Intro

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods
There is a rapture on the lonely shore
There is a society where no one intrudes
By the deep sea & music in its roar
I love not man less but nature more.
- Lord Byron

Thus with these (borrowed) words , yours truly too jumps in the blogosphere with his, maybe not very important for you but really very important for him (in fact closest to his heart), accounts of traveling. I have always dreamt of wandering through the suspiciously silent woods, climbing the magnanimously mighty mountains which have always been used in literature to symbolise challenges, taking a dip in the unadulterated Ganges and feeling the tender touch of snowfall on my hands. Well joining IIT Roorkee has been quite fruitful for me in this regard because of its close proximity to some of the most beautiful and natural places in the world. I have had (and am expecting to have) some of the most singular trips after coming to Roorkee. Moreover, I always thought of holding the endless sequence of thoughts, that kept leaking in and jumpimg out of my mind during these ventures, and giving them words but call it my ignorance or vellance or whatever you wish, I never did it. But now I can't stand my own pressure and its this pressure that makes some words leak out of my mind, get scattered on my screen and later on, enter the eyes of the beholders. Regarding the title of the blog, factually its the last track of the legendary Pink Floyd Rock Opera 'The Wall', symbolically it represents what you might have already guessed. Moreover the pic behind the title is of Mansarovar, which is kinda the most important place i wish to visit. Expecting myself to keep the pressure high so that the words keep on leaking, I end up the introductory blog with another set of borrowed words which i like from the core of my heart...

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost