In December 2018, I rented a bicycle and started recording songs of the people I would meet in my travels around in Cambodia. Through the sound filled in my ears I slowly started seeing. But few days later I realised listening, sitting in a room that all the songs that people sang were of the same singer. Sinn Sisamouth, the father with the golden voice of Cambodia.
I started researching on this singer and soon learnt that Sinn Sisamouth was the most revered singer of Cambodia and South-east Asia then. He had gone missing under mysterious circumstances and was most likely killed in 1976 by the Khmer Rouge regime. And his songs were banned for the next four years to come.
Khmer rouge was in power from 1975-79. It is estimated that the brutal regime claimed the lives of more than 1.9 million people. That was around 28 percent of the total population of Cambodia, eliminated. The regime tried to control and take the country back to the Middle ages, forcing millions of people from the cities to work on communal farms in the country side. It is said that more than half of Cambodian natives died from execution, starvation, overwork and years of diseases that followed later.
In my brief travels in Cambodia I observed the silences and the sounds that went through me while hearing his songs through the people I met on the road. There were instances when I realized tears coming down from people’s eyes, some went cold either looked away into nothingness due to some memories that encapsulated them. Many old people seemed to still have not recovered from the terror that their own people had inflicted upon them.
I had hardly started embracing Khmer while working on Singsong; but an unforgettable interaction that needed no language; with an old Cambodian man, who upon hearing that a foreigner wanted to hear a song of Sisamouth, laughed without any sound for so long, kept his hands on mine, stood slowly and kissed on my cheek. He then told me in joy with his frail arms up in the air that Sinn Sisamouth was a bird himself. He wandered and sang for the trees, and the wind, for rivers, and the mountains and that I can find him in each one of them.
Singsong is my tribute to this beautiful country and her people. And I thank Sinn Sisamouth who blessed me to see with his sounds as i heard the natives singing songs inside me.
While collecting/archiving songs for this story, I felt welcomed by the father himself who in his living years was known as having the golden voice of Cambodia.
And to for you hear his songs i am sharing this short Photographic Film with you all.
SINGSONG.
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Thank you.
If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
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I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About meand importantly;
Moments arrive that take you to a world so far and different; that even though everything has changed around you, but It still feels familiar only within you, that you were this once, and that you lived like this once, a long time ago. And this feeling is impossible to share with anyone, rather it leaves one mesmerised for life and more so one’s ability to change.
That, which once looked scary and uncertain is now settled, dealt with and is history; and that you can only be in gratitude towards nature, and the divine for that this happened.
As few of my friends here, who are on this journey with me know that Road to Nara, is a fairly new blog, though my hand is old as much my eyes, even as my years might say otherwise; but this pandemic of course made us go through our lives past; we could rewind and to some extent refresh and relive.
As I went through pages of my old diary yester evening- I came across this Change. A time when I had only recently finished reading Shantaram- and was blown away by the author’s writing, his story and then Siddhartha, one book that changed my eyes, my breath for life, and my thoughts completely that for years I kept recommending and gifting this book to friends on their birthday’s. And it was that time when I had only recently discovered Paulo Coelho and his beautiful and important poem Change.
Sharing an excerpt from an old diary as it is. From a time I was probably some real sense young. I am smiling.
“It’s been so long I moved my hand over my keyboard. Even quiet long since I picked up pen for a purpose. All this while, I missed writing. I then wanted to write when my teenage hero-Saurav Ganguly retired from cricket. As a small boy I looked up to him though from an opposite angle as I am a right-hander. He was marvelous in his stroke play at his prime. His inside out over the cover shots and so were those twenty rows back-out of the ground sixes. He gave me and Samarth(my childhood friend) a reason to argue and so many moments to cherish. Wow!!
I wanted to write about why I could not write for almost the whole year. I wanted to write when I happily left my job with the Traveler to travel. I wanted to pen down each day of my travels, roads I took, rivers that I bathed in and when I saw a jungle for the first in my life. The sounds i heard. Beds I changed and the foods I exchanged. Running downhill at four with an Australian. Rain and sun’s presentation. I wanted to write then, all day and at night too.
By not writing I never meant I didn’t speak with its relatives. I read a lot of books last year and the last one was a masterpiece- To me it was Linbaba and not shantaram, I imagine Mr. Roberts must have liked the sound of calling himself shantaram than Linbaba. But no…no I don’t think it was my last; I think I read Siddhartha after that. O, one book I loved learning from. Each day, few pages and I felt at peace. So open, so free and so simple the book was. By Hermann Hesse. I remember recently a friend who is studying German telling me that I never told her that Hesse was German. I nodded with a smile. She smiled back but couldn’t understand why! Within I said, as if I had known.
Udit, my friend had been in midst of writing and blog searching for past few months and last day he shared a blog with me; it was Paulo coelho’s blog. I am still to read such a popular writer and thus I was a bit skeptical about laying my eyes over his writings. I read a day of his diary where he writes about his relationship, which has lasted for 29 years and is still on. He writes of a time when after they made love that day, he felt that it wouldn’t go on for more than two years. I somehow like him now and I want my eyes to sleep with his writings. I scrolled down and went through a beautiful ‘Change’. And then I thought why not share this ‘change’ with you. Let’s change it by writing it.”
Thanks Paulo,
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By Paulo Coelho
CHANGE
But start slowly, because direction is more important than speed.
Sit in another chair, on the other side of the table. Later on, change tables.
When you go out, try to walk on the other side of the street. Then change your route, walk calmly down other streets, observing closely the places you pass by.
Take other buses. Change your wardrobe for a while; give away your old shoes and try to walk barefoot for a few days – even if only at home.
Take off a whole afternoon to stroll about freely, listening to the birds or the noise of the cars.
Open and shut the drawers and doors with your left hand. Sleep on the other side of the bed. Then try sleeping in other beds. Watch other TV programs, read other books, live other romances – even of only in your imagination.
Sleep until later. Go to bed earlier. Learn a new word a day. Eat a little less, eat a little more, eat differently; choose new seasonings, new colors, things you have never dared to experiment.
Lunch in other places, go to other restaurants, order another kind of drink and buy bread at another bakery. Lunch earlier, have dinner later, or vice-versa.
Try something new every day: a new side, a new method, a new flavor, a new way, a new pleasure, a new position.
Pick another market, another make of soap, another toothpaste. Take a bath at different times of the day. Use pens with different colors. Go and visit other places.
Love more and more and in different ways. Even when you think that the other will be frightened, suggest what you have always dreamed about doing when you make love.
Change your bag, your wallet, your suitcases, buy new glasses, write other poems.
Open an account in another bank, go to other cinemas, other hairdressers, other theaters, visit new museums.
