|
The following
are a small series of articles chronicling my
first travels to India in 2001.
They were produced for MANIC! Magazine, which is
issued with the Malta Independent on Sunday and
they were my first attempts at a travelogue
“Are
You Experienced?”
This shall be the first in a
series of articles chronicling Erika’s
experiences whilst living in INDIA, written
exclusively for MANIC!
Today I found happiness in a bus
ride.
This is even more so incredible
since I usually avoid taking the bus like the
plague! As I settled in my seat next to a little
catholic nun who looked me up and down, trying
to figure out from which planet I had fallen, I
looked around and wanted time to stand still and
capture the moment for me.
From my fixed point of view I
could see the backs of graceful Indian women,
some skinny, others plump, with their oiled
black hair, colourful saris surrounding them in
a whirl, a little child in his mother’s arms,
openly staring at me with his big brown eyes,
whilst his mother tried unsuccessfully to coax
his gaze away. He seemed to be wondering what
made my hands so white, my hair so short, and my
jewellery silver not gold. I am not sure if he
looked at me with fear or wonder – possibly a
bit of both. To our right the lushest greenery
took over as I spotted a few holy cows grazing
in the sun, and a lonely goat.
Hindi music playing loud as we
swayed along to its rhythmic sound, barely
brushing past other buses passing by, we slowed
down to a near halt, the different eyes of god
peering at each other through the windows….
If all is One, then it definitely
comes all together here!
Stickers of Ganesha the
elephant-headed Hindu god, and Christ the Lord
decorate the driver’s cubicle, sparkly rainbow
banners hanging, golden bangles clanging,
powerful perfumes intermingling. School children
holding on tightly for their little lives, as
death brushes past again and again, hooting its
horn at us.
It is my first day in the Land of
Coconut Trees – Kerala, and I am already getting
a feel of what has drawn so many Western
travellers to this Eastern land and its
many-fold mysteries.
One is compelled to question,
what has made so many people throughout the last
50 years or so, want to experience India for
them-selves? And what are the expectations that
have shaped their imaginations?
Richard Lannoy, the celebrated
writer, photographer and painter was especially
enthralled by Varanasi, further up North, which
is considered to be the holiest of cities, also
known as Benares and the City of Light. He
defines it simply as the last living sacred city
in the world. It was in 1953 that Lannoy first
came out to India. Unlike the Beatniks and the
Flower Children who were to make the same
crossing within a decade, he came equipped with
glimmerings of possibility rather than with
blissful certitudes, his preoccupation with the
sacred tempered by a tough scepticism towards
the excesses of religiosity.
In Benares Lannoy discovered a
theme – that of the sacred realm and its
relationship to everyday life – even as he
realised that the “camera could capture
something about the sacred culture that couldn’t
be captured otherwise.” During 1957 and 1958,
when Lannoy worked at Krishnamurti’s school as a
librarian and poet in residence, he came into
occasional contact with that enigmatic teacher
who was to spend a lifetime meditating on
communication and silence, dialogue and
encounter. Benares seized Lannoy as a cosmic
image of death and renewal, the sacred in its
most paradoxical manifestation. Such a city
grows like coral, slowly but surely, until it
has become a microcosm of the world.
The 60’s marked a new generation
of travellers experiencing India –
The Flower Children and their
hippy trails, in search of a more idyllic life,
pilgrimages to the diverse temples, and Lucy in
the Sky of Diamonds on a Goan beach!
Even The Beatles travelled all
the way to India to discover themselves, when
the world had already discovered them a while
before. This was a time when visiting an ashram
and practising Transcendental Meditation, Hatha
or Karma Yoga, was as hip as smoking dope and
The Beatles’ music itself!
The 70’s were a natural overflow
of the 60’s. More free love, more beaches and
more drugs. So, one is now left to wonder what
kind of travellers are being drawn to Indian
shores in the 21st Century?
