Memories of the Subcontinent - Part 4

From Manali I travelled 240km to Dharamsala. After securing my bag to the roof-rack I clambered onto the bus and found my seat. Contorted bodies, bundles of fruit and large metal pipes filled the bus. Thinking myself to be lucky enough to have reserved a seat, it was undoubtedly the worst one on the bus. Located just behind the door, a horizontal bar above my lap acted as a partition (in theory) to prevent me from sliding down into the gully by the buses door. This bar also served to seat a further three bums. Pinned in by the bar and the entanglement of bodies, the confinement caused the muscles in my lower legs to ache and spasm. It was a mistake to attempt to free up room. The inch or two I had created, at a cost to some other part of my body, was instantly absorbed – i'd say intuitively taken!! I dare not breath heavily. Despite the contention and battle for space there were no grimaces, only smiles and camaraderie. Their intimacy was a way of life - as well as a fact of one.

Rolling into dusty Dharamsala during the wee hours of the morning, we hailed a taxi to ascend the 10km to McLeod Ganj, home of the Deli Lama and his Tibetan government in exile. Presenting itself to be a drab hillside town, McLeod Ganj really isn't visually arresting to the untrained eye. Whatever splendour its physical landscape may lack, the warmth and graciousness of its inhabitants is touching to say the least. McLeod Ganj soothed the festering wounds of cynicism and scepticism that had worsened since my subcontinental embarkation.

To pick just a few from the highlights of my stay, the food defiantly deserves acknowledgement and due praise. I think I had spent 3 weeks in India up and till then. The Dahl and rice regime had grown predictable, and the high in fat and salt snacks were taking their toll. The culinary delights of Tibetan cuisine are mild, subtle and nutritious – maybe the antithesis to what I had tasted so far in India. Typically Tibetan dishes are a noodle soup of some variety or other. There is also a snack called 'momos'. Momos were undoubtedly the best thing I ate during the whole three months. These little parcels of pastry, either deep-fried or steamed, are filled with vegetables or meat. And god-bless them, street-vendors sold 10 momos for 10 Rupees. Casting my mind back, there is something analogous between the simplicity and nutritiousness of Tibetan culture and its food.

And as hinted, the people of MclCeod Ganj define it. My most prominent memory were the many cups of tea we drank by the main monastery (where the Tibetan government in exile currently resides). Monks would often come by and join me for a cup of tea. We would exchange taciturn pleasantries and sit comfortably in silence, watching throngs of people move up and down the street. During one of these meditative tea sessions, I remember asking one Tibetan man why it appeared that their people generally seemed to live longer and remain firmer than Indian people (of which I hadn't noticed many elderly). Talking metaphorically, the man explained to me that our lives are like a glass of water. If we have turbulent inner conditions the water begins to slosh about and splash over the sides. Inner calm enables us to weather the storm and remain placid - we prevent losing what is vital to us. The man then alluded to how the psyche and spiritual framework of Tibetan Buddhism is to account for the longevity of its people. A rather neat metaphor I thought.

The monastery itself was also noteworthy. Always a hub of activity, people descended daily to pray/chant and make offerings. Though it certainly didn't figure as the most impressive monastery I have seen, it always conjures up a series of images when I think of it. When I visited the temple for the first time, a large congregation of monks and civilians were preying. After about 20 minutes or so the chanting reached a pinnacle and was concluded by a round of cymbals being clashed. During the service, those who had attended owing to religious reasons, rather than being a tourist, were enveloped in great solemnity. When the din of the cymbals ended, a rapid shift of atmosphere came about. It seemed every person in the monastery - man, woman, child and monk – where involved in some sort of melee to get to the exits. As we were positioned by an exit, it was quite a spectacle. From huge metal wells, people were distributing bread. The contrast between solemnity and chaos in the blink of an eye was bewildering. As we stood to the side looking perplexed, someone came over to share their bread with us.

