story of my life. :)
and... the story of the day:
My family left. My fellows left. Super depressed. And on top of it all.. the cabs in town all went on strike yesterday... and so I explore the bus system. And get pickpocketed.
ugh.
frustrating b/c I *remember* thinking 'the zipper on my purse is broken, it'd be pretty easy for someone to swipe my wallet.' what do I do? put it in my purse anyway.
ugh, squared.
At this point, I am depressed AND have lost all faith in humanity.
Then,
I get a call from some guy telling me he found my wallet (i *know* I did not lose it) and wants to return it to me. I tell him to meet me where I am working... and my spirits begin to lift..
until rishi plants seeds of doubt into my head:
"rup, what if this guy was the one who *stole* your wallet, saw that you had no money (b/c I am flat broke), saw that you are foreign, and is now claiming to have found it so that he would have an excuse to talk to you... he'd be the good guy..."
Long story short, that was yesterday. I meet this guy at an intersection next to where I am working, who asks me all these questions about myself, and doesn't give me my wallet (he 'forgot' it at his house).
Screw the wallet. This story is over. I hate everything.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
passion...
This is an email that I got from my girl leslieann a while back.. some wisdom from bino. He's talking about poetry.. but, from what I have learned this year, the institutionalization of expression and standardization of creativity applies to many of the arts. But really, the passion to get the truth/inspiration/beauty you see out into the world, to the people that are waiting for it, applies to any work, from music to physics, that you do. -rups
"why is fiction more appealing to the general public? why does poetry bring this image of a private club? what are poets thinking when they write? are they thinking someone will read their books and understand their work? or are they thinking, it doesnt matter, i write for myself?
the private club. more and more poetry are coming out of institutions, and more poets work in institutions as well. a poetry industrial complex. walls of higher learning. while learning should be encouraged, walls should not be built around it. i am not a big fan of this phenomenon, because i have always been afraid that institutional loyalty of poets may potentially veil the telling of the truth. the truth, the foundation of poetry. i also fear that poetry, being so academicized, stays inside the gates of institutions and not in the hands of the general reading public. poets read poets, and oftentimes these poets belong to the same academic circles. is there poetry for the people, poetry people can read and understand without feeling alienated by the text?
such a different life, being a fictionist and being a poet. i still cant, after all these years, profess that i am a poet without feeling self-righteous. i prefer to say, i also write poetry, after saying, im a writer, or a novelist. say, im a poet, and thats the end of conversation. poets seem to sit up on a pedestal somewhere, among the PhDs that no one could ever converse with. do poets dream of immortality such that they dont feel the urgency that their work must be shared and understood now? are they rembrandts who will not be understood in their lifetime but rediscovered as posthumous classics? do poets at all find the need to touch?
what is the truth?
fictionists and the reading public are two things that seem to be inseparable in publishing. poetry and the reading public are two things that dont belong in the same sentence. does poetry being of a gift economy mean that there is no need to find an audience? or is the joke-myth of 1000 poets reading each other true?
i think of the times of sappho of the island of lesbos, a woman poet in a ring of male dominated world. when poetry was a song. a song recited, a story told. that people gathered in their backyard and recited each other poems, young and old alike. nowadays, the poet stands at a podium and recites from up there, far from his audience. he is first introduced, with a bio as long as a poem itself. it is a bio that nobody really listens to, full of publications in journals nobody in the audience (but the fellow poets) know of. it is a list of accomplishments. because without such list, the poet is naked.
it brings me images of freires teacher-god. the poet-god. the one nobody understands. the dictator-poet, whose only connection is to himself. but perhaps the poet doesnt care so much about whether he is understood, because in fact, there is no need to be understood? it is poetry. and poetry does that to people.
in the classroom, the teacher is in the position of power. the power to change. to be understood. if the teacher doesnt want to be understood and continue in his act of dictation, students are disempowered. for this reason, i believe that the poet also possesses this power. i cant leave the responsibility to the people to reach out to poetry. it should be the poet reaching out.
which brings me to fiction. bad fiction is work that nobody understands. if a story cannot communicate on the gut-level, it is bad work, very simple. fiction is someone sitting next to you on a long subway ride trying to tell you a story that hopefully you will grasp without feeling the need to get off at the next stop. if a work of fiction cannot do the fundamentals of storytelling, it is bad work.
is there bad poetry these days?