I would recommend the acclaimed
satirical novel entitled “Are You Experienced?”
about a young man’s travels to India in search
of the woman he loves, who in turn is in search
of nobody else but herself. It gives a comical
and clear idea of the hypocrisy that can underly
one’s travels to India. In search of your self
you may find that the thing you enjoy doing best
is lounging on a beach and doing drugs all day!
I think this may be true for quite a few
European travellers exploring the East.
On another level, today’s youth,
like the hippies of the 60’s, may be travelling
to India and other Eastern countries such as
Thailand, to escape the stresses and distresses
of a conventional life in Western society. They
would rather not concern themselves with career
opportunities and advancement as yet, and prefer
to spend their days communing with nature,
living each day as it comes, not really knowing
what to expect next. In such a way Carpe Diem is
no longer just an old Latin maxim.
A close American friend and her
boyfriend went as far as to live in Rishikesh,
and document their experiences on an Internet
site called Transcendigital. The origin of their
idea was to bridge the gap between technology
and spirituality. If anything, you may find
beautiful photos of the Ganges’ Kumba Mela
celebrations on this unusual site.
Not many are courageous enough to
choose the Path of the Unknown – the road less
travelled - but it has its rewards. The Universe
presents us with many surprises when we loosen
our firm hold and let it shape our lives.
My own personal excuse for being
here is pretty simple.
I am attending an M.A. programme
in Gandhian Thought and Development Studies at
the Mahatma Gandhi University’s School of
Gandhian Thought in Kottayam, Kerala, South West
India.
Being the only foreign female
around is not always easy. I am starting to
understand how a black man may feel, even
nowadays, when he is walking through a sea of
white people. It can be daunting when everybody
stops in their tracks to stare at you, even when
you know the reason behind it all.
No matter how discreetly I try to
dress, I stick out like a sore thumb. In an
effort to fit in I already bought myself a sari,
but I doubt that this will let me walk by
incognito. An umbrella to protect me from the
sun may be my next best move!
Classes have not started yet,
however I have had a good look at the Faculty’s
library. At first sight there is nothing at all
impressive about it, a small selection of about
300 books maximum standing on the few dusty
metal shelves. the Comparative Religion section
is where I felt at home. The Dean of my Faculty
may be a Christian priest, but here I found
books from every religious and philosophical
tradition under the sun.
Maybe the Vedas are a good place
to begin if I want to experience what the real
India is all about.
ErikaBrincat
Sacred Heart Mount
Kottayam, Kerala
12.08.2001
Back to Top
The
God of Small Things
is Erika’s
second contribution to a series of articles
documenting her experiences while living in
India
During the last few days I have met the God of
Small Things.
My
soul feels renewed amongst the simplicity and
beauty of the Indian people.
I
consider myself very fortunate for I have been
lifted gently and placed within the care of a
wonderful Kerali family. The lady of the house,
Rani, her husband and son, have done all that is
possible to welcome me and make me feel at home.
All in all it has been an easy and pain-free
transition between Western and Eastern life.
As I
write, Madonna is singing through the portals of
my ears: OM SHANTI OM SHANTI, OOMM SHAANTI…..
And
OM SHANTI it really is!
I
have found peace.
Washing my own clothes on a grey slab of stone
under a papaya tree, beside a bush of tiny white
chillies, whose peppery power should not be
underestimated.
Having breakfast while the pet hen clucks away
and decides to take a stroll through the kitchen
signalling clearly that it is feeding time for
her too.
Grounding my own fresh black pepper to sprinkle
on the hen’s egg of the day!
Eating such spicy meat and curried fish, that it
literally brings tears to my eyes.
Walking into a shop to buy myself a new set of
towels only to be told by the shop-owner that
the Sanskrit symbol OM is very auspicious
because it is the first sound of the Universe. I
nod in agreement, although he doesn’t seem to
believe that I have heard of this before.
Looking out from my window to see a huge
butterfly perched on one of the many mango
trees.
