I was slaving over some work for a soon-to-be-launched product that somehow fell in love with its soon-to-be-launched status. With each extension of the launch date, new feedback/work became par for the course. Utterly frustrating would be a mild understatement. More so because I was presumably on holiday mode.
The first couple of days, I ended up staring more at my laptop screen rather than the lofty mountains. Shocking, I know. On Day 3, things came to a head. It was late evening when I managed to extricate myself from a web of mail chains and found myself pounding the road that led to Paro town.
When you’re at a height of 2,500 m above sea level and haven’t eaten all day, the energy levels dip lower than the Dead Sea. Thankfully, I got hold of a cab halfway. A quick sandwich-tea combo did the job of a quick pick-me-up. As I walked out of the cafe, I noticed that the sky had become a glorious shade of blue. And the lit up Rinpung Dzong, an ancient fort and the religious and administrative HQ of Paro, was resplendent in the evening light. I took out my camera. But the light was falling fast. I got a couple of clicks, but it was too dark a sky. A day when no satisfactory photos can be taken ranks way up there in sad moments in life.
Next day, I was prepared. I woke up at the crack of dawn. Finished my work well before lunch. And then set out for lunch. After which I made myself comfortable on the wooden bridge leading to Rinpung Dzong for the entire afternoon, watching red-robed monks, selfie-addicted tourists, serious-faced officials, and light-hearted students. The gurgle of the Paro Chu (River) below, and a breeze everywhere were constant companions. As the afternoon segued into evening, the sky became the shade of blue that I was waiting for. I had already set up the camera. The only thing left to do was start clicking. So I started clicking.