After 4 days of intoxicating human serenity and filling my guts full of momos, I pondered the whereabouts of my next destination. I didn't know whether to head to Amritsar, in Punjab, to visit the golden temple or to make haste to Shimla, ' North India’s premier vacation spot'. It was a pleasant dilemma to be in. I came to embrace and value the freedom of travelling without a fixed itinerary. I could do as I please, like take the most illogical and obscure routes between points. The play-it-by-ear approach was a winner as nothing particularly runs according to how it should in India. Time is little more than an abstract concept tenuously acknowledged. The random factor always figures as a high probability in any given scenario. Habitually my mind reeled from time to time with fury and indignation. The quicker you accept and understand this irrevocable law of the land, the better. Settle down, submit and abandon anything definite.

Memories of the Subcontinent - Part 3

I arrived back in Delhi to catch a night bus that would take me 570km north to Manali. After negotiating the evening rush hour we pulled out onto the free-way. Whilst listening to 'Songs for the deaf' on my headphones, the driver pressed along at dramatic speed. In 16 hours I would be on higher ground. As night descended the passengers grew weary and began to sleep. The sudden rocky motion of the bus confirmed to me we had departed from the free-way and begun to make our ascent to some 2000m above sea level. I closed my eyes and slept for 2 hours. When I awoke night was now dawn and the vista had changed dramatically. The arid dust-bowl of the plains had vanished, now a lush bounty of wilderness unfolded before my eyes. Climbing higher and higher, I spared not a thought for the potential danger of the slender roads and how without too much fuss we could skid and plunge to our deaths thousands of feet below. I was just too captivated by the limpid rivers and the glades of the valley. Even the general physical-racial profile of the people seemed strikingly different. The typical Indian characteristics were absent; replaced by a more East/South-East Asiatic appearance. With the landscape less squalid, the litter and pollution less ominous, i asked myself: Had I entered another country?

The mammoth journey from Delhi had frazzled my brain, and i hadn't eaten or slept since the previous day. Inevitably I was stoked to have reached my destination. But making one in a catalogue of faux pars - much owing to acute fatigue and stubbornness , I checked into a cheap and insipid guest-house; even the rickshaw driver who dropped me off seemed bewildered by my choice of lodgings. I threw my bags down and climbed straight into bed. Beyond exhausted I tried to sleep. The noise from outside was invasive: a mother shouting at her children boomed from just outside my window, and the perennial soundtrack of my travels: livestock and construction work were, as always, present. The Cacophony was a fast-track to despair. Just when I thought I had attained some sort of peace and quiet the reality of the situation came crashing down on me: i was far from home and with no creature comforts; all was foreign and nothing familiar. Curled up in the foetal position, i preyed for the sound to abate. And just like that a rare rational idea popped into my head: 'Relatively speaking, i was a wealthy man. Money was of no real object.'. Instinctively i started packing my bags. Within 5 minutes i was out of there and making my way to a guest-house with facilities that would make me feel a little more at home, namely a TV and a bit of hush. I checked into my new, more luxurious digs and sat down on the veranda outside my room to admire the range of snow capped mountains. The tranquillity, the panorama and the TV produced in me that one feeling of satiation a hungry man gets when he has a hearty meal inside him.

Though the town itself wasn't all that exciting: souvenir shops, restaurants, hand-crafts and people selling various illicit knick-knacks, I look back in regret I didn't commit more time to discovering Manali's surrounding beauty. The ecology was broad and diverse. The river untamed and wild crashed alongside the town; it's colour the hue of purity, of unspoiled charm – by far the most refreshing river I have ever laid hold to. The forests carpeted the land rising high into the sky. Saffron and cannabis grew wild. In all my misguided preconceptions and notions of India this wasn't one of them. The surrounding landscape seemed more akin to that of the Swiss Alps. And so with It's natural grace and abundance of wild growing psychoactive plants Manali attracted throngs of peace-seekers and pot-heads - who, to their credit were thoroughly well behaved and laid back. A prominent memory of my time in Manali was a visit to a gnarled looking temple in the woods. Whilst I had a few moments to myself on a bench outside the temple, an Indian tourist approached me with his shy teenage daughter and family in-toe. They took turns to have their pictures taken with me. Though I certainly wasn't offended, more bemused if anything, this was to be the first of many photos I would pose for with Indian families.