Sitting and drinking hot chai, a welcome and
refreshing break during my travels up and down
the university campus, while a group of five
well-fed crows take it in turns to hop into the
next tree. The crows here look anything but
real. They remind me of some perfectly crafted
computer-animated creations for the likes of
Jurassic Park. Mini, blue-black and shiny
pterodactyls more like it!
Going for a walk with Rani down to the waters
nearby their house, where three rivers meet, and
being chased by two yellow butterflies on our
way there, and upon our return. I wonder if she
has noticed too, but I prefer not to mention
anything.
Catching a 16 hour train trip to Madras, in
Tamil Nadu, and sharing our meals with sticky
fingers and bouncy children, all of us crammed
into the same compartment.
Amusing ourselves while our train encountered
some difficulties on the tracks, by looking at a
man outside our metal-barred window who took at
least half an hour to brush his teeth and
another half hour to wash his face, and so
on…..Just because home is a tent it does not
mean he can not be concerned with being clean I
suppose, as I make a mental note that I haven’t
even brushed my teeth yet this morning. And when
this man’s long hygiene regime is over, I
realise his real problem is he doesn’t have much
left to do for the day.
Visiting Rani’s daughter, Deepa – which means
The Light – at the University of Madras, on the
54th Indian Independence Day, for a
night.
In
the late evening we sit on the rooftop of the
girls’ hostel, as others, more mischievous than
us, perform a laser show of sorts, they flash a
red laser beam across campus at the guy’s
dormitories, who all turn up at the windows
lapping up the attention they receive.
Simultaneously stepping into the Bay of Bengal’s
waters, while eating a very salty version of
corn on the cob, looking at the seashell shop,
and bargaining for a horse ride down the sandy
Marina Beach.
Today I am glad to be back at ‘home’, laptop on
lap, for outside it is pouring heavily. Just
when I thought the Monsoon was nearly over, it
has come back with a vengeance. And just as I
write this, the rains stop silent all at once.
No
wonder the novelist Arundhati Roy, the Booker
Prize winner whose God of Small Things has sold
six million copies, got lost in her never-ending
detailed descriptions, captivating readers
across all borders and continents.
After all, she spent her childhood in Kerala’s
Ayemenem village, not too distant from where I
am pressing the keys right now.
Nowadays however, the petite writer’s words and
actions are driven by a single passion, to
protect the Narmada, her river-child, as if it
were reborn from Meenachal, the river of her
novel. To save the homes of half a million
people who may be displaced by the Sardar
Sarovar Dam project. To chase away – by the
stroke of the computer keyboard, the spectre of
a nuclear holocaust in the subcontinent. And
above all, to fight against a judicial onslaught
on writer’s freedom, as seen by her, in the form
of contempt proceedings pending against her and
two Narmada Bachao Andolan compatriots. Thus the
novelist has turned social activist, her
passionate yet analytical attacks on big dam
projects finding non-elite support.
Meanwhile, the God of Small Things smiles on
unperturbed, creating his own infinite plot,
moment by moment, drop by drop.
Erika
Brinca
Kottayam
KERALA
18.08.2001
Back to Top
God’s Own Land!
Today was no ordinary day in Kerala. It was the
peak of the Onam festivities for some 3 million
people.
As I
was told by one sweet Daisy, this festival
originates from a Hindu myth. Once upon a time
in Kerala there lived a very good king truly
concerned with the welfare of his people. Under
his reign everybody lived well and nobody
starved, since he made sure they were all well
fed and prosperous. The king was so respected by
his people that he was loved like a God. This
worried the Higher Gods, and they decided
something must be done to defeat him. They sent
one of the lower gods to trick him into giving
up his land, and succeeded. And then he was sent
into the under-world from which place he is
allowed to return only once a year, the day of
Onam when all shall be prosperous again!
