Ah well, Panchgani is over till October.
As the sun starts to make its way back to the Northern Hemisphere, the winds on the steadily warming Deccan Plateau make paragliding here impossible, and this is when the small community of pilots that live in the village start making their way elsewhere. Last flights are stolen from the uncooperative elements, memorable flights from previous days remembered fondly, goodbye chillums and barbecues are smoked and one day, the camp lies empty.
The little tent that I called home for the majority of the last three months suddenly looks so much bigger now that the mess in it is gone. The merry bunch of hippies is criss-crossing the country in trains, on their way to other places, other things. Everyone promises to be back next year. Come to Bir in April, they say. I’ll try. Or we see you in Nepal. Hey, come to Austria in the summer.
For me, this probably means no more flying for many months. While Kamshet is still flyable for a few months more, it cannot match the charm of Panchgani for me, and so I suppose even if I do fly there, It’ll be like dating someone new after a long and monogamous relationship.
But not to worry. Something else will fill the seasons until the autumn equinox. And sooner or later, the season comes around again and the skies over Panchgani fill once again with brightly coloured canopies, and once again it will be time to take off.
Or I could go to Austria in the summer.