This, that, and all between.
Rain impregnates every womb. Morning walks in monsoons are a spectacle of wonderland. Three days of good rain and we have fungi and mushrooms going wild, clinging on to every surface that would give them a hold. guru google tells me that these are Ganoderma, the common tree fungus, also called Reishi mushroom. Rain, the virile woman, knows how to have fun. All pictures by yours truly.
By the time I reached home he was dead. Traces of white still there on the right side of his face – under the jaw and on his neck. He had finished shaving half his face, the other half still with the stubble of the day before shining in dried shaving cream. He was lying on the warm cement floor with nothing under his head; must have been put there by the neighbours who were standing around him. I didn’t like it and wanted to put him on the settee where he would snooze in the afternoons. That July was much warmer, no rains that year. Sitting in a corner, mother was delirious and wailing. Grief is a river, it must run, I didn’t console her. The neighbourhood doctor, still by his side, got up and held my hand offering condolences. That morning of July 29th I had driven like a maniac only with the hope I would be able to say, ‘Bye Dad’. But no, like always he was in a hurry.
Photo: Daddy (in black jacket) posing for a photo from the jharokha of his house in Lahore. Don’t miss the beautiful cinquefoil arch at the entrance to the house (bottom left) and the lotus on it. The lakhori brick structure has stayed in tact for over 85 years since its construction.
<ऐसे क्या देख रहे हो जी, हटो नज़र न लगाओ – जाओ, अपनी से मांगो > There’s nothing to stare! Those who have wives do get gifts.
With his hand on my head we walked together three steps closer to the chair he was to occupy. I couldn’t lift my neck to watch that roohani face and dreamt of rubbing my nose against his. Reading my mind, he smiled. At the edge of the table he picked up a packet and unwrapped the book showing it to the audience in the packed IHC hall. My head was still bent when he came and handed me ‘that copy’ of the Tibet House book which had been designed by me – and printed at #ishtihaar His Holiness The Dalai Lama smiled while looking at me and patted my shoulder on the way back as we walked the aisle together – a dozen Rimpoche’s alongside. Thanks Your Holiness, may you live forever and see a peaceful world. Years earlier I was blessed to get a private audience with him at McLeodganj. He is charming and his face glows. More images on our website.
Remember the story, “The Crocodile Who Carried the Moon”, a folktale where a crocodile carries the moon over its tail, highlighting a time when the moon wasn’t in the sky. Here is the real picture complimenting the story – the moon at noon, unreal blue of the sky and the shapely cloud perfect illustration.
Gurgaon, 2 July 2025
Ankahi. Unsaid. 
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