welcome to india again.
its been a while and the mild winter has turned into the mild summer which is a 20 degree celsius difference and brings with into the beardom the near-fatal heat-mosquito combination which makes it impossible to guard yourself against attack because it would be too hot under the covers.
hence the Net (not the Internets) and Tolerance are our only options. and sleeping with a naked back on the cool marble floor.
i've been all over everywhere in the last month, with special thanks to Narendra Modi and the government of gujarat for throwing a private party (midnight camel rides through the salt desert included) for the elite (and me).
we also found a monastery of 1350 years of fame, with an uncle almost as old spouting the wisdom and poetry of the ancients, and invited me to live with him and garden amidst the sacred ruins.
the flute classes are 3-4 times a week and i feel like i am finally learning. i have a big flute (E) and am learning the famous Alap. my teachers have finally convinced me that the special trick i want to learn is called "Style" and only comes from practice. shit!
i am alive. i have no plans. india is alive and integral. the rickshaws stop for the bullock cars when they cross the street and the women walk back in sari-c regalia, hands at their sides and a metal tub of cow dung cakes atop their heads.
they are truly amazing. like the women in desert who walk 8 km daily to a lagoon to carry 2 (two, count them) stainless steel pots on their heads (again no hands mom and daughter) and then back to the camp (3 men and a tea keattle) where they watch over 1500 camel.
and i played music for them (the camels). and everybody is pysched. pictures will be forthcoming.
in the magic of milk relationships i have also made contact with my father's family and am having dinner with them at seva cafe (the ahmedabad bigode) tomorrow night. my long-lost aunt is living proof there is somethig to the idea of blood relations: she plays the sitar, has basically quit her medical practice to do 2 hours of pranayama a day, and has the entire bhagavad gita memorized. she has the energy and innocence of a girl and inspires me infinitely.
we are that we are.
the reading and writing have fallen into the corners of the room even the fan doesnt reach and instead im practicing Rag Kalyan and drinking cold quantities of buttermilk.
it's a good life, wood apple is in season, mangos are not but you can find them overpriced in the market, and im living on papaya.
just so we know.
back to mangolandia.
back to mangolandia.