Change.
And think seriously of finding another job, another activity, work that is more like what you expect from life, more dignified, more human. If you cannot find reasons to be free, invent them: be creative. And grab the chance to take a long, enjoyable trip – preferably without any destination. Try new things. Change again. Make another change. Experiment something else.
You will certainly know better things and worse things than those you already know, but that does not matter. What matters most is change, movement, dynamism, energy. Only what is dead does not change – and you are alive.
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NARA – 29.11.09
Image from my long term photographic Novel ‘KA : A study of Culture and Conflict along the border with Pakistan and China in Kashmir.”
It happens only while blinking. Sages and meditators who have closed there eyes for the longest time in there lifetimes, know when to blink. How much later to blink, because blinking comes with a count. And whosoever blinks is certain, to die. And that is how gods were differentiated from humans. because gods do not blink.
In our lives, we live through a series of decisions that we make daily, weekly, monthly: but those decisions that subconsciously occur, the quiet ones which get shared with no one. The ones which come with horse power velocity leading us to our destinies are the which cry in silence.
Because the only way you will ever awaken is through silence, not through analyzation of facts, not by sorting out good and bad, but through simple silence. By focusing towards the light in the dark, and to particularly stand in that invisible line trying to reveal ones true potential by letting every thought be, by surrendering to all the possibilities, Possibilities.
By just showing up day after day after day.
We were never asked to be born at a certain time, to some parents in any home. To an extent that our mere thought arrived many months ago, long before we would start walking on this earth. So why should i be worried?
Peace might not mean getting everyone else to do what you want them to do.
Instead, it may involve understanding that people don’t always want what we want and don’t often believe in what we believe. Everyone has their own narrative and is struggling with their own fears.
We can begin there.
Most of the time, people want to be seen, understood and appreciated. And if we can offer someone dignity with respect, we give them a gift that is difficult to find.
In these dire times when people are forced to push every other, further away,
Share, Give; each day, some way. As there lies that one eternal way, to Peace.
Your place is not only on the map but also in the heart
Freedom and power brings responsibility. That responsibility rests upon each one of us.
Before the birth of freedom we endured all the pain of labour, even divided with heavy hearts; that echoing memory of division. Some of those pains continue even now.
Nevertheless the past is over and it is the future that must be directed.
The future is not one of ease or resting but of incessant striving so that we might fulfil the pledges we have so often taken and the one we shall take today, one more time.
The service of India, of Bharat means the service of the millions who suffer. It means not only ending poverty but ignorance, unawareness, diseases and above all, inequality of opportunities, understanding the importance of this ancient land, this oldest active and growing civilization.
And so we have to labour and to work and work hard to give reality to our dreams. Those dreams are for India, but they are also for the world, for all the nations and people, who are too closely knit together today for anyone of them to imagine that it can live apart.
Peace is said to be indivisible, so is freedom, so is prosperity, and so also is disaster in this one world that can no longer be split into isolated.
I believe if there is one beautiful and strong India, there will be an ever engaging and peaceful world.
When I returned to Ishbar that night, Shiban seemed speechless. But Dr Kaul looked at him with satisfaction giving an expression like “then he has seen.” And soon the moment came to explain to him what he had seen.
We sat around fire, while waiting for the food to arrive.
Open your ears, said Dr Kaul and he began speaking like reciting an over practised hymn. “The men in the east, he said, are trees; those in the south are flocks of animals; those in the west are wild plants. Last, those in the north like ourselves, who cried out while they ate other men, were the waters. When the collective sound of chewing filled the air, he started explaining about eating.
The act of eating is a violence that causes what is living, in its many forms, to disappear. Whether grass, plants, trees, animals, or human beings, the process is the same. There is always a fire that devours and a substance that is devoured. This violence, bringing misery and torment, will one day be carried out by those who suffer it on those who inflict it.
Pouring milk into the fire- every morning, every evening- meant accepting that what appears disappears and that what has disappeared serves to give sustenance to something else, in the invisible. There are some people who have become skilled in detecting evil with supreme ease. Evil for them was already apparent ever since the moment an axe first struck a tree or a hand uprooted a plant; a metaphysical evil, inherent in everything that is forced to destroy a part of the world in order to survive. Evil is therefore everywhere and in everything. This is why sacrifice is also everywhere and in everything. Quiet. Now finish your food !
My earliest memory of meeting KK Muhammad was in his white room, filled with books to the brim, touching the tall old roof of the Red Fort Complex, his newly ancient home. Astounded, I asked him if he would ever finish reading all these books! Smiling, he said, “Narayan an age comes when you don’t keep books to read them, they read me daily instead. I only use them for references”. Somehow I carried this memory for long, and since then had no guilt for keeping as many books myself, thinking either way of someday reading or at least being read by them.
I also remember him today as he came out to be one of the most important person who was behind the archaeological excavations at Ayodhya, that according to him clearly indicated the presence of a temple below the mosque.
Father of one of my filmmaker friend, with whom i was fortunate to work together in the making of this film, that became a tribute, a testimony for his commendable and courageous work in resurrecting a flatland of once ruined temples; those which could have easily missed standing in this age of information. We could have never even heard of this place, these temples, the story behind them or even how hard was it for him who stood up against all odds for and after a decision he took one decisive night.
After months of discussions, conversations on scripting, narrating, the concepts and most importantly presenting, we decided a date and left for Gwalior. Uncle and I were travelling together. Sandeep and Sumit had already reached a day before. We met at Nizamuddin Railway station. It was a night journey and didn’t take longer than a long nap to reach Gwalior city within 8 hours time. It was also comforting in other ways as i had many questions on Indian history and his take on it. And likewise other things apart from work. At one time he asked me to stand to see who is taller, i or him, as we both, are short guys.
The most beautiful part of him was his charismatic presence. He was as curious and kept asking many things about camera, angles and lights. He was seemingly happy to do the film so that more and more people get to know about these temples.
BATESHWAR TEMPLES
Morena was around 44 kilometers from Gwalior railway station. We stopped at the ASI government guest house for a quick shower and breakfast. And taking no extra time, left for Morena, once known as the land of the dacoits. The ravines on either side of Chambal River, known as the Chambal ki ghaati, are well known for having provided shelter for the infamous dacoits. Bateshwar Temple complex is located in Morena district in Madhya Pradesh. Also known as Batesara or Batesvar, the temple complex is situated on a hilly range about 40 km from Gwalior city near the village of Padavali. The temples are located within the densely forested gorge of the Chambal Valley. And It is one of the most staggering archaeological site to have been created from actually a dream. It is believed that there are almost 200 temples dedicated to Lord Shiva, Vishnu and Shakti within an area of 25 acres.
