clouds

Both Sides Now, by the Fire

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There is something about a small fire on a quiet night that makes a person philosophical far quicker than any self-help book ever could.

You sit down thinking it will be a short, practical affair. Just ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Light the fire, warm your hands, admire the sky, go back in. But fires, like old friends and railway delays, rarely stay within schedule.

Soon you are staring at the flames as if they have something important to say. The wood crackles with the confidence of a man who has never had to attend a budget meeting. The sparks rise bravely, like ambitious ideas, and vanish just as quickly.

Above, the clouds drift across the moon in slow, thoughtful formations. They look dramatic. Purposeful. Almost as if they know where they are going. Which, of course, they do not. They are simply being carried along, rearranged by invisible currents, much like the rest of us.

It is at moments like this that Joni Mitchell’s lines return quietly:

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

The fire seems to agree. It begins with neat, obedient sticks, arranged carefully by a human who believes he is in charge. Ten minutes later, everything has collapsed into glowing chaos. Yet somehow, the warmth is better than before.

Life seems to follow a similar method. We plan, stack, arrange, and schedule. We give things names like “five-year strategy” and “career trajectory,” as if life were a polite train that would stop at all the stations on time. Then something unexpected happens. The sticks fall differently. The flame shifts. The smoke goes the wrong way. And we find ourselves learning a lesson we never planned to attend.

Still, there is warmth. There is light. There is this moment, under these wandering clouds, beside this small, cheerful fire.

And perhaps that is enough. Not perfect understanding. Just a little heat, a little light, and the gentle admission that we are all, in our own way, sitting by the fire, still figuring things out.

Clouded Views

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Drives across the vast freeways of the USA can get you present to ‘size’ in a special way. The cars are large. The roads are wide. The billboards are wider. And if you stop for a bite, the portions can serve you for a lifetime. Or two.

But there is another reason that I like them for: the view of the sky. The Sun stays up and shiny till 8.30 PM. The blue shades of dusk that stretches beyond, like a reluctant goodbye of a loved one at an airport. When you drive into the setting Sun, you get an inviting view of the clouds. It is magical.

On one such trip, the little miss shouted out, “Snow White” pointing to an array of clouds. I looked in her array of clouds and found no “snow white’. At best, it looked like some full grown cauliflower.  I said, “I don’t see any Snow White“.

At first, she withdrew in silence and then, said, “Don’t be silly Appa”. Can you see the head there? And the body and the legs. She is bending over searching for something. I can also see her scarf. Can you not see?”

I looked harder and deeper. A head emerged and I could imagine that it belonged to Snow White. I could not see her bending or the legs or the body. Or the scarf for that matter. “I can see the head”, I said. In all honesty.

“If you can see the head, you can see more Appa. Try”. She said.

The wind was playing a cruel trick and before I could see any further the clouds were rearranging themselves. Snow White was gone even before I could place her fully.

In a bit, there was a new cloud array. A quick dash question came my way. “What do YOU see now, Appa?” It became a super game and kept chipping away from the familiarity induced boredom that the vast roads bring along.

Intermittent to her questions and my answers, I kept thinking of how sure she was about what she saw. And how I just couldn’t see what she saw without some prodding and help from her.

It reminded me of what I needed to do more of.  Perhaps what the world needs to do more of as well.  To try and see what others see even if at first, we cannot do so. To help others see what we see, even when they refuse to do so. That is building perspective! And to understand the clouds will move with the winds and the wind will keep a relentless pace.

Long after it was all over and as I was tucking her in at night, she asked what the clouds were doing just then. “They must be playing their games”.

“Will they be good Appa?”

“I don’t know. But we soon will know”

“Why Appa?”, she asked. With an inquisitive arch of the brow.

“Because”, I said, “it soon will be dawn”.

 

 

When Cities Blur: Mumbai’s Identity Beyond the Skyline

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Some cities wear their identities like a badge—loud, proud, unmistakable. Others, like Mumbai, let their identity shift, stretch, and sometimes, slip under a cloud. Quite literally.

The monsoon clouds roll in, heavy and unrelenting, swallowing the skyline, softening the sharp edges of glass and steel. The city remains, but its form blurs. For a moment, Mumbai is just a mood—grey, unpredictable, alive in its own way.

But beyond the clouds, beyond the physical skyline, lies the real Mumbai. The one that isn’t just its landmarks or its traffic-clogged veins, but its pulse—its people, its stories, its sheer resilience. The city rebuilds, reinvents, recovers—sometimes from floods, sometimes from its own exhaustion.

The Bandra-Worli Sea Link, a symbol of ambition cutting through the Arabian Sea, often vanishes into the mist. And yet, the traffic still flows, the bridges still hold. That’s Mumbai for you—moving forward even when the road ahead is unclear.

Maybe cities, like people, need their cloudy moments. To pause. To let go of rigid definitions. To rediscover what lies beneath the obvious.

Because identity isn’t just about what is seen. It’s also about what endures.

The Romance of Clouds and Peaks: A Lesson in Perspective

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Mountains don’t just stand—they stretch. They invite, they teach, they expand your sense of what’s possible.

When the clouds kiss the peaks, and the ground beneath hums with quiet excitement, your eyes drift—not just to the heights, but to the horizon.

And there, beyond the first set of peaks, another set awaits—wrapped in their own clouded embrace, whispering the same story.

You smile. You understand expanse. Not just of the mountains, but of perspective, possibility, and wonder.

Because some lessons can’t be taught. Only experienced.

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It’s all in the cloud. When swirls of white pop the sky, the lakes respond with love.
There is a magical dance with the wind singing a new tune and the clouds waltzing to it.
In the grand ballroom that the lake seems to host.

#clouds #lake #nature #beauty #melancholy #travel #traveller #travelblogging #Blogger #blogging #Bhimashankar #BlueMormonResort #maharashtra #India #inspiration (at Blue Mormon Resort, Bhimashankar, Maharashtra)