I wrote this in Domisiat, a little known village a day's travel over very rough roads (if they even pass as roads) from Shillong. Lately I've been thinking about Domisiat and that little trip again. It's not due to homesickness by the way. I don't really know why though, that flashes and glimpses of cloudy mountains and snail paced mists keep playing in my mind again and again, as I concentrate to sleep or try and cross a street or as I stare at my computer in my class.
I know I should write a proper account of all that happened, not that it was a very meaningful trip to be read by others, but in a way, I feel doing justice to this strange surge of memories is only right.