The name Bateshwar is believed to have been derived from Bhooteshwar, another name for Lord Shiva.
A brief History of Batesvar
The temples are said to have been built around 8th to 10th century AD by the Gurjara – Pratihara dynastythat ruled a large part of northern India from the mid-eighth century to the 11th century. The Pratihars considered themselves as Suryavanshis and are said to be the descendants of Lakshman from the epic Ramayana.
One reference of these temples is found in the reports of Alexander Cummingham. He had visited this region in 1881-82 and mentioned about the temple complex and other temples in the vicinity. “He had mentioned the Bateshwar Temple complex as “a confused assemblage of more than 100 temples large and small, but mostly small, to the southeast of Paravali Padavali”.
At that time, the temple complex was in total ruins and only the main Bhuteshwar Temple and a few other temples were standing. Later, the reference of these temples was seen in the works of Dr. Rahman Ali in 1987 as he worked on the Pratihara art form in India. The Bateshwar Temple complex also finds mention in the monumental research work of R D Trivedi on the Pratihara Temples of Central India. But that is kind of all there is about to these temple complexes that lied in ruins across a slanted hill near Padavali.
As we were coming near to the temples, KK Mohammad went nostalgic and started telling us stories from the very first time when he had arrived here long time ago now, of what he felt the moment he saw this site.
In the opening interview in the film, he says that wherever he has been posted to, he asks for the most difficult site. And for Bateshwar, difficulty was one big Zero. There was actually nothing, it were like many small big stones here and there, to an extent that even the people were not with us. It was then and from there he started with his trysts, threats, complexities and mainly the infamous Chambal ke daku.
THE DAKUS(Dacoits) OF CHAMBAL
On the first evening, most of our crew members went back to Gwalior. Sandeep and I decided to stay over in the Temple Complex. As we wanted to film very early in the morning, and also how could I have missed this blessing of sleeping under stars at a place dedicated to adi yogi, Shiva himself. We placed our cots near the bhootnath temple for the night around a campfire and were looked after by the temple guards, of whom we soon learnt in our conversations that went almost all night, that they were the infamous dacoits/daaku of chambal once. Now when no one needs a daaku but a guard, government gave us this work.
“There’s something in the Chambal water that makes people blunt and aggressive,”ex-daaku started speaking, Tall, quiet, squarely built, he moved with gingerly steps, of someone who must have walked miles into the hills and survived being shot in an ambush.
Probably they were also looking to let themselves out after long. He continued saying that the nature of crime has changed in the Chambal today because the people have changed. Few local youths only can endure the rain, mud, scorpions, and walking off a rural outlaw life but the new so called dacoits are urban. They have grown soft. They prey on women and espouse no Robin Hood principles. Unlike the old thugs, who had their codes. It is an old story.
The history of the dacoits in this region goes back to as early as the thirteenth century CE. The dacoits came to limelight only during the British era. However, most of these dacoits were Robin Hood of sorts. They were mostly local outlaws known as Baghis, who were either oppressed by the higher castes, suffered social injustice or were deprived by the law. It was commonly believed that most of these dacoits used to loot the rich people and then distribute the wealth among the poor. Most notorious among these dacoits were Thakur Maan Singh, Putli Bai, Malkhan Singh, Dong-Batri brothers, Sultan Singh, Phoolan Devi and Mohar Singh. Even after Indian independence, the menace of the dacoits continued in the Chambal region.
Gradually, these dacoits either gave up their guns and surrendered or were killed by police encounters. Though organized gang is no longer there in the Chambal region, the gun culture is still prevalent in the region.
“They say a house might not have grains to eat but they will certainly have bullets.”
During 2004, the dacoits had an unwritten control over the Chambal region. Their leader was Nirbhay Singh Gujjar who was said to run a parallel government in about 40 villages. There were as many as 239 criminal charges against him for murder, robbery and kidnapping in his 30 years of dacoity career.
When K K Muhammad first saw Bateshwar in 2004, the temple was in very bad shape. Stones were strewn all over and mixed. Most of the temples were broken down and it seemed like a giant puzzle of stones. Mr. Muhammad decided to decode thisjigsaw puzzleand restore the Bateshwar Temple to its former glory.
However, the job was not that easy. The first obstacle in solving the puzzle was the dacoits who had made the temple complex their hideout. So he decided to have a meeting with the dreaded dacoit Nirbhay Singh Gujjar. After several rounds of negotiations, he was able to convince the dacoit that these temples were built by his (Gujjar’s) ancestors. And as a true descendant, he must preserve and protect his heritage and show it to the world. Gujjar was somewhat convinced about the intentions of K K Muhammad and allowed him to start the restoration work. Gujjar asked the archaeologist to restore the front gate and the first 4 temples. The dacoits not only allowed the restoration work to start but also provided protection to the ASI workers and also helped them in the restoration work.
In the hindsight, it can also be said that these temples were preserved because of the presence of the dacoits. No one visited the area and no one carried away stones and the sculptures away, a common thing in most of the ancient monument sites in India.
KK Muhammad started working and with time the temples and the land started showing them the way. The once broken and lost stones and structures started finding their other lost halves. After some months when Nirbhay Singh Gujjar came to visit the site, he was totally surprised to see the place. By then, a gateway and a few temples were restored. He saw the work by the ASI workers, gave a wry smile and went away. It was as if he now gave full permission for the restoration work. Divine works in such ways that, that was the last time he saw the temples and left in peace. Government, which was after him, found him soon and shot him down. Thus ending the terror of dacoits in the region and the restoration work went on with full swing.
But there was another problem waiting, probably bigger and even worse, the Sand Mafia.
Anyways, even though i have told you all this, But it doesn’t amount to nothing when you can hear the man himself. The film took a lot of time and went into many edits due its complex and political nature.
Earlier, the film was named “Man of Temples” but the editing saw many complications not in constructing way but simplifying as much to just convey the required minimum. That took time and slowly the focus transferred to the temples than where it started, to the man who made it possible and still doesn’t want it. Rather he says that, “Bateshwar was like my pilgrimage, lets give it to the man, Mr. KK Muhammad.”
As i remember that time and that shoot, that night with the most beautiful sight, sleeping in the temple premises was one of the most memorable nights personally for me, in a long time staying with the Adi Yogi- near Bhootnath temple.
Filled with stories and rising with the peacock couples in the morning. The crew arrived late which gave us a resounding time and feeling for the intuition last evening to have stayed with the dacoits past night. To hear so many stories. It became a lot more easier to film them from then onwards, to eat and make friendship that may not just survive but revive the moment those Dacoits will see us again.
