Letters From The Edge, 2.

letters from the edge.
2. the last pill.

the inevitable has happened. first i had monumental jet-lag and now i've got a horrible cold. initially i couldn't tell if i was jet-lagged or not. i usually feel weird anyway and my sleeping patterns have never been exactly normal. but, there were spaces in conversations, time-lapses. i figured it must be jet-lag. my eye-lids would get heavy. i'd want to lie down on the roadside in a fetal position. now, my whole head is heavy, my big nose has turned into the proverbial open faucet and the world is not looking so good as it did a day or so ago.

the world is not looking so good over here anyway. when i first came to this valley, in 1975, it was a kind of paradise. and if you even go one valley over, up the hillsides far enough or down to the river in places, i suppose it still is. the closer you get to the road, however, the uglier, dustier, dirtier and noisier it gets. the population explosion over the years has precipitated all manner of construction with little or no planning, few or no rules. a stroll to local shops can be a dangerous endeavor. vehicles rush past at break-neck speeds with no sidewalks, next to no room. walking into the town can bring on asthmatic episodes. and then there's satsang.

satsang(sanskrit): 1. the company of like-minded people. 2. the meeting of people whose attention is on the oneness rather than the duality. in a land of extremes and wild contrasts, the dichotomy between the area and what's happening here seems almost appropriate. but, there is beauty at the ashram. the gardens have flourished and matured. every square foot of the grounds has been well developed over the years. the buildings have been creatively designed and well-built. the paths wind along, a discovery around every corner. this place, along with places like it, are special. they lift the planet.

having said that, i must add that the only thing lifting me right now is advil. still, i recall a time here, long-ago, when i was much sicker, in my room for a couple of weeks. i had malaria, a little something i'd picked up in the south. i would sweat profusely, then shiver from cold, continuously, back and forth, back and forth. every pill of quanine felt larger and more unpleasant than the one before. it was during the monsoons and my place at the time was far up the hillside, a mud and stone hut with slate roof and dung floor that i helped build. i was distraught, mostly alone, miserable. a friend, who was a nurse, would make the long trek up with food once a day, check on me. as far as i knew my teacher, swamiji, had not even asked after me. by the time the last pill was in my hand i couldn't bare it. each pill seemed to have grown a little larger than the one before and made me feel a little worse. the rains pounded the top of my hut as i stared at that pill for a long time. nobody would know if i didn't take it. nobody would care. i placed it in a cup, slid it under my bed and rolled over.

not too long afterward, my friend came in, drenched. "what are you doing here at this time?," i asked. "swamiji insisted i bring you this note." she handed me a small folded slip of paper. i opened it and read: 'dear hansraj; take your last pill and you'll be better by the morning. love; swamiji.'

letters from the edge.
1. the way we roll.

the hotel i usually stay in delhi is not exactly five-star, three star or any star at all. there are no stars attached to that place. it has been slipping inexorably into a state of disrepair since the first time i was taken by its old-world charm. now it's just old, and not very charming. what i still like about the hotel, other than its price, is the price. no it's the people. ok, it's the price and the people. the people are warm, welcoming, friendly, and that part reminds me of home.

when i left india the last time, i had to abandon some clothes i'd given to a dobi-walla, a laundry person. they didn't get it back to me in time before my flight. now, believe it or not, it was all waiting for me, a neatly folded pile of my clothes sitting on a shelf at the laundry shop. however, having sat there for the better part of two years, there was an undeniable musty odor clinging to the stuff so i asked them to clean it all again. it will be fascinating to see if it's done when i return to delhi in a month's time.

as i waited to check in for my domestic flight between delhi and chandigarh, a pretty classic indian scene was unfolding nearby. the line-up snaked around a maze of ropes and just to one side was a group of about twenty people who were being told they could not board their flight. i don't know why. i only understood the odd hindi word being bandied about as the discussion became more and more heated. there was a lot of shouting, a lot of arm-waving until eventually the group began hollering in unison something, loosely translated, like: "jet airways is ripping us off hey hey!! jet airways is ripping us off hey hey!!" the mood continued to deteriorate. the group decided to take further action by shutting down the check-in counter. they congregated there and refused to let people go through for any flight.

