Whenever she is out in the fields, surrounded by hundreds of Darjeeling Tea bushes, I customarily find her resonating and murmuring with the humming birds, playing with the mist and fog that gently caresses her face, re-aligning her hair that got swayed by the sweet-whistling breeze, observing in all directions as far as her eyes can reach trying to find the object of her interest, which she finally finds – in short, she gets lost in her own world. (via Darjeeling Tea -ing: Just like her father)