Dear Himalayan wonderland that I call home for the present, You are a rainbow-studded jewel in the earth and somehow the land I hate to love and love to hate. You flaunt ruby hyacinth, mohawk-plumed birds, temperamental monkeys, and forests of pine. Cows lazily meander over you like fat cats who think they own house and owner. Ice-cold rivers bubble around boys playing in their underpants while their mothers dry sheets and dupatas on oversized rocks, hot as baked potatoes.  Your people endure. They milk the cow, set paneer, and roll a perfect roti. From just a few screaming pressure cookers, women fashion feasts to feed crowds without the help…