The film went on to be screened at many national and international Film Festivals most notably Kerela International Film Festival, MIFF, and IDFA
Awaking in the divinity of Bateshwar temples, with the legendary KK Muhammed from Road to Nara on Vimeo.
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Thank you.
If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
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I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About meand importantly;
You might also like to know about My Little School Project. If you wish to come over for a visit someday, that you must, you will be heartily welcomehere
If you would like to contribute to my travels,you can please do so here
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If you have anything to share, or feel like saying a hello, please feel free to write to me at narayankaudinya@gmail.com
To visit other long-term photographic works, please visithere.
To follow my walks through the rural Indian Subcontinent, find me at Instagram | Facebook | Twitter
Who is observing the observer? Are you in front of the camera or behind it ? Or are you it ?
Do you realize the change Changing?
We walked up to the oldest virgin man. The sevak of shiva sitting on a hill, under a bright summer sun. His skin had earned blocks of pentagon, shaped into numerous lines criss-crossing his whole body. Once wrinkles turned into scales, crafted like on a snake’s skin. For a moment when he stood, I moved and touched that skin. But it felt nothing like it instead it was soft as wool. We walked seven steps together and then he sat in the shadow, near few men who had come from the nearby village, singing.
He was humorous. He looked at Maharaj ji and told him that you look older than me!abhi bhi dum lagate ho? Do you still smoke Chillum? And started laughing at his own prank. But when he did, i could see through his mouth till his almost neck, bereft of any bone. wide, narrow, dry and turned grey. The whole passage looked free and unobstructed.
I eat only once he said, once in the whole day, three spoons of rice or some little porridge or sometimes only water, anything more and it gets stuck in my throat. And then i unnecessarily have to drink so much water, only to force those stuck morsels reach my stomach. I don’t like to speak much now, other wise i need to urinate most unnecessarily. He was the most beautiful being whom Maharaj took me to meet. Laughing out loud.
Today, I heard from Ma, he left in the early hours, while sleeping, when everybody else also slept, quietly, unknowingly- without disturbing even the winds. He was 108.
I still remember something that he told me as we were leaving that day. “It is not that Kali Yuga is deadly or bad. But the people who follow satya(satvic), who are truthful, helpful and empathetic towards others, Old yugas still reside with in them, with peace and prosperity. They need not worry.
To each one of you, fellow bloggers. It’s not even two complete months since i am writing continuously on ROAD TO NARA; and to see, to touch this milestone of having 500 close knit friends, comes as the most fulfilling feeling. Probably one of the happiest decisions i made to make it all public in these serious Covid Times.
Each and every day has been overwhelming with the amount of comments, likes, stories that you expressed and poured out your love on the blog, through various questions, views, queries, praises, some beautiful surprises in mails that i have got and few friends that i have found on this journey. I am not only thankful but owe this day to you all.
Knowing that it is only a start. And that the family should only grow.
Few friends here suggested that ROAD TO NARA must have a Facebook presence outside of WordPress dedicated to the blog. So, here i thought of a declaration.
Whomsoever reads this, you are heartily welcome to join on this culture filled, rural and magical journey here on Facebook at Road to Nara
Nothing would give me more happiness to have you here at Road to Nara
A giveaway : Gift
And since every celebration comes with sharing, if not a cake; I would like to extend this giveaway feature available for all the first 500 followers and to the coming 500 till we reach 1000 followers here at the Road to Nara.
What is it ?
Since Road to Nara recently created Facebook, Instagram and Twitter pages. You have to first like/follow the pages and Once done, you can choose any image of your liking that you find on the blog or on my Instagram page, send a copy of it on my mail and you will get back a high resolution file of it; that you may use on your blog or website, for outdoor, travel or any other purposes for free.
While giving due credit.
If you think it’ll be useful for you or you will be happy to come along on this road, I am happy to welcome you all.
Where are the lovers? The ones who roamed and flew kisses at each passing nightingale; that one who promised me the movies and photographs on the Valentines. I haven’t seen none and I don’t think one would come, instead i called him last night, in my sleep.
His year began with a cold shower last valentines morning, of course it was February, of course it was cold. For many years he dismissed the day of love by saying saint valentines’s mother was a pagan and did not believe in Christ herself, rather was in love with a tree outside her home. So he, my boyfriend decided to love a tree that stood outside their home.
You know trees have gender right! Also because his mother would rebel of even thinking about going outside, once she was walking on a street, and just when she reached at the centre of a four way crossing, she yelled out loud saying I detest this urban theatre, Every one is a clone of the other. Look a likes, inside outside, kept repeating it till a bird shat on her.
My boy left his mother for school where he found children crushing and tearing a chit that was given to them to call their parents. Later, one of the parent who was a painter came and looked at the terracotta plant pots and said no. They cannot be done. Twenty five years passed. And then one day, just like that somebody complained to the higher authorities about the school running in the park of a society. The notice came and school was shut. On the closing day school organised a reunion inviting all the ex-parents where they served them beer, brownie and a pineapple cake.
Chatterjee came smiling and entered the gate that lead him to an excavated site. It was a mound covered partially by a big black polythene which gave it an abandoned look. People said that this was the first ancient people’s home. So ancient that people used to never wear anything. Not even leaves. The sun was setting, when dasgupta turned he decided to photograph a couple who were passionately kissing. They both wore red, the boy in the pants and the girl on her Lips, seemed helpless to go after a point. Yet kept pursuing themselves like two snakes rolling up tightly around each other joined by the mouth.
A new constellation arrived above when antelope looking formation and my boy were seen by many a satellites controlled by the Chinese or so we thought; they were planning something and in not many weeks later a virus arrived. It is said that the society came to such a halt that each working man and all school going students were overjoyed for a few days until technology took over. It was boom and a new kind of economy started growing. It was all cyber and people seemed complaining but largely were fine eating, hiding at home. Everything went quiet. Even those chimneys that i saw exhuming smoke like a cloud making factory puffing for free. The last time when I saw Chatterjee was when one evening he started walking towards a pond like a swag, one step at a time going down in the water. Even when the steps vanished he kept descending and reached many miles down under water where he met another man named Insane whose eyes glowed like radium and spoke only of the light.
But ever since he has come back, he is not opening his eyes. Rather calls me to come close, closer to my eyes and whispers, I love you.
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Cover image was taken in the most charming fort of Daulatabad
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Thank you
If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
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I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About meand importantly;
Well, this happened, my first award, and I thank dear KrishnaPriya, for forwarding this space and allowing me to take all my time. As many people know that it has only been very little time that i am here but this community, her people, the communication, appreciation and lifting everyone up is overwhelming here. So we are all shining like sun together, this is for all of us.