Escaping the heat, the pandemonium and the over-population of the plains, my paranoia and anxiety began to allay. I had experienced some uplifting and positive things. I had conversed with locals without feeling the weight of financial expectation. The Taj Mahal was just an after-thought. By comparison its impression was poor, unsustainable. Nature was unparalleled and inimitable. The erratic whip of this country was obvious. Those highs, the rewards, could only be accessed through a passage showcasing some of the very worse aspects of our nature. The pendulum, always in motion, would swing from one extreme to another.

Memories of the Subcontinent - Part 2

High-tailing out of Delhi, i spent just a few days in the dry desert like state of Rajasthan. Relieved to have eluded the city, my optimism quickly diminished: i just couldn't shake off those deep penetrating stares. All this attraction had the effect of making me feel both a freak and a celebrity (though aren't they one and the same?!). In hindsight my appearance was tragically in-congruent: fair skinned and freckled, tattooed and pierced, ginger haired and European. Longing to blend in and pass by unnoticed I cursed my features, especially the tattoos. Adorning my arms, the tattoos inevitably signified more than just a piss-poor attempt of me contriving to cultivate a shallow identity for myself. Ultimately they represented wealth. The question of how much they cost 'to make' was a popular one often put to me by the locals. Something i admire of the Indian psyche is its resistance to let sleeping dogs lie. My bid to evade the shameful truth of answering their question with an ambiguous, 'Oh, they we were expensive...' did bugger all to placate their curiosity. They would only deal in exactitudes. When someone who struggles to maintain the bare material necessities of life asks you such a question with ruthless pursuit, for me, there could only be the enveloping feeling of guilt. On the whole this wasn't a bad thing, i began to wake-up, in part, to the fact i was something of a privileged brat. The liberties, the material freedom and luxury of the circumstances my life were often oblivious to me. If i had to speculate as to why they pass by without much appreciation, my money would be on liberties failure to grant people the inner riches they so dearly need. But that's by-the-by and nothing more than mere wiseacring

The highlight of Rajasthan was visiting a small town called Pushkar. The dusty town was home to a lake (which had all but evaporated), an annual camel fair and the 'Pink Floyd guesthouse'. My favourite memory of Pushkar was a temple situated at the top of a large hill. Ascending the hill was tiring and long, but awaiting me at the top was a glorious view of the valley and plains. I learnt that India often gifted with you with rewards. These rewards made the shitty times worthwhile. All the hassles, the sweat and tears, broken sleep and upset tummies were instantly forgotten and the maddening memories subdued. During moments like these i understood and recognised the nature of India's wealth, and that nothing, nothing worth while would be attained without effort and a little suffering.

Next stop Agra, aka: Taj Mahal. I got up early to see 'the world's greatest testament to love'. I trundled down to the gates at 05.30am. Already hordes of tourists, guides and more souvenir selling dudes than you can shake a stick at had passed through the entrance gates. So there i was standing before one of the 7 wonders of the world. It seemed surreal, stupid in fact. I won't lie and say it didn't impress me, it just didn't touch me. I stood there passive, thinking that i should be feeling ecstatic or something. I moved closer towards the structure to try and appreciate its 'wonder'. Good luck if you ever have the fortune to visit the Taj Mahal and want to quietly enjoy it - because you can't. The droves of unofficial guides, keen to dispense information for a modest tip, were genial but shattered my concentration. I just wanted to tell them to leave me be. Cynical as an atheist, i wandered round the grounds musing if the Taj Mahal was really a monument to love or whether it was an ode to egotism - on the grounds that the money could have been used for a grand philanthropic enterprise.

