The Christmasy Joy of Writing In The Hills
Our Himalayan Writing Fellow Arjun Bhatia writes about his experience of writing in the hills.
When I was a child, I had the simple wish of having endless holidays. Holidays where I could snuggle up in a blanket and lie in bed all day. Sipping on a self-refilling cup of hot chocolate, I would spend my time reading stories, my book lit by the golden light of the table lamp.
Except for the part about the endless supply — of holidays and my favourite beverage — my wish was fulfilled for a fortnight each year during every Christmas vacation. But only partly. Because the other part of the wish was for my house to be in the hills, where I could feast on the view from my window. I would lift my gaze from the book to soak in the sight of coniferous trees on mountain peaks, briefly breaking my journey on brooms or spaceships or magical carpets. Reality better be worth pausing fiction for.
It seems odd that during dozens of trips over the last four years, I never got around to realising this little childhood dream. And yet, like the best things in life, my wish came true when I wasn’t even thinking about it. I type these words, sitting inside a house straight out of Hansel and Gretel. Fortunately, there is no witch inside. Unfortunately, no candy on the walls either; I guess I’ll have to learn to live with that.
Situated in the lap of the Tirthan valley, this little mud house is a cradle for immersing yourself in art — both its creation and consumption. Away from the cacophony of city life, I can hear the sound of the river flowing at a stone-throw’s distance (literally; based on a daily pass time), the melody of the birds in whose company I greet the dawn, and the joy of the students in the nearby school singing songs and prayers in their morning assembly. Most importantly, I can hear my inner voice and my fingers typing what it says.
For the first time in my life, it’s taking me minimal effort to write. As much as I like the warmth of my bed, I feel excited at the thought of waking up early, fully recharged, looking forward to a day of reading and writing. Lush is the word, both for the canopies of trees that surround me, as well as my growing manuscript.
I end each day by reading a book, wrapped in my cosy blanket. My sleep here is blank. I live my dream before I go to bed.
The author is part of the YourQuote Himalayan Writing Fellowship 1.0. Here’s more about it:
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