i want to sit in a circle, with a poet among us, a poet who will read us a few of his poems, a poet who will try very hard to make sure we are with him through the process of sharing, a poet who is sitting on the ground with us. i want this circle to be many circles in the world. i want to see poetry shared this way. i want it given out, in pieces of paper, pasted on walls. i want it on the subway so the morning workers can be inspired by a few beautiful lyrical lines. i want it outside the academia so that it wont collect webs in their libraries. i want it to be free, and distributed. i want it on coffee cups. i want it on tshirts. i want poetry to be turned into music so people can sing, sing, sing poems.
i want publishing poetry not to be a competition among poets. i want it out of the contest venue. i want poetry to be written because it has to be written, not because a book needs to be finished. i want it to be written because it has to be written not because a promotion is needed.
i want it to be written because people are waiting and patiently waiting to read them. i want poetry to be all about the truth, and nothing, oh nothing but the truth.
-----
Oh, and I have decided to stay back in India for a few more months....
"why is fiction more appealing to the general public? why does poetry bring this image of a private club? what are poets thinking when they write? are they thinking someone will read their books and understand their work? or are they thinking, it doesnt matter, i write for myself?
the private club. more and more poetry are coming out of institutions, and more poets work in institutions as well. a poetry industrial complex. walls of higher learning. while learning should be encouraged, walls should not be built around it. i am not a big fan of this phenomenon, because i have always been afraid that institutional loyalty of poets may potentially veil the telling of the truth. the truth, the foundation of poetry. i also fear that poetry, being so academicized, stays inside the gates of institutions and not in the hands of the general reading public. poets read poets, and oftentimes these poets belong to the same academic circles. is there poetry for the people, poetry people can read and understand without feeling alienated by the text?
such a different life, being a fictionist and being a poet. i still cant, after all these years, profess that i am a poet without feeling self-righteous. i prefer to say, i also write poetry, after saying, im a writer, or a novelist. say, im a poet, and thats the end of conversation. poets seem to sit up on a pedestal somewhere, among the PhDs that no one could ever converse with. do poets dream of immortality such that they dont feel the urgency that their work must be shared and understood now? are they rembrandts who will not be understood in their lifetime but rediscovered as posthumous classics? do poets at all find the need to touch?
what is the truth?
fictionists and the reading public are two things that seem to be inseparable in publishing. poetry and the reading public are two things that dont belong in the same sentence. does poetry being of a gift economy mean that there is no need to find an audience? or is the joke-myth of 1000 poets reading each other true?
i think of the times of sappho of the island of lesbos, a woman poet in a ring of male dominated world. when poetry was a song. a song recited, a story told. that people gathered in their backyard and recited each other poems, young and old alike. nowadays, the poet stands at a podium and recites from up there, far from his audience. he is first introduced, with a bio as long as a poem itself. it is a bio that nobody really listens to, full of publications in journals nobody in the audience (but the fellow poets) know of. it is a list of accomplishments. because without such list, the poet is naked.
it brings me images of freires teacher-god. the poet-god. the one nobody understands. the dictator-poet, whose only connection is to himself. but perhaps the poet doesnt care so much about whether he is understood, because in fact, there is no need to be understood? it is poetry. and poetry does that to people.
in the classroom, the teacher is in the position of power. the power to change. to be understood. if the teacher doesnt want to be understood and continue in his act of dictation, students are disempowered. for this reason, i believe that the poet also possesses this power. i cant leave the responsibility to the people to reach out to poetry. it should be the poet reaching out.
which brings me to fiction. bad fiction is work that nobody understands. if a story cannot communicate on the gut-level, it is bad work, very simple. fiction is someone sitting next to you on a long subway ride trying to tell you a story that hopefully you will grasp without feeling the need to get off at the next stop. if a work of fiction cannot do the fundamentals of storytelling, it is bad work.
is there bad poetry these days?
i want to sit in a circle, with a poet among us, a poet who will read us a few of his poems, a poet who will try very hard to make sure we are with him through the process of sharing, a poet who is sitting on the ground with us. i want this circle to be many circles in the world. i want to see poetry shared this way. i want it given out, in pieces of paper, pasted on walls. i want it on the subway so the morning workers can be inspired by a few beautiful lyrical lines. i want it outside the academia so that it wont collect webs in their libraries. i want it to be free, and distributed. i want it on coffee cups. i want it on tshirts. i want poetry to be turned into music so people can sing, sing, sing poems.
i want publishing poetry not to be a competition among poets. i want it out of the contest venue. i want poetry to be written because it has to be written, not because a book needs to be finished. i want it to be written because it has to be written not because a promotion is needed.
i want it to be written because people are waiting and patiently waiting to read them. i want poetry to be all about the truth, and nothing, oh nothing but the truth.
