a reminder about joy

i have never heard so many male people squeal and giggle and ay-yi-yi-yi with such feminine abandon.  my eyes flutter open from my four o'clock doze, and there hundreds of young indian men, leaping and splashing and carousing with unbridled joy.  rolling in the sand, climbing on top of each other and toppling into the water, posing for endless photos.  many of them had never been in the ocean before.  can you imagine, how incredible it must feel, seeing the ocean for the first time when you're like seventeen?  how perfect, how beautiful! (also, completely hilarious.)

om beach (gokarna, karnataka)

am i living on the world's most perfect beach? 
o, these dreamy golden days. 
this palm isn't lonely anymore. 

mumbai: elephanta island

 

the men's club of elephanta island:  6th century chapter (shiva, president-for-life-and-afterlife) meets 21st century chapter (thomas).

 

gremlins infest the ancient elephant caves.  monkeys, too (not pictured).

 

tom befriends a gaggle of gujarati tourists.

 

trimurti sadasiva, the three faces of shiva:  creativity, destruction, preservation.

mumbai: gate of india

every guidebook seems to find it particularly hilarious that the british built the gate of india in 1911, to commemorate the visit of their monarchs, but ended up using it most famously to exit the country altogether just thirteen years later. 

mumbai: haji ali shrine

legend has it that the saint, on his way to mecca, passed away from the world, and his casket magically floated to this place.  at high tide, that is -- at low tide, here, there is no floating going on, but a mass pilgrimage procession across stone and sky and sea from the city to the afterlife.  on the right hand side of the walkway are hundreds of beggars -- frisky children, women with muslin draped over their faces, ancient men with seamed faces and missing limbs, chanting islamic prayers.  traditionally, the pilgrims donate to the beggars on their way to the saint's tomb.  but ... on the left hand side of the walkway are hundreds of shops, and it seemed to me that the modern pilgrim pays his alms to the god money.  a magical place, a place that raises questions, a place that makes a body feel that the divine within knows the answer, even if this meatbrain has yet to grasp it.

at marya's request (marya:  "honey, i love the blog and all, and your pictures are great, but what people really want to see is you, rockin' it out!"), the experiment is now going to include more human interest photos.  yes, this is still what i look like.  even though india is already exacerbating my more spiritual tendencies and i may emerge out of this place radically changed -- or at the very least more open about expressing my spiritual life -- at least you'll recognize me when i get home. 

mumbai: dhobi ghats

if you get your laundry done in mumbai -- beyond the odd pair of undies in the hostel sink -- this is where it ends up, ultimately.  how do they know whose is whose?  on the bottom left, there, are like a billion white shirts.  and yet, chances are, you will get your specific white shirt back.  on the right, are like a thousand billion office-wallah button-downs.  and, chances are, even if your job isn't particularly distinguishable, you'll get your exact same drone-shirt back.  at least, even if your life doesn't really belong to you, your shirt can.

the fateful pill

mumbai.  our bags arrived before us at mumbai international airport, a situation that, according to continental airlines, simply should not happen.  and simply did.  a charmingly bland representative from swiss international trotted us around from customs station to station, down dank airport alleyways (who knew airports have alleyways?) and, eventually, into the clutches of one mr. kumar, a potbellied customs rogue with an oily smile and, apparently, some heavy debts to pay.  he called tom first -- there were four of us, waiting for our bags to clear -- and insisted he come alone.  twenty minutes later, we other three were permitted to join them.  mr. kumar had a gallon-size plastic baggie all dolled up on his formica examining table like a shrine to the great god of pillxi, all colorful blues and oranges and pale beige, and he wanted to know what every single pill was, and why tom needed it.  "well," says tom, "this one is a multivitamin.  this one is advil, like for pain and fever."  [yes, yes, nodding from kumar.]  "this one is b-vitamin," tom continues.  i smile at mr. kumar.  "we don't want to get sick, is all," i say.  "why so many pills?"  he wants to know.  "we're traveling for a long time" is the eminently reasonable answer, "but if you don't think these vitamins are allowed, just go ahead and take them."  kumar flaps down another customs officer to look at the suspect vitamins.  he massages them a bit, smells them, says they're fine.  "i'm not going to take these from you," kumar smirks, steepling his fingers.  ok, then, can we go?  i keep standing up.  kumar suggests, each time, at least five times, that i sit down.  he flaps at another man, this time a police officer.  he insists that everyone but tom leave the room.  banished outside with the swiss international representative, i look into her wide, shuttered eyes.  "is this normal around here?"  i ask.  those emerald cat-eyes are contact lenses, a closed door to the soul, and they tell me nothing.  "it is quite rare," says her mouth, but it still all feels so smooth, so oily-sticky, like a nasty street slick, it must be a well-practiced groove.  tom emerges, with vitamins intact, significantly lighter in american dollars, and we dive into mumbai's midnight streets.  kumar, you have a karmic debt to pay.  i hope it was worth it.

altamont, ny

yup, snowshoeing.  sort of crazy to go summer (argentina) -- winter (upstate new york) -- summer (india).  well, i guess its winter in india, but its still insanely hot.