All posts filed under: On The Road

Food and the world on a new yogi’s mind

It was time the sun arrived when he decided going to bed again. After last night chocolate truffle the cough had soared. In his sleep he chanced upon the pizzas of fat lulu because only they had items where he could find some vegetarian ones. The voice inside him for many months had been asking him to leave dairy. Even when it is the best time to be a cow in India, he thought, milk like few other well marketed products have been projected as a necessity to humanity. So he started writing alternatives whenever any possible eatable came to his mind. He wrote it on a small diary he was keeping in the right cheek of his behind. But while on the road that led to an elite market, he saw a fruit man selling in February a watermelon. Is there something called a season ? Because time seems to have taken a back seat. But he stopped, thinking all fruits are good. When Manu Called he was counting his chewing the papaya in …

The Rajpath and the Ruins

His yesterday’s guilt made him wake up dot at four in the brahm mahurat. Even though he left home at five. We reached on the Rajpath in the darkness of the dawn. Never was Delhi be heard and felt from the pride and the energy with which they marched past. With the bands of each regiment leading the way. The drums, the beats, the smell of the young sweat, the valor in the air. The discipline, the clacking of the iron bar beneath their marching boots to the tar ground woke us all up. The mist, vapours coming out of mouths while a woman officer commanding against the street lamps of Rajpath takes you close to colonial India’s cold faced armies. The varieties and improvisation that has gone through in making them could be seen. It was there day. It was our day. It was a day to feel Indian when only wind moved when the national anthem rang through our nerves together. Every being was still but the wind. A day that turned long. …

The day of the U-Turn

I offered Cynthia Tea, when she said “I am sorry, I am still not Indian’ and asked me to come up and look at the lines on her table. The table had a beautiful map. And this map sounded fulfilling. It had the river Indus, a path that will leave the road behind and lead to a narrow canyon. I must take that. And walk for an hour or two to the village of TAR where Cynthia’s best friend lives, in a cave like kitchen, where Ibex’s and snow leopards come sometimes to say hello. I left. In between late and very late. Almost not sure. Not excited. On my Himalayan but something felt missing the whole day. More motivation ! No. What had I thought and where am I leading myself to. The path seamed contrasting in my head. And Just before getting close to half the way to Chilling, I u-turned from the gorgeous bridge over Zanskar and rode back like I wasn’t riding. Faster, anxious as one gets after getting a temporary …

RICE was it ?

The night was strange. It was a mix of sleeping deep and aware of some thing wrong. Two weeks were over in Leh and as I had planned I got a bike for myself from Angchuk. I wanted to have a classic 350 but after the new UT status, government has ordered the bike union to commercialise all the bikes or they ll be seized. I got a Himalayan with me. While coming down to the narrow path of lama ji lane, something must have happened, the tandem that joins the knee started giving me a limp. As I lied in bed in the night the pain was such non sense that I couldn’t really understand. Throughout night as I moved from one position to other, I could feel the weight of my leg. In the morning when other artists had left I got up annoyed and in haste positioned myself in Padmasana. The whole nerve from my face to toe went so white that I could not see a thing with my eyes open …

Amarnath in the times of article 370

Even after thinking about doing something daily, one ends up doing it, achieving it, finishing it only in the head. In the head is good, as it creates enough compound interest in head but it is not good enough. I have had ups and downs, and have been away from home for some time. I was in Kashmir when article 370 was taken off. I was one of the last person to have trekked the majestic Amarnath ji this year. Without any plan or any inclination to have wanted to do it but surrendering to flow of life is such it takes you along on the paths, and you would enjoy. I fell in love with the harmony of the few people who walked along, some saints barefoot, and two without a leg who finished approximately sixty kilometres in as many days as I did. Food, sweets, tea, love and the name of shiva. But the feeling was erratic even then. Tents, people were leaving a month before. And many had already left. The way …

Passing over the night

It was a day of hardest work. Hardest work is to love. While love being not what you are seeking. Train passes from not so far like it’s in a hurry. Trains are always in a hurry unless you are sitting in one of them. Indian Railways. It was dark when I got up. I didn’t see any dream may be because my head is towards the mother and feet towards the tree. We made nine planets today and filled them first with numbers and later with rice and rawa. We couldn’t finish it as squirrels started eating the rice. A young mataji came with a beautiful girl from a city. She ate peanuts and soon went to sleep in the library. Maharaj came with milk that we shared and logar got a mobile. And the drums were not beaten for the first time tonight.