Bur first of all, I request everyone to visit Krishnapriya’s quaint blog, the one who nominated me here – Krishnapriya. She has studied Sanskrit and writes about all the little happiness’s that life presents us.
THE SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD IS GIVEN TO THE BLOGGERS WHO INSPIRE POSITIVENESS AND CREATIVITY IN THE BLOGGING COMMUNITY.
I am happy to accept my first blogger award in exchange for the questions she designed for me to answer.
Here we go –
Which is your favorite book/movie? One of the two I would say; my all time favourite book has been Siddharthaby Hermann Hesse
How are you spending your leisure time?
Well, I find leisure in my work, so doing what it takes.
Do you believe in miracles?
Yes
If you came to know today is the last day of your life, what would you do ?
After speaking to loved ones, I will find a peepal tree to sit under for good.
Why you choose blogging?
It took so long a time that I imagine now that it chose me.
Tell me 3 nice things about you.
I can think, I can fast, I can wait.
Do you read more or use internet more?
I read more on the internet.
In your own words, “What is love?”
Undoubtedly, Caring with Respect
Share a simple food recipe of your choice.
Not a food recipe but let me share something more important and also in these times, a way for a remarkably glowing skin and infallible immunity- first thing in the morning, on an empty stomach take a 1tbs mixture of haldi and amla powder with warm water.
Which one you love: Sunny day or Full moon day?
I am a lover of moon.
What is your message to kids?
Keep asking questions, and as you grow, get better atit.–That’ll be all. Thank you Krishnapriya
–
In these times of unnatural lockdowns, sharing this beautiful memory with you all when some Laddakhi children took me to their secret cave across the river, for real though it wasn’t easy to reach and guess what i found! May be i’ll share that story some day. Till then Take care everyone.
Lets start from where we ended. For twenty-seven nights, I was the only one living in a wooden balcony that hung facing the jungle on a whole mountain. The red moon that I saw on the forehead of a mother in the village down, i saw a similar one on my lover. But her eyes were set against the only window the first night. Pink walls. She told me she wants to scream. Now! I said. She smiled. Fire. She kept looking in my eyes and started screaming. I closed my mouth. And opened my eyes. It was winters. It was cold. And you know when it is winters and when it is cold how heavy the rains hit. It confuses the heart.
It was sunny next day. Pluto arrived. Nara, let’s go meet the man who sneezes forty times. He does that once daily. We left our two limping dogs behind. It was a beautiful walk. We reached. We sat outside Daulat Ram’s home in his garden on uncomfortable plastic chairs. An old brown cow whose back had curved in like a hammock, stood between us and the old Vishnu temple. After we all stopped talking, Daulat Ram turned his face and started looking towards the sun. We both waited long time for him to start sneezing forty times but he slept. The moment we heard his first long snore we left and started walking back to where the bus will come at six. While walking down it happened that I realized my hands wanted to touch every passing tree. That feeling to touch trees again and again grew so much that we started making our own road in a quest to touch, our closest relative’s hard skin. In doing so the bus was missed. Or so it looked. A girl kept looking and told us you can still catch it, if you want it! The moment we learnt that we started running so fast on various varieties of mountain stairs that no one could have come closer to whisper but the wind, “swallow the world, swallow the world and fly”.
It was a run of a life time from Bijli Mahadev to four villages down on to the main road. We reached before the bus arrived. That was the last one for the day and in my running breath, in between looking at everyone and not looking i felt sitting the roof up and made this sketch that i finished later.
I remembered the evolution of another poem at another time that i wrote in the jungles once walked by the great Nicholas Roreich, the Russian painter.
One of the huts i rented out last year for a month in upper villages
As beautiful as a Birdsong, first Travel poem that came out from me.
Naggar became popular in mid 1950s as the home of the legendary Russian painter Nicholas Roerich. He lived here for several years, and died here too. His art gallery attracts a lot of Russian, Italian and french travelers throughout the year. But even though i kept going to Naggar after my first halt It was in 2013, six years later that i happened to visit the gallery.
Over all these years i have many memories where Naggar, this small ancient town of the castle made me feel home more than anywhere else. With beautiful walks, home-stays, local tea and sweet shops, there is a lot to see here and has access to everything serene that families come to experience in Manali.
f you want to go to Chandrakhani and back. Naggar could be the best place to stay. . But sharing some old times and quiet inspiration that Roerich saab has had upon me and many ones who must have or are planning to visit Naggar.
Singsong – A half cloud like a cotton moon rising from the Devdars, Naggar
In 2018, While solo trekking to Chandrakhani Pass to meet sage Parashuram’s father, Jamdagni Maharaj
I am certain many of us are yearning to walk on the mountains; without masks. But truly we have no idea idea when it may happen again. Whenever it does, and you plan something around these villages, please write to me. Some village homes will be happy to have you as extended family members from my side.
: ँ :
Thank you.
If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
If you have anything to share, or feel like saying a hello, feel free to write to me at narayankaudinya@gmail.com
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I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About meand importantly;
Also, You will be happy to know about My Little School Project. If you wish to come over for a visit someday that you must, you will be heartily welcomedhere
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To visit other long-term photographic works, please visithere.
To follow my walks through the rural Indian Subcontinent, find me at Instagram | Facebook | Twitter
I could well be passing my worst night. I had missed my fastest express to home, and was barely left with enough money to buy tickets again. Evening was around, I decided to reach the highway and do what i had never done. I started asking passing by truck drivers for a lift. As time passed and no one stopped, uneasiness was creeping in. I hadn’t done anything like it before. But I kept telling myself that if nobody stops I will rest at a temple or the next dhaba i may find. After a considerable time suddenly a big truck passed and seemingly started slowing down. It must have stopped 100 meters ahead. I ran. It looked strange at first sight for such a big thing stopping, for me!! It was a sixteen-wheeler trolley. Empty. I got in. There was only one small, frail person, the driver sitting. He was lanky, and looked too young to be driving anything like this. Also he looked grim, bit sad and may be in shock. Apart from answering my question that he was going to Bhilwara in Rajasthan, he said nothing more. We were quiet all along. As the Gujarat border neared, he started looking out for liquor shops, stopped a few times, but got down once and brought two whiskey quarters for himself. He didn’t look at me, neither asked. He came back, sat, started the engine, opened one bottle and started drinking, just like that, neat. And not a sip after sip. He drank it! Forget offering! He finished it, he threw the bottle out, put both his hands on the steering wheel and kept looking straight.
From my eyes, it all looked like a scene. So slow and finely detailed. He did not move. May be he could not move. 1-2-3-4-5-6 seconds, still looking straight. Switches the engine off- gets up, goes at the back seat, behind me- lies down and grunts, “bhai do you know how to drive?” After the initial Mt. Everest to the sea level heartbeat, I said Yes. I think he probably uttered don’t put brakes too hard, keep going straight and only around that time he passed out.
