I met Hepa Loleshi on a Saturday afternoon in the library and got talking about religion. She is a nice lady with family values and a family that she loves – was my first impression about her. She was wondering what kind of a person I’m and finally thought that I was okay I assume. Thus, she invited me to there church.
The church was beautiful and I met her family for the first time. Grandma Sesa of the Australian Bush hunter fame tried to hunt me with language skills and the kids – Abish being more matured, friendly and prim, Sesa pretty, spontaneous and warm, little book worm who was smart and thought I was cool. Mr. Frudo the good looking young dude and Mr. Cool from Hollywood the awkward rebel teenager. There were six. But I did not meet the oldest boy from Hamilton. He was very caring and family oriented. I met Ronnie Hepa’s kind Samoan husband at their church. It was a big family church that defied description. My first Mormon church that was a great feeling.
And after that I never felt alone. I was invited to family nights where we sang and Sesa told me how I was their brother from another mother. Ronnie had a slight complication and we went to the hospital. Singing, playing word games, watching basket ball matches, pizza parties after a basket ball game of under 10 boys, where Frudo’s team lost 78 to 1. I moved into Manurewa during my practicum at Papatoetoe High School. I was baptized in their beautiful church and the Loleshis were there. They were there when I heard about my mom health. They prayed with me, for me and my mom. I was touched by Hepa and Sesa and Abish at the Auckjland airport. They are the family I have in NZ. I’m not alone. Thank you.
Dahanu is a sleepy small town, that looks like a Pacific island with endless palms and coconut plantations, on the western side just above Mumbai on a map. The fresh Neera or coconut toddy, a sweet morning juice that can ferment into an intoxicating drink in the afternoon, is pure nectar.
I climb out of the brown train on a winter morning in February for what promises to be a fun trip with my cousin, her husband at the in-laws of the in-laws. It’s slightly complicated so let’s call them the others. The others have a huge apartment in Dahanu.
The first three days were untainted heaven that included long walks, night under rural starry beaches, good food as in a variety of vegetarian curries, lentils and pickles. My cousin’s husband, technically my brother-in-law is a hilarious comedian. We were staying at his sister’s house, the in-laws of the in-laws.
But on that fateful day, we were warned in instalments by others. “They are coming”, said the stupid one. “We need the bhuwa (exorcist) as lots of bad things are happening in the house.”, said the mother. This was following a shouting match between father and the stupid one.
We went for dinner that evening having forgotten the small snippets of talk that day. When we came back everyone was drinking and the lights were full blast inside the house. “They are from London, they don’t believe all this”, said the father to the exorcist almost as a challenge to prove himself. I shuddered. My cousin was thrilled at being called a London-returned. Actually, none of us have been to London. I live in Auckland and my cousin has travelled to Dubai and Nairobi.
I quietly went to our green room with an AC, that looks ancient and works like a breeze. I must have nodded off and suddenly we heard loud noises. My cousin said, “Looks like they are dancing”. I laughed a wee bit but curiosity made me jump from my bedding near the AC to the door some seven feet away. I was excited, even hopeful. Not that I was watching ghosts or possessions, to be more precise, for the first time. But I never believed in the Indian voodoo or any voodoo. I placed myself behind the door and kneeling I opened it slightly. It was not my house so I could not jump out and say “Hey! Let me watch!” Protocol had to be followed. That was part of being born in a country of arrange marriages, extended families and the caste system. India.
Having said that, the class system did not affect the metros, in a big way. But coming back to the action through a gap between the door and the wall, my cousin joined in and her husband followed. My cousin being a staunch Jain did not believe in ‘hocus pocus’. I, on the other hand, believed in almost anything and everything: more excitement that way. I was on all fours; My cousin was bending over me; Her husband was standing upright. Thus, economising wisely the half inch gap between the door and wall.
My cousin continued “Are they singing?”.
Suddenly we saw someone come towards us. We immediately jumped to our nonchalant positions on bed, playing scrabble, reading etc.
The lady of the house walked in and insisted that if we wanted we could join them. I looked at my cousin sister, waiting for her approval
“No. We are fine but Suneal, if you want to go it’s alright”.
I stood on ceremony for exactly ten seconds before I ran out. They eventually followed.
They were singing bhajans or hymns to evoke the goddess mother deity Durga, Kali, Ambe and/or Chamunda. I quietly went and sat there as most Indians do on the thick cotton-jute carpet.
And I saw one of the daughter-in-laws swinging her head at a radius of three feet in a circular 3D motion that allowed her leverage of three feet in height. Something like Earth’s rotation and revolution. I had never sat so close to a possession.
There was red sindoor, not a small dot that dot-busters hate but a big blood red liquid going from between the eyebrows all the way into the hair. And, the woman was moving frantically and when prompted by the exorcist
“Show your true self… WHO ARE YOU!”
She stuck her Maori-haka tongue out and we could see that she looked like a replica of Mother Chamunda. She did – with her eyes wide open. And she rotated and revolved at full burst for a good half an hour. Everybody was summoned to touch her feet in sheer respect for the goddess. Most did – some didn’t. I just bowed to keep the peace since I knew that this whole thing was aggravated because I’m a hot-shot, non-believing foreign returned, who had to either bow to submission or hexed. Add to that my cousin’s attitude of being someone that she was not, could add to my woes. The wannabe tough, educated feminist from hell and the greatest gift to any one who comes into her life.
The noise in the meantime was increasing as people were summoned and asking questions and getting accurate answers. Then the whole part, in fact, a few chosen ones decided to go to crematorium, the Hindu version of a graveyard. I was not invited but I knew that they were going to bury the lemon that had captured all the bad spirits, bad luck and possible misfortunes that the family of others could have faced.
After an hour, the lady that was nice to us was called and she insisted that she didn’t want to get into it since she was religious and believed in Shiva. The father-in-law said it was nothing and we all found ourselves in the yellow lamplit hall with pictures of goddesses and a skull again. She was asked to drink some wine and she insisted that’s enough but suddenly out of no will of hers, she began rotating even while insisting that she did not want to go through this. The roller coaster of hell.
She was fine and educated and graceful and suddenly she began convulsing. I definitely believed, while my cousin decided to be cool. I felt the sooner I believe, the faster the lady will be out of her ordeal. She went for gold. Her voice changed and she was answering question that onlookers had. I touched her feet. I wanted her spell to be broken as soon as possible.
It was finally over and left a huge impression on me. I’m sure there was something there. The exorcist had been in a lineage of exorcists and insisted he did not accept money but I’m sure a lot of money changed hands. The parent- in-law were happy and proud of their daughters-in-laws.
I was relieved when the lady insisted that she was fresher than ever and did not remember a thing. I believe. Actually for a few hours, I had forgotten why I had come to Dahanu. As I reported to my email group…
So What am I doing in Dahanu? I don’t know. But Dahanu is a quiet seaside town in sleepy northern end of Maharashtra. It’s an escape from the polluted suburbs of Mumbai. The summer has begun, bringing nostalgia and heat and dust and a sense of picnicking.
Dahanu has two storied buildings and massive chikoo plantations. We walked at dusk for around 3 kms to the nearest beach. That’s the first thing we did since we came in the morning, ate a lot and slept through India’s mediocre batting. In the evening we were enjoying a 5 km walk through the beach line and a few stars. Nothing spectacular in the sky. The walk was nice and full of oxygen. So was the late night dinner at a lonely spot in the beach. It’s called a restaurant but actually is a nice place, well lit and since it was a week night we were the only people around. One of my friends got drunk. He also happened to be the driver of a van that got curvy and dangerous for dogs at midnight.
I had decided to hold the incident close to my heart till an opportune moment, when I actually can digest my brush with the after life. There was definitely something there.
One night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble; no difference between pain and ecstasy. Murray Head brought Bangkok to the world, somewhere in the 80’s. I landed in Bangkok in the Indian summer of a warm April in 1989. I got a free ticket. We had to go and pick up jeans and Italian shoes from Bangkok. It was a ‘white collar smuggling‘ operation. I liked the sense of adventure over nothing; we were just picking up clothes for a boutique and saving on customs by spending on tickets, in an Indian way. As we left Grandpa‘s flat (apartment in US English), my cousin and me were ready and excited about our first flight.. Our relatives were not as warm as the time when Grandpa went on a world trip.
The night sky gave way to a beautiful morning through an Air France window. The airhostesses didn’t seem to like Indians too much as one of them was arguing with an old Muslim passenger and insisting that he had asked for vegetarian meal so here it was.
Dawn trips are fun once you are awake completely. Arun and I decided to live are wannabe-photographers-who-visit-ancient-ruins-and-forts. It was still dark when we reached the fort and clicked some amazing pictures that are lost thanks to Arun. Anyway these are some of them.
Its a ghastly beautiful experience as I balance my lifestyle and the cheque book and the poetry club i go to. Sophie is there and my cousin is safe in Australia. the days are warm and beautiful in the mornings and chilled to death does its part, in the night. my comp is great and I have more liberty with a bus pass. albert park is greener and library is richer. life is good as sun enters leo. mom is fine of course and the poetry on the escalators was a great experience and i look too chubby in pictures so my 40 km walks last week was great. i left a part time job for poetry but am fine. i’m having fun.
There was a mad hat that Michelle brought and the library was all silence before we decided to break it. I half did not go there but the spirit of adventure was too strong. And there was Amy, Christian, Michelle, Lisa Samuels and many others. Poetry was txted and displayed on the screen. I sang a few lines from Tennyson and Humpty Dumpty as the passion caught fire and we were going up and down the escalators in a frenzy. It was beautiful. Michelle confirmed that “Poetry will be made by all not one”.
It has been recorded how for an hour the 343 course recited poetry at top treble
The graduation ceremony for my post graduate teacher’s qualification is in September. The mist has given way to bright sunshine and it was great to see Sophie again. I walked 12 kms yesterday. I had to make a Police complaint to get a free replacement of my lost I Card from University. Life is good and the Poetry paper has started at Auckland University. So I am having a great time. There is a Poetry day at the Auckland City Library and we will read our poems on the accelerator. I chose PASSION as the word that defined me and immediately became friends with the SEX girl Julie. She gave me the yellow card with the word on it. Planning to get a DVD on Once were warriors or the Piano. Met Melanie, Ex girlfriend’s ex-sister. Like her. Have gotten over the bomb blasts. Auckland is becoming warmer and mistier. Did two good deeds so far. Feeling great.