-----
Oh, and I have decided to stay back in India for a few more months....
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
"man, macguyver could fix all of India's geo-political problems with a toothpick."
- my brother, vimz.
yep, still here. family's in town... crazy running around. will update soon. ...
real quick tho- Anand shah and Vikas both just got engaged!!! WTF?!?!?!? Congrats!!
AND nathaniel is in INDIA. YAY!!!
BUT- I don't currently have a ph # to be reached at... but soon... maybe.... meeeeep.
:) PEEEEEEEEEEEACE
yep, still here. family's in town... crazy running around. will update soon. ...
real quick tho- Anand shah and Vikas both just got engaged!!! WTF?!?!?!? Congrats!!
AND nathaniel is in INDIA. YAY!!!
BUT- I don't currently have a ph # to be reached at... but soon... maybe.... meeeeep.
:) PEEEEEEEEEEEACE
Thursday, July 14, 2005
A voice cannot carry the lips and tongue that gave it wings; alone must it seek the ether.
- kahlil gibran
Kahlil and I have grown extremely close recently. I've read four of his books in the last few days. Man's a genius. Poet on a different plane.
Anyhow, quick question shot into space...
do you think it's possible to live without regrets? Take it to mean what you will. But I'm wondering what people think.
...
I've been trying to make a conscious effort to let my mind visualize how I want my future to look .. and, as a strange side effect, I've been having some *crazy* dreams. The cool thing is that my dreams will usually finish off the things I'm thinking about while I'm awake- except I'm not controlling my dreams and they're super vivid. Try it. It sounds hokey, i know, but man do I wake up happy.
:)
My parents and brothers are going to be here in less than 2 weeks! So excited. My uncle and his family may come too... meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
---------
and... kote swiped his mom's mobile... so you actually *can* get ahold of me until the 26th of July. Gujarat mobile 987968871.
Kahlil and I have grown extremely close recently. I've read four of his books in the last few days. Man's a genius. Poet on a different plane.
Anyhow, quick question shot into space...
do you think it's possible to live without regrets? Take it to mean what you will. But I'm wondering what people think.
...
I've been trying to make a conscious effort to let my mind visualize how I want my future to look .. and, as a strange side effect, I've been having some *crazy* dreams. The cool thing is that my dreams will usually finish off the things I'm thinking about while I'm awake- except I'm not controlling my dreams and they're super vivid. Try it. It sounds hokey, i know, but man do I wake up happy.
:)
My parents and brothers are going to be here in less than 2 weeks! So excited. My uncle and his family may come too... meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
---------
and... kote swiped his mom's mobile... so you actually *can* get ahold of me until the 26th of July. Gujarat mobile 987968871.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
speechless... and then some.
so many things to say...
first and foremost- my brother is now 21! yeah, you heard right. t-w-e-n-t-y o-n-e. and I am a across an ocean. on a scale from 1 to jerkofasister I am pretty high up there. In any case, I love you vimz, Happy Birthday!
We had our exhibition in the village.... absolute madness. I don't think I'll be able to do complete sentences ... so good luck:
setting up the space
*painted the space... required going out into the desert with some kids, collecting rocks, smashing them, soaking them in water and painting with the clay that's created (!!!). Deep marroons and white, gray, ... a yellow that we couldn't find....
*a guy from northern England, Bipin, came to help us out. The boy is amazing, a godsend....
the story begins with a freak downpour 2 days before the event. My broken toes and I need to get to the other side of the village but a river (!!) has suddenly formed (the soil here doesn't absorb water) bisecting the village. 2 men insist on walking on either side of me b/c they're afraid I'll get swept up in the current... and I have to take off my shoes 1/2 way across b/c they keep getting stuck in the mud... so, of course, I hurt my foot again (it was numb by the end of the day.) So anyway, Bipin, ends up finishing the paint job, helps the tent guy set up ... finds a woman to help clean & fill water .. .. all while fighting off a goat who kept coming in and eating our supplies.... :) He's was lifesaver I tell ya, with a capital L and three v's.
the event
the good
*the women sold over 10,000 rps. worth of their work- every embroidery design, every color palate, every product design, and every price was a conscious choice of the woman artisan who created it.... (which added to the 40,000 rps of the 1st exhibition, they've collective generated 1/2 a lakh through their work).
