The following story is something I wrote for my University newspaper in the 90s, when after graduating from the MS I moved to DC. It was published in the university weekly newspaper, since I was still in touch with Editor in Chief who was my Prof. Every time I read this, I long for those days when writing came so easy and simply flowed from my heart. I could do that even until Fiji. And now, even though I write all the time, words do not flow as they used to. Citations and references and ideas, that is a different kind of writing. I do believe that requires much prior reading...like doctors need to have read and understood much before they can prescribe medicines. But also that is a very different profession from being a poet, or a musician that speaks a level of truth that resonates for generations to come, and is healing every time we listen to it. So, I present this article here as a window into my first few months of living in Washington DC, having lived in a small US town and a very small town in Southern Africa before. I will not count my stay in Delhi here, since that was home at some point and I lived with other members of the family. DC was really being an adult. No one was taking care of me, I was always looking out for a room for rent, on month to month lease so that I could call it quits if I wanted to.
Other than that, the article is also presented here as a reflection of our own selves. Especially when we critique others....would we choose to do differently in a similar situation, if not then do we have the right to be critical?
The above picture was taken in Delhi, a few days before Dusshera 2009. Dusshera, also called Vijay Dashmi, is the 10 day of the month (usually between Ashwin and Kartik months according to the Indian calendar), is culmination of a ten day fasting and rituals, that include thinking about triumph of good over evil, people who have gone before us (The Shraad, a week long ritual filled period when the ancestors are honored by feeding the poor and handing out alms and donations). Navratri, or the nine days before Dusshera is when (almost) the whole country refrains from meat, onions and garlic, foods that are considered stimulants, engaged in heavy fasting and prayers. Some even plant rice and wheat in small bowls representing the grains, in honor of those who grow them...and provide us our daily bread. On Dusshera, big effigies of the demon King Ravana burnt all over the country. The above picture and the below one show simply the faces, giving an idea of how tall these effigies are. Made from paper, they are filled with crackers, and people usually like to take the left over bamboo home as symbol of good luck. As the crackers burst, you hear young children scream and dance with joy, Dusshera also marks the beginning of Diwali celebration. Delhi, 2009.
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| Cities are Cities. And all cities have at some point tried to create an iconic image of themselves. Here is Vancouver in all its glory. A shot from Stanley Park. September, 2009. |
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| Nope, Not DC, but Brisbane. A shot from Brisbane airport, on my way to Thailand, May 2009. All cities, in some way, are chaotic in the same way... |
We make the world
Like all new graduates I moved to a city too, in the hope of finding a decent job. Of course like any other person I realize the list of problems after graduation only increases, not to mention the responsibilities. Yet there are so many things to notice in the city every day that it takes my mind off the things that give me a headache. Life here is very different from Clarion yet much remains the same.
Like getting up early every morning to reach the work in
time is just like rushing to make it to the class. So many similarities with
the college makes me think if we really make any changes in our lives or just
accommodate interestingly disguised adaptions of our old lifestyles. I see
people of all ages running to the metros, after the buses, towards the offices.
They do not seem relaxed even when rushing towards the theaters and
entertainment places. Day after day I either find a seat for myself or give in
to standing in a large crowd in whatever means of public transport
I take. I prefer to be in the corner i.e. out of the noticable section. From
where I muse at the dozing heads, that is, if I am not one of them. It is so
much similar to the students dozing in the classroom, of course for different
reasons but the consequences remain the same. I start scanning the people
around me. An old lady with silver hair and bright red lipstick smiles at me, a
man next to her is absorbed in his newspaper, a college student frantically flips
the pages of a text book, a middle aged man resting against the iron bar tries
to catch some sleep and then a squeal from a child brings me back to
myself.
To make up for my lack of time to work out I rush up the working
escalator, wondering if everybody else rushes for the same reason. As I climb up the steps I notice a man completely immersed
in his
novel, some afro-american women with their hair bleached and
other Euro american women with their hair dyed dark or permed hair
(Why do we have so many racial and ethnic problems if we are
constantly trying to look like others? are we ever satisfied with
ourselves?), guys with long flowing hair, women with crew cut, guys with
nose rings, women with tatoos, and people with hair dyed to match
their clothes. Tired ones sitting on steps with lazy smiles and
droopy eyes.
Streets are always buzzing with people. People of all
races, people with expensive clothes and cheap looks and vice-versa. Crazy
traffic makes you think too. Its not Clarion after all, you have got
to wait for the traffic! What effort! It requires a great deal
of thinking to follow the traffic lights.
Life
in a city is much busier and faster for sure but do the basics change? The fact is that we are all trying to run after
something, rarely do we have moments to ourselves, we are just as
careless about our responsibility towards the universe. I say this
because I often notice papers and other garbage lying around and
within few feet of any given garbage can in the city. We insist on
driving to the grocery store even though it is only two blocks away.
Yet there are those great moments when a stranger lends a hand or passes an understanding smile and I begin to appreciate the
harmony in the world. However I am not yet ready to accept my own
hypocrisy which comes from the fact that I am not any different from
the others who I notice and judge.I have not had my breakfast so
I grab a blueberry muffin and
coffee. As I head towards my work place I come closer to
one© man™street© band playing saxophone. It is enchanting, captivating, hypnotizing........!
Mersimerized, I stand still and stare at the richness of the music and
the emptiness of the all the people passing by. Barely any one gives it a
thought or stops to listen.
It is a monday, I guess. Every work day in the real world
seems like a monday!!! I wonder why people wouldn't stop a few
seconds or at least spare a few coins. As I spill hot coffee on me I
realize I am late for work. But out of my good-will I scrounge through my new leather wallet and
pick
up a few copper coins. As I throw them in the broken basket
in front of the musician I ponder and condemn the people who
will not stop or do something for this person. Whose beautiful music
makes
us feel like we are a part of a fairy tale and we seem to
wade‘through the early morning sleepiness. Slowly I move
away from him sipping my coffee, nibbling on the muffin, dropping the crumbs on the street.
The benign morning
sun falls from behind me and casts a shadow that is the ugliest, darkest and
the biggest I have ever seen.
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