Hi I have left your room last Thursday and had a sterling and stunning time between the pink sheets. Your duvet was warm and the sheepskin under me negated my need for a heater. Here’s a poem, I wrote for you. Your room is as I found it with few bits of paper for character.
Iselta’s Binocular’s
On the wall Iselta smiles
to make up for Shelly
at various junctures Meli’s
around to balance Jess’ Yes
and No.
The train looks like a Noddy toy
and the Mobil blue light keeps me warm
Shelly’s cough next door
keeps me cosy as I cling to cream
Piggy whose pinks are not rosy
but brown matching the unsaid smile
and the untold frown
The water is warm and the blasting
curry is hot as I look through the lens in
the middle of the night as I hear the Talkback
show and add my two pence for colour
Iselta smiles but the grey TV room
has lost it. I love it here as I pack to leave
smiling at the little room that kept me warm
and the creaking floor that kept company
I leave the piggie for Shelly
I dont know why, may be because
her silence was company and anger
a reaction. I leave nothing for Meli
but my friendship and the hot chillies
in the curry. I leave a ruppee for Jess
as it shines like she does
I miss Iselta’s smile and Jess
and Shelly Meli
As everything is an event for me
I have moved to the new house since Shelly and I had a disagreement. As it is it was a temperory place. I have finished my teaching qualification and moved to a
beautiful place on top of Mount Roskill as you can see all the teeny weeny houses below. There was a tremendous mist this morning and I could not see a thing in lynfield downstairs. The view is stunning from all the windows and the wardrobe is huge. Most people I know are safe so i thought I’ll go and
celebrate. Daniel had come to help me move house inspite of a heavy schedule with doctors and a quick lunch.
Luckily Justin txted and I let danny boy be since I could see how tired his family was. Daniel never tires of helping me out. That’s Danny.
I’m using Justin Mckelvie’s comp these days and took a trip to tauranga through the Canadian looking pines and the the wooden board bridges over stagnant waters
and Pairoa and Thames and the rugged countryside that was filled with cows and horses grazing. Tauranga was cold. Mt. Maunganui is a rich, white hill touching the
green waters where Justin ‘sermoned’ on being cool and that raving a storm since my strong personalty does conflict with people.
I have missed Hepa’s birthday but she has been busy since I came back twice and I am awkward. i did think of the Loleshis when I took the bus to Takinini at the
outer end of Auckland. Just besides Manurewa and I thought of the loleshis and really missed them.
The tauranga trip on the way back was dark in parts and mysterious like going through an indian village during power cuts. i stuffed in a Chinese takeaway while Justin stuck to Subway Sandwich which is too bland for me. Tauranga was cold but it has been a good two days after the initial shock of the blast. Went to Mt. Eden and One tree hill and saw Auckland from various perspectives. Saw the planetriam One Dome show on
stars and realised that the star to us besides the sun, we see it as it was four and a half years ago as light takes four and a half years to travel the
distance. Thus Light Years.
Show Super man returns, another love story but lois is soooooooo cute.
Most people I know in my country are fine but then often that’s what we are concerned about only. But Mumbai is coming out rising from its ashes showing the world how its done.
Changing the numerological significance of the city by changing its name has been dangerous. I hope you are allright. This blasts have been detrimental to innocent people who work hard and go to labor everyday. I hope there are no communal repurcussions, since it is always the innocent who die.
There’s a course in Arts that I have just started attending for four days and it will give me a credit of 15 points. Its cool and we have been cutting, crumpling, folding paper to make an underwater scene through a porthole. My mom knows how clumsy i’m with paint and glue and i haven’t changed since then.
The soccer world cup final looked like Anand vs Krishna Apts.
Today I went to check two flats at Mt. Wellington and Papatoetoe. I liked both the flats and the bus ride was great. It’s not such a cold night tonight and I enjoyed my walk to the bus stop and am back at the college library. The Papatoetoe place is next to all amenities and a great house that touches Papatoetoe High School and i can meet the loleshis on Sunday and Justin is near by. i love the nights in South Auckland as they are semi-rural and beautiful. The place is flat and I like it. Mt. Wellington is not bad either, close to shops, Sylvia park, the biggest mall in the Southern hemishphere and all amenities. Tanya lives there with her three cats and it is a cool house with a bigger bed. They are cultured musicians.
Soon I’ll start relief teaching and life will become busy with 4 papers at massey and umpteen papers at Waikato University. Let’s see.
Manakau City Centre is still a beautiful place with neons and the odd black girl from California. I had my eyes open for Sesa, who used to work in Burger King. It would have been nice if i had met her. But Thursday late night Manakau city Centre looks beautiful.
When Justin Joe dresses up in a suit, there are chances that a lot of people will mistake him for a Hong kong Mafia don, whose hat is made of steel and chops off heads a la GoldFinger. I on the other hand may look like a technician and a bit of a womaniser, of course.
Well we went to an Indian wedding of a Fijian Indian friend, held in a beautiful garage and the food was exotic. This place is South auckland, a place close to my heart because of Loleshis and Sesa, of course. Oh the ceremony was nice as a ‘minister’ of marriage performed ring exchanges and vow blasting with a small sermon on Christianity, of course. I felt welcome in a room full of Indians in colourful sarees and sombre looks as it involved bidaai and other boo hoos. I loved the food and had a great time and my Chinese friend Justin, a connosier and a super foodie thought the food was great too.
We then went to the city where we devoured more Japanese food, where I met Penny and later had great ice cream, (from Justin’s share of sundae). He’s still sore about it.
Had a quick word with Tarun Patwa, the ex birthday boy and my aunt from USA. Yesterday i watched ‘Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels’. Daniel is out of town so the car has not arrived yet.
Went to see Cars, the movie and you know I don’t fancy cars but was great fun. It’s a love story and a great movie like Irfan and rocky about humanity and love. This Americans know their movies and can inspire tears. Ordered a new credit card after my $2000 one got lost. And the animation by Pixar is mind-blowing. Got a cool, blue t-shirt and a piggy toy for Simu, who for the time being will keep me warm. I’m still thinking Samoan Islands, where Robert Louis Stevenson wrote Treasure Island. Justin and I were planning a day trip but that will have to wait. It’s still cold and smoke comes out of your mouth as you talk or drink green tea on the terrace as you look at Eden Park and the train station.
My flatmate Shelley is still sick and coughs all the time and I’m reading a Pacific Island travel book and thinking of Natalie for no rhyme nor R.
Am at the lab using computers and hoping to catch up on my other courses.
That teaching graduation had been a pain in the backside and I will free as a bird and ready to roll again. The Mobil petrol station with its blue backlights and the distan train that looks like a toy from noddy books and the eden park and the house in the distance from the binoculars (Iselta’s) look beautiful. I am planning to move to South Auckland and change students’ lives there. I love the relative flatness of South Auckland. Mom is fine and it is pouring in Mumbai but this time the government jokers have got their sanitation and drainage right.
Crime is rising in Auckland. There was an incident of some 15 yr old throwing a concrete from the bridge on the Motorway and killing a guy. Twin kiddies got murdered. Policemen have been hit. Teachers attacked. It’s drug and/or alcohol. Prison guards make as much money as teachers and ultimately if you look at it: both jobs are exactly the same.
This entitles me to teach anywhere on the planet. its a cloudy morning and having just created a Killer Pau Bhaji. Its been a cursed course with the Emma Break up and three returns to India for a total of 27 months since mom was alone, sick and depressed at three different times. I was reading a cool travelogue on Pacific islands and that is my next destination. it has been cold in auckland and the night lamp has been used to read. Life is beautiful.
No matter how cold it is out there in the week with the clouds and the condensation and the whole crap but come Saturday and the world opens up. Spoke to Jihan, Peggy’s daughter. Always nice to get an aloha from Canada. I might be going visiting in September. life is changing everyday. Once I get the car I will be stable and stuck in one place. Daniel’s lost the keys (and his wallet, poor soul). My Advance Fiction notes have come from Massey University. And after sleeping for a day or two I dont like sleeping much. Also I feel rice does not suit me. Planning to make my own Rotis soon. Armed my self with breakfast: Honey and Cruchy Peanut butter and all. Superman has hit the Cinemas but i feel Christofer Peeve is irreplaceable.
I have slept realllyyy well. Oh I love sleeping and tell myself in the twilight zone betweeen wakefulness and sleep, on days of exams since childhood, ‘Sleep while you can’. Anyway i finished handing in two exercises. The ones you upload on to University websites. I’m pretty pleased and reading another Suneal’s (a kid from Canada) blog.
There are three people in the lab and I’m suddenly lightened by finishing my last assignment this winter. Its cold outside. Inside of course, i have kept the temperature static at 25 degrees.
I have walked 20 kms in the last three days. Thus, today i just made a mean Pau Bhaji and slept like a log. It was cool. Just Mc might be giving me his comp and I’m planning to join I-Hug soon. Its around 8.20 in evening and the pretty warm in the lab. I’m planning to catch up on my other paper: Written Communication. I’ll be learning flash soon. Sleep makes the whole world a brighter place. Something’s happening at Eden Park stadium next door. The lights were full blast. I may be going to Napier but Gaurav has a small engagement party and thus, I can only leave after 6th. Need lots of driving practice and training. The red racing jacket looks good. I must shave everyday.
Suddenly the cold has come from nowhere and as we all moved out of the center at 8:46 at night for the vacuum party. The cold hit me. I thought it was me but even the Kiwis and Polynesians are freezing. The cold has come and winter is upon us now.
Sorted the room. Cousin Gaurav treated me to an Indian meal. Went to Blockhouse Bay, Henderson. Met Sensei Pat who was pleased to see me. Picked up my luggage must be 40 kgs in Henderson and 28 in Blockhouse bay. Left all the video cassettes on the doorstep of Red Cross Army Shop. Cluttered Isela’s room with my stuff. Gaurav helped. the place is really cute. Just got back at the library for another day of deliberating on the assignment.
Got the cutest house in the Universe. I had half moodily walked from auckland College od education early morning through the small curvy lanes of Mount Eden to Eden Park and I did not think much of the exterior but inside is seriously sexy house with cream curtains and red duvet. Iselta the landlady (temperory) is nice too. The deal is done. Its at kingsland railway station and has a freat lounge and a cut kitchen and fantastic balconey. Its great. I pay $100 a week. My new telephone number post Wednesday is going to be (00649) 845 4422. I’m cool. There are three other girls who live in the flat. One is a violonist and other is something else and Isrelta is going to London for a wedding. She’s nice sort..
