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.
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.