that unfortunate decision was made as i had just taken my turn at the counter. so, not only was i unable to check in, i found myself smack-dab in the middle of the protest which became rather volatile with the arrival of several policemen. whistles were blown. there was a lot of jostling and shoving and hollering. one policeman grabbed my shirt and told me to back off. i tried to explain that i was just a simple foreign tourist in the wrong place at the wrong time. my hindi being what it is, however, i actually said something more like: "my mother is a happy fellow." the policeman just stared at me for a moment. then he started laughing.

i like to think that announcing my mother's general demeanor actually changed the whole mood of the place. the truth is i have no idea why the group moved away then, why we were all of a sudden allowed to carry on with check-in. they moved off to the side and devolved into a protracted discussion with the police and airline personnel. they were working it out. i moved through to the departures lounge while making a mental note to brush up on my hindi.

the hotel i like to stay in chandigarh is not exactly five-star, three-star or any star at all. there are no stars attached to that place. it's clean enough, but the sheets are thread-bare, the curtains faded long ago, the towels are like sand-paper and the shower is pointed directly at the toilet. more importantly, the shower is pointed directly at the toilet-paper beside the toilet. i remembered that little design flaw only in the midst of a shower this morning, which made the next stage of my ablutions uncomfortable. what i still like about the place, other than its price, is the price. no it's the people. ok, it's the price and the people. they smile warmly, say hello when they see me, not because they're trained to, not because it's part of their job description, but because it's simply the way they roll, and that part reminds me of home. 

Let It Go.

our friend nadia reported that, during her five-week visit to india, she was head-butted by two different bulls. as well, she fell into a hole of some sort, was bitten by a monkey of some kind and taken to a hospital for some reason. it's hard to imagine all that happening in such a short time, but that's india. life happens a lot. western visitors to india tend to end up either hating or loving the place. i have a great regard for someone like nadia who, in spite of everything, came away with an appreciation for the country and its people. opinions are usually strong. feelings are usually deep. it may be a weird place, but at least what you see is what you get, sometimes all over you.

i recall my first trip to india, 1975, just like it was yesterday. on only my third day there, i saw a man beating a water-buffalo with a wooden cricket bat. a smaller man held the animal by its nose ring and neck rope. they were both yelling while the larger of the two flogged the beast as it bellowed. nobody paid much attention, until i grabbed the bat and demanded they stop. the two men began hollering at me as a crowd gathered. there were a lot of histrionics and words i didn't understand until one willowy old man told me in english that the buffalo was very stubborn. i said that was no reason to abuse the creature. then the two men did something i was not expecting. they handed me the rope, made some gestures i understood to mean that the buffalo was now mine and then they stormed off. people were holding onto each other laughing, pointing, while i remained frozen to the spot.

i was at a total loss to know what to do. within three days of being in the country i found myself wandering through a market with a water-buffalo who, by the way, was in fact incredibly stubborn. it seemed quite ungrateful to a guy who had just saved it from a thrashing. i hadn't gotten very far when the same willowy old man approached. seeing me struggle, he smiling said: "you can do with that buffalo the same as so many problems in the life. before you lose your good sense, my son, you can simply let it go." which is exactly what i did.

meanwhile, all these years later, while reading a little of what nadia went through over there in that crazy place, a strange and wonderful feeling came over me. it was unsettling, but i found it impossible to ignore. eventually, i got up off my zafoo and walked rather zombie-like to my friendly local travel agent and, before i knew what was happening, i had purchased a ticket. well, i leave in a few days, for a few weeks, to see a few friends, to pay my respects to my aged and beloved guruji, to salute the honesty of life as it is uniquely expressed in india. i'll write to you from there.

wait for me wakefield. i know you will. you always do.