A Walk Within

A secret to never look foolish: do not try anything new.


In my honest attempt to look foolish in front of strangers, I started to visit the western group of temples, every day when I was at Khajuraho, to observe, draw and write. Kayla was a little Czech girl I met on one such sitting at The Lakshman Temple.

Kayla, an inch higher than six steps of stair, ran again with
abandoned care, sandals—now her hands bear, narrating a
yarn and lisping everywhere, scarlet ribbon and plaits on hair,
latching firmly to her mom’s care, after catching a little air, she
asked with utmost care, “Now, did you see what I did there?”


Khajuraho has too much to see if you have the right eyes while for others, there isn’t much but stones. My two months stay at Khajuraho over the course of three visits were always in the warm cradle of Zostel, huddled with evening badminton sessions, late-night samundar visits, treks, rides, safaris, and guftagoo with strangers, and then friends.

Khajuraho was my looking glass–to look back and ahead, within and without, under the broad and deep night sky. It was a small village famed for its exotic temples with erotic sculptures before. Now, it is a place with a profile as broad and deep as its skies

@ Khajuraho