NZ becomes the best place on the planet when the sun comes. Its been a great day and all I have achieved is an idea of how to do things. A heavy $5 lunch with fried stuff and a clear idea where I’m going is keeping me alive. I made a new id footloose.fancyfree@yahoo.com I have this penchant for creating ids.
Footloose and fancyfree is dedicated to endless hours I spent on the 6th floor of Anand with iyer brothers. It was my favourite Rod Stewart album. You keep me hanging on and I was only joking played well when we were in love with the Seemas, Dinas, Santhas and Dimples-Mumtas. Crazy time of life that. Mithibai College and break dance and free papaddams. Cool.
The day has gone well but no productivity yet.
It’s been a long time since I have had time for myself. A long, long time. I last had such peace at Manurewa, when I was renting a whole outhouse for a mere $90 and living alone in that outhouse that was nice and warm and I loved the hot shower it used to give. At Uncle’s house there were many people that kept me from being alone but i prefered Manurewa with occasional visits from the Loleshis. Then, mom fell ill and I was in transit and no peace. I stayed there for one and a half years and had a good time when it was not hot. Then I came here stayed at Justin, no peace because of his obsessive, mad girl friend Jenny. Justin was great mind you but I could not stand his girl. I moved to hostel but the city life wasn’t peaceful. Interesting but not peaceful. Paul’s place was nice but then Chris came with his problems. The graveyard pictures and Paul Kite flying lifestyle was good but Bond and Bond job bored me to death. Went back to India. between July 2004 and June 2006, I was in NZ only for 3 months. Mom was sick and I cherish being alone in computer rooms and libraries and am planning full concentration on my final assignment. Winters I love here. The heater is better here than any place I have lived in. I once gave up non veg for a guju girl I loved. Today, I had raw fish Polynesian salad. It was mindblowing. I have rested well and warm and vaguely started my final procastination for my last assignment. Life is sensational. It rained a wee bit and the Auckland college is peaceful, perfect. I wonder how Sesa is?
There are two girls in the computer room: The blond and the Maori. The blond is discussing how her boyfriend tried to commit suicide. I’m really amused and in a great mood. I don’t know why. I am confronted with too many living options. Two places in Palmerston North, two in Wellington, one in Hamilton. So I have an adventure trip where I know I have to sit on my back and finish my essay. Twenty books need to be read than maybe I’ll go to Melbourne for a visit.
My essay needs a definite start and a conclusion. And a pregnant middle full of other people’s ‘quotes’. Part of the bloody deal. The references have to be APA or ‘American Psychological Association’ style. I need some water so be back in a few minutes.
My main goal this winter is to crack the last paper that will give me an international teaching qualification. Went to paul’s house. He has moved out and lives with Sherryl. Oh! I’m happy for them. Got my knapsack, returned my uniform, bought a cellphone 0064 (0)211459976 and went to the big cvomputer center in the city. Not a single place so I slept on the couch. Had to meet someone at Sandringham but dozed off from around 3-9. Am at Epsom, this is the free time and space I really require because the final assignment is a book review and is a bit of a killer and I’m reminded of I used to come from Uncle’s house everyday and stay the night. I feel great. I’m always on the computer, eventually I will start WORK. I got a lot of my asssignments back. Good feedback bad grade. I seem to have a problem following orders. It’s near 10 in the night.
It’s two in the morning. The weather is pretty cold and I’m in the computer redesigning my site. i have lived in Auckland city for a total of 20 months and have lived in lots of suburbs. Jignesh’s Papatoetoe, Joe’s Mount Roskill, Tapan and Anu’s Mount Roskill, Wakena’s Manurewa, Emma’s Waterview, Robin’s Richardson road, Sid’s Onehunga, Hyderabadi Mount Eden, Uncle’s Mount Roskill, Raman’s Manurewa, Justin’s flat in the city, AUT hostel in the city, Daniel’s house in Howick, Mashood’s New Windsor and Paul’s Henderson. Now I’m absolutely sick of Auckland. Have seen it so before I return to India or Canada or wherever, I want to live in at least five cities. Whangerai, Wellington, Dunedin, Christchurch and Nelson.
It has rained and temperature was 8 degrees C when I arrived. Its cold but the heater can be turned up and the computers are fantastic in this room. i’m trying to get inspiration to finish my huge assignment. Its a twenty page master-blaster killer of an assignment on whether counselling is required in schools.
For some reason, may be its the cold, I’m very relaxed. I miss Raman’s outhouse, my favourite house in New Zealand. I have lived in India 25 months in the last 45 months.
The education college is fully lit up with tubelights for safety and I’m wondering if i should take the bus, train or flight to Wellington.
Let’s start with mom. Mom has finally relaxed and the anti-stress pills are doing wonders to her life. As for me, travelling to and fro has psychologically damaged me. Money-wise things are great. I have two thousand dollars in my account. That is 60,000 rupees. That is justification. I miss Emma. I’m in touch with Geeta and Nitu has decided to ignore me. I feel great but seeing Auckland airport time and again is pissing me.
I always hated my job. They wanted me to start tomorrow. Luckily they asked me if i still want the job. There was too much politics in that tiny place. Learning heaps and heaps just to get $10 an hour is not worth the bloody thing. I would rather work labour and have a healthy lifestyle.
Tonight, I’m purposely homeless. I need space and time that I have not got since a long time. It is cold so I’m the computer centre. Aslam is dead and Sandeep in jail. Life is damaging a few souls around me. I hate India. Once I sleep I’ll see Auckland in a different light. It has rained. I’m feeling positive about my course at Auckland.
Every now and then I try to live on shoestring just for the fun and adventure. I’m wondering if I should try the homeless option. Shower in the gym, night in the computer centre and life is great. There are two Maori girls in the room and the Australian and I exchanged email ids. oops this one is not a Maori. She’s a european and we discussed Europe, cycling, academic writing. i can turn the temperature on and off. wellington is cooler and friendlier. Hamilton is a hole. Whangerai might be nice and warmer. i plan to see a whole lot NZ since half the times I dont know if i’m coming or going. But i must get out of Auckland.
The airport is a piece of work with a huge roof and trains going from one terminal to another. Add to that millions of people that dont have to stand in queues. The tatuatory KFC and Mc Donalds and the steel and glass that surround a rainforest, actually a huge hedge of greenery.
The mosque is shining in the distance in all its glory and Baghdadi look and the sun is slowly going down as I kiss Malaysia godbye. Job offers from India have started pouring in.Have heard some awesome things about Melbourne which is a cool place. the five floors have everything even a train at level 1 thatt goes into KL for 25 ringhits. Its an awesome place but I have a strange feeling that next time I will travel West. Let’s see what happens.
I have mixed feelings, getting attached to people and places and having to go. Must find a home soon.
Ran to the Australian woman and gave her my email ID and lost hers and ran back to see a cheerful Kiwi officer waiting at KL to check immigrants in. Added bit of security.
A nice 2 hour nap and a few quite moments at the pool with the waterfalls. It has rained and is pleasant now. The hills from 11th floor are looking beautiful as are the church, mosque and the temple. colors of early Madras and Calcutta, when they were cleaner cities.
I saw Pink Panther and it is a brilliant piece of comedy. The inflight service was excellent as I was watching the movie sleeping on four seats. Got no sleep but enjoyed the first ray of golden sunshine.
I immediately went to a window seat and saw vertical clouds in all shades of white like cotton on different layers, high like mountains and filled with pink and blue. It was the best set of clouds I have seen in 24 flights. They looked like barrier reef and a night lamb made of shells with a rough texture with beautiful bulbs inside. The lower clouds were moving at a different pace. The plam trees from top looked like miniature toys with toy houses near by. A Corel with light within.
It was amazing. I had breakfast at Royal Adelphi with Kathy, a Australian tourist and went for a woke at a green lake that faced old Indian Subramanium temple and Chinese cone-shaped roofs that look like inverted ships. The green lake had a giant lizard swimming in it.
Had a swim side lunch with lots of leafy veggies. I’m a bit sleepy so may be rest before catching the 8.30 evening flight. I think of mom. I spoke to dadaji and had some hot pau bhaji at Andheri before I took a rickshaw and sailed through immigration, baggage and departure. I feel good but miss mom.
The departure went clockwork and there was no queue at the airport. I was the first at Immigration and Baggage. Jagruti’s car droped to Mama’s (uncle) house and the ac and Shahrukh Khan songs stoped me from crying. Mom is fine too and India will draw another boring cricket match. Have reached the beautiful Malaysian Airport.
Its a hot afternoon as I spend my last day in Mumbai. It has been a mixed bag: this visit. I’m off to Auckland and looking for a place to live in since paul has already rented out his rooms. I’m happy for him though.
Jagruti has warned me how Indian skies have too much traffic and can be risky. I’ll be happy when I leave the Bay of Bengal where it is turbulant and the plane does a bit of Rock N Roll.
At Malaysia I’ll be staying at Royal Adelphi, one of the best hotels I have been in and the foods gonna be just great.
Meeting the specialist has done the trick. Ravi is fine; listening to music and screaming at full volume for small things. My work is done. My bags are packed. I’m sooooo out of here. Taking a memory, old poems, four papers and twenty odd kgs of baggage. The sun has come out and I’m trying to avoid the tension of playing another cricket match since I have to curb my pace since Kanti not Jigu is the wicket keeper. I can’t bowl pace with Kanti.
There are elephants on the highway and the Sunday is choked with beautiful women dressed in colourful costumes.
On the night of the 6th, the Malaysian Airlines will take off from Mumbai alongwith a nondescript passenger to Kuala Lampur and from then on to New Zealand, Auckland Airport at 1 in the afternoon of 8th June. Joey, I hope you can make it by 4.
There’s light at the end of the cold grey cloud
It is filtering inspite of the lightning and thunder
No one can stop us now as the earth is
covered in rains and mud and waves of eternal
torment. it’s going, going gone
There’s an old man sitting contain
a man we know from the grave we
visit and flowers we put on the gray stone
covered with a silky sheet and colour too.
The Mumbai Muncipalty sleeps on their ass as the first rains have clogged the city. Previously, rains washing the city was a pretty picture. Now I’m filled with extreme hatred at the way this country treats the only city that pays taxes so that the other impotent bastards in the country can survive.
My early website wildblueskies.com is gone but the design is still here. http://wildblueskies.blogspot.com I had drawn the picture in paint.
My new website is http://www.blueskyfox.com since it was started when I used to walk with Shaju in the aarey jungles and there were foxes in the track. We were just looking for fresh oxygen and blue sky but what we got were foxes. Luckily they stayed away.
