FIRST LIGHT

It was my first trek. My first mountain. My first snow.

When we reached the top of Triund our guide showed us our tent — the one at the very front, facing the ice mountains directly. I stood outside it and just looked. The peaks were white and blue and enormous and completely silent.

I woke before sunrise. Opened the tent. The mountains were there in the dark, just shapes. Then slowly — not dramatically, just quietly — the first light came. Not golden yet. Not pink. Just clear. The ice caught it and held it and for a few minutes everything was transparent and perfectly still.

The monk in the McLeod Ganj market had told us — clear quartz is frozen light. A piece of the sky that came down and stayed.

First Light is that morning. Before colour. Before sound. Pure.