Postcards from Kandbari | Verses from a Himalayan village
Please go through a few poems from the collection. And if you like them, do purchase the whole collection. A little note on poems is also included here.
Publisher : Half Baked Beans
A mountain village in Himachal. A few months of living in heaven, sort of. And a string of verses that comes out of varied emotions. Musings on changing hours and colors. On clouds. Slow verses. Calm verse. Verses that are placidly angry with the ecological disaster. Verses that look back at Delhi, from a mountain village. On rains. On evenings. On Death. On mornings. On the absent beloved in the city. Familiar and not so familiar verses. All on the present. Some yearnings. On infinite walks. On loneliness. On late nights and ghosts. And dogs.
Of a village called Kandbari in the lap of Himalayas.
A mountain village.
A few comments and Sample poems
I might have written around 85 poems during and pertaining to my stay in the village of Kandbari, but I have included only 37 of them in this collection, because of a weird connection I have with the number 37, and also because 37 is the RTO code of vehicles registered in Palampur, the district in which Kandbari is located. The poems are presented as a story, and even though they can be read without an apparent sequence, I would love that they are read in this sequence. Most of them are dramatic verses, and can further be divided into the following eight sections, pertaining to various moods they embody and describe:
When the sun rises (poems number I-VII)
The fate of a tree (VIII-XI)
Kandbari, I love (XII-XIII)
It rains (XIV-XVIII)
When the moon rises (XIX-XXIV)
Afternoons of memories (XXX-XXXII)
The collection ends with a poetic-essay titled “The eternal struggle between Human beings and Nature”, which I hope sums up my feelings about the themes I have touched in this collection.
A few poems from this collection are as follows:
XV. Our hearts be clouds | Postcards from Kandbari
A small verse on love and clouds — two of the most beautiful things in the world.
XXVII. I know the tastes of the moon | Postcards from Kandbari
Neither it is bitter when surrounded by scurrilous clouds - those floating fluffs of water.
XXVIII. Bros don’t giggle — a midnight verse| Postcards from Kandbari
A midnight verse — It was the month of November. The beginning of the winter season.
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