Avenue Road.

Getting out of the jewelry shop, I realized I had been walking for quite a while without any direction as to where I was. Something caught my eye as I was crossing the road and instinctively turned right, instead, where I came upon this extremely crowded street with little shops lining either sides of me till my eyes could no longer see.  There was so much hustle and bustle going on as I walked haltingly while everyone pushed past each other to walk. Taking a deep breath, I stood still on the footpath I was walking on and took in my surroundings. There were people from all walks of life, in a hurry to reach their destinations. The sun glinted in my eyes as I turned my head sideways and came upon this small worn down door with steps leading to a window and then disappearing. It was dark and dingy and I could smell the musty air surrounding it. I dragged my feet, hopping from one foot to another to avoid steeping on people, garbage, wet mud and dung. Every few minutes a new smell would tickle my senses as the weather above me also changed continuously.  As the sun hid behind the gray-blue clouds I looked up to see many shops on the second and third floors of the dilapidated buildings crisscrossed with wires connecting the two sides. I walked a bit further when my eye caught a dark, quiet alley on the left side of the street where a single bulb illuminated a textiles shop, I inspected getting closer.

I was quickly engulfed by the cool wind blowing past me and the comforting darkness. There were a few locals lurking about at the end of the alley where a small beedi and cigarette shop was tucked away in a corner. As I walked closer I could smell the hot chai and the smoke which hung in the air for a while, lingering, after which a gust of wind swept it away. I was about to turn around after shooting a smile to the textiles shopkeeper when I heard a loud guttural voice echo in the dimly lit hall. I slowly crept into a dark corner when I heard footsteps approaching. I saw a haggard looking man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, looking frustrated, as I saw him flick the beedi he was smoking with so much contempt and stomp on it while he slinked away with his eyebrows pulled together. I watched entranced by how his dark figure left the alley and was suddenly lit up and attacked by the cacophony outside after which he effortlessly molded into the crowd, unnoticeable and insignificant to me now.

I saw stairs leading up to an Arts emporium and made my way up to it. I entered and saw a very few people scattered around the huge place. I stood beside a couple, observing an antique African woman’s painting which caught my eye because of the beautiful scarification on her face. ‘…texture feels a bit rough to me. The other one with the elephant in the middle had good size as well as nice material’ the petite woman spoke, in a purposeful but soft voice, while stroking the carpet she was looking at. I tried to tune out the conversation before I heard what the man had to say. ‘Remember the time we went to Cherrapunji and stayed in this run down hotel? It had broken windows and a dusty bed’ he said. ‘I remember... oh! The carpet was exquisitely..’    ‘Yes, it was a rare piece that I would love for my studio’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. I could see both of them lost in their thoughts from my periphery. If I would have to guess, the woman was probably thinking about their time in that hotel judging from her nostalgic, glassy eyed face. The man seemed to be more involved in how his studio would have looked with that carpet. 

I left the emporium after that with a smile on my face, remembering a similar experience of mine as I climbed down the stairs to get some chai to go for the walk that lay ahead of me. I crept out of the alley as a number of things assaulted all my senses from all directions. I took in all the smells that were tinged with the cup of chai in my hand, the mesh of peoples feet dragging across the pavement, horns being honked from all directions, people shouting to sell their wares, metals clinking against each other, and finally, the peaceful wind whirring past me now and then. I thought back to the couple and made a promise to myself to find the hotel with the carpet, glad and excited for the adventure that lay ahead of me.

Quotes from 'The Integral Nature of things' and my responses.

Quote 1.

The goatherd evinces an orientation to the world that is dominant in this time, one founded in a distrust of the unfamiliar and the inclination to dismiss or discipline anything that threatens some notion of order or appropriateness.

Response

I relate this quote to how humans, in a society, react to anything new or unheard of. If an entity decides to dip their feet in unknown water of thought or even any physicality, they are made to abruptly halt all affiliating notions and concepts pertaining to the topic, even forcefully, if they decide to object. I think it threatens their principles or values and are afraid of the change a piece of information can bring to their minds.

Quote 2.

Our life is not merely shaped by the people we know. Such individuals may be an even more intimate part of our days than those we consider to be close friends.

Response.

I quite believe the above statement to be true.Every time I walk through a park, near my house, that leads me to the mess, my surroundings are something I don't really register and try, to consciously remember. But the second even a spider's web goes missing or a new graffiti is added, to one of the whitewashed walls, I instantly notice something being wrong. Like a missing piece from a jigsaw puzzle.

Quote 3.

A street is not a road. True, they are synonymous. But 'street' evokes much more. Road connects points to a space.\

Response.

In my opinion, the above statement rings quite true to my thoughts. I think of a street as a lively, well integrated space with a lot of movement, chaos and human connection. Roads remind me more of high rises, no hawkers and clean wide roads with not a soul to be seen, thus, no human contact or the hustle and bustle a street gives you.














 

Julia

A bell chimed above my head as i entered a dingy, worn down antique objects shop at the end of the road. My eyes shined as i ingested a whole line of shelves mounted with all kinds of lanterns with tinkering flames in them. While scanning the right side of the place, i spotted bronze jewelry hanging from nails on a hook and chunky bracelets on the tables underneath.

I made my way towards the jewelry and started touching and feeling the texture of the cold stone necklaces around my neck and the heavy, comforting weight of the bead and stone bracelets on my wrists. As i was staring at the complex pattern carved on one of the stones, i felt a tingly feeling in my ankle as i bent down to scratch the area. This was the first time that i saw your face which was half covered by your hair, messy, all over it and the way you look from under those long eyelashes. You were sitting under the table, cross- legged, trying to meditate with your forehead scrunched up in concentration. I gasped as i suddenly came face to face with you and you opened your eyes, startled, as i muttered a small sorry making my way up to the jewelry.

When i started to move away, i heard your clear voice as you started naming all the places i'd been to just from looking at the gunk on my hand. You named each and every place accurately, to my surprise which i tried not to show.

I dint think that from all of the travel related jobs i would have thought of, i would meet someone actually pursuing one of them. The words that dribbled out from your mouth were the last ones i expected to hear when i asked you what you did. 'A traveling scuba-diver, although, i do teach yoga too from time to time' was what you said after going on and on about how being underwater is like therapy and people should be funding this rather than putting money into pop music.

Insecurities as a Writer.

The first, for me, would be maybe not researching enough or getting the facts incorrect i a piece of mine if i look at the technical aspects of writing. Another thing that irks me is when I look back at some of my recent works, I always feel like the things ive written about, somehow, seem childish and unstructured. This usually happens when i judge myself as i think others would judge my writing.

This one is more of a skill which has yet to be acquired by me, but, I have, since the time i started, always in a way romanticized or beautified my writing. Its also the way i see the world around me but i have yet to acquire the skill to write something straightforward.