July had been crazy, quiet and melancholic. I don’t wanna think much about how grievingly my Shillong trip ended but would still love to recall every beautiful thing. I had a lot to say yet ironically never had a post in July.
This is series inspired by the better half of the month, the nowness of an abstract stillness and memory hues. Everything before everything happened.
Skies. Walls. Geometry. Jackets.
Ziro is known to be one of the oldest towns in Arunachal Pradesh, which is also the home for the Apatani people. Besides the mountains, rice farms and orchards, Arunachal has an ample number of helipads. This is one of them.
My friend says this is probably the only helipad in Ziro, which I guess is true and which is why the helipad usually becomes a football ground for most of the kids out there. Then with preferences, the football field would also temporarily turn into a cycling track or a grazing field for a lonely cow.
We preferred strolling and looking at the mountains.
This place comes somewhere on the road that goes to Cherrapunji from Shillong. It was as quiet as a cemetery and as beautiful as a dream. Then there were three of us and that somebody under the ground.