EK DO TEEN CHAR PANCH CHE

Ready? Steady? Go!!!

India.

20th of January 2010.

11.45.

Mumbai.

Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport.

This is the day. My day. Indian day. Hours and minutes of freedom, surpassing my lovely heart that suddenly decided living on its own. And succeeded. Fortunatelly enough, it really did. Some say, and I must agree, it actually started beating when it landed in land of banannas, ocean, big streets with huge potential.

No wonder things changed after recognizing why something lead me through all the obstacles I had to pass. And mentioning flights and rushing from one flight to the other, looking for the right corridor to pass and running to the gates after seing I've been walking slowly to the wrong ones is just small talk... Not unimportant, because it is, but it's just a beginning. Which normally starts big time with me. And it did. Somehow.

I left every thing behind, with exceptions of my material identitty in a passport shape and some clothes. And if I had to, I would probably get a totally new one in India. It's not true you can go back, 'cos it's always a matter of stepping forward. It's a question of getting up again after falling.

How my life got on its own tracks after coming to Slovenia... it's another matter. In those months... I somehow... lived. Now I truly do. And there's a perfectly perfect reason for it.

Loved it, adore it and always will.

JAI HO !!!

As much as everything collapsed in Slovenia, the intrigue I'm dealing with for the last two months puzlle the vanished world together.

I admit trying to write something for quite a while now, but somehow never managed. Not that time would be an obstacle. More the lack of a vocabulary. More the fact words were not needed since I was in a state of happiness. Now things around me are starting to change. And I'm being confronted with Indian themes on everyday basis which pushes me to decide.

With Duracell batteries - the best of the best! - : I came from the land of joy where randomness, unpredictability, heat, beggars, love and kindness of people that usually become a need of affection, saturation etc. define what you are. Not just when you open your eyes into city's smogged field or when you hear the silence of grassfields, but also when you're "sleeping".

How can an innocent trip to subcontinent develop into such a "I want" phase, I haven't discovered yet. Maybe it's the open mind - being prepared to every "stupid" change, the need of a body who whispers through intestines or the running away from something. The starting of a new life. Nobody knows you and in the very beginning you don't even know yourself. You're just a blank page and you stay blank. Everything touches you (literarly and metaphorically).

Cold feet of a twin brothers chasing you for half an hour and running away from you when getting a bananna. Stray dogs wailing without one leg and not moving the next day. Funeral and ash. Families. Yellow pupiles. Black skin and the fact that being born in one of India's holiest city means you love it till the bottom of your miserable life. Life, consisting of wishes not to progress. Of staying in the very spot your karmatic ideology has brought you. Circles of good and bad deeds. (Re)Incarnation. Buddha, Dharma, Shiva, Lingam, Ganges, Parvati, Om, Shanti, Holy Cows, puyas, candles, incense sticks, chewing tabacco, cashewnuts and thali. Dhobi wahallas, chai masalas, secret passage, open message, big Bollywood, small brotherhood, crying babies, holding maybes.

Head wiggle is the gesture that describes whole India. It means yes and no, stay and go, leave and pray, take and fly away. I couldn't ignore it, more over: I became one with it very quickly. It somehow gives you the time to think. It's like fast forward option we have with technology: everything is played in the exact order, you know at least in approximate (if not exact) way what will happened and ignoring words, deeds, actions, thoughts, movements is a blasfemy on its whole bare foot in the sandy path of Mumbai.

Options. Mental pattern with its nerves like functions that enables you to test paradigms of your choices is absolutely amazing. Rikshaw for 50 rupies? Too much. I'll ask the next one. "Good Mam, you crazy, you walk to much, you pay and you drive". Calculations - 10 minutes on foot and exercise. Or 2 minutes on bicycle rikshaw and an exercise for him, plus money. "Dus rupies". Laughter from the group. Laughing from me. "Ok. If no, I go". After two steps, you get a yes or a new offer and you bargain hard. Afterwards you even help to push the rikshaw if there are three people on it so the man has an easier task to complete. You do not pay more than you said in the beginning and you say "thank you" when you get off. Sometimes you even try to convince them you're capable of driving this wheel thing with bells and colors on your own but since you're a lady, coming from Europe, basically walking cash machine they do not let you to do it. You have fun with it and you go with the flow.

