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Dear Gurgaon,
Today I sit at my desk to write a letter to you, my love.
You embraced me when I played in your arms during the rain.
@dean.priya
#Gurgaon #Haryana #LoveLettersToIndia #LoveMyCity #ValentinesDay #ValentinesWeek
Today I sit at my desk to write a letter to you, my love.
You embraced me when I played in your arms during the rain.
@dean.priya
#Gurgaon #Haryana #LoveLettersToIndia #LoveMyCity #ValentinesDay #ValentinesWeek
Your green cover, birds chirping, women giggling while going to the well, and children playing in the pond. I miss that all.
The birds chirping was my alarm for the day; the giggling of the woman going to the well to fill water, the children jumping in the pond, I miss that all.
The birds chirping was my alarm for the day; the giggling of the woman going to the well to fill water, the children jumping in the pond, I miss that all.
Both of us have forgotten each other. Maybe I have failed you more than I used to love you.
The beauty you had when the corn used to grow was like your long hair, yours with the mustard flower on your long silk hair.
The beauty you had when the corn used to grow was like your long hair, yours with the mustard flower on your long silk hair.
Dear Mumbai,
An old Chinese legend tells of the red thread of destiny. Everyone, it says, is bound with aninvisible force, a cosmic thread to the things they love. Through twists and turns and tangles and knots, the connection never fades.
An old Chinese legend tells of the red thread of destiny. Everyone, it says, is bound with aninvisible force, a cosmic thread to the things they love. Through twists and turns and tangles and knots, the connection never fades.
And Mumbai, you can't deny we've thought this to be true for us. They say opposites attract and I fully agree. Take me and you for instance.
We're poles apart as far as it goes. For anyone who’s ever known me, they’d tell you my sense of direction is something almost non existent. And then you waltz into the picture with your winding roads, and turns and railway tracks that branch out like veins.
Dear Rishikesh,
How can I forget the day my eyes first fell on you? Those gorgeous green hills carpeted in lush plantations, swaying in a way that feels like poetry in motion.
How can I forget the day my eyes first fell on you? Those gorgeous green hills carpeted in lush plantations, swaying in a way that feels like poetry in motion.
Ram Sita (Janki) and Laxman Setu, your beating heart that lay wrapped in the strings of serenity, peace and devotion of each traveller who visited.
When the hues of evening fell on you, you appeared like the dreamy painting of a famous artist, created after years of hard work.
When the hues of evening fell on you, you appeared like the dreamy painting of a famous artist, created after years of hard work.
The ringing of bells from temples, the spectacular aarti of Mother Ganga and the lakhs of footprints of humanity from various walks of life that made you come alive even at night. Who can say you only offer peace?
To My Home: Vadodara,
When I think about you, the place I grew up, a wave of nostalgia sweeps over me! Whether you go by Vadodara, Baroda, Kalanagari, or Sanskarinagar, for me, you are t
When I think about you, the place I grew up, a wave of nostalgia sweeps over me! Whether you go by Vadodara, Baroda, Kalanagari, or Sanskarinagar, for me, you are t
he hometown that has always had a place for me.
And, just like old friends, whenever we reunite, I feel warmth, happiness, and comfort in your embrace.
And, just like old friends, whenever we reunite, I feel warmth, happiness, and comfort in your embrace.
From playing in the old city lanes for hours, spending lazy mornings in Sayaji Garden with friends (we called it Kamathi baug then), going for walks around the Sursagar lake, occasional visits to the Ajwa garden or Pavagadh whenever we had out-of-town guests.