I breathed deep. Took some time, got down. Pee-d, went around the truck almost feeling overwhelmed by the situation but intrinsically I was smiling. I cannot tell you, but I had quietly asked this to happen to me because for a long time I wanted to become a truck driver, so that i could travel to each part of the country and come out with a travel book, as a truck driver. But well, all those dreamy things keep going on inside and the reality offers itself differently. Right now this was humongous. I don’t think I had ever driven anything apart from a Maruti 800 before. I got back and held the steering. Everything was fine till the moment I turned the engine on. World became a serious work. It suddenly felt like I was sitting on second floor. I looked at the rear mirror; and it seemed my truck kind of never ended. Sitting, on a moving tower, looking at small cars from that height, started to seem like selfish colorful moving ants, screaming for space, demanding to overtake at any given opportunity. Every time I put brakes, halting sounds of iron from the trolley behind emerged making me feel a part of the snowball effect. I had to be very present. The guy slept as if he is the one who has asked for the lift. I cannot be distracted. I have to drive straight, I kept telling myself, no heroism needed. Slowly I started maintaining a speed of 30 km/hr. Slowly building my confidence managing that speed. But a little Iater i came behind this truck ahead of me which was almost crawling, slower than me. I had to overtake him at one point, which I wanted to avoid all along. It was two am in the morning and instead of sleeping in an air conditioned compartment, here i am driving a full blown truck on a light vehicle license, how can such a thing be true. But well, against all fear and odds I went for the first great overtake of my life and I remember that part of the highway suddenly shrinking to the narrowest only to test me, it seemed. A three lane highway suddenly became two. It was me and the other truck moving side by side. There was no space for any other vehicle. In no time, a line of cars behind me had started honking, demanding for space. I didn’t want to move faster so now two slow trucks moving parallel and mine was so long that every time I thought I had passed the smaller truck to get back to the lane on my left, a honk used to come from the other truck. I was still not certain how big was my container. It took several minutes supported by my breath retention techniques that i got past him and was back on my lane. That was a personal achievement. I felt better. And slowly after these initial vulnerabilities that night i managed to drive over hundred kilometers for the next 3 hours as Salman half slept throughout the journey kept reminding me to not use brakes too much.
We were reaching Udaipur when Salman sat. He seemed better and showed some gratitude in his actions. He said bhai lets eat. While eating at a dhaba he told me that Noorjahan had broken his trust and that was the first time he drank. We laughed, i tried making him laugh.
With much love and well wishes, he didn’t let me pay for the food neither asked any money. He dropped me at Udaipur bus stand. Took my number and told me to be ready, for in August, we both brothers will drive this truck to Leh. Inshallah, I said and we were on our way.
I had no photograph of this journey, but when the time came in August, Salman called, and a month later we met on the dusty more plains on our way to Leh, but this time when the truck broke down, something more, extremely unusual and something that pushed me towards severity happened. Perhaps it had to do with our collective energy. I have one photograph of Salman and me from the road to Leh, back in 2009 i suppose. Hopefully, I get to share that story sometime soon too, you all will love it.
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Thank you
If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
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I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About meand importantly;
The case of chasing sun
a fat girl wedded to life singing the uhuru burn
what will remain of this world
continuity and creativity in uncle hassan’s sleep
losing his spirits walking away from his favorite tree
her signs
his silence
her future poetry
a journey to the stone country on top of a bus with an x zorastree
on a kiss less day
Taiwan’s highway
Terminal eating
Imagining an Adivasi cinema
Translated museums
is bad hand writing freedom?
Freedom from brain
First the god will die
and soon men.
Love, like living is commerce
and commerce is time
and time
in the case of the chasing sun
that fat girl who wedded to life
kept singing the uhuru burn
How can we describe food? What sun is to plants, food is to humans. Food is as much sun. The only visible god. The energy. Prana Shakti. What you eat will determine the longevity of your strength not just of your body, but also of your senses. Not just five, but all ten of them. And very slowly as you will with full awareness practise eating, it will start determining the strength of ones spirit. Because anything that we consume becomes our spirit.
The most beautiful things in life work and are found in silence. So should working of our stomach be. It is the home where Shakti resides. Feed her respectfully.
And to tell you that is how Yog arrived in me it wasn’t that i started doing asanas, no. It arrived through food. It took only the alignment of understanding the body from within. That is how I imagine the first and the foundation of becoming a yogi starts, by understanding ones relation with food.
To cut the story short
I will not tell you to east less. It is your journey and you all will know yourself when, what and how much you need.
But if you can, to start with Avoid these four foods with grit and resolve however weak it may be at the start.
Potato. Rice. Sugar. Maida/White flour
In Ayurveda- the ancient Indian science of food and medicine that one should eat those food that grow in and around your vicinity. That may not be possible today. But what you can do is to buy less, cook well and finish each day. So that your food remains as young and leads you to light and energy.
Who could have imagined, that our ever-running world could ever come to a halt?
A silence that our earth, rivers, the sky, birds, animal, us thought was never possible. Someone, an invisible one; invading our lives, to that point he made a mockery of our system, of our inventions, what ever we created, nothing came to our rescue but age old virtues like resilience, patience and above all, prayers. Today we are afraid and vulnerable to even step out of our homes freely. For sometime at least, nothing is going to be like the world we had.
Whereas in a sweet turn of events for our co-habitants, we are the ones caged. And most other beings are doing much better rather enjoying our absence. Only leaving us to breathing and observing this unprecedented change. A Change that is commanding us to leave the environment on its own. With no interfering or intrusion needed.
No amount of money ever came close to clean our rivers and our skies. But it was the fear of disease and death that forced us to sit at one place for months. That same fear which makes all animals tremble the moment they learn of being trapped, caged for slaughter, for somebody’s pleasure.
From here onwards any certainty is far fetched. Of how the life post pandemic will be in the long run. Most probably it will take on with similar course it has always been. Forgetting it like any other storm life threw at mankind. Yet I am optimistic that there are people, who may well revisit their lives and its meaning. And how from here onwards it can be shaped for world’s good altogether.
Life of a traveller is short, because he becomes intoxicated with the world, with practices and information in each passing breath. And so in this time of isolation I sat down and revisited my quiet life as a traveller that grew me immensely and may even help you to find peace within. It is also that the founding idea of my travels is not of passing, but of becoming wherever you are; staying put, quietly seeing.
Here are a few experiences that shaped me. My ways of perceiving, an act, any happening, or as simple as breathing.
