You need a different kind of Saturday morning to bring it all down. To get your muses on, to get yourself out of the whirlpool of daily life, to get your wild thoughts wings in the crowded sky.
Here is the news. That brief Saturday morning is on.
I always wonder where do I get high, where do my thoughts sublime. I am in a constant contest with my thoughts for that decision which is still in indecisive. Where are my jewels? Where I will masquerade and not follow the queue answer lies in the blurring memories of moments I spent with mother nature, the ceremonial scenes of landscapes, the wet green meadows of mornings, the sparkling water of baby rivers.
I never wondered that from where did the river come. But somebody did and I was amused and found that questionable. But my ordinary soul kept winding in a whirlpool of mundane life until she called me. Giri, the river which quenched the thirst of thousands like me for decades takes its birth from Giriganga. A water stream that grows immediately into a river in 40 something kilometers. Born in the mystery of mountains submerses herself into the open Yamuna.