Being resistant means stopping to want. With India, you cannot. Funny and misunderstood head movements exploit versions of wishes. Neglect, lack or ignoration of what you wanted some time ago now become need. Not of better Duracell but for environment where Ego, developed with such an intensity that is almost unreal or unseen and especially unwanted since the whole concept of being an Indian means feeding yourself with taking care of others, is respected.

Lal Dil (Red Heart)

It's more than a month from my "coming back". And it still feels like the first time I've met Me. I hold my hand, I smile to green fields on the way to post office and in between I kind of hate rules that rule this world of ours, called Slovenia, Ljubljana. Walking on the sidewalk, and on the right side. And especially walking on the side. I like walking in the middle. In the middle of the night. On the street. Walking, jumping, smiling, saying "namaste" in the middle of the street. With the street. With the places, surrounded with something. With melos. With heart. "This is India, man. This is India. This is the land of heart. This is where heart is king, man. The fuckin' heart. ... Two hundred fuckin' languages, and a billion people. India is the heart."

I left something there. I surrendered totally. With my body, my soul, my mind and my heart. I probably started living there in the minute I stepped down from the Virgin Atlantic plane. The heat was unbearable, but the experience was invaluable. I had to take 2 layers of clothes off, I melted down in half of a second. It was like an occidentalistic view of what is called love at first sight and falling in love. Sweaty palms, shaking knees, blush on the cheeks and empty mind. There was nothing on my mind. No monkeys/rabbits/elephants jumping/hopping/walking slowly from one branch/bush/step to another, with little clouds of sayings like "what you're gonna do here" enclosed with question marks. No Devil-Angel counterfighting, no black and white. But colors! Everywhere. Hollow muscular organ in chest that keeps blood running started burning lightly, making me carry out the red part of a body part we call heart and enchanting me not to stop.

And I didn't. I'm in love. With everything She does, despite Her internal contradictions, with little steps that I made, voices I heard and missions I succeeded with, India became my heart. So yes, I can say, without hesitaton that I am heartless, ruthless Slovenian looking, feeling, seeing, searching and loving things I discovered in India, in this country.

With (another) sleepless night, ful of pictures from me, my life and my decision to go, I see why it is lovely to breathe. The pictures of my heart that keeps bumping with every second while I'm not able to move role around and whilst music from my mp3 player keeps my ears busy, my mind is totally blind. Oh!, I like sleepless nights. Even if it seems they give no solutions, answers to unxepected questions rise like spring's flowers. Opening up with every shine from the sun and introducing its leaves to water drop. And (if) I wish to fly, I want to do it now. No "Why?"'s, no reasons not to, no holding back and rationalizing things that cannot be rational at all.

Thinking adjusting (back) is an easy thing to do, puts blindfold on everyone's eyes. Ofcourse you "get back on track" slowly, but the only dilemma others - and not you - have to solve is: WHEN are you going back. But the catch is you know you actually never left.

River of dreams

Subcontinent. India. Mumbai. Goa. Hampi. Ajanta. Aurangubad. Varanasi. Nepal. Pokhara. Poonhill. Gorakhpur. Golghar. Delhi. Agra. Jaipur. Pushkar. Diu. Mumbai.

And the doors closed. But my heart opened. Big time. India is running through my veins. Holy river of sparkles reminds me every day since I came home from home that I left something on the streets with countless possibilities. Something is waiting for me around the corner of the world. And it is warm. It spreeds the wings. It catches every breath I take. It holds my hands. It makes me flourish with every single tip of my toe. It makes me laugh. It treads down already passed paths and lifts the veil to greenish valleys of life. It is life.

