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All along I have longed to live
Close across a lofty sylvan hill
For its lure of pleasant scenery
And pure, lilting, enlivening breeze.
Luckily has it become real, of late
In this chilling, thrilling December.
Warm-ups and wash duly over
I stand on the balcony of my sixth floor
Out of the twenty one of Megapolis Sangria
Looking out for the gentle sun to beam down...
His first rays are tentative tongues lolling out
Through the sparse wooded mouths,
Leaving me licked over at random.
His tree-lined tongues look variously –
Like street lights lighting up a dark avenue;
Like a nightly hill-hamlet blinking to the tribal torches;
Like an irregular clump of flickering lighthouses
Beckoning the seafarers for an eager tryst with the shore.
A couple of minutes flit by,
And he glides up in full from behind the hill
To burst into a ball of zillion rays
And drench my ready body in a second bath...
I feel like a baby in a bathtub
And look teeny-weeny before the hilly majesty
That lets the sun hover over its mighty shoulders.
The salubrious sunny-soaring-sylvan breath
Of the east wind that I avidly inspire,
Makes me aspire to measure up to the hilly height...
I come out down and scan the hill – foot to top.
Bracing up, I begin to saunter up,
Taking in the verdant wine on the way,
And charmed by the chirrups of the morning birds
As the beeline of motor traffic goes on sliding
On the verging hilly road in both the ways.
(The lovely purlieus pull in realtors galore
To nestle concrete coves for the choosy lot.)
I march on and up – until I reach the massive foothill.
Scanning all around, I put my best foot forward up the slopes,
And quickly get to meander through the glades,
And from under the thick green canopies,
As the hustle-free soft rustles of a myriad Oreads
Play on my eardrums with a soothing rhythm.
I feel as if walking on air... and keep up my swagger,
To cover the steep distance to the hilly top...
‘Make it man, take it not easy,’ it urges and cautions.
Pounding up and resting, tramping up and halting,
Ha, I manage at last to set foot on the crest.
But there no, I don’t pitch a post to fly my pennant of pride.
I have only scaled for the delight of discovering
A wonder world lying on the other side of the divide,
And in itself a portal again for yet another world beyond
And for a much broader perspective of the one on my side.
Bounden am I to the bounteous hilly vantage
For the fascinating delicacy of a rare vintage.
I can’t love more these Sahyadris
At Phase III of Pune’s Hinjewadi!
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