Coming back from Agra the traffic came to a grinding halt. Our driver decided to try progressing along the wrong side of the road (a normal thing to do in India). An angry mob of youths blocked our path, commanding us to go and rejoin the traffic. The driver obeyed. Once we rejoined the 'safe' side of the road, the side of the road were we didn't have to contend with cars driving towards us head-on, my driver left me in the car to go and see what was causing this hullabaloo. Not so far in the distance I noticed thick plumes of jet black smoke. A foreboding sense of trepidation came over me and i sensed things weren't OK. 5 minutes or so elapsed before i noticed a gang of 20 youths marching down the opposite side of the road. They set themselves upon a bus, smashing it to bits. A riot ensued. Seemingly abandoned by the driver and surrounded by people who couldn't explain to me what was going on, I felt vulnerable and scared beyond belief. Egoistically i wondered whether, being a tourist, i was safe. An invisibility cloak or a magic ring would have been very comforting. Imitating the other people who had moved off the road and down an embankment, i followed suit to keep out of view . The mob was chanting itself into a fever. My mind raced, trying to avoid thinking about the psychology of mobs and how the dynamics of them can make 'decent' people do heinous things. After 30 minutes of sweaty tenterhooks my driver returned. He eventually explained to me the riot was actually a protest and the violence wasn't as arbitrary as i had assumed. The protest was a response to the rise of college tuition fees! So after a clean change of underwear and a few more hours in the car i arrived back in Delhi to catch a bus to Manali

Memories of the Subcontinent - part 1

The reasons to travel were not clear to me. The rational behind my choice of destination less clear. Driving my decision to undertake this cultural upheaval was a need to discover life. 2007 had been an arduous year for me. I was buckling under the weight of my own expectations. Mentally and spiritually i was at a low ebb - really in the doldrums. I believed Travelling would act as a tonic to engender a much needed love for life and humanity. Of all the places: India, and to travel solo. Bereft of any real knowledge or appreciation of its culture i ignorantly signed up. In my mind it would be a whirlwind of adventure and excitement. My foresight was critically flawed; i hadn't an inkling what i was really letting myself in for. If i had possessed a clear understanding of my endeavour to come i doubt i would have gone. Rereading the emails i sent to people whilst in India fills me full of inspiration and pride. I can look back and admire that i'm more durable than i believed myself to be.

I arrived in Delhi, 05/09/09. Almost everyone who has ever experienced the Indian capital will tell you with great fervency how awful the city is. My introduction was a 3am taxi ride from the airport to my hotel. Everything seemed so surreal and alive; my every sense stimulated. The death-defying driving culture, the packs of dogs roaming the streets, the heat and its humid smell, the vast legions of homeless people asleep on the pavements - i was in a very different country. The poverty was intense. The dogs, the people, the buildings - all aspects of life seemed to suffer from neglect and malnutrition My taxi stopped, i wanted to keep going. I had hoped we might drive beyond all this misery.

For reasons unbeknown to me i had booked a room at a hotel in Old Delhi. From dust Old Delhi emerged and to dust it was returning, it was in some sort irremediable entropy. I felt fearful. This was the wild unknown. After sleeping for a few hours i stepped out on to the street to see India under the light of day. The anxiety of those first few moments shattered my nerves. All eyes were on me. Penetrating stares scrutinized my every movement and inflection. After a while a degree of calm descended within me. Old Delhi was benign. Curious they were, but i was of no real concern to its people. Poverty dictated they had bigger and more important things to worry about. Most remarkable was the perseverance i witnessed. Any scrap of material was a valuable resource; our rubbish were their tools, their shelters and their homes.

