Pregled posta

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Eric said "See ya" as he jumped out of the jeep. He stood there for a
moment, among the dazzling lights from various tiny shops (the average
convenience store in Udaipur is about the size of a non walk-in
closet), tiny temples, and passing motorcycles. He stood there like a
static part of a photograph, just one of the millions of people out in
India at 8pm, and then blended away as we continued on.

He was one of the volunteers at the Animal Aid Society, a pretty
amiable fellow from Australia. He had done previous work at a
chimpanzee sanctuary in Uganda, and had been at the shelter in Udaipur
before. He mostly worked with cattle and donkeys, and introduced me
to these larger livestock. He was one of the members of our group who
took a trip out to a gorgeous temple to participate in Manas singing.

We usually left the hospital around noon to get lunch, take showers,
and have a day to explore the city. This day, though, Erika (director
of the society) invited us to the temple. She said it would be fun,
singing and clapping, we'd sip some bhang and relax. She said the
bhang (weak marijuana beverage) was mild and her daughter (Clair, 17)
really loved it. We went along.

The temple was one of the most beautiful places we have been. We sat
on a marble patio-like structure, although it had a roof. It was all
men except for Erika, Claire, and Xep. The men looked like they came
from all over; some in western clothing, some in turbans, some had
cowls covering their heads. Some were teens, some were very elderly.
Almost all of them had the glazed eyes of stoners and most of them
were playing finger cymbals, drums, rattles, or just clapping along
with the chants. There was next to this area a tiny ghat, or steps
leading into a small lake for ritual bathing. Across the lake were
brilliant green hills spotted with stone shelters, similar to
dome-topped pagodas. It looked right out of the Hindu paintings you
see of Shiva with neon landscapes in the background.

Before arriving, we stopped in the nearest town and had some water and
then were offered the bhang. The temple also provides it, but as half
of our group was vegan, we wanted a milk-free version. It was made in
a delicious solution of lemon, mint, and spices. Claire quickly drank
a cup and a half while Erika, Eric, and I had a cup each. Xep
abstained this time.

The effects did seem pretty mild although it made the music more
hypnotic and fun. It was hard to follow the chanting in another
language, but the drumbeat and cymbals were very intuitive. It was
essentially an elaborate (and much more polished) version of drum
circles you'd find on college campuses. Anyone free to come and go as
they please, pick up or put down instruments. Follow the group but no
real regulations on how to play. There was a core "band" of tabla,
harmonium, and one main cymbalist. Every once in a while someone
would get up and dance in the middle of the circle, and sometimes
someone would sing solo. It was quite beautiful.

After a while we left, and on the way back had to stop as Erika was
feeling very carsick. Indian driving is indeed CRAZY and this was on
one of the worst roads we had been on: A winding mountain "highway"
through very steep passes. To make it worse, it was in marble
country, so the road was speckled with enormous dumptrucks going about
5mph, full of marble. The Indian style of passing cannot even be
explained. Basically, there are no lanes and it is extremely
suicidal. Horns are blared to indicate intent, and then drivers just
go where they want. They don't use headlights until well after dark.
Its truly terrifying and I feel like I have an above-average tolerance
for this kind of thing. I had to alternate between paying strict
attention to the current odds of death through the front windshield
(generally ranging between 60 and 99%) and looking at the floor to get
a brief break from the adrenaline.

And so we stopped for a few minutes as Erika had to lay down. The
driver and her guru-escort friend debated what to do. I talked to
Eric and Claire about parents acting weirdly. Eric's dad was known to
get so drunk that he swang from rafters, once knocking himself out.
Claire's mom was laying in a Jeep in India, stoned on bhang and
groaning. I didn't really have anything to add other than "wow" to
Eric's stories. I was pretty high myself.

It got darker and the driving became more and more sketchy as we got
closer to town. Xep tried to talk to me, asking me what was on my
mind, and I was really feeling the bhang. Unable to speak. Just
holding on (literally, holding onto the steel frame of the Jeep to
keep from falling out the open back with each bump). I was imagining
the beeline I would make to our bed over and over so that when the
time came I could navigate it without incident.

But first we had to get Erika home. She lives in the village right
near the animal hospital, way up a road tha

"Hello there, the angel from my nightmare...."
:)
(One of my all-time fave lyrics and I never thought I'd be using this image to portray it o.O)

-I Miss You - Blink 182-
Friday's Lyrical Imagery - 25.09.09

18.365: (Outtake?) Well....these are rikshaws....a common sight here.........Kind of like vespa scooters with a cover and a back seat :)...........! I love them........they are the best thing to encounter while you're traveling on the road under stressful and horrifying traffic conditions. They're colorful, depict traditional arts,decorated with poetry and intricate (not!) design. They are everywhere and make loads of noise which partly constitute the traffic conditions but I'll take a 'whatever' stand on that one! :)