Now, here I am, this is me. Trying to survive in the world of sudden sensations of cold that just keep going. No stopping. Rushing through corridors of what I know as freedom, sencerity, pure happiness and intimacy, race of western life tries to break the wall, climb the highest mountain I ever had in my life and flip it over into control again. But as my four-leaved clover said: you left Slovenia as dark-blue to black coloured boat. And you came back as yellow-red-orange-goldish river. I understand the metaphor now.

I got rubber stamped all over. Not just in my passport. My mind. My body. My soul. Places on Earth that connect me to the higher level of my existence automatically spread around and let me to fly. Survival tone of my past hundreed days got birdly feeling. And big sign "International Airport Chhatrapati Shivaji, Mumbai" made me scream. Inside-out, no hindrance. I want(ed) to run away. Speed it up, without hesitation, to the environment where I became what I am now.

Maybe it sounds like a cliche, maybe it also is, but saying "You either love India or you hate it" has risen up to Himalayas with answer for ten million rupees sitting underneath my skin. It's the permanent transparent tattoo but as plain as plain can be. India.

Last night, over the rainbow..

Hitra, a ucinkovita opomba. Danes je moja zadnja indijska noc. Mumbai je vroc in zahteva pozornost. Izgubljala sem se po celem mestu in s stopinjami zasajala semena za prihodnji obisk.
Shubha raatri, India!

Dopoldne sem ji obljubila, da jo poiscem, ko se vracam. Ker je ni bilo, sem njenemu bratu narocila, da se ob 19h dobiva pri Leopold's. Prisla je. Mala Bona z bratcem Somnath-om. Dobila 2 kg riza, 1 kg dhal-a in odsla iz trgovine z "Cevlji? Obleka? Telefonska stevilka?" Neustrasna Bona.

Mumbajska sinagoga s svojo modrino konkurira aprilskemu nebu, ki se pripravlja na monsunsko obdobje, polno dezja. Sinje obarvana stavba na kriziscu z Mahatma Gandhi road ni le pasa za oci od zunaj, notranjost je.. pomirjujoca.

Crawfor Market. Dobis vse. Od zelenjave, sadja, zasimb, deodorantev, piskotov, do mack, pticev, mesnin in se cesa. Tale gospod je izpod kljuk za velike kose bivola pokadil svojo prvo cigareto po uspesno opravljenem delu.

Skoraj sem znorela. Ne le macke, lepe bele macke z razlicnima ockama in mladicki, starimi en teden. Tudi psicki. In hrcki. Pa morski prasicki. gosi, race, golobi, ribe, misi, skoraj vse, kar si srce pozeli. Pozeli si tudi, da bi bile na prostosti.

Slovenija, od kod lepote tvooooje... ne isci srece drugod, kot le doma... Kure. Ce so slovenske, ne vem. Vsekakor pa ne tecejo (vec).

Najvecja, najhuh zelezniska postaja v Indiji. Prevzela me je. Spet. Tokrat le nisem hitela na vlak, ampak mirno sprehodila skozi terminale.

Taj Mahal Hotel 1 in 2. Se vedno nekoliko "v skrbeh", a vsaj sije v indijskem slogu.

Ja, pa res. Nismo poskusili. Na zalost. Tako kot ne skoka iz 20m skale v Hampiju. Naslednjic, zgleda, hehe.

Z Anglezema in spansko-avstralsko-portugalsko mesanico na postaji Veraval, v cakanju na vlak. Tri ure. Krasne tri ure, kjer smo bili prava pasa za oci in bi spet lahko zasluzili ogromno vsoto rupijev, ce bi le hoteli.