New Delhi, by comparison, had order and structure; the buildings more were robust, and the electrical wiring looked less like a canopy of Amazonian vine branches. Unlike Old Delhi, life seemed more buoyant and less likely to sigh a final breath of resignation before collapsing into a heap , 'I might get to like this place yet', i distinctly remember thinking before I found myself to be walking from one scam to another - quite literally. In the Lonely Planet (the travellers bible, or ball and chain) there is a list of scams to be wary of around Connaught square (the main shopping hub). I was got by the shit on the shoe scam (a kind man who smears excrement onto your shoe, claiming it to be the dirty work of birds and offers to clean it for a nominal fee), next came the man who offered to clean my ear canals with needles (bad idea if you like your ear drums), then finally came the helpful youth who wanted to befriend me to 'practise his English' - apparently a commission shark. All operating within 100 meters on one another, it was like running an unnerving bullshit obstacle course. The guest-house i stayed in, run by Kashmiris, urged me to visit a local travel agent to discuss where i might want to go next. Coincidentally also run by Kashmiris, the travel agent tenaciously pressed me into visiting their homeland. He serenaded me overtures of faux friendship and the like. Were these scam artists in telepathic communication? Every step seemed to draw them closer. Paranoia breeds paranoia. Who was watching me? who wasn't! The whole of Delhi seemed to be in on this one. With great urgenecy i wanted to leave the city, before the net snared me for a keeper. I quickly adopted the mantra 'Trust no one'. This became my mantra for India. Trust no one and suspect everyone. I escaped Delhi, though i was stung by a supposed government travel agency. But hell i was moving on. The morning i attempted to check out of the guest house i found my path was blocked. Phone calls were made. The Kashmiri travel agents were banking on my nativity. I'd fucked over their pay-day. 'i don't want to speak to you...' was all he said on the phone. Bye bye.

I felt like a hunted animal in New Delhi. Everyone wanted a piece of the action. The scams were a real piece of work. Real intelligence and meticulous effort had been applied to their craft, Confusing the line between honesty and deceit. I suppose in a way Delhi wasn't a bad place to start, it had me on my feet in no time. It teaches you to be sharp, to be suspicious. But paranoia and mistrust can be ruinous. I guess that's why intuition is a fine and necessary tool to possess

Past the point of no return

Try to remain passive and aloof. Every nook and cranny of the mundane world is occupied with politicking. Well what do you know, my hat just fell into the ring! Opinions, opinions, opinions. we believe we know better. The mind is clever and very dangerous. Self observation yields frightening results, damning revelations. ‘what da ya mean i’m a copy cat?!’ Our psyche sponges and steals. And get this: it has the audacity to lay claim to some sort of authenticity - give me a break! I have a funny feeling this has all been said before, and this is nothing more than a montage of echoes - echoes that have already been uttered, are being uttered and will be uttered. Yet the propaganda machine rattles on. All it needs is practitioners to input the formula. Hey presto. Stop your wise-acring and answer the fucking question will you! Maya realised, man-made. It wraps its imperceptible tentacles around us. Gentling choking us – a little shock never did no one no harm! Fear blow: reason shattered. In the grip of an illusionary beast. Marx’s optimism was endearing. Though the plutocracy evolved and all we have left is to discuss the ethics of battery hens. A thing born into and exists under dire circumstances cannot realise the barbarism it suffers. Habituated is the word. Well thank you, Mr. Civilisation. Life expectancy improved – check, medical break-through – check. Hang on a minute what did you do with enchantment? An ‘iron cage of what??’ – rationality

Ball and chain diatribe

They’re very much a modern day ball and chain. For all their convenience, mobile phones certainly have a lot to answer for. Possessing the means of being able to contact/communicate with those who are near and dear to us is not so much a luxurious benefit, but as standard we have grown accustom to. Do we really want to be on-call 24/7? It’s 08:00am, Sunday morning and Mum’s giving me a ring to send her love. I have not yet been to sleep and I’m wallowing around my bedroom in an inebriated stupor. A sense a vibrating pulse surging beneath my duvet, somebody is calling, caller id ‘unknown’. While the fabric of reality is melting before my eyes, i now have to compose myself and attempt to feign being compos mentis so that my unsuspecting mother does not let on. I have found myself in trying to dig my way out of these deep technologically -intrusive holes many a time. Yes, I could turn my phone off or at least ignore it.

