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We were on a bus to Nuwakot. Passing through these hills left me a sudden sense of breathlessness and I am not sure why because I have always been a river-girl. (Or rather a larger-water-body-with-big-waves girl). I have this fondness for river and lakes. I am entranced by them, especially when they flood and there’s turbulence. It is almost as if the storm in these water bodies calmed the storm inside of me. The waves somehow always managed to wash away the fear, the anger, the sadness and the pain brewing inside of me.

It’s not that I don’t like mountains or hills. I am fascinated by them. But up until this very moment I had no idea why the fascination existed;  fascination for these hills and mountains and everything in between. I didn’t understand why I could spend a whole day looking at them and still not get enough of it. The hills that we passed by and the hills that we could see from our hotel room, were large like a giant. They made me feel so small –  a speck of dust compared to them; the tiniest object ever to be found on earth. Like a point. As if I could disappear right into them, never to be found again. In the lap of those hills, I wished to be never found. I smiled, thinking I could go invisible, vanish without a trace. Lost. And then I frowned, wondering if someone would miss me, notice that I’d been gone. If someone would come search for me. If someone would start a rescue mission to save me.

And that’s when I realized  the reason behind my fascination for hills. Looking at these hills, spread far and wide, with patches of green fields in between, All of a sudden it started making sense. The hills with their forests of greens and reds in between and somewhere in the middle, the mist had turned the scenario blue. That’s when he told me about purple. “Purple is the absence of green.” he stated.  To take that whole theory in was quite difficult for me. Purple – sometimes a favorite color – I realized,  was just an illusion, an absence that made me wonder and rethink about everything I ever believed in.

So did the hills. They made me wonder too.  I am someone who has always dreamt of moving mountains, through words and through the emotions  pouring out from me. For me to realize the fact that these hills were moving me instead was a difficult concept. But they were. They were moving every cell that I had in my body. I was flushing, blushing; embarrassed, because now the hills made me doubt whether I could ever move them. Can we ever move mountains? Won’t we get swallowed by them instead? Wasn’t I a fool? To think that my favorite color could be purple – which is basically an illusion. And to think that I could move mountains, when it’s me who has always been moved instead.