Maoris have a big heart. Some of my best friends and a family I consider my own whanau are Maori. Thus, in the summer of 2002, sometime in November just before I moved in with my Pakeha girlfriend Emma Turner’s, I stayed at Wakena’s house. Wakena was just returning me an old favor, when I had gifted his family $200 grocery since they were short on cash. But we were not always friends and if Waky (as I called him) weren’t a Christian, he would have killed me.
We were working at the warehouse of Warehouse at Wiri and that place was filled with islanders and Maoris. Some of how they liked me. I had broken the Indian stereotype and was constantly abusing them in their languages. When I learn a new language, I generally learn the abusive part first.
As I took the bottles out of the dispatch trail, I saw a big Maori fellow leaning over me. His face was tattooed as he looked at with ‘kind’ eyes and said, “He is coming.” I knew this was an abstract statement and didn’t bother to look around for ‘who’ is ‘he’. I just smiled at him and he said, “Isu is coming”. I knew Isu was Indian for Jesus and I said, “Oh that’s nice”.
His initial overtures to convert me yielded no results so he tried making fun of me, which if said precisely means imitated me scratching my balls. I took up the challenge and amongst 20 laughing Samoans in that dark warehouse imitated Waky. Put out my paunch, ambled around, scratched my head and looked into boxes like he did. The uproar was humongous. My initiation was complete. I had come out trumps. What followed was a friendship between a Maori and an Indian.
The Clendon ward would definitely look awesome after sunset and we definitely lived in the poorest area, which was a rather cute place with kids littered on the sidewalk and young gangs trying to outstare you. The first morning I woke up and Waky informed me that it was raining as I was chomping the Maori break (fried flour) that his wife had made. Wakena has four daughters and a hundred relatives in houses clamped together. I was grateful for the warm duvet given to me and was generally in a happy mood despite the rain.
Wakena borrowed my cell to call his mom, who owned a small, green car. Sorry I’m not a car freak so ‘small’ will have to do. She looked like an ancient women, who smiled with her eyes and was smoking all the way to the warehouse with lips that twirled up to say I don’t care. When Waky gave her $4, I was amazed. Why would you have to give your own mother money to drive you to work? In hindsight, I feel this a Pakeha-induced custom. Pay for what you use.
What happened at Midnight!
That day I decided to retire early since it was a Friday night and I did not want to scratch myself in full view of Waky and Catherine and all the neighbors who had gathered to see me and called me bood-bood. I had made Pau Bhaji for the family and Waky was the only guy that could eat the spice I dished out.
It had been a tiresome week and I was still intrigued by how close the houses were. Let’s see from my window I could see the ‘women living in sodomy’ house. They were the butt of every joke in the clammed neighborhood. I was thinking of the compliment Wakena had paid me as he was walking besides his cycle, “ A lot of people are surprise to see a Maori walk with an Indian but you are in many ways like me…not easily intimidated.” I was ‘wow’ as I looked at the tattoo-faced seriousness. I just nodded in a cool-sort-of-a-cowboy-knows-his-way-across-the-sunset way. I was thinking of other imaginary glories like taking a hat trick, making love to Emma’s sister etc. as I dozed off.
Around midnight I heard voices and screams. “There is the bastard”. “He’s hiding here.” “Catch him.” I gasped, did not dare to turn the lights of the ghetto house, since I slept in the nude. “Fuck… why did I ever come to stay here. They were after me!” I was scared shitless. I heard other set of footsteps in the house, running everywhere on the wooden house…through the green toilet that had floating toys in the bath tub around my room and towards Waky’s room. My room did not have a latch as I tried to search for my wranglers in the dark. I found it. Luckily no one opened my door. After about fifteen minute of abject commotion, where all the four houses that stared into my sneak window that opened only half an inch for oxygen, all lights in the neighborhood were ablaze. I decided to venture out into the lounge. My manhood was at stake. Remember, I was the guy who could not get intimidated.
I looked at Waky as he was trying to start someone’s car. I said, “Hey! What happened?”
Waky shrugged off “Oh a fight in the neighborhood.”
I smiled at Kathy “That happens?”
“Oh! All the time.”
Now my curiosity took precedence over my fear that I hid rather well. Ok so what’s happening? I ventured nearer to the door and saw lots of cars and Police lights and Waky trying to start someone’s car. I did not completely risk going out. What if someone says, “What’s this bloody Indian doing here?” And, suddenly everyone realizes his point and starts smashing me. But hey! I had proved that I was brave inside. So there! It was time to sleep.
I later put all the fragmented pieces together and realized that there was a party happening in the cream house besides the Lesbian Villa and someone got drunk and mistook someone else’s wife for his. Actually he just molested her. And hell broke loose. The culprit ran through the backyard into our house and ran through the door. Whew! That was a close shave. These New Zealanders didn’t they ever bolt their doors? I had generalized till I saw how meticulously Emma turned the alarm and bolted every little window in the house.
My stay at Wakena’s house was fairly comfortable but I was awakened by Mormon readings of the Bible in tongues from the other room. I did enjoy chips dipped in white sauce. Waky loved my curry. However, one morning when I heard Waky and Kathy fighting over ‘how he’s not interested in touching her’. I decided it was time to pack. I did not mind them occasionally turning my God’s picture frame face-side-down because they were sure it was the Devil. But, when husband and wife started fighting, it was time to leave. Of course, I came back in a week but that’s another story.
I am at a crossroad in my life. On one side there is mom and on another there is my teaching qualification. My mom insists that I go back to NZ and I feel that we should not put all our eggs in one basket. Last monsoon we had water logged in the house. If I’m outside, I can always try and get my family in NZ or atleast send them enough money. If all of us are in the same hole, we could get into a mess. Because Ravi and I have always lived abroad we have not bought a second house yet. Mom insists i go. I feel that is the logical decision too. We do not have the luxury to be emotional especially since Mom is sick and we may need big money anytime.
I’m planning to bool my tickets for 1st June.
Saw the new Hypercity at Goregaon. it looks like Foodtown amd most Mumbaikars were happy to be there. I took a look at Crossword and had a haircut at a local place where got a oil head massage. Am sleepy and the methol in the oil cooled my head. Have delayed proceedings towards NZ for another ten days. My education paper looks better and generally having a ball.
have slept on terraces in Ahmedabad in Navranpura and my maasi’s wedding. Its a beautiful experience with the shy stars making an appearance too. I’m Pune at Raison’s house and after a long talk about everything I went up to the terrace. For summer, it was cold at night and i needed a blanket. I forgot the pillow and curled the cotton mattress and the duvet to balance my head.
The jerk living opposite had not shut his bulb and thus a lot of night beauty was lost and also the moon was in its larger period so stars could not get the limelight.
The dew wetdreamed my bed and the singing Mynas woke me up in the morning. There is a huge tsunami threat in NZ and I wonder how my loved ones are coping!
The morning oxygen is pure and devoid of moisture. The rustling paper in the windy night made me wink-wake searching for ghosts.
The Simghad fort is at the distance where Tanaji lost his life and Shivaji sais “The fort is captured but the lion is dead”.
Whenever I have gone to New Zealand, for some unknown reason I have visited Poona. The soul of Pune always tugs at me. Its almost a ritual now. So today, I took an ST bus to Bhiwandi from Borivali through scorching heat that makes red soil Maharashtra a romance. I had downed a glass of sugarcane juice and the the concrete road went through greens and hay coloured landscape as I got down at Bhiwandi bypass and took a 12-seater tempo to Kalyan and then went to Khapoli in the train, only to get down at Karjat and take a local to Pune as I got down at Chinchwad bought a ticket and boarded the train again. I had sat up on the luggage shelf as i read through Bruce Chatwin’s mesmerising book Songlines about Aborigines in Australia. How the ‘Land and Songs are one’. I reached Pune and had spicy Pau bhajia as I caught up with Sam Rice. Am in a Cyber Cafe that costs 10 bucks an hour. Pune is as beatiful as ever.
Arun’s bike was still short on shock absorbers when we zoomed through Thana Bhiwandi Highway. Breakfast was great with eggs and jam sandwiches at a road side Dhaba. It was around seven and we reached Shahpur at ninish. We broke from the highway into the rural green going further into a territory that was untouched in lifestyle for centuries. We told the local farmer to make his patent feast on our return and shot off through thje ancient temple that looked like Inca land into mosquito country. It was sensational as we struggled on brown patches at the edge of the hill but mosquitoes were buzzing around me like cars jammed on a busy signal in Mumbai.
We reached the hot stone land, where suddenly we were exposed to the sun and sandwiched between the sun and the black rock that was presently getting hot on our backs as we slept on it.
We actually prayed and it actually rained in the middle of summer. We took those long leaves and made a waterway that ended in our mouths. It was really satisfying. And, there is a God.
We eventually reached the ladder that looked as old as time. And Shivaji tiny fort shrouded in mists. Arun went into a ancient pool that was chilly and I stayed in the mists and explored the territory feeling slightly haunted.
Came down and had rice with onion bhaaji and bhaakri in the farmers straw hut. It was sensational.
Its been a gruelling to months of meeting Shamen and seeing Mom depressed and bowling on a placid pitch. We still won. But this trip has been a bit of a disaster. Mom is fine and I should be off soon. Had no time to meet my loved ones. Had some special time with Mom and Shirdi, Mumbai trip and thread ceremony. Must meet Iyer. Summer does have a holiday flavour and have made some friends. Some enemies. Thats life. Went to Mumbai University to sort my MA part 2 admissions. The Librarian is a pain that screams. It’s been awesome two months.
There’s a Poo but mums the word
Gold like Natalie
There was a Russian bird flying in Bangkok
A mass of five, sixth is pretty
A diamond, a dimple, a pair of
beautiful eyes. Feline
A goddess and a half human half mare
a black jelly and a Peg of samantha
Golden for three years
The Indus is dark and dirty
The Argentenian’s Chinese ways
The English kiwi is sweet in taste
A religious book
I first heard Elvis at Murali’s house after his trip from Singapore. He had a wild collection of rod Stewart and Elvis. I loved the Jailhouse Rock and sang it in school and became the most famous person after years of being the worst kid on campus. Murali, my Godbrother was a great help usually except when I fell in love with his ‘sister’ Natalie. He had punched me then. we called him ‘Big Moose’ and the punch hurt but after that we became good friends and i betrayed him every now and again. He got me my CVO job and saved me endless times. God bless Murali.
