Wednesday, June 27, 2012

In Brooklyn

So you're going to walk around Brooklyn wearing that graphic print of the 'ॐ' on your top? Like you don't give any fucks in the world?

Yeah, because I really don't.

And do you even know what it means?

Yeah a little bit. I have done yoga lessons. But that's what I mean. I don't give a damn. It is some Indian way of life.

Poor humanity.

I felt saddened that humans in this day and age, watered down by their own personal dilemmas would find no opposition to wearing a holy religious symbol on their front without any thought or knowledge about it. In Brooklyn, in Soho, in Amsterdam and in Kullu. 

I tell her that. She frizzles her hair confidently and takes a sip of latte. The logo of a green goddess on the cup, vehemently hip and foolhardily modern. 

I am going all the way to Gangotri. She adds. You can tell she has done her homework. Her pronunciation of Gangotri sounds forcedly Hindi, with the rolling 'r' and crisp 't' and the open 'o'. 

Poor humanity, thinking they can have a multiple personality out of a whim, out of the working of a few weeks' worth homework. A religious-selfconscious self to add to their multifaceted existence. 

When are you going?

I am saving up. A few thousand dollars. That will easily get me around in rupees.

Suddenly I felt like throwing up. But I didn't. I was in Brooklyn. The kulturhaus of the modern times. Factory of the modern thought. Or post-modern. Or whatever the shit they call themselves to justify themselves. 

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Passing A Local Bus En Route To Dharamsala

Fame gives you no breathing space
For once in my life I am glad
I have no followers
I have no obligations
No board meetings with world changers
To attend this liberating Monday morning
No one to spot me
No teenager to see me from the bus
And start calling out my name

The white pearly mountains
Call out my anonymous name
Call me human, a soul, a wanderer
I have escaped
I am the tree now
The hill
The local bus farting out insidiousness
The mirror showing only what it sees
The blue sky unreserved
The concrete road
Burning in
The noonday sun

I am free

Saturday, June 16, 2012

16 June 2012 update

So its been a really lazy month here on Blogger for me. Work has always got to get the blame for keeping me busy. But here's an update. Dear diary sort of thing.

One thing I'm looking forward to with the greatest greatest anticipation is the proposed wintry trip to Manali with my brothers and parents. Manali is what you call a hillstation in India. A small town in the hills that those who live in the plains love to head to during the hot summer. I always love the idea of a hill station. It is something that you know is up there somewhere where you can go to, if life is starting to give you the pickles and heat and prickles. That is a luxury that many countries don't have. Most countries are stuck with one temperature and one heat within their borders.

But as you should expect, you will see tourists in all their flurry and gusto. In their most colourful festive array. With woolen hats and windproof jackets, procured from the street shops. Sometimes I don't mind them. They have become part of the landscape, especially in the popular destinations like Gangtok and Darjeeling, that I've been to. Sometimes they are funny lots to observe and be entertained by. Sometimes they can be good objects to complain and rant about as you sit at some balcony waiting for 'Chowmein' or 'Maharaja meal deals' to be served. After all, most of the times, you yourself are a tourist in the place, no better than them.

But anyway, if you know me at all, you will know I am a complete sucker for mountains and places like these:

If I do get to go to Manali, this will mean ticking off one of the many lists in my to-visit places. In India.