Since the blouse for my new saree had not been
stitched in time, I decided to opt for a fancy
orange dress with flowing sleeves, rather than
the usual T-shirt and jeans. This meant
high-heeled shoes too for a change! Big Mistake.
So,
I was taken to Rani’s bank where I was treated
as the guest of honour. I had the task of
burning the lamp and opening the festivities.
This was done with a wick and no candle, so I
nearly burnt my hand and dress in the process!
Lots of photos were snapped, as us ladies knelt
down before the kallooopkoli, adjusting a few
jasmine flowers in the arrangement. After being
fed lots of ghee and banana chips, my sugar
intake was very high and I was a happy girl!
Meanwhile this lady started chatting to me and
offered to accompany me to University since she
lived nearby. Off we went to catch the bus, I
thought. “This way”, she said, “My driver is
waiting for us.” Great I thought, for once I was
happy not to have to catch the bus, since I was
feeling rather self-conscious in my bright
frilly dress. Turns out her driver was a total
lunatic with a lousy temper, mistakenly deluded
that his tiny Maruti was a huge Mercedez Benz.
We were in no hurry whatsoever but he insisted
on trying to overtake every single bus, as huge
yellow lorries careened towards us, and I could
hear them…whiiizzzz by…. How ironic would it be
if I got to die in my best dress! I was just
dying indeed to yell at him to slow down, but I
didn’t want to offend or shock the polite lady
sitting beside me. She insisted I should stop by
her house to see her new-born, but for once I
thought I could live without meeting such a cute
kid, and kept on visualising myself getting to
university as soon as possible, preferably in
one piece.
Hey-presto! I’m walking through the university’s
gate. And yes, people are still staring
shamelessly. “So! I am a foreigner, but I also
have two legs!” I feel like screaming aloud!
Maybe I should print a T-shirt “I am human too”.
Instead I walk by pretending to be calm and
collected before a crowd of about 30 guys
sitting on a wall. Not a good day to stop for
‘chai’ I guess. Off to my faculty, I climb up
the muddy hill in my lovely shoes miraculously
without twisting any ankles or falling flat on
my face. The minute I arrive I am handed a memo
saying I must give them my original certificate
immediately.
I am
about to despair when the postman enters and
says he received a parcel for me – sure enough
my super-efficient mum had sent me the
certificate in a tube, by express mail. So, back
down the hill I go to collect my parcel. Only
problem is I now had to walk around on campus
with fancy dress and a huge tube in hand! Maybe
I can pretend there’s a bazooka inside…that’ll
stop them from looking at me so blatantly, once
again, my imagination running away with me, so
much for my peace studies!
Meanwhile I manage to get back to the faculty in
time for the celebrations. I watch as they stir
payyam ( a sweet toffee-like drink with fruit)
on an open fire, and the girls start singing in
Malyalam. I remember that this is why I am
here…so much beauty to take in, and I am about
to cry. I suppress the tears, and I am called to
light up their lamp too! Teary eyed and
barefooted, (blisters are one thing I will not
tolerate) the Dean decides to officially
introduce me to the whole School! “What is the
meaning of Onam?” I am asked before the
gathering crowd. Thank God for Daisy! And I
dutifully repeat the little speech she had made
to me a few days before.
At
this point I am stressed out and tired of being
courteous to everyone. So, when I am offered a
lift home, once again I fall into the trap of
accepting a free ride. This time I am not scared
we will crash because the driver is very
cautious, but we do. On a minor scale, if you
compare it with the overturned truck we just
passed a few minutes before. In this case a bus
ran into us from the side, but none of us were
hurt. Suddenly a crowd of say 35 men surrounded
the car to inspect the damage done. Plleeeease
take me home, I was thinking as I huddled in the
back of the car hoping nobody would notice me.
There is a God – nobody even batted an eyelid at
the foreign girl in the back, too engrossed in
the car.
