.



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