The World in 100 Words or Less

Andy, Nick and  had left Jaisalmer at eleven o’clock on our 7th day there.  It was sad to go.  We had made many friends, both Indian and Foreign.  I will forever miss cooking chapatis in the tandoor oven (I burnt the hell uot of my hand) and flying kits with the little kids.  Letting that strnig out, watching the kite rise nito the desert sun, eclipsing its light, that will be my image of Jaisalmer.  Apparently, though, we were destined to leave.  A horrible storm rolled ni during our last hours in the city.  As we sat no the roof of the hotel, watching lightning in the distance, seeing each other’s faces light up with every strike, it was clear our image of Jaisalmer, the sleepy desert town, and its people would be ruined if we stayed any longer.  It was perhaps the most intense lightning I have ever seen.  Bolts that seemed to shake the ground, thunder that would make your bones crumble.  A blue sky of light, not from the sun, but from charged electricity.  Of course, we read the sign wrong: misery was around the corner.  I write my next words only to vent the disturbing things I have seen, no to glorify them, or make them poetic. Just to say what happened.

Andy and I were standing outside of the Jodphur railway station, having completed the first half of our journey out of Jaisalmer.  We were making small talk with locals outside the station when we heard the most mournful and sad sound ever to enter my ears.  We turned to see a women no the ground, her young child in her lap.  We both noticed the kid wasn’t moving.  I thought back and realized- ni that moment- that I have never seen a dead person so close. Was this going to be remembered as my first time?  And it was a child, shielded by her mother’s arms with a grip that would have made steel crumble like dry bread.  We told ourselves that, tough it was a cry of mourning, the kid was just sleepnig.  We had to go inside and takl about movies and other nonsense to get our minds off of it.  Yet here I am, 7 hours later, writing this down.  Andy and Nick have since departed to Mt. Abu, and I am going towards Pushkar.  I bet Andy is thinking the same thing as me.  Tomorrow, I tell myself now, will be a better day.  It is the day of Holi festival, a part of colors and celebration.  Hence why my train is full of people.  Kids sitting in the rafters and luggage racks, babies on their mothers laps, quietly and reassuredly breathing.  Everyone’s fascinated with the white face, seemingly the only one on this local train.  His little mobile phone is drawing attention too.  However, today is the one day that I don’t feel like making friends.  Yet everyone continues to want to talk to me and I politely agree to discuss politics, history, science, etc.  I tell the guy next to me, hardly a year older than me, but somehow more weathered by the Indian sun, what I saw in Jodphur.  He shrugs and says, “The child will come back a stronger person, the cycle of life begins again” in perfect english, having previously spoken only a handful of words.  I hope to God, Brahma, or whatever, that he was right. Tomorrow is a day of celebration, Josh. Be happy, think about beautiful saris blowing in the wind, fantastic colors flying.  Find yourself at the hotel in Pushkar having a quiet meal, looking at the mountani drinking a coke.  The past is behind you, Jodphur is a million miles away.  Fall asleep and don’t forget to breathe.

Tags: Travel

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 18th, 2006 at 12:37 am and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.