Mount Eden shines like a Christmas tree
glorious with near perfect shops:
Small, colourful, redefining perfection
The sun’s floats over red, cream, green
Mount Eden village, queen of Auckland
Close to ACE where teachers die
I refresh my mailbox million times
stuffing with Tarakihi footloose, fancyfree
The sun’s bright banana cream
I feel like a born again King
Sun is the Warlord
as someone somewhere is baptised
free food for all, fried chicken
Maori Bread and the good Mormon sheep
that change into wolves and rabbits and
goats just like Chinese astrology
Birth after birth. i’m free. Far
from human commotion. happy.
One of my hobbies is making email accounts. My latest account is wordwarrior@airpost.net and I love it. The library looks scary with lots of books and I do not know where to start. I have to create a swipe card for anytime access. That will give me access to the gym and the shower. I love the Pacific section that has chatai (weaved straw to sit on) and huge colorful pillows. I can’t seen to start my assignment on book review.
How do you compare two cities? Especially, two cities that belong to two different genres, in fact worlds: One that lies at the edge of the planet and the another one that is right in the thick of things. I’m talking about Auckland and Mumbai (formally Bombay).
There are some unobvious similarities that the eye can miss at first glance. Both are harbours that harbour scores of immigrants. Both are the economic capitals Both have a public transport that is put to the ultimate test. The difference obviously is in degrees.
Let’s look at the physical features. Mumbai is hot and can make you sweat like no other city can. (Tran open) On the positive side, sweating rids the body of toxins. On the negative side it makes you smell. Mumbai has four distinct seasons: hot, muggy, very hot and very wet. Auckland on the other hand, is cooler but the climate is fickle. If you don’t like the weather in Auckland, wait for ten minutes. The sun may be less warm in Auckland but is slightly more direct than the hot sun of Mumbai. In Auckland one is unprepared if the knapsack does not carries a semi-rain-wind-proof jacket.
Auckland has slopes and can test your breathing. Mumbai has potholes that can test your driving, back and the honesty of any policemen.
Culturally, Mumbai has been crazy about cricket, curry and films, especially since it is the headquarters of Bollywood the Indian version of Hollywood, which churns out more films than any other country. (Appo) Quality is, the elusive factor, a different ballgame. Conversely, Auckland loves rugby, takeaways (especially fish and chips) and clubbing. I love the ‘better’ crowd in Auckland. I prefer Kiwi-wannabe-Americans to their Indian counterparts. I love the extensive quality of books available at Borders and the Auckland City Library. All in all, Auckland looks and smells more beautiful. But then, Mumbai is more photographable. Though people seem to be coming at you all the time, there is a diversity, economic, racial and cultural, that can test the word: diversity. Just like the rest of India, the city is photographable at any time. There are mosques, temples, churches and people everywhere, doing everything all at once. Any moment is a Kodak moment and any picture is an award winner. Auckland on the other hand, is an obviously more developed, cleaner and more beautiful but is definitely not as ‘happening’ as Mumbai, which sucks you into its web, whether you like it or not. You want a roller coaster: Drive! You want a movie: Keep your eyes open! It is ridiculous and interesting and a city like no other. But it is certainly more polluted, the crime rate is higher, the dirt rate is preposterous, poverty and civic sense is appalling and life can be an ordeal. Auckland has respect for the law, not fear.
On the cultural front, Mumbai boasts of family values and attachment, (Tran Mid) but in reality is a materialistic, cold and selfish place. Auckland, on the other hand, may look like a dog-eat-dog place that is cold, but I have found true love here.
The food in Mumbai is cheaper, only if you convert rupees into NZ dollars. In fact, Mumbai has a cheaper lifestyle. This can be attributed to the sheer population of Mumbai, which may be three times the population of New Zealand: Around Fifteen million. It is difficult to give the exact million figure in India because as a country, we have failed to count ourselves on various occasions. Anyway, that brings the cost of living down. Technically, Mumbai is only six times poorer and not thirty as the conversion rate shows. This could be the obvious corruption-related problem that most things are in India.
On the positive side, Mumbai has a great workforce that constantly fights traffic jams, bomb blasts and weather related problems on an hourly basis. Mumbai-ites are preferred around the world since they are considered good workers.
Thus, both cities have a distinct flavour. But no comparision can be objective since our personal experiences definitely colour (or blur) the vision. And my preference of Auckland over Mumbai is my view. I still feel that there is no way you can compare two places since both are different for different people and colored by our own experiences.
Auckland and Mumbai
On my first visit to India a friend asked me, “So, which country do you like more”. I said since both are different countries, it is difficult to compare them since both have their pros and cons. However, I would do more justice if I compared the two cities I have lived in, rather than generalize about countries.
Let’s look at the weather. Mumbai is hot and can make you sweat like no other city can. Strange as that may sound I find that sweating is actually good for you. First of all, you don’t have to run in search of toilets. Then, it rids the body of toxins. Mumbai has four distinct seasons: hot, muggy, very hot and very wet. But it is dependable. Auckland is cooler – at least, for me – but the climate is fickle bringing to mind the famous saying: If you don’t like the weather in Auckland, wait for ten minutes. The sun in Auckland is slightly more direct than the hot sun of Mumbai. However, since it is relatively cooler, I prefer Auckland but my knapsack always carries a semi-rain-proof jacket.
Mumbai has its own culture and is crazy about cricket, curry and films, especially since it is the headquarters of Bollywood the Indian version of Hollywood, which churns out more films than any other country. Auckland on the other hand, is much more beautiful and loves rugby, takeaways (especially fish and chips) and clubbing. I generally love, the comparatively better, crowd in Auckland but that can be highly subjective. I love the books available at Borders and Auckland City Library. The population is comparatively manageable whereas in Mumbai it seems that people are coming at you, all the time. There are a lot of cultural areas in India and as a city it is photographable at any time. There are mosques, temples, churches and people everywhere, doing everything all at once. Any moment is a Kodak moment and any picture is award winning. Auckland on the other hand, is an obviously more developed, cleaner and more beautiful but is definitely not as ‘happening’ as Mumbai, which sucks you into its web whether you like it or not. You want a roller coaster, drive! You want a movie; keep your eyes open! It is ridiculous and interesting. And someone said ‘It’s a city like no other”. That is not enough for me to prefer it to Auckland. Mumbai is more polluted, the crime rate is higher, the dirt rate is preposterous, poverty and civic sense is appaling and life can be an ordeal. Auckland has respect for the law, not fear and you will not see a policeman being bribed, openly or otherwise.
On the emotional side, Mumbai has mom and Auckland has Emma. My mom had a life threatening sickness and the last three years have seen me rush to Mumbai. My mom is my only emotional magnet in the city, in fact, the country. While Mumbai boasts of family values and attachment, it is very materialistic in its outlook and rather selfish just like any big city. While Auckland looks like a dog-eat-dog place that is cold, I found true love there and lost it too. Emma. My only connection to Mumbai is emotional since it has my old school and some left over friends and my dying mother. Auckland has Emma with whom I have parted ways and thus Auckland can be painful. But as I said before pain is subjective just like love, honor and life.
Thus, both cities are distinct and I can only color the difference with my personal experience but definitely not do justice to any city. There is no way you can compare two places since both are different for different people and colored by our own experiences.
Wow this work is really indicative of the area of New Zealand that you live in and the diversity that is the essence of what New Zealand has become or is becoming. It is also interesting for me because I am from the South Island and we do not have many hibiscus or maybe such an varied mix of people that the North Island has (well not where I am from anyway). Sesa is half Maori half Samoan? And Adam is the biblical Adam? The poem is indicating that you or the protagonist is struggling with a decision to choose love or family/tradition? I didn’t understand the reference to ‘she is young and I am part of the whanau”, are you saying that she is related to the author/protagonist? That the relationship is incest? Or the reference is really because she is too young? I really liked the thought and reference to the biblical sense on what our society is based on, but I thought you could of made it a little clearer or perhaps make the poem longer in length to illustrate the struggle or the choice that the protagonist/author has to make. The line “I can never betray” contradicts itself or confuses the reader (me anyway) with the line “I find a new church and find a family.” Did the protagonist choose love? Is that why a new church must be found? Or did they simply choose to move away from the rigid family circle? What is the dark desire of purity?I really enjoyed the images of Manurawa and the half Samoan/half Maori girl but i think that the poem itself could be so much more if the struggle was included with in the main dialogue.
Subjecting Objects to Subjectivity
Ni’ihau: Paradise Lost
It is indeed in a rather negative frame of mind that Theroux leaves home as he bids goodbye to the love of his life and is plagued by fear of possible melanoma. This itself makes the reader feel, “Hey! This is probably going to a bit sorry”. What I definitely appreciate is the possible honesty (to a great extent, of course) with which Theroux relates his initial tale of woe. The paradox in Theroux’s search for the most untouched island Ni’ihau is his own nosiness.
No travel writing can be objective. Usually the subject (traveler) acts upon the object (place) and changes it to suit his purposes or pre-established biases. The object in this section of The Happy Isles of Oceania is the forbidden island of Ni’ihau.
Theroux, in search for the inviolate island Ni’ihau led by his own curiosity is disturbed to find the paradox of what is preserved and what is lost in Ni’ihau. For one the Robinson family has distributed Hawaiian Bibles with a generous vengeance. Then there is the idea of private property and ownership that is not keeping with the original culture of the place and an almost Islamic (what the western media popularly believes as Islamic) flavor to the Christianity that Theroux believes as ‘missionary paternalism’. Theroux disapproves of the island backward movement that banned hula and condemned the ‘original sin’ way of life. And while it is the men who work and the women who are homemakers, welfare checks, soda pop and canned fish is slowly changing the original lifestyle of a breed that prides its purity, which is falsified by the Japanese blood in them. Theroux is saddened by the loss of culture; a feeling that may have been accentuated by his own negative emotions combined with his passion to find the most perfect, untouched island. The Robinson family seems hell-bent on colonizing the place with its own ideas and is not willing to contaminate it with any foreign influence. Despite the ownership Theroux finds that the spirit of the people cannot be owned and the laws are stretched and the video machines and the radio are slowly breaking the shackles of a family that is eating the island’s spirit like a rat that destroys a mansion one bite at a time.
Theroux also remedies the situation by his own suggestions. He is slightly better than the Robinson family as he merely suggests remedies. However, we must not forget that at this juncture he is merely a nosy traveler and not one of the lord of the lands, who may started their decree as mere suggesters and may have used religious and other forms of blackmail to destroy Utopia.
