Kolkata

Picture the car, three women, struggling to comprehend what woman hood means in the patriarchy, a most disabling place for the best of them. We sit in the four wheel drive traversing the pot holed road to Kolkata from Mayapur, all 90 kms of it and it takes about four hours, at worst. Ahhh but one woman is staving off a mild migraine and another woman seems to think speech is akin to breathing, it must be done at all cost. The migraine addled female, moi has one head phone blasting some inane madness that spouse has down loaded, some blues, some rank jazzy stuff and a few old favourites. Tanked to the roof with sedatives but unable to negotiate the disabling migraine, I am compelled to politely ask the driver to stop for the necessary puke by the side of the road. My only angst is the humour it gives to passers by as I am reduced to a pathetic huddle on the side of the road inspite of all modern comforts and facility. You can not escape the dictates of the material energy. I lean back in the car while the drone continues relentlessly trying to hang on to what little bile I have left. I remember in my mild stupor that I have forgotten my pyjamas........arghg, I lose control over the minor control I have and am compelled to vomit some more. What life can do to a girl. Nearing Kolkata I do not have the luxury of stopping the car and have to negotiate passing buses that come so close that they threaten to decapitate me while I chunder on the road to the city of Joy ever conscious of not ruining the duko of the newly acquired four wheel drive of our favoured driver.

But we stop and where else but the Hyatt to give little glamour to our trip to what used to feel like hell but is becoming more and more tolerable to me. Either Kolkata is improving or I am acclimatising. My first trip to this city was in 86 and I was horrified. There had been a rubbish strike but I was not to know this. I believed this was the natural state of the city and felt all human existence in the city to be some sort of mutated perversion on the natural sequence of things. I watched a person eat a white ice cream I had two thoughts, how did they get the ice cream white in this city of filth and, how could anyone eat in this place? I have come a long way and will happily devour ten Pushkas on the street straight from the hands of a friendly local. On Camac street of course, one of the better streets to shop on.

The Hyatt was fine with my newly emptied stomach ready to receive a rum ball and a Latte with a coke just for good measure. What sinful acts I perform. We sat in the clean and opulent ambience of this dream like place and forgot the woes of our cement clad squat toilets and red cement floors. All the gifts of a teachers apartment in Mayapur; we are a highly valued lot.

But God is kind to me. I laughed a little and spent vicariously through my friends. Helping to choose the items of purchase is as good as spending in my book. We ate some tasty food and enjoyed the momentary freedom of doing just what we liked, when we liked; even if I went home with little to show for my empty wallet. Forks, of the lowest grade, cups to cheer me in my pursuit of the perfect hot beverage and an outfit to represent myself to the world when I hit the West again. What is this West East? It appears they are merging.

Durga Puja offered visual delights as well as a bit of wonder at another peoples source of happiness. It is a sort of prolonged Chrsitmas that goes for days and days. They call it festival season. All manner of facilities shut down and it is bugger to anyone who finds it inconvenient. At this time the Gods come first. I like this but have only ever experienced it in the form of the morning of Christmas. It seems the ether is filled with a respite from activity on this sacred of days in Australia. Our only really sacred day. I heard a governmetn spokesman criticise the Aboriginal for having such long winded rituals. I rather like that life has a time when the vicious pursuit of metrialism must and will stop for higher thoughts, even if some use it as a means to pursue pure surrender to intoxication for a week or more. Who are we to dictate the terms that a person pursues his quest for devotion to whom or what ever.

Just found a new word in the dictionary, echolalia. You know what it reminded me of? The first time I ever saw a group of people chanting their jappa at Melbourne temple.I mean I thought these people were complete nut cases. It didn't strike me as a contradiction that I had been chanting myself as I had been doing it privately. All this public stuff was a bit weird to me. I am used to it now, but the freaks that do it on public transport.....that has got to be weird for a stranger to this stuff.

Must get to bed. My space has been invaded by the gender impaired spouse and It is hard to stay cheery. What is this thing we call marriage. A caging of ourselves from each other lest we offend. This process, this Vaisnava cult has a thing called retirement from family life, bona-fide and all. It's called Varnaprasta, cool eh?

Off to Vrndavan to discover what God has to tell me there. Answers to unasked questions. Perplexed with exigencies of the soul that remain inexplicable to me but remain non the less.

If you have a job for me........I will do it. I must earn my bread and butter in shores afar and haven't a clue what to do. If I was game, I would tell a tale and hope it paid my bills and dignify it at a writers festival while the audience sips red wine in Byron.
Dream on but dream I will. My mother finally got her twaddle published, surely I could have go at it. The things you think for a laugh.

Forty five year old women emerges from her chrysalis of marriage and breeding to live and breath her own. So tragically predictable. I am gripped with the inevitable fear of new birth but at the same time possessed of the thought that if I do not do it I will remain squashed in this confined place over ridden by the more important ego, someone else's valued son. What is this thing with men? WHo said they were the bloody ants pants of society? Luckily this resident ego hasn't the slightest inclination to engage with my world........there, is the joke.

passed by

Crusty old piece of news paper flaps against the window, stuck there to keep the cool in or the heat out. What ever reason, it looks deprived, rancid? Not quite, depraved. It looks plain sad. Flapping against the frame, a mild breeze, doing bugger all but looking poor and cheap. Broken down on the second floor window of the teachers building. The cheapest building of the lot. Proud of that they were. All gain and no pain, education at the bottom of the rung except for extremists and madmen. They call reform, I call it sabotage and not a GBC in site that gives a damn. Hahah, The joke is on me ............again. From the fire to Agni's lap and back again.

I write as a vent but so scared of what the world can and will do I feel impotent to vent lest it be re-construed and hurled back at me as arrows, ever disabling me from fathoming what the hell is going on.

You can read as much philosophy as you like; you can get up in the morning but that wont stop you from feeling it bad when they dismantle the house.

I'm tired and I want to sneak into some God forsaken corner to forget it all. Ok may be not God forsaken, how about his brethren?

Back to Aus to face another chapter of the unknown. The author of my own story in league with whom?

I gave the Moldavite away. Not sure if I am deluding myself by finding a way to palm off the pressure or is it that I empathise and care about the vacuity that can be experienced having bread more than the world needs and to less grateful arms than expected.

Nepal was great if you like to rough it. The austerity is immense. They know not, how to clean. But the mountains were to die for, but in this case I avoided that by sitting on top of the bus on the way down lest the breaks give out. My driving instructor of eons ago informed of the dangers coming down rather than up. Is there a metaphor there? No, I think aspiring is much more dangerous as can be attested in any religious movement you might like to mention.

Must get a job. Well, let syncronicty be my sister cos I haven't a clue. That'll teach me. Hoping to get back to Uni and study what I damn want to instead of what I have to. If not, I guess pushing trolleys will have to do.

Words of advice, do not join a club with promises. They come at a price if at all. Best jut to get on with it and let the idiots dream while the ingenious laugh.

Bitter moments of recrimination. Must pass through with self intact but I gave it up and must get it back.

SO bloody sad.