Returning to India-Settling In

I

After several years in a desert region and 2 waterless treks in India, a water-overfull trek today...a taste of pure monsoon mountains--the real feel of the green geography of India...so much to learn, so much to face, so much to grow...

II

It took me 4 years to make strong community connections in NM, the same I managed in 4 months in Chennai. It is only grace that inserted me into these extraordinary circumstances--I by myself knew no one and nothing in Chennai.

III

Sometimes I wish I could sit at a bus-stand all eve watching life unfold by. There a group of young policewomen returning home--couple of tomboys but rest the sweet Chennai girls that I very well understand--dark, twinkle in their eyes, full-toothed smile. There that lone policewoman has strategically placed little clips to bring life to an otherwise boring police hairstyle-- in a way only a woman can. There they stand--laughing, teasing, joyful. Here an old woman sits on the pavement, saree risen, barefeet planted on the road, dark hands wizened, looking defiantly ahead--make no mistake she's no submissive woman, she can perhaps crack a coconut with her bare hands. Near an old man, life on a slow rewind, fixing his veshti ever so slowly..I hope he gets a seat in the bus...

IV

Today's highlight: I received a wedding invitation addressed to "Mrs and Mr. Bhavana Upadhyaya" :):) hahahaha...need to attend this wedding!

V

I am beginning to learn the tricks of navigating Chennai rains to work. Some tips: 1. Junk the umbrella, go for raincoat--it not only covers you, also protects from car/auto splashes 2. Wear heels, not for cosmetic reasons but because they give you some elevation 3. Wear pants/churis that you can roll up easily and still look cool 3.When u can't avoid the water, pretend u r walking thru a mountain stream--smile away, walk leisurely and confuse others. And at all times, tell yourself--even this will pass:)

VI

In a pitch-dark, cold night, on a train, this week, between Hubli and Bengaluru, somewhere in the compartment, a man sleeptalked—in Kannada. Soul, worn down by the city and the unending life, eagerly jump-skipped on his words and launched into the night air. What is he saying? Like a night fly I flit through his words—making meanings. By any chance is he giving a clue to some treasure chest? What can a man traveling by train between Hubli and Blore have in his treasure chest? Or perhaps he is spilling beans on a murder he committed...maybe he is mafia or paid killer. Or perhaps not—maybe he witnessed some trauma...or maybe he is regressing—some childhood memory coming afloat that coal-black night on Hubli train. Or maybe his sleeptalk is a portal to that exciting world of the unconscious—of all that we hide and of all that is hidden—unknown, untouched, unrevealed—of a man who is yet to fulfil his potential, unravel all that he can be—albeit in Kannada. Somewhere in that train, that unknown man continued to sleeptalk in Kannada, draping a soft pashmina on my weary soul till I also joined that world in sleep. Good night, folks, sweet dreams tonight!

VII

I find my countrypeople to be crazy age-conscious. They like to classify relationships, possibilities, what you can do or not--all in terms of how old you are. My best friend is a 61 year-old woman. I cannot imagine calling her "aunty" or any such thing--she is my best friend, period and I do the craziest things with her:) Break out of those mental shackles, folks--life is an unending stream of new adventures, new journeys...:)