Theroux’s sense of admiration is still intact as Ni’ihau is a curiosity minefield and is in keeping with Theroux’s philosophy: A tourist does not know where he is been and a traveler knows not where he is going. This line serves as a true inspiration to travelers and Theroux does give us a voyeuristic peep into an island that not many have seen at a time when it is changing. Theroux’s semi–historian status fuels our own enthusiasm and makes this part a fast, page–turner lest we lose the crucial metamorphosis of the island. We feel as if we are at a crucial juncture of history and anything can give. As a male my senses are also titillated by the Japanese bloodline that has seeped into the islanders. This is intriguing and also erotic. However, the fact that Happy Isles was not written in happier times in the traveler’s life and this section is the fag end of his travels makes me wonder if he is already homesick and a bit tired and thus some amount of negativity is natural. However, all in all the section serves as a wonderful subjective, historical experience, which just not be repeated. The time has passed and we are different people wanting different things and welcoming different subjective experience. All we can say here is, “Oh! So, this is how Paul felt in 1992.”
This also answers an age-old question that nagged me. Can we exhaust places by traveling? I think not. Because, every experience is unique and every feeling is original and the world is still where it always was, waiting to be explored. There are people to be met and experiences to be had.
It was a proud moment for all and sundry when Murali’s sons got their
threads and were initiated into the world of sanskrit and religion. This
is 5000 year old Aryan tradition. And hey! Mohan assured me that the
Tamil people were the chosen ones of lord Shiva as he whispered the Tamil
language to Narad I think so the Tamils can know of his glory.
The food was mind blowing. Avial and Paisam and some awesome
unrecognisable vegetables that included Lady-Finger (Veggie) and Cabbage in
SriRam hall that is fortified on one side with grey stone walls like a
medieval castle. It was rainy (not raining just rainy) and dark and the
greenery around felt like 3 May 1990. That was when Murali married
Parvati or Shanti. Same person.
I met Dhruv who is smarter than his dad and taught me a thing or two
about Ramayan, the hindu epic especially the names of the smaller
characters. I also met Mohan on a previous afternoon over fruit juice called
Immuno booster and a book place in infiniti mall and talked about
everything. He made me a list of places i must visit and told me Natalie is
married. So I must give up on her I suppose.
Meeting the Iyer parents was a pious experience as it was nice
meeting the Fish Eating Bengali aunty and Rajamani the king of small and
large talk. Great to be amongst the Iyer brotherhood.
Take a car. Get Chetan and Subhash. Drive at 80 k/h and through the concrete road into rural maharshtra. Have tea in a nondescript dhaba with Janta wafers and some cream biscuits. Look at the moonlit night and a train exhibiting white tubelights and curious passengers. It’s not a toy train.
Have Gujurati/Rajastani Rajdhani food and choose between mango juice or Bengali soft, tender, juicy Rosogullas. Look at the stars. The tiny ones you can’t see in city light. Sleep in a wannabe lodge with the fan on full throttle and Bolar’s snore that sound like the 9-11 twin towers coming down. Pay just 500 bucks and pray to Sai baba early on a queue-less morning. Have Manglorean Nasta. Go through sugarcane field full of goats and sheep and dogs and women in colorful attire. Have sugarcane juice and look at the canals of water and eat Mutton after the religious rites are over. Buy a bagful of marble white onions for sixty bucks and some much needed grapes and through the mountainous sunset and dark twinkle of bright stars have tea on roadside dhabbas and rush home.
That’s the way to do it.
Last night we gently spoke
as the wind blew and mosquitoes
buzzed near my Pepsi gulp
we gently felt confusion and delight
love and respite
we gently thought what if
or why or why not
There was the city in twinkling
yellow lights as gentle wind blew
as only we knew what we slightly felt
in Shahrukh songs and Jovi rhymes
in back streets of lokhandwala
and playgrounds of Vishnu
The Earth is a giant ball
Kicked around by whims
And fancies of the Sun
And greedy people
Bouncing around hopelessly
Heading for another blast
Lost in the bush
And American politics
The Earth is an inswinging
Yorker that spins and bounces
On a turbanator’s wish
Burns aimlessly in
A gray city with a twin purpose
That towers over humanity
While we are caught up
In selfish greed: Having a ball.
Yellow,
orange, lovely
day.
Bright,
sunny, smiley
face.
Red window.
Blue grill.
Eternal love.
I’m black
Full leather
with a zip
in the center.
I’m a gift
from a Chinese friend
to his Indian brother
A reminder of Lord’s love
I lie safely
at the edge
of a dusty yellow window
overlooking single
mothers pass by
I was not taken to India
Missed. Forgotten on purpose.
I’m a Bible, the Lord’s word
Safe, secure and lonely.
All right. Its dawn and the cuckoo is making its presence felt. I’m at a Chinese internet cafe where the kiddies have been at ‘War Net’ all night. The Sea food Restoran is closing and its aluminium covers look nice but it is dark still like an Ahmedabadi night. I’m more or less rested and the AC has to be turned off since it didn’t match my birthday suit.
20th floor made KL look awesome. My physique looks better as I walk around without a care. all the standing at Bond and bond has yielded fruits. And of course Pat’s Karate class which I attended thrice and participated twice.
The holy Quran in Arabic is in the room’s desk. just in case, someone can read it. Twentieth floor makes the highway look immaculate.
The traffic condition is similar to Bombay where people cut lanes and go in the wrong direction all the time. The cops are having a field day with mobikers. The Asian humidity in came through last night and the hoardes of Chinese kiddies eating on the road at 10.30 was quite a sight. In the open air outside open restaurant which has sensational ‘Loti Palathas’ as Daniel calls them. He was the guy who sheltered me and gave me a haircut and insisted I finish the course. The man with a golden heart just like Justin, Justin and Mashood.
Last Night Notes The food smells good.and the sausages look goos but I dont have a thing for the Peking Duck or sausages. Its reassuring to hear dogs bark. The egg on the shezwaan looks great. I’m getting closer to India. the gutters are uncovered and a big rat is hobbling around but still this is better than some parts of Mumbai. The tube lights in this open air aluminium ‘restorans’ are coloured with cellofin papers. green red blue on the same tube.
As I landed in Kl the evening sun bouncing of a mosque did look beatiful and ominous.I shaved in the night since i looked like Mohammad halal the butcher with my french.
I do miss the western stars outside my window but the bed and the pillows in ‘third world’ countries are much harder. The Indian guy who served me food last night has a knitted Muslim cap and a lungi and the dood was sensational. The news says bush is nice to India. Yeah its the IT boom. I need to check papers if they need a technical writer.
I have had a sensational breakdast involving french toast, chicken on rice and veggies and grapefood juice and coffee and wedges and noodles. It was dree. Malaysia is less commercial than thailand. Ringits are better than Bahts but than I converted NZ dollars.
Went tt and saw the 41st floor of Sean Connery and Zeta Jones. TRavelled by bus had some more parathas. But Daniel is right if I need to chose I can choose Singapore. I stayed nearer to the city and made the most of the situation. There’s a cute Chinese waiting behind me so i’ll have to let her use the computer. I’m at the airport.
The back street reminds me of how untouched Bangkok was when Utkarshbhai and i touched it. I miss the camera that I did not buy for 1599 or 50,000/- Rs.
The moon was full and white and now a sexy red. The highways make a great desin with lights and the mountain is dark and friendly. i woke up a few times in the night. So that I dont miss anything. Passport is locked safe with my birthday as the code and my shoes have the insole of two cotton slippers
I’m ready for the city amidst the loud noise the chinese boy is playing on his computer. Coming back to insoles, the best way to see a city is on foot. I said that about Udaipur and i say that about KL.
The NZ Sun does not like me much. I love the stars and the moon outside my Western window and I love the road that goes to my work (I hate work though). I like people who visit me and single mothers that hug me when I find their children that are lost in the mall. The foodtown has great chilli samosa and Hare Krsna is beautiful. Pakistani Mashood and Chinese Justin and white Justin and Singaporean Goh family are my favourite people. I lost the Lolesi family this visit and thus mom is sad and depressed and I must go home.
I caught the flight against all odds that included not telling office or Paul since the telephone bill is on my name and may be misused. Lost the passport for half an hour, gave away loads of clothes to Salvation Army, took the bus, rolled bhajiya in a Cheese and Garlic Naan. Picked the ticket, took a cab and reached an hour before departure. Had to take my books in my hands and metal detector buzzed for keys, tablet strip, belt buckle, everything. Caught the flight. Changed the seat. Watched Zorro and talked to a Zimbabwe white guy who was reading Punjabi and going to Punjab for the tenth time.
Deja Vu. Malaysia… green…super fast train between terminal and am at Oakland road in the middle of KL. Looks like Mumbai. Went to a tamil dhaba and had mutton, egg and those mind blowing parathas. Looks like Kerala and bit like Bandra Kurla Complex. Isn’t perfect.. That gives it more character and less uniformity. Its 10 in the night. People are helpful and went through a market of Sea Food and everybody eating. Looks like bangkok, I visited it in 1989. First Love, first trip abroad. The room is great. the carpet is so so. The neon signs everywhere and cute chinese girls. Nice feeling.
Ten Dollars gave 23.20 Ringets. Spellings are different. Restoran etc. Lots of Indians here. Gotta sleep.
So I’m going back in just 111 days. Mom is sad and depressed and its killing her. Wouldn’t mind working in Malaysia. Am doing four courses in the Uni.
Tanu my cousin has been to Barcelona to report some shady Pakistani and Spanish people. I’m lucky to find two great Pakis: Mashood and Mobin, my brothers from across the border.
Last night when I took a receipt for my ticket, I had tears since NZ is my lover and friend but suddenly I’m fine an mom does come first for me.
May be someday I’ll return to NZ. But not soon. Too much travel.
Malaysia looks like a cleaner version of Mumbai but not as classy as Dubai at this end. The dhaba is on all night. Food is cheap. The Asian warmth in the sultry night has opened my sweat pores.
Tanoo you are doing well sweetie.
Oh Home i miss you
and the racism on the streets
and the pakeha legs and
Samoan boobs
and little children and lamb samosa
and Fiji Indian girls with painted hair
And Jennifer and her eternal smile
and Greg’s enthusiam in cricket
Anthony’s overt racism and Jamnelle’s
not so subtle only insecure and inferior
Its a blue shop. A small place’
that fills Greg with pride
Greg’s a good soul
Anthony an asshole
Jenny is soo beautiful
The Old Bible
is a new bible
leather and zip
and shine and Christ
and sin and Noah
and Job and Mark
and Moses
Daniel goes to a church
in Kelston that has friendly
Singaporean faces and nice coffee
and great cookies and nice
chicken at Massey
Jim is the Massey lunchbox
Where fried chicken and
Chinese tea come to life
and Mary and May talk
about soldiers in Asia
and laws in Singapore
The sunlight bounces
like a tiger on the garden
fountain and Jimmy designs
on the web
The bible is an extension
of Daniel’s prayers
when I fly in and out
and free lunches that
he gave at teachers
college ande times
when he was there
for me.