Finally I am ‘home’! I survived my day and I can
rest. Not. Friends from California are visiting
with their daughters, and we must entertain of
course. But these girls are cool. They give
American Indian a new meaning. Indian of origin
but brought up in the US. I can speak as fast as
I want! And they can really understand some of
the stuff I must be going through. “The pizza
here is sooo groosss!”, they chant in unison.
Just
when I am ready to collapse, I lie in bed….my
mind is racing…so up I get again and write all
this down….a diary of a day….maybe now I can
sleep peacefully at last!
29.8.2001
Back to Top
ASHRAM
BABY!!
“Divine love makes you like a child” –
Amma
This is the third, and somewhat comical article
chronicling Erika’s adventures in Kerala, South
India
I first came across a story about ‘Amma’ whose
full name is Sri Mata Amritanandamayi Devi…..phew….let’s
call her Amma from now on….in a book I was
reading before bedtime – “Hot Chocolate for the
Lover’s Soul”, chock-a-block-full of uplifting
real life love-stories. Admittedly, I needed
some encouragement that my soul-mate was still
out there somewhere, waiting to bump into me!
It described how an American woman met her
partner through ‘The Divine Mother’, and how she
brought them together in a spiritual marriage.
This aroused my interest and I looked up her
website
www.amritapuri.org the next day. I found her teachings simple yet
genuine, and her charitable work remarkable. She
receives many funds from Western devotees, yet
she has used this money to build hospitals and
to donate over 5,000 small houses, to those that
lost their homes in the Gujarat earthquakes. Her
main ashram is in South India – “too bad, a bit
far off!” I thought. But I was happy to note
she often travelled and gave talks in Europe and
America. In fact, she had recently been invited
by the U.N. General Assembly to attend the
Millennium World Peace Summit of Religious and
Spiritual leaders.
That day, a close friend mentioned how she had
met Amma in New York, and found her to be a very
amiable person. She asked if I had heard of her,
and I said it was strange but I’d just read
about her the night before.
Two months later I found myself living and
studying some two hours away from the very same
Amma’s Ashram in Kerala. I therefore announced,
to the dismay of my ‘Indian family’ and my
over-protective Indian ‘Mother’ Rani, that the
next morning I would be catching a train to
Kollam to visit “The Mother”. “Who will be
accompanying you?”, they enquired. “No-one” was
my brief reply. “How do you think I came all the
way to India in the first place?” I nearly
retorted. “Is anyone expecting you there?” “No.”
But I knew I would be fine.
And so I was. Although I must say I had second
thoughts several times along the way. The taxi
ride from the train station to the ashram turned
out to be much longer than expected, and heavy
rains, muddy lanes, as well as an impatient
driver who only spoke Malyalam, are not the best
combination. I somehow managed to ask him to
switch on the wipers after several waving
gestures with my hands! However, I was
reconciled with the idea that I was doing the
right thing when we drove by the quaintest
fishing village, as huge waves hit the shores, I
stuck my head out of the window, and smiled back
at the curious eyes. Beautiful Indian women
combing their long hair on their doorsteps,
children balancing on their window-sills, men
tending to their coloured fishing-nets – what a
great place it would be to rent a little house
and hide from the rest of the world for a while,
or maybe a lifetime!
I was charmed and decided my trip was already
worth it, if only to see these wonderful people
living such a simple yet happy life.
We turned round a corner, and there was the
ashram waiting with its gates wide open! As I
stepped out, the taxi driver asked me for extra
‘baksheesh’ with a smirk on his face – “What? No
way! We’re not in Egypt are we?” was my reply.
So, I squelched through the mud, and made my way
through the huge elaborate gates. A blonde lady
with a serious yet friendly face instantly
greeted me and exclaimed: “You just arrived!”
with a thick German accent….She directed me
towards registration…. “take the first right,
and go up one floor.” So I did, only to be
chased all the way back down by a shocked male
devotee dressed in white. Apparently I had
walked straight into the men’s sleeping quarters
where no women are ever allowed! “Oops!” I had
barely been there for 5 minutes, and had already
unintentionally broken my first ashram rule!