Krave so res svete. Teli velikorogci so zavzemali polovico ceste, po kateri se je peljal tudi nas poln avtobus iz Diu-a v Veraval. Mislila sem, da so v Varanasiju najvecje krave na svetu. Ker so bile RES ogromne. Ampak ta dva sta zaenkrat na pozicji stevilak ena. Vol na vol - pogaca? :)

Mrtva reka, kam hitis, mrta reka, kam bezis, kje veselje to je zdaj, kje so ribe, tvoj sijaj? Zadnje jutro na plazi v Diu-u. Pooolno veselja. A nic oceana. Oseka je udarila z vso silo, pustila sled v obliki zelenih vijugic in nekako napravila pot za moj odhod.

Jutri, 29. aprila ob tem casu bom ze v Londonu. Ce bodo visje sile dopustile.

Ram-ram!

Sveta kura sveto mesto najde

Kolikor sem iz Jaipurja odsla nesrecna zaradi odpovedne poroke, toliko bolj se je poznala porocna norost v Pushkarju. Mesto, le nekaj ur z vlakom oddaljeno od Pink city-ja je, obkrozeno z jezerom, ki ga krasijo ghati vseh velikosti oblik in imen, podobnih tistim v Varanasiju, popolnoma drugacno. Rajasthan ima z njim svoje ime zapisano v knjigo svetih mest in s spotovanje pravil kastnega sistema in hindujskega nacina zivljenja, spada v eno izmed tistih, ki jih mora clovek poleg Haridwar-ja, Rishikesh-a in Varanasi-ja obiskati. Ce ne drugega, zaradi karme.

Bazar se razteza od enega konca do drugega, v velikosti 2 ur okrog celotnega mesta srecas vse. Kamele, ki prezvekujejo slastno slamo, saddhu-je, s katerimi za fotografijo lahko prezivis cel dan in s capatijem posebne vrste ovekovecis njihovo prebavo. Pa otroke, ki na doma narejeno flavto s strunami zaigrajo Mojster Jaka, se cudijo mojemu oiznavanju melodije in petju ter mi sledijo vsak dan, ko pridem izza ovinkastih ulicic, kjer v Shree guest house-u z bazenom, cistim za indijsko okolje, vrocim za osvezitev, prezivim redke dele dneva.
Mojster Ajmer mi pomaga pri posiljanju se enega paketa domov, Lucky zeli nemogoco menjavo nepalskih rupijev, ki so mi se ostali in jih bom verjetno obdrzala za naslednji obisk, Poonam pricara najboljsi ginger tea na svetu za moje bolece grlo in debele mandeljcke, Manish zeli prodati zelo lepo torbico za okrog pasu, a ga v treh dneh ne uspem prepricati, da zniza ceno in nazadnje se posloviva s stavkom: "Ko bos letela z avionom domov, si bos mislila, kako neumno si ravnala, ko nisi kupila torbice, pa imela si denar!"... Bomo videli, ce se bo 'prerokba' uresnicila, hehe.
Vijay, ki je na dan najinega zacetnega poznanstva enostavno razlozil svoj pogled na kastni sistem skozi oci brahmana, pravi, da je Pushkar mesto, kamor moras NUJNO priti s svojimi starsi ali pa druzino. Misli so bolj pomembne od celotnega dogajanja, hrana zivljenjska potrebscina, narejena s strani edine ljubljene zene in otroci delezni najboljse izobrazbe. V dveh urah sprejmem njegovo 'zahtevo' po imenu 'guru' in na ulici, kjer ga srecam po soncem vzhodu, ki sem ga ujela vceraj, z zadovoljstvom ob porocnih sprevodih skozi ulice, ki v tem letnem casu niso nikakrsna izjema, prej pravilo!, zacnem dan se enkrat.

Soncni vzhod je bil.. neopisljiv. Mogoce zato, ker ga ze dolgo casa nisem uspela videti, mogoce zato, ker se je ob obronkih jezera scasoma nabrala kopica pisanih sarijev in zacela odvijati redna puja za dobro zivljenje v vseh pogledih ter kuzki, ki zivijo pred Shree guest house veselo oznacujejo svoj teritorij z glasnim lajezem okrog vodne gladine, stisnjene na minumum (tako zaradi pomanjkanja dezja kot zaradi ciscenja dna, ki poteka in bo se potekalo).