That’s Daniel
The bible is a gift
a guardian,
I kept it safe and
not carried it to India.
Its precious and speaks of the love
we share as friends and God and
love and friendship. I can’t give it
away my friend.
“Happy you found the old bible.
We’ll be away to Dargaville Lake
Kaiiwi crystal clear
waters so will not be able
to see you in Kelston Community
Church. “
Queen Streets crowded
burning souls
yearning humanity
No one home
Buses go Henderson
Pakuranga, Manurewa
Sesa in the South
Justin is near
Other Justin in CBD
Daniel is East
Pat is West
Mashood central
Chris Australia
Emma somewhere
if here
I’m here there
everywhere
all at once
Sometimes
The low long turning upsy down roads
of longburn burn
Maori and Pakeha
Single mothers abondoned
by whisky
Neon lights Lynn Mall
Hugs by strangers
Betrayed by budds
Bond by flights
gone by light
Lamb Meat Obsession
That should conveniently kill me
I am falling in love with you
But I’m abusing love. Obviously the
word is lust. Paramount. Omnipresent.
More powerful. Less fickle. Strong
Like the devil. Quick like a cobra.
I hate you because I want you
So much that it paralyses me
Albert Park Burns Dylan’s Chicken
First of all you wear that mad maniac blue graphic mini
That swings geometric lines – you move. Crazy, crazee,
crazie, too hot to touch to explosive To handle.
Your body is a red iron rod hot from The bakery.
Soft as shed wool. Lovely like Dylan’s Chicken coloured
sun on a blazing afternoon from hell. Your smile feels
the sky city’s lonely blue sky your Eyes can starve an
ocean out of green or gray as blue when mood strikes you
And when you fancy to warm the daylights out of our species
Heaven help: hell howlers: birds sweat: climb a school boy tree
Burn innocent passer-bys. See your coffee spring Rangatito
goes off. Change NZs map. I’m self deprecating male soul.
Lost in your crazy forbidden world. You – ‘nice’ – I ‘appropriate’
Manurewa was sweet on me
Manurewa. Green. Yellow. Maori, Chinese, Indian.
Mad beauty. Churches and suited Island Padres.
Hibiscus is the land of the long white cloud. Tattoos
Are friendly brown and menacing chocolate. Come in
All flavours and sizes. Sesa’s wide eye and a sweet welcome
Lost between her half Samoan lips. Half Maori eyes. She’s
Young and I am a part of the whanau, I can never betray.
Its not heat or passion. Its eternal love that Adam saved and
Betrayed paradise but Mormons my people I cannot face
The mother. My best friend. Her father. My mate. Discipline.
Self control. Discretion. I find a new church and will
find a family. Will love her and hide
that dark desire of purity.
Lusty Goat
There’s a hint of lust
in the air, in the rains
in the sun, in park and sea
and volcanic hills and
hibiscus. It’s everywhere
Lots of passion. Some care
bliss I proxy false hope
that true love will
take me there.
We look. We know. Say no words
How long? Will sorry story stay
and not say. Yes. No. Thanks.
Unspoken trust. a little honesty
to make my love true.
Samoan Brother. I’ll Kill for You.
My brown brother. You smile even try to laugh
sometimes succeed. you make people feel joy and
mean well. But the bastards who hate your sexuality
Fafafine – your choice to be. Must be knived by me.
The way they batterand char you. Insecurity is them not you.
Black Knickers
You are a monkey jumping that albert tree
hiding the most perfect purity in black
boils mercury. heats the city. makes me
thirst for nectar and purr fumed honey
Tusiata blooms in purple
Purple, pink, yellow, red
Aries with massive boobs
Eyes read everything
we are her characters
Manipulated to play. She
smiles hidden knowledge
acknowledges, plays character games
Loves us, adores her favourite class
Mean Black dress
I just want to hold you
and rest on your boobs
I dont want to disrobe you
There’s plenty time. I want
to hold you and crush you
softly sleep on your boobs
so I feel safe, So I can hide
I want to kiss your naked navel
Start a slow lasting forest fire
which takes all night to consume
Black Capricorn
Lets Kiss. And touch, And meet and
taste and lick all over and
juice ourselves and cuddle and talk
and fight and call and strip. Explore
forever. before
we get down to the mundane
possibility of satisfaction
and tiresomely boring technicality
The Art of Killing a Mosquito
A mosquito is like a nosey Indian
likeme or worse. like the ones
I love to hate when I see my
qualities. Squat! The wings
are shattered. And blood flies
my own. And a superior satisfaction
A meditative spiritual peaceful
experience prevails.
Genre
Poetry
is a sweet
release like
a explosion
from within
me.
Satiates. Tires.
Wants more.
Ebbs. Tides.
But does not
stop tonight.
Never felt I
so much free
A passport to be
what I need.
Me.
You. Someone
else. Its all
fate’s decree.
As poetry
sets me
gently
free.
Sophie
An antacid will put me to sleep
quell the rising fire of spice and
tender chicken crisp burger and
distract me from you.
A guy’s gotta sleep.
Breaking free from a 300-poem habit
Is it the tree Possum, my first
nocturnal sleep parasite in NZ
Or Coffee that Sheryll poisoned
with pure chocolate and sugar
The girl on the Ancient tree
of poetry never-ending, flowing
like mermaid on Mission Sands
Or glory of kissing a new genre
The Savage and the Princess: 1991 Neha Poem
High above ivory mountains surrounded by pine trees.
Up on blue crystal towers swept by wild breeze.
Wanton geese soared on cliffs that kissed calm grey
eternal seas at summer palace of King Philip’s.
Young princess Irene, fresh as a whisper in the winds.
Soft as a dew on the greens came. Her songs haunted
the winds. She was artistic, slim, trifle bold. Pout lips.
Steady eye: Iron willed. Enchanting body. Beautiful Soul.
She’d lip-read with eyes that in the dark gleamed
Her heart no noble won. She confessed she could
never feel. “Heartless she is “. The truth obscured
by appearances, haunted by Ghosts. Clouded by lies.
Irene abolished hunting in the land “Never kill a beast
for pleasure or feast”. One day she riding went into
forbidden woods, forbidden land. Eastern Dark was
beyond the Irene empires, No soul ever dared wander.
Eastern Dark was ruled by Sparks. And, Sparks killed
on slander. They called him a savage. A hybrid
of a noble woman, a cruel man. Sparks lived on plunder.
Callus and sinner in more ways than one. Savage lived
in the blinds. Hated the Sun. Ruled over the Gypsy tribe,
which settled 1200 AD. He lived the dark. Hunting
gave him satisfaction – cynical. An evil heart. Sharp
at vocabulary. Learned. Blood of the noble woman. Evil
The heart of a cruel man. Women and never wine
were his weaknesses prime. Killing in his land
was not considered a crime. He killed to avenge
the death of a gypsy waif under the Red Sand
Mountain. Sparks rode hell had no fury’s name.
Out aside with sword and shame. Pulled out
his silver lancet sharp. Hunting gave his glory fame
And down the woods the Lion came. Sharp the
eyes mammoth the frame. And quick before sound
through harp. Savage down from his horses came
Eyes across eyes did meet a single burning flame
One strike left the lion lame. One must the other eat.
The pride and arrogance insane. A smile: Savage eye
Arm bleeding like it rains. Lancet one and a half metres
long. Swished like a song Deep, deeper the bloody cuts.
The golden mane came close. The scarlet blood flows
Swish, went the Savage eyes. The lancet moved faster.
Hard and high. Sabre cut the lion’s throat. A gloat.
Night after night, day after day. It was the same,
the savage and his bloody games. Hoofs thundered.
Earth shuddered. When Savage came and savage came.
Lost her way that night. Irene. The horse stumbled
as she fell in the waterfalls. Luna night awashed
the silver light ‘Fountains of youth’, Tribal belief.
Her skin glistened caught savage eye. He smiled.
A wild flower touched his savage heart. Picked her,
kissed her. She was cold, warm. Intrigued by his charm.
”Friends” her eyes shone. She wasn’t an ingrate,
Friendship was not his wish. Helped her out of the eastern reach
As they rode back on his black steed, sped through
the jungle’s silver light. Came close. One hand stroked.
Fingers through her hair. Kissed her Cleopatra lips
with a savage force. And then gentle as a rose. Fondling,
Caressing, Touching, Holding. He looked heavenwards.
“Lord I deserve her” Lord said “No my son I love you
and can’t curse. But you sinned in thy life. You deserve
not true love. You deserve worse” “Father in heaven holy
be thy name. May you – we always hail! Lord for her
I shall die. I shall fight tooth and nail”
“So be it my son. Consider this a battle you never won”
Arrogance laughed and fears cried. All but lost
was savage mind. He gave up killing that very night.
Promised till the day she was within his hearts reach
A contract he wouldn’t breach. A promise he would keep
He did not sleep that night. Next morning early, he
came out of the leafy blinds to see light. As the sun
from nowhere bright. Golden defined green that was black.
His mother’d worship the sun. He bowed . Without even
a single rumble. The crust of the savage heart crumbled
They met time and again. Sharing happiness anger grief
and pain. Golden sunsets. Silver morns. Hot afternoons.
Chilly rains. Jungle banquets he went without meat
“Do you love me” he looked in her eyes
“No” that’s all she said. Sad not betrayed
Her answer may be a fall. But she spake the
truth after all. He looked up at his father in
heaven “God you have done this to me. No tears.
I feel betrayed You just couldn’t let me be. But
it is thy will, not mine. A mere pawn I am
Will do it to mortals you love. Fire and blood rains.
The earth torn from centre. Your loved souls run
helter-skelter with fire I will set. I am Satan’s son.
I disown you. The virtuous shall weep. As I do.
May your dawns be black. Dusk be bloody.
Widows shall cry and orphans shall weep.
A promise A promise A promise I shall keep”
“Threaten not me my son. The day of judgement
await. Then resign to your fate. You a mere mortal
spoilt by whims and fancies, silly victories: rotten
and arrogant. What I will, will be done”
The fear shut Sparks up. Silence and silence alone.
Uninterrupted Undisputed. He descended.