Registration turned out to be a bit of a
nightmare. The office was run by unusually pale,
super-efficient German and American devotees. I
started to wonder if these people ever got some
sun, for their skin was unnaturally white. Maybe
that’s what happens when you give yourself to a
life of meditation, contemplation and total
renunciation of the outside world.
As it turned out I wasn’t carrying my passport,
and due to a silly miscalculation, my money had
run out! The German fellow looked at me with
disgust for being so unprepared. Meanwhile a man
in a blue T-shirt, offered to take me to the
nearest bank. It was closed, so he ended up
giving me 200 rupees, the equivalent of LM 2,
which was all I needed for two nights. I
promised I’d pay him back if I could. (And I
did, when I ran into him again the same place
some two months later).
Back at registration, I spotted two ‘normal’
looking girls. One had a ‘Camel cigarettes’
T-shirt on, and I thought to myself: “Yey!
Somebody who is not posing as holier than thou!!
Thank God!”. Unfortunately, they walked away,
and I was left to search for my room. It was
none other than on the 13th floor of
a huge colourful, multi-storeyed building. Not
bad considering Amma had started off with a
humble cowshed! The most amazing view ever
awaited me…..360 degrees of backwaters and the
Bengali Sea, partitioned by a strip of coconut
trees. A cool breeze and eagles soaring in the
skies - what a natural high!
To my surprise my room was already unlocked and
I found the girls inside. Luckily we were to be
roommates! One of them seemed a bit reluctant at
first because they had thought they’d have the
small bare room all to themselves, but she
turned out to be the one I would break most
ashram vows with eventually! My partner in
crime!
“Did you go for Darshan?” they asked. “Hurry up,
it finishes at five o’clock.” Darshan is what
they call Amma’s hug. Millions of people line up
throughout the year for this special hug
supposed to be a touching spiritual experience.
Believers feel restored when they receive this
‘Nirvanic embrace’. Westerners have the
privilege of skipping the line up and getting
there first. Not very fair, but it was probably
a Westerner that made the rule anyway.
I dressed all in white to play the part well,
and lined up. I was given a tissue to wipe my
face - I guess to make sure Amma did not receive
any germs from the thousands that embrace her
daily. The hug itself was sweet, as she
whispered “My daughter, my daughter” in my
ear…and I was directed to sit right beside her.
I watched as she smiled joyfully at all the
strangers that came her way in search of some
comfort and solace, and sometimes even cracked a
joke in Malyali. Where did she get all this
tremendous energy from I wondered. Some people
had to be pulled away, as they got
over-emotional and tried to kiss her feet. When
I decided to get up and leave, I was met with
shocked looks… “How could you have had enough
already of her divine company?” they seemed to
ask. So foolish of me to think it was a free
world!
To be honest, one of the best things about this
place was the number of good-looking guys
walking around, looking very angelic. There was
my blue-t-shirted rescuer, and the Australian
traveller, who was delightfully down to earth,
and on and on… I decided it was a perfect pick
up place for spiritually-inclined men! At the
‘chai’ shop the volunteers even chorused: “I
swear I have seen you here before? Aren’t you
from New York?” Holy shmoly, I was being chatted
up in an ashram so much for their celibacy vows!
Later that evening Talya the Israeli, (who had
been trained and disciplined in the Army) and I
crept to the back of the ashram, by the water,
hidden in the dark from prying eyes, and shared
an innocent ciggy. The feeling of doing
something illegal was exhilarating, and it
transported us both back to high-school!
Dinnertime! Another line up. We all chanted OM
in unison, before being served an extremely
nutritious, and surprisingly tasty, vegeterian
meal. No room to sit at table, so we opted for
some rugs on the floor. The Israelis and I
giggled and gobbled. Finally, one of the older
and regular guys came up to us, tapped me on the
shoulder and pointed to the wall. I looked above
and saw a big sign which clearly read: “SILENT
CORNER!!”