With the exception of a very small minority (my Grandma now not included!!), we all have a mobile phone. They have become more than a norm, they, arguably, define and facilitate people’s image and lifestyle. More like a 21^st century Swiss-army knife, the mobile phone is now a camera, mp3 player, portal to the cyber highway, and did i mention you can even make phone calls – fancy that! At the moment, my life seems to be punctuated by brief periods during which I emerge momentarily from a culture coma. I was sat on the bus, a few weeks back, and experienced one of these foreboding awakenings. As i gazed around me every single passenger was sat, hand raised 12 inches from their face, transfixed by the small LCD screen in front of their eyes. Any other day of the week i wouldn’t have batted an eye lid, but for now the blasé factor was absent. The whole thing presented it to be both ludicrous and surreal. I thought to myself: ‘Philip K Dick would be kicking himself if he were here now; the dreaded sci-fi prophesy has dawned!!’. This probably all seems fairly reasonable to you: a mass of people sat together, seemingly isolated, staring blankly at a 6 inch block, communicating indirectly with people they can’t see.

I’m no Luddite, technology is great. It’s cool that we can capture those picturesque vistas, listen to music on the go and whatnot, but i guess it’s how we use it. I am of course being completely and hopelessly idealistic here. We should probably shoulder some responsibility for our propensity to abuse the fuck out of everything – not that i ‘m cynical of the determination and mettle of the human spirit!! However, we cannot be held completely culpable. No, i think we are all being led a little astray here by a devious Sheppard. You see our dependency to technology didn’t occur in an instance – I’m laughing to myself while I write this because I’m typing words the spell check doesn’t even comprehend. I’m making a fine, albeit, unintentional illustration of one of the many consequences of technology saturation. So we didn’t wake up one day to find Facebook and i-phones; we have been slowly drip-fed technology. No doubt, technology of this grandeur has been ready to go for a long time. But imagine the shock likely to have been experienced by people as they find themselves to be confounded and threatened by the radical permutations. Alternatively technology has been intentionally staggered so that the shocks were measured and regulated – and most importantly - it has become fixed within the psyche of all people living in developed societies that this is now a ‘norm’.

As to what the perceptible ramifications of being steadily overloaded and engulfed with superfluous technology are: there are many. But relevant to the here and now is something I shall call Bionic arm syndrome. The overwhelming majority of us suffer from this unfortunate complex disorder. You may be able to self-diagnose yourself from the cited symptoms: phantom phone vibrations; checking your phone or social network account every 5 minutes; fiddling with gadgetry when exposed to awkward and difficult situations or environments (classic civil inattention); online verbal diarrheal ranting (oh the irony!!); assuming people would like a running commentary of every intimate detail of your life and satisfying this urge by recoursing to Facebook to ‘share’ these details; and finally, believing you are worth your weight in Facebook friends. Should you any of these symptoms be applicable, the only cure – though research concludes it to be highly unethical – deactivate your Facebook account, turn off your mobile phone and make friends with ‘real’ people. Sadly i often hear: ‘But wait a minute, I did all that. I left my house, tried to socialise with strangers. The problem was I couldn’t get a word in as they were busy with their cyber friends’. Though I’m being facetious, the bionic arm thing is underlining how overly acclimatised we all are to technology. My concern is how this is altering our psyche and outlook. I’m confident that all of you can relate to the symptoms of Bionic arm disorder I listed. So while I’m hinting at things like mobile phones et al assuming a security-blanket like function, I think bionic-arm disorder is more apt and benefits from not having such a Freudian label. The obvious 21^st century sci-fi connotations are apparent within the name, but on a serious note – they are like an extra limb. Without a mobile phone et al do we feel enabled? Of course not, we feel disenfranchised. On a simple level the thought: ‘shit, i didn’t bother to make a copy of any contact numbers on paper is bound to occur.’, on a profounder level we have lost a source of security.

Currently I am experimenting periodically with depriving myself of certain technological implements. The aim not to isolate myself, but rather to observe my own behaviour and feelings towards not doing things like carry a phone around with me or even leaving it switched on - and Christ, what a habit to break. The cause of concern for me is this has gone beyond habituation and is now instinct.