*the Hindu and Muslim women got to meet for the 2nd time post earthquake- they had combined meetings (some self initiated), some women presented the exhibition to the women who weren't able to come, they spent 2 days hanging out together... :)
*the exhibition panels and permanent collection are ready for presentation to all of the area design schools as well as development and handicraft NGO's
*some of the women are taking up the initiative to have their own exhibition in 2 wks (w/ minimal to none of our help)
the bad
*a Muslim leader tried to shut down the entire event b/c apparently we had gotten involved in some sort of power play btw a village elder and the village sirpanch (a govt representative). Many of the teenage women had to leave to save face.
the ugly
*a brother-in-law of a Muslim woman who had attended both days of the event suddenly came to the event and began to hit the woman for attending- she ran home and he walked after her... (I still can't even process it- it all went down so fast... and right in front of me... )
...
after it happened, I had a conversation with the other women and girls from her village...the brother in law apparently hits her often. I told them they should go straight home if that was something that might happen to them. They said no, but were worried that he might come back (for me (!))(no worries, I was in no danger whatever). But I did tell them that I would rather he came after me than her. ....
which is when one of my favorite little girls, Noori, about 11 years old- super sweet and usually really quiet and shy, says 'rup, if he ever tried to lay a finger on you, every woman and girl here would stand up and chase him away.'
____________________________________________
it's strange to see how close I've come to nature out here...
I notice things like the phase of the moon... or changes in the wind or changes in the humidity and I find myself praying for rain so their farms will grow...
in any case,
the rainy season is approaching, the heat is lightening up (which means tourists will start arriving again), dates and apples and spinach are back in season.... it's all a flashback to how it was when I had first arrived here.
The seasons have fully circled back to one... signaling that this fellowship, my year, is almost over.
Holy. God.
first and foremost- my brother is now 21! yeah, you heard right. t-w-e-n-t-y o-n-e. and I am a across an ocean. on a scale from 1 to jerkofasister I am pretty high up there. In any case, I love you vimz, Happy Birthday!
We had our exhibition in the village.... absolute madness. I don't think I'll be able to do complete sentences ... so good luck:
setting up the space
*painted the space... required going out into the desert with some kids, collecting rocks, smashing them, soaking them in water and painting with the clay that's created (!!!). Deep marroons and white, gray, ... a yellow that we couldn't find....
*a guy from northern England, Bipin, came to help us out. The boy is amazing, a godsend....
the story begins with a freak downpour 2 days before the event. My broken toes and I need to get to the other side of the village but a river (!!) has suddenly formed (the soil here doesn't absorb water) bisecting the village. 2 men insist on walking on either side of me b/c they're afraid I'll get swept up in the current... and I have to take off my shoes 1/2 way across b/c they keep getting stuck in the mud... so, of course, I hurt my foot again (it was numb by the end of the day.) So anyway, Bipin, ends up finishing the paint job, helps the tent guy set up ... finds a woman to help clean & fill water .. .. all while fighting off a goat who kept coming in and eating our supplies.... :) He's was lifesaver I tell ya, with a capital L and three v's.
the event
the good
*the women sold over 10,000 rps. worth of their work- every embroidery design, every color palate, every product design, and every price was a conscious choice of the woman artisan who created it.... (which added to the 40,000 rps of the 1st exhibition, they've collective generated 1/2 a lakh through their work).
*the Hindu and Muslim women got to meet for the 2nd time post earthquake- they had combined meetings (some self initiated), some women presented the exhibition to the women who weren't able to come, they spent 2 days hanging out together... :)
*the exhibition panels and permanent collection are ready for presentation to all of the area design schools as well as development and handicraft NGO's
*some of the women are taking up the initiative to have their own exhibition in 2 wks (w/ minimal to none of our help)
the bad
*a Muslim leader tried to shut down the entire event b/c apparently we had gotten involved in some sort of power play btw a village elder and the village sirpanch (a govt representative). Many of the teenage women had to leave to save face.
the ugly
*a brother-in-law of a Muslim woman who had attended both days of the event suddenly came to the event and began to hit the woman for attending- she ran home and he walked after her... (I still can't even process it- it all went down so fast... and right in front of me... )
...
after it happened, I had a conversation with the other women and girls from her village...the brother in law apparently hits her often. I told them they should go straight home if that was something that might happen to them. They said no, but were worried that he might come back (for me (!))(no worries, I was in no danger whatever). But I did tell them that I would rather he came after me than her. ....
which is when one of my favorite little girls, Noori, about 11 years old- super sweet and usually really quiet and shy, says 'rup, if he ever tried to lay a finger on you, every woman and girl here would stand up and chase him away.'