1. Humility
The first and the source of it all is in being humble and showing gratitude. There’s a beautiful saying that our forefathers wrote long ago in sanskrit श्रद्धावान् लभते ज्ञानम् that the knowledge comes to those who are humble. And it is one of the foremost things that you start earning slowly as you start trusting. Going closer within communities, people, learning, understanding and loving however and whatever way they are in; that no human is different from the other. All are one within.
2. To become all embracing, Listeners
The future enters through our ears, said an old man in the Himalayas. It is one of the hardest things to do but very conducive. An act of nothingness is what needs to be done the most. And it is not just like that when the great Iranian Filmmaker Abbas Kirostami said of Photography being the mother of Cinema. As it is the most observant of real time arts. See where the sound wants to lead you.
3. Learn a few sentences of the local language
This is my friends, the most respectful and instantly accomplishing thing that you would do. To learn a few preambles of their language. To start a conversation with anyone in a strange, new place. You never know it may be a start of a life long friendship.
4. Travel Alone
To some it may sound boring, but at some point of your life, it is this decision that will go on to change your stories. Because first of all it will make you strong and then it will make you addicted to that strength of slowly knowing yourself. It will be that change which only others can see but you will perceive.
5. Become friends with an old person
Well, personally it has been the most blessed thing to have found friendships in living books- that are these elderly souls walking, waiting to be asked, to be poked- to only turn into child like once again. But it is also true as much that the one will find you, the one you might be searching for.
These friends don’t only carry stories, but discipline in varied ways. Experience of the land that can be found nowhere else. I bow to one such teacher who blessed me with a magic life saving skill. Let me talk about it in the next step.
6. Learn a skill
We all have something to share, to give. Long time travels become static many a times if the purpose is lost. Music, writing or something that the locals can get some benefit out of your skill work wonders in uplifting the environment and oneself.
7. Know, The Elements of life
This being my favourite carries all capabilities to align you with your elements. The slow deep breathing long Walking times tunes your heart and lungs in its own right into meditation order. The purest form of seeing and keeping ourselves and nature in check and healthy.
8. How can you Contribute ?
Travelling and staying at one place for longer periods start pushing you in more ways than one. People love people who step up to give, a part of sustainable travelling, It can be taking up teaching local children, visiting local NGO’s, primary schools, and other such places where you meet locals, and learn about a complete new way of knowing rural economy and society.
9. Visit local writers, teachers and local artisans
One of my favorite things after I settle down at a place is to look out for people who are living intimately within themselves and are the bed rock of the society. You can walk around asking for such people if you are curious enough to know something deeper.
10. What if today is my last day
I wanted to include the most brutal truth as it is the easiest to look beyond. But when you carry the memories of a young friend died in college, a lover who died in an accident, the ones who were not called but forced to exit the world.
It is not really fair to think of it as a traveller but I talk myself into it now only to motivate myself. To become disciplined. To make myself believe in a larger life. What is important now? Many a times it has helped me in prioritising my life right. And it is not me, yogis live by this rule, and so do many people who inspire the spirit in you to do right. To do your best.
Found this on the wall of a room in Gokarna
I must tell you something honestly, that i had to learn a few things the hard way. And Many things that I have mentioned here were received through a long time of seeing. Very slowly without me being aware of it. But I can tell you that the source of it all was gratitude, being respectful. First and foremost to yourself. That’s it! Respecting oneself.
I imagine that if you go through all the above ideas alongside cultivating your own true vision, with experience and research; I am certain that it will give you a good chance of having a memorable time not just while travelling any particular where but through this road, we call life.
Of course, It may not be the perfect philosophy for many of you as well. For you may be thinking this to be the most boring and dullest advices ever but however that may be, only these ones have served me through.
And if you just went through reading thinking this is so close to how you would like to have your own travel hustle, then let me tell you, you are going to love the ‘Road to Nara’.
Regardless of what you may think, my only reason to be here writing is to become a bridge for anyone who is seeking. To believe following the path of ahimsa-non-violence, in thought and action. To share ideas, resources, memories that even if you are not there, your mere thought can uplift somebody’s moment; and trust me you will feel that yourself, quietly. Because at the end of the day it is not about how many miles you flew, or years you have spent on the road, or how many countries you checked in; it only comes truthfully closest to, that how many places you couldn’t leave because people didn’t let you go, that you changed them, and they you, your world.
Hope it made you smile.
While working on a film in the Thar desert of Rajasthan, i had found a lone tree just like someone finds an Oasis. Here a Portrait of the Self.
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Thank you.
If today is the first time you have arrived on The Road to Nara, you are heartily welcome ~ Namaste
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I will take this opportunity to introduce you to About me and importantly,
It was evening. I was taking off my clothes looking at the river tungabhadra. I was imagining the moment my body will touch her water. My feet, my thigh, my abdomen started had started forgiving heat when he started telling me about the origin of the oldest living civilisation, India.
Draw a perfect circle. Use a compass or a plotter.
Now, zoom in. If you zoom in close enough, you’ll discover that it’s not a perfect circle at all. In fact, anything we create, at close enough magnification, isn’t perfect.
It’s foolish to wait until you’ve made something that’s perfect, because you never will. The alternative is to continue to move toward your imaginary ideal, shipping as you iterate.
He woke up four inches below the snow like bed. But the day ahead was going to be as treacherous. He felt excited because travelling to rural India gave a smile to his face. Indian villages to a good extent still practice their civilisational old traditions. The air is different, the land for miles is green. But leaving Delhi behind is a lengthy affair. Their is an infrastructure push. Hundreds and thousands of trees that once gave beauty, breath and shade have now given way to expressway and highways and along with it empty, always being constructed high rise buildings. Slowly we start going past it. And we start seeing cow dung cakes kept for sun drying for kilometres. For centuries cow dung cakes known as “upla” in Hindi are used for cooking, cleaning homes and for homa- the fire worship. It’s smoke is known to purify the environment killing small insects and creatures. Many years ago someone said to Nara about India, when he was roaming in the river valleys of Kedar, that India is made up of two things- Rishi and Krishi. Rishi- the old divine sages who wandered and sat for years at one place for tapa for doing meditation/tapa generating energies for the universe as much as themselves roamed and set an example for people. In older times the kings had sages as advisers and worshipers for the king and kingdom. And Krishi- agriculture. India was and still to a good extent is an agriculture dominated nation. But like it is around the world things are changing. The lives have become faster. With more comfort given. Time gets deducted.
