Dear Gangtok,

I hope this finds you as green as ever and the blessed Khangchendzonga is overlooking from the West with the same glee as ever. Please don’t be concerned about me, for I’m doing well, even though the sun is scorching the land here. During the afternoons, the birds just drop off of the trees out of sheer heat exhaustion. Oh! How I desperately wish to be in your calm embrace once again.

Every morning I gaze through the window and recall the songs of the mystical birds. Even though the world is moving hastily every day, our time together still remains a snapshot of space-time from a mysterious era when everything was simple, and I nostalgically yearn to return home. I remember the morning walk from Tashi View Point – where the cold winds of the North blow – to Ganesh Tok through the pine-covered road. Running down towards Ridge Park, while TV Tower overlooks at me from above, how the breeze laden with water of Tsomgo Lake revitalized my tired legs. But out here it’s just dust, and smoke, and people – countless people.

My love, the days melt staring at the hollow screen; there’s no resting under the Peepal tree in M.G. Marg; when exhausted and hungry, there’s no momo or roll joint at every corner. Oh! How I miss strolling down your glistening streets after a quick downpour. As I write this, under the fading light, I imagine I’m beholding you in your full night-glory from the fields of Rumtek or Ranka. How your seamless curves flow aerodynamically like an alien spaceship.