For days I wandered In the mountains green, white & brown Drinking from cold water streams Eating berries & watching slugs Sharing my tent with people from strange lands Walking steep trails & lighting camp fires Walking with sun & gazing at snow mountains Sadly I walk down from heaven Back to humanity all alone Wondering what I found in nature That I couldn't find in people
I found the sky beneath my horizon I flew to the plains majestic and vast I rang the bells of the god in the mountains I breathed the air of the valley enchanting I saw the wanderers throught their quest and thirst I saw the men fall for the valleys at dusk Ive seen the love that grows beneath the trees Like the shadowed cloud on a monsoon eve I felt the drench and the drops so hard And the mother river flowing very deep and far I had no doubts And I also believed I was still curious I was still keen I had to wander I had to dream!!
Wet man walking in the clouds In the Himalayas dripping nectar Of the gods upon all equally Monkeys and monks travel purposefully To buddhahood One compassionate moment at a time Who arrives first? The answer is nearer when We see the question as Irrelevant
the Himalayas rise there is snow on the peaks I watch it from my bed I gaze and gaze at it in the morning as a little village girl goes by sniffling with cold I too am cold it is chilly here in Tosh in May but a young Israeli boy took off his shirt and stood on the fencepost of the guesthouse dancing down was the deep green valley all of us watched in admiration the next day I went down to the waterfall which from here is a beautiful whisper in the air there are donkeys and a path and pretty houses on the other side of the valley and everywhere there are people smoking hash and relaxing in the cafes and the guesthouses it is almost like a pilgrimage smokers keep coming and sit around smoking talking I pull down my woollen cap my arms and back feel the chill despite a thick sweater despite a blanket and a four inch thick quilt I roll my joints and smoke them alone sometimes smoke them with others I look at the hills and the valleys and the wooden houses I look at the white peaks glowing in the sun and talk about CCR and stained glass art with Michael from Norfolk who’s going down the valley to another village for a party tonight with his young Spanish friend I talk about Bombay with Puneet and Manya from Kanpur who’ve come here on a Bullet Hash Heaven Manya says reading my mind as the joint passes on to the four engineering interns from Delhi and all the time I sip on ginger lemon honey for my sore throat until on the last day it disappears unlike the young Israeli girl’s pink laptop in a pink cover found by the part time caretaker in the garden on a pink chair she left behind last night because it was too dark come again the guesthouse boys say to me as I pay them what a scene I think how cool as I begin to leave the village down the dung-clotted stone steps nodding to the smokers coming in.
Tosh is a small mountain village producing great hashish in Kullu district of Himachal Pradesh. I dedicate this poem to the village, its people who run a great show and all the hash smokers who flock there. Bom Shankar!