It is time to document my intrepid, vacuous flights of limited imagination for the world and its nothingness to record for posterity. Different matter that they’re looking the other way.
My vacation is at an end and I don’t remember when it began. Was it July last year when I quit or February this year when I quit again? Was it when I booked my tickets or when I cancelled them for the fifth time over?
Silly schedules and aimless plans.
I’ve been to Pune and Bangalore and Pune and Bangalore and Chennai and Tirutani and Monday I’ll be back in Bombay. I’ve been living on a haversack and torn jeans. I have invited nasty comments from most relatives and marriage proposals from none.
Seen my friends look older and wiser and busier and emptier. Found solace in a few and contentment in none. And the road’s taking a few sharper turns by the hour.
I went up the mountains to find God. Under stone pillars and granite floors. And queues of people chanting familiar tongues. Food and drink and flowers and ash. And sun and sand and raucous din. There they stood sweating to their gills, huddled in fear, love and hope. The eyes of the idols glazed over and stared into our collective confusion.
My peripa says that ‘bhakti’ is about an involvement beyond fear and other mercenaries. It is a merging of the self with the divine. And the dissolution of an identity to a greater truth.
Didn’t seem like there were any devotees waiting in line.
In the end, the only truth I found was the elephant that placed its trunk on my head for the price of a rupee and some. The temple elephant and its divine duty.