Decko, ki na vlaku skozi celotno potovanje s posebnim zvokom prodaja pani (voda), ob priblizajocih se postankih pa veselo razkazuje svoje atletske spretnosti.

Moski, ki se danes poroci. Drugace iz Mikronezije, kjer ga klicejo Derek, v resnici pa Thirtdh oziroma Stoc za prijatelje, je v dosedanjih tridnevnih porocnih obredih dobil tudi pomemben znak - henna na rokah. Monika, gospodicna, s katero se poroci, je stara 20, on pa 30 let. Gre za dogovorjeno poroko, spoznala sta se pred 15 dnevi, od takrat videla enkrat za petnajst minut in govorila vsak dan po pol ure. Videti je bil malce zivcen, pa sem ga pomirila, da nima smisla: zenska, s katero bo skocil v zakonski jarem, je dobra, zato brez tresenja!

Eden izmed porocnih sprevodov v Pushkarju, ki so se na 16. aprila kar vrstili. Danasnji dan (17. april) je namrec precej pomemben v smislu dobrega datuma in prihodnosti, zato so v rdece oblecene zenske v bodocimi zenami, cel dan preprecevale mestu spanec.

Druzina, ki me je obkolila na ghatu ob soncnem vzhodu. Porocila naj bi se z gospodicen na moji levi, v vijola srajci, hehe. Mater in sestricne so bile precej vztrajne, oce pa je le stal ob strani in si mislil svoje.

Pasji prijatelji tudi v Pushkarju pisejo mojo zgodbo.

Prepisovanje Krishna mantre na ghatu, kjer sem spoznala Vijay-a. Za pomnjenje, je bila razlaga.

Zapestnice vsepovsod. V 20 kvadratnih metrih, na vseh stenah in po vseh stropovih. Blescijo se v milijonih barvah in z vsemi moznimi kamni, zenske in moski pa ne le strmijo vanje, ampak izbirajo po posebnih pravilih. Tale je bila cisto za salo, za nekaksne posebne priloznosti (ne poroke), vecer prej pa sem bila prica 2-urnemu izboru za kombinacijo k dvema porocnima sarijema precej bogate druzine.

Chai masal. Oz. delez chai masale. Njami mnjami.

Se en dodatek za dom. Ogledalca in skoljkice. sloncki, kamele in konji. Krasijo skorajda vsako druzinsko domovanje, na ulicah pa odzvanjajo z zvokom piscali.

Zacudena nad bazenom, ki je prvi dan dobila na obisk moje noge. Prijetnoooo! Nic cudnega, da se je zelja po oceanu le se povecala, hehe.

Ze prej sem imela splanirano dogajanje okrog mojih zadnjih stirinajstih dni in veselo mu sledim. Voda bo tako, upam, kmalu dobila mesto okrog moje koze in Diu se bo izkazal za prijeten konec samopotepanja po Indiji. Sicer bi plan danes kmalu spremenila poroka, katerih clane sem spoznala na vlaku do sem, a sem si v trenutku premislila, skocila nazaj na premikajoci se vagon in spet zacela novo zgodbo - brez poroke, hehe.

Cof cof iz Ahmedabada!

