Jeori, India
Buses wait as if in a meditative state, idling patiently, allowing passengers to breach their worn outer shell until full of restless movement. Their exterior glistens in the sun, rough and abused, like that of an ancient sadhu neglecting comforts of the body in the ultimate quest for "atma" - spiritual awakening.
Once filled they are commanded by the sturdy hands of the driver, each trusting the other to guide the innocent souls encased within through life threatening mountain passes.
Chalo! Chalo!
The song of impending departure is sung. The driver, shuts the door, turns the key and with a loud screech and sigh of air the bus jerks forward as the duo engages in the nine hour dance toward predetermined destinations.
Within, the passengers offer up the mantra of "ohm ma ni pad me hum", "ohm ma ni pad me hum", rhythmically spinning beads of prayer held gently in the grips of their hands and fingers. For the remainder of the journey, as if in an intimate embrace, all living beings, our fate tied to the fate of the bus, share the same path. Not until we step off the metal floor and away from the shell of protecting transportation will we separate.
Like a bag of tightly packed trail mix, all the air absolved of it, people sit and stand shoulder to shoulder in the narrow seats and aisle ways. Bodies and limbs are unnaturally jerked in every which way giving the impression of too many people suffering from the uncontrollable movements of Parkinson's disease. Instead of fighting these movements, we do our best to flow with the bus as it trembles over the uneven and rugged terrain of the hand made roads.
In a flash, three hours pass and with a sigh of relief the bus releases air from its breach. The driver compassionately pats the steering wheel, giving the OK for the engine to relax.
Legs stiff and sore, we wonder of the bus.
A familiar face is seen and Dinesh, the local doctor from Tabo, stretches hello. Funny it seems we would share the same bus.
"Hello Dinesh, how are you?"
Dinesh - "Oh, very good thank you! And you?
"A bit tired, but my spirits are high."
Dinesh - "Where are you off to, may I ask?"
"Recongpeo, I believe, but my final destination is New Delhi."
Dinesh - "You are not going to travel there in one go, are you?"
"That's the rough plan"
Dinesh - "No, no. You will stay with me at my sisters! She lives in Jeori. It's about half way to New Delhi and you can rest there and eat food."
"A place to stay! But of course. If the offer is genuine I would be glad to join you my friend"
Dinesh - "Yes, yes it is no problem."
An arrangement is settled!
Chalo! Chalo!
The song is sung once again and like the final winter ball the dance begins.
All along the way the driver navigates the narrow mountain roads with pure confidence and trust in himself and his bus. Agile movements are a necessity when driving these mountain passes.
It feels like a deadly game of dodge ball as the driver dodges on coming traffic and maneuvers past giant trucks and small cars with only inches between them and the steep disappearing ledges that fade away into oblivion.
Still, the drive is polluted with beauty and a sense of calm and ease overwhelms the body. The thought of death is gently put to rest.
"At least the way down would be one incredible sight! Be as tragic as it might."
Recongpeo! Recongpeo!
This time a different song is bellowed, signaling the end of the dance, the drive now gone.
Denish and I eat some food at a local shack and share light conversation. Then its onto yet another bus for the final journey to shelter and momentary rest.
The next three hours are spent, head out the window, mumbling songs of nonsense and analogies of attempted wisdom. All this in the hopes of staying awake and overcoming the aching pain in my long legs and stiff knees that rest awkwardly against the backs of the hard plastic seats.
Finally the bus sighs once more and a roof is reached. Inside Denish's sister's house I am faced with the now constant and invigorating awkwardness of attempting to read and react to unfamiliar cultural traditions and greetings.
Food is offered and we sit and eat. Conversation in Hindi teases my imagination as i numbly continue with my meal while reacting with the best of my abilities to the slightest of bodily gestures and questions thrown my way.
I am given a room and settle in to take a much needed rest.
"Fucking Fleas! Fleas everywhere!"
I have to laugh. Only weeks earlier I had learned my cat Vinni, who had a short stay at my house back home in Oceanside CA, had left the gift of fleas in my room and all through the house. Here I sit on the other side of the world and I am still to the effect of this action.
"Oh well? What can you do?"
I say thank you for the roof over my head and the lush green hills scattered with colorful buildings and bright stars outside my window. Within only moments i enter again into the sleepless world of dreams and try to rest for the days of long arduous travel looming ahead.
Chalo! Chalo!
The song of impending departure is sung. The driver, shuts the door, turns the key and with a loud screech and sigh of air the bus jerks forward as the duo engages in the nine hour dance toward predetermined destinations.
Within, the passengers offer up the mantra of "ohm ma ni pad me hum", "ohm ma ni pad me hum", rhythmically spinning beads of prayer held gently in the grips of their hands and fingers. For the remainder of the journey, as if in an intimate embrace, all living beings, our fate tied to the fate of the bus, share the same path. Not until we step off the metal floor and away from the shell of protecting transportation will we separate.
Like a bag of tightly packed trail mix, all the air absolved of it, people sit and stand shoulder to shoulder in the narrow seats and aisle ways. Bodies and limbs are unnaturally jerked in every which way giving the impression of too many people suffering from the uncontrollable movements of Parkinson's disease. Instead of fighting these movements, we do our best to flow with the bus as it trembles over the uneven and rugged terrain of the hand made roads.In a flash, three hours pass and with a sigh of relief the bus releases air from its breach. The driver compassionately pats the steering wheel, giving the OK for the engine to relax.
Legs stiff and sore, we wonder of the bus.
A familiar face is seen and Dinesh, the local doctor from Tabo, stretches hello. Funny it seems we would share the same bus.
"Hello Dinesh, how are you?"
Dinesh - "Oh, very good thank you! And you?
"A bit tired, but my spirits are high."
Dinesh - "Where are you off to, may I ask?"
"Recongpeo, I believe, but my final destination is New Delhi."
Dinesh - "You are not going to travel there in one go, are you?"
"That's the rough plan"
Dinesh - "No, no. You will stay with me at my sisters! She lives in Jeori. It's about half way to New Delhi and you can rest there and eat food."
"A place to stay! But of course. If the offer is genuine I would be glad to join you my friend"
Dinesh - "Yes, yes it is no problem."
An arrangement is settled!
Chalo! Chalo!
The song is sung once again and like the final winter ball the dance begins.
All along the way the driver navigates the narrow mountain roads with pure confidence and trust in himself and his bus. Agile movements are a necessity when driving these mountain passes.
It feels like a deadly game of dodge ball as the driver dodges on coming traffic and maneuvers past giant trucks and small cars with only inches between them and the steep disappearing ledges that fade away into oblivion.
Still, the drive is polluted with beauty and a sense of calm and ease overwhelms the body. The thought of death is gently put to rest.
"At least the way down would be one incredible sight! Be as tragic as it might."
Recongpeo! Recongpeo!
This time a different song is bellowed, signaling the end of the dance, the drive now gone.
Denish and I eat some food at a local shack and share light conversation. Then its onto yet another bus for the final journey to shelter and momentary rest.
The next three hours are spent, head out the window, mumbling songs of nonsense and analogies of attempted wisdom. All this in the hopes of staying awake and overcoming the aching pain in my long legs and stiff knees that rest awkwardly against the backs of the hard plastic seats.
Finally the bus sighs once more and a roof is reached. Inside Denish's sister's house I am faced with the now constant and invigorating awkwardness of attempting to read and react to unfamiliar cultural traditions and greetings.
Food is offered and we sit and eat. Conversation in Hindi teases my imagination as i numbly continue with my meal while reacting with the best of my abilities to the slightest of bodily gestures and questions thrown my way.
I am given a room and settle in to take a much needed rest.
"Fucking Fleas! Fleas everywhere!"
I have to laugh. Only weeks earlier I had learned my cat Vinni, who had a short stay at my house back home in Oceanside CA, had left the gift of fleas in my room and all through the house. Here I sit on the other side of the world and I am still to the effect of this action.
"Oh well? What can you do?"
I say thank you for the roof over my head and the lush green hills scattered with colorful buildings and bright stars outside my window. Within only moments i enter again into the sleepless world of dreams and try to rest for the days of long arduous travel looming ahead.
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