After many years nara was visiting his place of birth. Just a few days ago he saw a photograph of himself naked, crying, getting an oil massage lying on the legs of his grandmother. The same legs which will be amputated twenty seven years later due to gangrene. And be the cause of her slow, painful, almost sudden death. He stopped to pee near a well but away. The well was Deep but dry. The moment he turned he froze and for many minutes stood looking at the sun till he was set. Reaching his ancestral home was only good till he entered inside it. Not because a blind buffalo kept looking in his direction. But the home was gloomy and seemed to have stopped growing. It was bereaved of any kind of color. The laughs were as hollow as the understanding of a butcher of a goat. Moreover it was also the cough that had taken some of his mind off. His ribs had started hurting and his throat was drier. The water was delicious. It was said many years ago Ganga flowed through this village. It was that time when many farmers had also discovered centuries old statues, coins, shiva and Vishnu idols while farming their land.
He ate little bit and Left for the wedding that was forty kilometres futhur twards the direction of the river. Many Sugarcane tractors and trucks stood in a line throughout the road. Farmers had burned their land where sugarcane grew and now will prepare it again for the second crop. State highways were beautifully laden taking him through the interiors of U.P. It was night soon.
Seeing the wedding venue disappointed him. It was not the usual village wedding but seemed to have become a bad model of a city one. In a banquet hall. With the loudest speakers without any understanding of sound. There were loud beats that trembled your whole body. Girls and boys dancing. Some elderly women and drunk men on one DJ stage. People had only started to come. In front of the venue on the other side of the road where just an amount of filtered light from the wedding venue was reaching. Stood an age old pipal tree. Which looked like to have come out from a now deceased structure, some bricks still could be seen attached along the roots that have outgrown any possibility of human involvement anymore. He found a place to sit beneath and enjoyed all the ongoings from far. Without any desire to talk, to meet anyone or even to eat. He sat like a well dressed man with a muffler around his neck quietly observing life.
She kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Her death seemed such that at one time I felt she chose it.
But do birds more so when one is a predator choose their own death?
When Maharaj ji arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be she needed someone to close her eyes before it could be plucked out by hungry ones. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle.
Sometimes guilt pushes for better results. Thus Chatter woke up dot at four in the brahm mahurat. Even though he left home at five. We were able reach Rajpath in the darkness of the dawn. It was no less than grand theatre going on there.
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 sweating young, the valour 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, the vapours coming out of mouths while a woman officer commanding against the street lamps of Rajpath takes you close to India’a colonial cold faced armies. The practise and improvisation that has gone in the making of them. Oneness in the motion. The pride. It felt like they were owning the day. It felt like they made it our day. Whole, united. It was a day to feel the progress of this nation, the songs of the ancient names being sung. When only wind moved, and each and every person seen stood motionless. When the national anthem ran through our nerves together.
A day that turned long. A self-imposed salt restriction that later allowed only the monkeys for a probable lynching, earning saffron in the milk before the ruins arrived. One has to act tough and particularly merciless with the unemotional. I couldn’t have sliced and stabbed their stomachs from my ever present knife, yet I for a tap drop moment was ready to even do that.
Coming times are going to be exciting. We are in a good flow.
I got up little late. I didn’t know the reason exactly but I was lazing around for more than required. One thing that is changing me from inside is getting up and going for the bath. Its one of the most beautiful, mood changing, act changing thing that I have been constantly doing. One thing that still has to be attained is getting up at one time. Its mostly early but its irregular. I went out for the walk. I ran in between. I had to meet Swastika and Dhruv. Making sure that they get on board.
Noon arrived faster than anticipated. I met swastika at Khan. It was calming meeting her. She shared a lot and opened like a flower in monsoon. She confirmed she is in but talked soon spoke mostly her experiences. Did not ask anything of the film but of things of elsewhere. Even though she gave me a beautiful image with the children. There is an unknown risk with her but it also feels that she is the best I have right now with me. The kind of person Capital needs, who knows the city as well and still is curious enough to know more.
It was a fast day so I had to be creative in eating. There were couple of hunger attacks during late noon and in the night. I went to the the Juice shop where least number of people go. He has started recognizing my face. I asked him to make a banana shake without sugar and with very less milk. The moment I got ready I asked him to put pomegranates over it of ten rupees. I did twice and the feeling was as contented as a red apple. But here onwards I will deal with them in a better way. Probably drinking water is the best way to keep fasts. Four times a month.
I left home soon again towards the same direction. It couldn’t have been avoided as the circumstances became such. I was meeting Dhruv in the evening. A young guy looking like yesterdays manto without any particular interest or passion. I felt bored within 10 minutes and time seemed to be dragging after a while. Yet, may be he can be useful that is still to be seen. I will ask him to visit soon.
Tomorrow, I need to make the map and write what all do we need to achieve and go to. It’s the recce time and my curiosity has to go up. I must meet completely different people making scenes out of them. And first of all to actually sit down closing myself in the room for a day and finish writing the script and then talk, say, do anything.
Story is evolving. I am letting it settle however she wants to. But I am trying to show Chatterjee what he must. The landscape of Delhi. Her birds. And her changing color. It seems we will be able to ride on to something that I myself never saw in Delhi. I do not know what form it is going to take. That it will reveal itself, and settle in the form it takes. My only work is to bring together the best of people that I know and then let it happen, however, in their small, beautiful, pure means.
Cold is settling. The sky cleared after many days of toxicity. And from yesterday it felt picnic in Delhi. We met in the evening and went towards the border of U.P meeting Delhi and observed birds going back in thousands. There were so many and within next one month it is going to be very exciting to make a small film around them in the film itself. I need to spend some time by myself in the area trying to find some people working in the colony. To learn a bit more what is happening in one of the most disgusting smell giving place I have been around to.
Met Sumit after long time again. His phone stopped working but I knew where to find him. I found him at the same sitting in the dark. There is no way he sees light. I had thought it might make some sense making chatterjee meet him but it all turned out dead. It all is now in shiva’s court. If he even cares to create one last passage, but certainly its not in the domain of humans anymore. Left that space with a lot of weight, directionless-ness and hopelessness and darkness. Walking back was a long than it was. I must now end whatever there was as there is nothing left to be. It’s the end.
Next two weeks are going to be away from the field. I need to meet a few people and get actors sorted. If Tanmay can take up sound then things will be a lot more breathable. I know him. We have worked together, having lived the most beautiful time in Kashmir. I trusted his presence then and it is only him of the lot that can be spoken to.
Over all, it could have been a better day. I couldn’t sit on the script despite it being lurking all around my brain. I should get around it soon and send it across to Meera. Else, I am close to feeling that rhythm to run after the oral history of this ancient place. Times of many possibilities.
End of 2nd Day
0005 hours.
Can still read myself to sleep
Singsong – A half cloud like a cotton moon rising from the Devdars, Naggar
ROAD TO NARA 