After days of lying in bed learning who to digest again, I wake up smiling again. Life prevails and I am full of energy again! Listening to pidgeons sing outside my window does not calm me as i wait for my Californian friend, England, to wake up and i turn to my new found companion Rumi, for inspiration. And inspiration is what he gives me. Who is it possible that some one, living 800 years ago has put into words the things you feel, see and experience today? There are a few things that old age does not destroy: love, beauty and wine. In short; Rumi.
Slowly slowly we got out of bed and headed for break fast. After being sick I have taken a break from Indian food, not meaning I do not like it, just to... well a change. I find myself sitting in a clean, western-oriented restaurant, on the busiest street of Jaipur. I have eaten my menu worth peanuts for me, maybe a days pay for an average-low-class local. Sitting by the window gives me a good view to the street; ricksha-drivers, cars, motorbikes, pedestriansa, beggars all in this one spot together, in this same place and time. With me.
The big glass window seals me from the outside, and locks me safely inside. Nothing can harm me here; my bags are safe, my hands are clean, but still is fell my heart beat slow down and my breath become shallow as i watch a naked child cry holding his mothers hand, as the mother motions with her hand to me asking for food. I feel like she can not see me. I am only watching television. I am sparing energy, I have exchanged satellite TV for pure reality; a window. I am watching this scene of inequality through a thin glass, it is in my face, not in my living room. I can trun my head down, but i feel too ashamed to, there is no way to switch the channel, for there is only one.
I see myself watching the scene outside in stillness, the only noise around me is airconditioning. But i also see the people outside watching me, waiting for me to step out of my box, out of my screne. So after all, who is the on TV and the one watching it all. For the beggar I am only a face representing the things she does not have, for me she is a person reminding me how lucky i am. Only a thin glass separates us, and still this glass is more than words could ever explain. An invisible barrier too thick for us to reach out. I remain quiet in my glass jar, looking at her, at her children and the city she has made her home.
I have finished my breakfast, but only started the trail of thoughts of the day. I have a feeling it today will be quite a walk until I make any sense in this town. And in the end, sense is not a thing that prevails, it is a emotion bound to the moment. So i decide to move on; tomorrow I wake up in Jaisalmer.
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti