Category Archives: Travel

Emmanuel Moses in Amsterdam

Location: Broodhuys

Only  a poet could go through pain, heartache, agony and say, “it was beautiful.” Only a poet. Thank you Emmanuel.

Georgia

There is always so much more to read. I find myself in conversations: “No, I haven’t read that.” The prospect is thrilling and worrying. There is that constant niggle – out there could be that one book I wish I had read before putting pen to paper. Each day passes in the pursuit of that text. Words tumble out easy and smooth from the tip my fingers but my mind is in the jungle – hunting. I am reassured with, “But that’s always a constant.” If the quest got over, there was no other material, I would feel defeated. A battle that I willingly lose everyday. I like the manner in which the pile of my books comfort me in the cold. The buffer between the chill and me.

Here: Sitting waiting for Bambi to complete his swimming lesson I am traveling to 1950s Georgia. America – a country I have never visited.
The rain pours, the wind whips the flag, the scrawny brown boy struggles to keep his head above blue waters in the deep end.

There: I read on, she has just birthed on a mattress on the road. Her child unwanted in every way.

Here: I wipe his soaking body and he trembles and shakes, words flood out of his mouth. He is excited. He tells me how it was easy. I squeeze him like a sponge to take the damp out of his bones. He grabs my neck and rubs his nose against mine smiling into my eyes.

In the evening, over cups of tea and tostis, and later wine we talk, “Have you read Althusser?” I shake my head, “I have it on my list.” “You must, really, it will change your views about this, really, I insist.”

Here: It’s dark.
There: I return to Georgia.

Road trip with the boys

We drove from Amsterdam to Dusseldorf. From Dusseldorf to Radhadesh. And then to Genval. From there back home. It was an impromptu trip. I felt my creativity was clogged. I could smell the rust inside my head. And, I knew that all our friends would be away. We packed light, threw caution to the wind (not really – we do have winter tires but that term so aptly sums up the headspace) and galloped away.

I wrote more than I typed. I read more than I watched. The hills, a tiny town, a hidden lake, waiting, learning, talking, grinding the tip of the shoe into grey gravel, feeling cold till the bones and then hot in the head – eating and sleeping and waking up to eating. It was a sweet holiday. I got to know Bambi a lot better. His big eyes see bigger dreams, irrational ones, I stop myself from rationalising. There is plenty of time for that. I watch how he meticulously plans his day and I see me. I hear him hum and I notice Apoorva. Then I see him for who he is … the bit not like me, not like Apoorva, just him … like him.

I would advise going away to come back. To text friends from random locations. To tell them that however far we run they remain so deliciously close. I recognise my own need for isolation, for solitude, silence to hear my thoughts talking to each other, giving each other a good fight as my friend Natasha would say. Oh they fight and then they move on, just like you said Natasha. In ways that I still don’t understand I am finding myself.

I thank you 2013 – perhaps not as sincerely as Apoorva would but in my own way. You were a difficult year. I am glad you are over. I wish you peace. And I wish all my readers:

Happy New Year 2014.

 

Jagannath, Baladev and Subadra in Radhadesh
Jagannath, Baladev and Subadra in Radhadesh (Photo credit: Wikipedia)