____________________________________________
it's strange to see how close I've come to nature out here...
I notice things like the phase of the moon... or changes in the wind or changes in the humidity and I find myself praying for rain so their farms will grow...
in any case,
the rainy season is approaching, the heat is lightening up (which means tourists will start arriving again), dates and apples and spinach are back in season.... it's all a flashback to how it was when I had first arrived here.
The seasons have fully circled back to one... signaling that this fellowship, my year, is almost over.
Holy. God.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
a small addendum
I *sincerely* appreciate everyone remembering my birthday, even as I'm so far out of sight and out of mind. Yay! It could've easily snowballed into a pitiful day. But it didn't, and for that, I thank you. Much love.
Ok, so I won't name any names...
Someone... actually one of my all time favorite people ever... calls my house, talks to my parents on my birthday.... (the following is a realtime transcript of the conversation):
unnamed friend: I'm probably moving out of Chicago.
my mom (joking around) : why? you got a boyfriend?
unnamed friend (not joking around) : yeah, actually, that is why.
my mom (shocked) : really? does rups have a secret boyfriend too?
unnamed friend: I'm probably moving out of Chicago.
my mom (joking around) : why? you got a boyfriend?
unnamed friend (not joking around) : yeah, actually, that is why.
my mom (shocked) : really? does rups have a secret boyfriend too?
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Saturday, June 18, 2005
double take
Everyone up on this piece knows I got malaria, right? Got it *twice* in the first half of the year. That was lots of fun.
Then, 2 months ago, I broke a toe playing ultimate frisbee... which, apparently, wasn't good enough for me; we just went to an adventure retreat to Panchmari, MP, where I fall out of a mango tree and manage to break three toes (including rebreaking the original)! Gwah!!!!
This year is just too much. But, no worries. I am fine. :)
In other news, I just went rappelling off a cliff (yes, before, the tree fall). Scariest physical thing I have ever, ever done. I didn't want to do it when I got to the top...
(this year has taught me that I have trust issues with letting myself free fall backwards)
but the guy up top literally nudges me off the peak to a point that I can't climb back up...
And the only option left was down.
I almost passed out...
but, man, when I finally hit the ground, I felt like the strongest woman ever.
On a lighter note, I had been aching to go swimming for a long while now. Living where I am, it proves a bit difficult to always have drinking water, let alone to go swimming.
But, in MP, we hiked to a waterfall. The others literally had to drag me out. I was so satisfied.
****
6 weeks left in the fellowship --> the countdown begins. Holy jeebus.
****
To my poets:
I'm gonna miss this year's VONA!
Noooooooooooooo!!!
I am really missin you guys and our collective voice. I know y'all are still writing and the thought makes me really happy. I've been meaning to get some of the work I've done this year out to you guys, but my net access, as you can imagine, has been minimal.
However, I have gotten some articles published in random places. I actually just found out that one just got published in a newspaper called India Abroad. It's a gradual process, but it's a start.
Much love. Chase the things that inspire you and keep writing. I'm definitely thinking of you guys.
I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed,
I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.
-- Rilke (from the Book of Hours)
Then, 2 months ago, I broke a toe playing ultimate frisbee... which, apparently, wasn't good enough for me; we just went to an adventure retreat to Panchmari, MP, where I fall out of a mango tree and manage to break three toes (including rebreaking the original)! Gwah!!!!
This year is just too much. But, no worries. I am fine. :)
In other news, I just went rappelling off a cliff (yes, before, the tree fall). Scariest physical thing I have ever, ever done. I didn't want to do it when I got to the top...
(this year has taught me that I have trust issues with letting myself free fall backwards)
but the guy up top literally nudges me off the peak to a point that I can't climb back up...
And the only option left was down.
I almost passed out...
but, man, when I finally hit the ground, I felt like the strongest woman ever.
On a lighter note, I had been aching to go swimming for a long while now. Living where I am, it proves a bit difficult to always have drinking water, let alone to go swimming.
But, in MP, we hiked to a waterfall. The others literally had to drag me out. I was so satisfied.
****
6 weeks left in the fellowship --> the countdown begins. Holy jeebus.
****
To my poets:
I'm gonna miss this year's VONA!
Noooooooooooooo!!!