O No!! No wonder people had been staring…we were
now breaking the vow of silence! Damn it!
Couldn’t we get one right?! Unfortunately we
were so embarassed, we couldn’t control yet
another ripple of giggles! I guess we had
‘newbies’ written all over our face.
After dinner, Bhajans (melodious sacred songs)
were held in the main hall. Thousands of
Indians gathered, men on one side, women on the
other, and a large group of westerners sat in
the front. The stage had a rainbow banner
draped across it, incense was burning, flowers
and candles were everywhere, and there was a
selection of musicians, with Amma sitting in the
middle swaying with never-ending joy and bliss!
It all looked very 60’s and I was nearly
expecting the Beetles to step out on stage. I
was itching to take a photo, but I knew it would
not be appreciated, so for once I decided not to
break another ashram rule and I sat quietly
observing instead.
My last day arrived, and I met yet another
Israeli. He said he had one Maltese friend. And
sure enough, it was one of the last persons I
had seen before leaving the rock. Small world
huh! My new friend went on to explain that the
word “Coincidence” in Hebrew, spelt backwards,
says ‘God Created’! So perhaps there are really
no coincidences in life after all!
So..….Amma’s Ashram……will I ever go back again?
Only if I’m 40, still single, and still
searching…...;)
12.12.2001
Erika Brincat ©
Back to Top
GO ON
DREAM A GOAN DREAM!
Back to Kottayam after two
weeks in Goa is a bit of a come down. But I
shall not feel sorry for myself, after all I
spent a lovely Xmas by the beach. So, if you
ever decide to make the trip to Goa, be ready
for it!
I first landed myself for the
night in Baga, which is a huge commercial
nightmare, where most of the package holiday
people hang out, so I was very happy to leave
the day after and find my way to Anjuna, the
more ‘alternative’ place to be.
And finally I found Paradise
– in the form of a great guesthouse. Somebody
had just checked out, so I could simply move in
for 350 rupees a night. I had a little thatched
roof, and a window overlooking the Silver Moon
Restaurant, and an Israeli neighbour intent on
charming all the girls.
Soon after I was offered a
bike ride to Vagator Beach, and it was wonderful
to discover it. The cows literally come down to
bask in the sand by the shore and lie there in a
perfect state of grace, until sunset when they
all leave together again. I swear these animals
are so beautiful with their undulating champagne
skins and fine horns, they make more evolved
beasts than most of those lurking on the beach.
They are truly Zen Cows - enlightened creatures
who have mastered the technique of No-Mind, just
Being!
So what is a typical Goan
beach like? Every nationality seemed to be there
in clusters. There was the big noisy, and
boisterous, Israeli group, with some sassy
ladies, others merely posers, then the elegant
Russians who expected faster service at the bar,
the loud Italians, the Dutch relaxed and calm as
always and a beautiful Slovenian family whose
young daughter looked like an angel. And then
there are the Indians! The many Indian men
coming down in trousers and shirts, with big
bellies and sometimes wearing silly wigs,
running around in their underwear clumsily
hitting each other, and rolling over in the sun,
getting all excited seeing all these foreign
women in bikinis, frustrated, trying to take
photos of these white beautiful bodies, beady
eyed, as most of us just tried to have an
innocent swim.
Be prepared to be constantly
attacked by the local girl sellers: “Come Look
Ya”, “You Promised Ya’”. These young girls most
of them barely ten years old are sly business
women, some try to be coy, others want you to
pity them and pretend to cry if you refuse to
buy. I must have seemed friendly,
for at one point I was surrounded by all seven
of them but I did not mind so much as it
permitted me to get a small insight into their
lives while we had a little chat about the pros
and cons of their business life, the way
September 11th had effected
negatively this season, and whether they went to
school the rest of the year. They also asked me
questions such as: “Do you like women or men? Or
both?” Which proved to me they were not as naïve
as they pretended to be!
