I always want to write when I am on the road. It’s a strange emotion. Trees and shrubs speed by you, as do reckless people on motorbikes. The car accelerates, and the familiar sensation spreads throughout body. You gently lean backward, there’s a kind of vacuum in your stomach, and the Shine On You Crazy Diamond solo hits the high notes.
Racing on ahead, anticipating my destination – the time to think of a special someone perhaps? Maybe it would be, if there was an actual person to think of, than just a vague ideal. Of course, the people on the other side say that my grass is green. Maybe they’re right. Of course, things might just go right, but sheer numbers doom any short flight of intense emotion to crash into the mountains of reality. But then, the mind argues, statistics don’t mean anything. Until they become you, that is.
On cue, the stench of rotting flesh fills my nostrils. The thing about Indian state highways is that a cyclist carrying milk is as likely to think it his own as is the driver of a growling 8-wheeler. Not to mention those tractors, which drag trailers that seem to have a mind of their own, but are just about kept in check by an ever weakening link. I don’t know why that makes me think of America’s white supremacist hypocrisy of the mid-20th century.
The thing about Andhra Pradesh (and this is probably something Mayawati is trying to emulate) is that there are statues of political figures everywhere. Be it the most popular sarpanch of the village, or a demigod-like ex-CM, or the god who flew over these lands ages ago, carrying a mountain single-handedly. Be it life sized, larger than life sized, or Grawp-sized, be it a street crossing or a village square, these statues will be found in number and in variety. Talk about wanting immortality.
I guess that the fact that even commoners who have never seen a person regard his statue highly says a lot about the person, or the mentality of the people. I guess it’s the former. I’ve been told that a lot of reforms have been enforced by the incumbent government. And indeed, the farmers I’ve seen here, in these rain-fed, not-so-fertile regions are the most prosperous I have seen, and I have visited rural areas in Chattisgarh, Rajasthan and Bengal.
I am moving towards the seashore, and I imagine the salty winds taking possession of me. An Indica with holes instead of its headlights approaches. I can’t help but think of an animal that has had its eyes gouged out. Does anyone else think that cars look like animals?
The meanders!!!
Writing while traveling gives me the sense of sophistication.
Add to that a laptop with Microsoft Word open, and you’re one step closer to a successful journalist!
The grass is actually greener on the other side, not on your side.
Who’ve you been asking?
Notice how the trucks have a very smug and satisfied expression. Careless and carefree.