BARVE SPREMENIJO SVET, POSKRBIMO, DA TAK TUDI OSTANE. INDIJA. st.2

Ce nadaljujem zgodbo od prejsnjic in povem, da se je Delhi kasneje izkazal za bolj prijaznega, kot se je sprva zdelo, bo to skorajda jasno. Retoricno. Pa sploh ni. Opisan je bil kot umazan, poln ljudi in smeti, krav in nagajivih ljudi, ki prosijo. Za vse - denar, hrano in prosti cas. Scasoma sem se navadila. V ropku 5 dni ogledala celotno podrocje, ki so ga moje noge zelele videtu, naletela na fantasicno parado, polno maskiranih ljudi in se vpletla v njihovo dogajanje. Popotovala z metrojem, ki je bolj svetlec od vsakega srebra in se ubadala zzetoncki vseh vrst, brav in oblik. Predvsem pa s tistimi za cevlje in prevozna sredstva. Navduseno sem jih vrtela po dlaneh in se pocutila kot majhen otrok z igracko, ki jo nujno potrebujes, ce noces ostati bos - dobesedno in metaforicno. Hare Krishna tempelj, Jama Masjih, Lotus tempel;j, Metro v Delhi-ju, Taj Mahal ter Fatehpur sikri v Agri. Modra, zelena, bela, rumena, rdeca, Barve, ki so determinirale mojo pot do Rajasthana, kje se je vse le se stopnjevalo.



Vrocina se je pritepla v moje zivljenje in sprva sem zelela le eno - bazen, ali pa magari kad z mrzlo vodo. Znasle sem se v Evergreen guest house (ironicno?), kjer imajo v sosednjem hotelu tudi bazen, pa se do danes (1 teden) se nisem spokala pod vodno gladino. Namesto tega moji mozgani potujejo po zraku in koza nabira novo energijo pod tusem, ki je vroc in nikakor ne mrzel. Vroca voda, ki po sprehodih na 38 stopinjah celzija mocno vpliva na cevi. In ce tisti na severu Indije ob ogledu sobe zahtevajo topel tus, zamenjam! Ponudbe pod: kdor da vec, dobi manj:)



S pomocjo Janu-ja in ostalih riksa prevoznikov, ki se obcasno zagrebejo za mojo prisotnost, jaz pa nonsalantno izberem tistega, ki vzame najnizjo mozno ceno, ki jo ponudim, oci pasem na trdnjavah. Amber fort, Tiger fort, Jaigarh fort. Pa sloni, kamele, konji, opice. Pa bazarji povsod. Lepo, kvalitetno in jkvantiutetno razdeljeni po ulicah znotraj Pink city-ja (Jaipur) s sedmimi glavnimi vrati, od katerih se eno bolj sveti od drugih. Hrana, oblacila, otroska igrarija, domaci pripomocki, delavnice, pa moseje in stolpi. Krave in ogromni voli brisejo svojo pot, sprevod ob Hanuman janti-ju pa povlece medse tudi mene in na mesto migajoce, ritmicne glasbene spremljave se zlahka spustim bosa. Obcutek ob dihanju z ostalimi je enkraten. Dobim ga ze prvi vecer, ko moram na zahtevo oceta neveste sesti na voz in se fotografirati z mladoporocencena. Pa kasneje ob vseh ogledih delavnic, kjer tiskajo na tekstil, izdelujejo preproge in brusijo drage in malo manj drage kamne. Povsod je ponudba naceta z enkratno ceno, vse je unikatno, domace izdelano in primerno za katerokoli priloznost, ki jo omenis. Rupiji te zbijejo na tla. Potem stopis v roza mesto, s cenami, ki te dvignejo v nebesa in ne ves, ali je v Mcdonaldsu vse res samo toliko boljse, ali je Raj Mandir Cinema res vecji od Taj Mahala ali so trgovinice ob nedeljah po vecini res zaprte in najpomembnejse: ali je roza res roza ali pa bolj oranzna.



Danes je moj zadnji dan v Jaipurju, jutri zjutraj odputujem z lukamatijo (ne maram avtobusov, vlaki so nadrealisticno simpaticni!!!) v bliznji Pushkar, sveto mesto, kjer je prepoved jajc, mesa in alkohola bolj sveta kot je svetost sama. Ce bom pogresala natrpanost Delhi-ja in malo manjso zaposlenost Jaipurja, bom lahko povedala sele kasneje. Edino, kar zares vem (no, ali pa bolje receno: vsaj mislim, da vem), je, da barve krojijo moje zadnje dneve v Indiji.



Za konec pa le se vprasanje: kako stlacis v hladilnik slona?