Finally I befriended one of
the nicest of them and she asked if I would join
her for a swim. I said “Ok…just swimming, no
shopping”, and off we went hand in hand. We sat
on a rock, where she stripped naked and we swam
and laughed while the Indian men stared at the
white and dark girl having some innocent fun
together. I tried to teach her how to swim and
she attempted the butterfly, her arms flailing
all around her…then I just grabbed her by the
arms and we spun and spun in the water! The
crocodile pendant I have on my neck is the only
thing I now have to remind me of my return to
innocence with the little Indian girl.
My next adventure was
learning how to use the scooter, which is the
best means of transport if you want to scoot
from place to place, without being harassed by
the vendors too much and other greedy locals too
much! My first ride was at night, under the
moonlight, as one big jeep containing an
extended Indian family nearly drove me off the
little winding round…big cars always have a
tendency of making people feel powerful
unfortunately!
But zooming around on the
bike was really exhilarating, taking in all the
scenery, cows, dogs, greenery, white little
chapels and crosses everywhere, and lots of cool
people riding by on their own bikes - Japanese
hunks, cookie French, posy Israelis, hippy
families, and on and on.
Wednesday is flea market day
and my intent was to try and sell my books
there. I was nervous and the minute I stopped at
a shop, a French girl said I looked like an
angel all dressed in white….good sign I
thought….so I asked if I could borrow some of
their space…..I did…but books and clothes did
not seem to mix well….just then the right person
came along at the right time…..Pat the Space Man
with the Cowboy Hat ! He rescued me, and found a
space near the chai woman for a mere 30 rupees.
Turns out Patricio was Portugeuse originally but he
lives in Greenwich Village New York where he
makes a living as a successful photographer.
Indeed he showed me his portofolio full of
excellent black and white intense shots of
stunning male and female models.
It seems I may have been one of the few
foreigners who did not travel all the way to
Goa for the parties, but to get some rest, and in touch with
my innate sense of freedom again, which had been
constrained considerably in Kottayam. Although yes, Xmas Eve I did
party till dawn at Paradiso and Hilltop to DJ
Guru Gill from San Francisco…but New
Years Eve I decided I did not want to be part of
the general chaos so I had a good snooze
instead, to my Space Cowboy’s disappointment!
Mind you I woke up on New Years Day feeling fresh
and full of energy
and enjoyed my first day of 2002 on the beach
lazing with the Zen Cows so I have no regrets
really! Always follow your heart.........
5.01.2002
Space-Man Pat
In his Cosmic Cowboy Hat
Has a big, big heart
And is slightly mad!
He’d like to lick the
Australian toad
And sing to him a happy ode
To take peyote
And run wild with a coyote
To smoke with shamans
And see the gods’ many arms
Pat has visions,
And sees the light.
His photographs of women
Capture their souls
With innermost insight,
As he tells their story
In black and white
Pat will whisper to you
The story of the loving Star
and the Moon
The unsuccessful Wind and the
Cloud
He will tell you the truth
Behind the Twin Tower Shroud
He knows the reason for
Kennedy & Monroe’s death
That Dylan funds folk singer
bands.
A porn-tycoon lies behind
sci-fi mags,
Marlon Brando supported the
Native American cause
And Cocacola is paid by India
In tomatoes for McDonalds’
chain stores
Pat my Man in the Cowboy Hat
You took photos of me by the
sea
When I was one with the rock
And
enjoyed your unusual
company
You drove me around on your
kick-start bike
While your long black
ringlets flew in the dark
And you deftly moved around
like a lark
You spirit is free
Just like me
Although you refuse
To see any similarity
You must understand
We were brought up to be
Quite differently
I
So believe me if I
tell you
I have a big heart too
And now it’s even bigger
Since I have made more space
for you!
Dear
Space-Man Pat
In your Cosmic Cowboy
Hat!
5.01.2002
Anjuna,Goa
Back to Top |