I am really missin you guys and our collective voice. I know y'all are still writing and the thought makes me really happy. I've been meaning to get some of the work I've done this year out to you guys, but my net access, as you can imagine, has been minimal.
However, I have gotten some articles published in random places. I actually just found out that one just got published in a newspaper called India Abroad. It's a gradual process, but it's a start.
Much love. Chase the things that inspire you and keep writing. I'm definitely thinking of you guys.
I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed,
I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.
-- Rilke (from the Book of Hours)
You should go...
.. this guy spoke at our orientation- he's intense and super versed in, well, building bridges. And, he's in town on my birthday (you didn't forget did you?!)
Anyhow, Vimz especially, you'd like him. Go if you can:
The Coalition for Building Bridges of Understanding
Cordially invites you to a meeting and discussion with Shri Harsh Mander
On Friday, June 24, 2005, 6:45 PM, At Lincolnwood City Hall, 6900 N. Lincoln Avenue, Lincolnwood. Dinner will be provided. Mr. Mander is a strong voice in India for social justice, pluralism, religious tolerance, communal harmony and the rule of law. He is a respected activist, a well-known public speaker and a reputed author. He was awarded the Rajiv Gandhi National Sadbhavana Award for peace work, and the M.A.Thomas National Human Rights Award in 2002. Mr. Mander will talk about strengthening Indian democracy and promoting social Justice in this inter-active meeting. Please join us for a lively discussion.
For more information call: (630) 971-9873
Anyhow, Vimz especially, you'd like him. Go if you can:
The Coalition for Building Bridges of Understanding
Cordially invites you to a meeting and discussion with Shri Harsh Mander
On Friday, June 24, 2005, 6:45 PM, At Lincolnwood City Hall, 6900 N. Lincoln Avenue, Lincolnwood. Dinner will be provided. Mr. Mander is a strong voice in India for social justice, pluralism, religious tolerance, communal harmony and the rule of law. He is a respected activist, a well-known public speaker and a reputed author. He was awarded the Rajiv Gandhi National Sadbhavana Award for peace work, and the M.A.Thomas National Human Rights Award in 2002. Mr. Mander will talk about strengthening Indian democracy and promoting social Justice in this inter-active meeting. Please join us for a lively discussion.
For more information call: (630) 971-9873
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
-- Pablo Neruda
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
-- Pablo Neruda
Monday, June 06, 2005
culture shock x 298739483984273984 =
this moment. Ask me where I am.
Yesterday, I finished errands ... walked out to to the farthest reaches of the villages...mid afternoon... 120+ degrees. ...
EEEEES HOT OUT HERE!!!
... then we hop a jeep with no doors and blow through a sand storm to a village about 25 km away. It's the village of this super sweet man that works with us. His son is getting married in 2 days; so we congradulate the groom before we head out of town for two weeks on business. (writing our research paper, then a retreat in Madhya Pradesh)
Point of ramblings:
Yesterday, at this time, I was pulling through villages in the midafternoon desert heat and sandstorms....
Today, I am writing a research paper on my laptop. I'm in a coffee shop in big city Ahmedabad. With wireless internet access. With an apple-walnut protein shake ( it's soooo good...). In air conditioning!!! And the things on the menu... things such as macchiatos or red bull or a brownie with ice cream?!?!?. Whoa.
Can we say culture shock?
.. yet at the same time, it's a total flashback to college. Cept the coffee here is better. As is the scene out the window.
Ok, my five day deadline on this paper looms. Must get back to work. Much love.
Yesterday, I finished errands ... walked out to to the farthest reaches of the villages...mid afternoon... 120+ degrees. ...
EEEEES HOT OUT HERE!!!
... then we hop a jeep with no doors and blow through a sand storm to a village about 25 km away. It's the village of this super sweet man that works with us. His son is getting married in 2 days; so we congradulate the groom before we head out of town for two weeks on business. (writing our research paper, then a retreat in Madhya Pradesh)
Point of ramblings:
Yesterday, at this time, I was pulling through villages in the midafternoon desert heat and sandstorms....
Today, I am writing a research paper on my laptop. I'm in a coffee shop in big city Ahmedabad. With wireless internet access. With an apple-walnut protein shake ( it's soooo good...). In air conditioning!!! And the things on the menu... things such as macchiatos or red bull or a brownie with ice cream?!?!?. Whoa.
Can we say culture shock?
.. yet at the same time, it's a total flashback to college. Cept the coffee here is better. As is the scene out the window.
Ok, my five day deadline on this paper looms. Must get back to work. Much love.