Gol Gappe

The crisp morning air in Kedarnath carried the scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the sound of hurried footsteps and voices as the camp prepared for departure. Tents were being folded, bags packed, and the hum of farewells echoed against the majestic backdrop of snow-capped mountains. Amid the bustle, Siya moved gracefully, her navy-blue anarkali flowing with her every step, a shawl draped snugly over her shoulders to keep out the chill. Her dark hair, tied in a loose braid, framed her face, and her calm demeanor stood in contrast to the commotion around her. She was busy settling payments with the local workers who had made their visit possible. Each one blessed her in gratitude, their weathered faces lighting up with genuine affection. “May God grant you everything you desire, child,” an elderly man said with folded hands. Another woman added, “May He guide you always.” Siya’s soft smile was tinged with melancholy. Their heartfelt words reminded her of Kaal, the enigmatic fi...

The Journey Within The evening sun had dipped below the rugged mountains of Uttarakhand, painting the sky with hues of amber and deep purple. The camp, nestled amidst the dense deodar forest, was alive with the sounds of devotion. Hymns floated through the cool air as devotees gathered around a roaring bonfire, their voices rising and falling like a divine symphony. Yet, within one of the large canvas tents, a storm brewed. Sia sat hunched over a wooden chair, her delicate frame wrapped in a soft beige shawl. Beneath it, her simple white kurta and maroon palazzos hinted at her modesty and grace. Her dark, soulful eyes stared into the swirling steam of a ceramic bowl of soup in her hands. Her mind raced with fragments of the day’s events, each memory vivid, each emotion raw. Earlier, as she opened her eyes to see her friend Sanchi’s tear-streaked face hovering above her, a wave of relief had washed over the tent. Sanchi, always vibrant and brimming with energy, had hugged her tightly. “...

Panic gripped the camp like a storm, the expressions on everyone’s faces reflecting their rising dread as they surrounded Sia, now cradled in Sanchi's embrace. Sia's unconscious form looked fragile, her pale face framed by strands of damp hair clinging to her cheeks. The air was thick with urgency, the faint scent of damp earth mingling with the fragrance of rain-soaked foliage in the Uttarakhand wilderness. "Sia! Sia, wake up!" Sanchi cried desperately, her trembling hands cupping Sia's face as she tapped her cheeks. Her voice cracked under the weight of her worry. Around her, the elder members of the group whispered fervent prayers, their hands clasped tightly as they beseeched the heavens for the revival of the girl who had always selflessly cared for them. "Dear Lord, save her," an elderly woman murmured, her tearful eyes glistening under the dim lantern light. She leaned on her walking stick, her frail frame shaking as the chill of the mountain air ...

 A profound silence engulfed the surroundings, broken only by the rhythmic murmur of the river’s flow and Sia’s labored breathing. Her chest rose and fell in sync with the pulse of nature, her mind still reeling from the imminent peril she had imagined. Slowly, she lowered her trembling arms from her face, cautiously realizing she was unharmed. Her tear-streaked face, framed by disheveled locks clinging to her damp cheeks, radiated a mix of disbelief and relief. Her soft woolen shawl, now streaked with dirt, draped loosely over her shoulders, swaying gently with the breeze. The muted colors of her cotton kurta peered through the shawl, blending with the earthy tones of the forest. Sia’s eyes, still wide with fear, darted to the side, seeking answers. What she saw next struck her like a bolt of lightning. Before her stood a sight that defied reason. The tiger—an embodiment of raw power and ferocity—was nuzzling the man’s feet, purring softly like a docile cat seeking affection. The ...

 The morning air was crisp, the kind that bites at your skin and fills your lungs with a sharp chill. A veil of mist hung low over the rugged Himalayan terrain, blurring the edges of the world. Within the safety of their camps, the group huddled near the fire, its amber flames crackling softly, casting a warm glow against the cold shadows. Sia, however, was elsewhere. Wrapped in a plain, oversized shawl that did little to shield her from the cold, Sia wandered away from the campsite. Her boots crunched against the frost-kissed ground, leaving faint imprints on the snow-dusted path. She was oblivious to the beauty around her—the towering deodar trees standing like sentinels, the faint rays of the sun trying to pierce through the dense fog. Her mind was consumed by memories, guilt pressing down on her like an unseen weight. She stopped suddenly and looked up at the vast expanse of the sky. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks, glistening in the faint light. "Time... it slips through ou...

 The Kedarnath Temple, nestled in the lap of the Garhwal Himalayas, stood majestic against the azure sky, its centuries-old stone walls radiating an air of sanctity and serenity. Pilgrims from across the globe had gathered here, seeking the blessings of the eleventh of the twelve Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva. The temple’s gates, freshly adorned with marigold garlands, marked the beginning of the sacred season in May, a time when the temple remained open until October before the unforgiving Himalayan winters claimed the region. Among the throng of devotees was a unique group—a small NGO known as "The Dream Place." Founded by Sia, a spirited young woman with a compassionate heart, the organization was committed to fulfilling the dreams of the underprivileged who could never imagine embarking on such pilgrimages due to financial constraints. Sia, dressed in a simple yet elegant white kurta paired with a flowing pastel blue dupatta, moved gracefully amidst the group. Her kind eyes ...