The sun set, the red disappearing to give way the night blues
“Am leaving tomorrow for the sands, of the Hebrews, desert, Arabs, Nile,
My princess all things end. Better in smiles than deceit”
As her feelings like a volcano burst. She cried
Her face red and lips warm. “I think I do love you”
Kissed. Their feet cold in river waters. The tiger and
the deer. He thanked his father in heaven “I care not if
I lose her now, if this be the greatest mistake a committed
fall. Better to love and lose then to never at all”
The king was dismayed. “His soul is Lucifer’s.
Go the orient and learn the art of creating silk.
“I am going Far East, but to your heart. I shall be near “
Promise me Sparks see me once before I die”
“So be it my fair princess. I promise”
She left in her father’s ship “Irena”. Leaving him
behind in the dark. She sailed to China. The jungle
felt like a desert to the savage heart. And Gypsy
dances brought no pleasure to Sparks. He waited
for six rains. One day he took his steed and just left.
A journey of 67 days and 66 nights
Froth with danger, struggle and eternal strife.
Horse back and saddle free
Through thundering typhoons in rafted seas.
Bleeding feet and bleeding knees
Out of France through Spain, Cordoba.
The large dark churches with crosses
over them. The White Seagulls,
the dark fishermen. The Spanish guitar
Evergreens and rocky terrain
into the wild African land.
Morroco, Khairwaan
Cannibals and Witch heads.
Thick Jungles, Zulu and Masai. Tribes men
Crocodiles and Pythons. Lost.
Unexplored land. Marshes, black-mudded and red
Quick sands. African herds of big-eared
elephants. Flies and sickness
Rains and disease. Pygmies the tiny
black men. Poisoned arrows but
Helpful hands. Unknown tongues
and Faithful friends, Sahara, Egypt and Arabia
Nile and Cairo.
Camels and Caravans.
The land of Pharaohs.
Through desert storms
and furnace hot sands.
Hunger, thirst killing him.
But he could not die.
Jerusalem, the land of Christ.
Palestine and Damascus.
Baghdad and Persia
Herat and Ghazni.
The Khyber Pass, Afghanistan.
The mystery that was India
Punjab and Sindh, Indus.
Bleeding shoes wounded knees.
Sweating salts and aching feet
Pathways wild, Asia.
Lion traps and snake pits.
Tiger country and leopard land
The savage had to hunt.
He had to live not be killed.
To see her on sheer will
Himalayas, crossover and Finally Tibet.
Buddhist Monasteries Meditation,
self-control and resistance.
Peaceful clan. Snowy terrain, biting winds
Jagged mountains with dizzy heights.
Slipping feet and icy nights
Held on to dear life. And his tired
eyes searched for his Irene
Dusted. He reached the Chinese land.
His skin colour a darker tan
Rusted. He’d promised her.
Far from the Ivory mountains and the pine trees
Far from the horizons his eyes
once reached. Far in the Far East
The Mongol mountains. The rice fields,
the con hats. Wells where he quenched
His thirst. And as night engulfed he found
himself in the bright Chinese market
Dusting away the brown dust. Greeted
by fireworks and lights red. He splendoured
Yuan dynasty at it’s best. King Chui
Hung’s 36th birthday
As beautiful exotic China lit up.
He searched. Eyes stopped. Saw Irene
In one of the palace balconies.
A smile reached his tired eyes. Queen.
He stood numb. Their eyes met.
The queen could lip read
“I will climb the gates tonight”
He whispered through wind that separated them
The traveller had reached his destination
“Oh Allah be praised, Jesus flourish
And Buddha I surrender, All mighty
ye granted me. My only wish”. They finally met
They met, made love. Wild and soothing Chinese night
“Nights and days. I’ve dreamt of thee. Return to me. With yellow men
a week. They played hide and seek.
He carried her on the steed and rode
away to the semi-golden horizon.
The Chinese hunted till Mid Arabia
And left the heated land. Just two miles
further from the laid tent
They were last seen
arm in arm by Abu Sheikh Khan.
The camel boy who rented them
the tents for two sovereigns. Who
grew old to tell the tale
To his sixteen grand children.
The tale of the savage and his passion
The tale of the princess and her true love.
Of all King Philip’s horses
And all Chui Hung’s men.
Who left defeated. None know
where they went. But the gypsy folklore
goes as such. The princess
married the savage
One rainy African afternoon.
Deep within the wild land.
Amongst pygmy friends
The hybrid of a noble woman.
And a cruel man.
Away from eastern dark
And ivory mountains.
Where they loved and lost.
Years later to be found in the east
To be lost forever.
Time found them.
Marriage bound them.
The Girl at The Window
The hostel’s brown and lift’s old
Reception is sleepy and kitchen squeaky
Toilets have do’s and dont’s. Phones missing
Found, missing. Carpet old tan Arabic Tunisia
Dark window faces Symonds street
Tube lights in AUT hostel gray’s green
Bang opposite is Crest on Mount
Waiting is a woman. Smoking at 2
I move. She stay and move to catch my eye.
A baitI hook and look and shut lights.
She goes in. Heart beats. Fast. Furious.
Excitement. Patience. 10 minutes. Nothing.
I see her. Back in black. Skin. A small
brassiere and panty that must smell exotic.
She looks in my dark direction. I breathe
Malaysian, Indonesian, Chinese, Singaporean.
I know not. She goes to pink mirror bathroom.
Light and nudity; jigsaw pieces. She walks bold
living room at 3. Takes me just 10 minutes
Hostel’s black. Lift’s dead. I live.
Floats she amongst flying doves
There’s a blue window
on the right that reflects
wonderous sights, smiles, frowns
many moods
catch I thy reflection
You hold my eye
Million shy lights
in pink and white
in blue and green
crazeee faded, jeans
birds fly home
caught in dilemma
your hair creates
million hearts beat
words are a buzz
Nothings normal anymore
Oh Red is such a pretty colour
Red on every shore
waves that float
around our worlds
passion defies
our spirit flies
A love song
gone missing
a feeling overpowering
freedom
Red every mind
love colourful
not blind. Wonderful
Geeta
Riding free wild blue skies
Just memory shy, twinkle eyes
Window face, Gentle winds, Hot
Cricket, Distant horizons where
Hearts don’t lie
Librarian Girl
Princess surrounded by Tintin, Ludlum, King.
Helping, smiling, sweet, Red Riding Hood.
Smile destroyed me. Don’t want to touch, kiss, lust
Just love. Cuddle forever hold. Found no strength
Then found strength to talk. “Can you get the
Internet going?” Something stirred. Divine blur.
Coldish warm August Auckland, morning. numbers
exchanged. Point Chev visited. Kisses ignite. Feelings
go to Warkworth, One Tree Hill, Waterview. Pak n Save
Sea Gulls, sparrows and Farmers. Green forests,
Volcanic mountains. Distant West City Ring movie.
Love. Warm with doubts of mother’s sexuality
Dreaded pill was amiss and confused tears end
Both strong to move on. Both lied. Calls turned
into fights into foes. Refused to see me.
Talk. Hear. Think. Met her just in dreams.
Green grass, wind-carved mountains
Love was gone and remained just blame.
Valentine
Valentine.Tomorrow
Waterview’s Bright
Red and Rosy, all heart.
Parted three years
you cried I knew,
hope you’d return
You didn’t.
Making Auckland, NZ
and Universe slightly empty.
Its a muggy day meaning I don’t know whether its cold or warm. I had to run all over Henderson trying to find a loo, when I got down from the train. It was a good journey but the relief came when I reached the butcher place and peed. The Hare Krsna canadian guy was a Vegan and made me feel like going vege again.
The creative writing course is over and the Bond and Bond job is about to began. There’s a barbeque happening and Pat our senior Karate trainer – hunter flatmate is having some deer, pork and goat he’s hunted. It was his birthday last week.
There’s music and some are having beer. I have stuck to my water and am quite enjoying the hunting stories. Pat is 1/16 Maori.
The job will start next week and I’ll take the train for now. Creative writing was a full of course fun to write autobiography, poetry, 3 stories and one travel writing.
The sun has come out again. I have to fill my IT returns and job offers keep coming from India. I’m doing a Multi Media paper and a teaching paper and four English papers. Now how I’m going to manage that in a 45 hour working week is anybody’s guess.
Mom was planning to go for an endoscopy. If she does I may want to go to India again. The party has a lot of good people. And Paul’s son Adam is up to his Devil Deeds again. See you.
Now Paul exhibits some classical signs of being mad. He’s 32 but feels like 12 year old boy when it comes to enjoying life. We went to the graveyard one night and took pictures of what looked like absolute ghosts. The other day it was windy and we flew a kite at elevenish in the night. Its a bright yellow strong plastic kite. That was my first time, though I first saw a kite in Bhuleshwar with my cousin Utkarsh when my uncle, his dad was flying kites. Pink was the preferred color of strings.
Anyway we were at Avondale School after a afternoon of driving crazily at Waitakere concrete snakes and buying plum and apple juice from a local farmer. Kite technology is much simpler and the wind was roaring. It was great. The kite could not be seen and the string was a fishing line that just went at a crazee speed. Paul was jumping. I being more matured was only singing.
Sunny. Rainy. Cloudy. Beach.
Bikinis colour pink blue green
Guitar plays in the stony beach
Children play on the sandy streak
There’s a black side to the stone torn
Penny’s flying. Bees hum a peaceful
Song to Sea gulls that fly in Ultra Violation. Sunscreen 30+ something
Samaons in their square blue tent. Women half covered in their tees shorts and children roaming free giving people company. Happy. Free. As a
wasp buries its head in me. A gasp.
Is all I give. Water. Salt water. Vinegar.
Sting of Scorpio’s little niece. Sleeping half naked, half inviting. Half teasing
Ask her number. Asked not her number. I am growing old. Lazy. May be it’s a job I need not a woman and woman just fulfil a vacant need..
It’s a beautiful night. Queen Street is a beautiful place in the night. Stunning and lanterns are everywhere. The Chinese New Year is about to happen and the world is happy. Most Chinese except the mad woman in our house. We went down to get some pictures of the festival.
THE SAVAGE STORMS
The blood red evening skies
The gloom of the faded twilight
The echoes of the blowing wind
The onset of a lonely night
A storm is heading our way
the storm is here to stay
The wind echoes memories my way
Memories
of enchanting eyes
that once betrayed
Time-
(backward) flies
to those fateful days
My heart beats in my head
My feelings are misled
Dream and reality meet
The wind stronger blows
The emotion wilder shows
Agony of my sole defeat
Realisation of which grows
The dream
that was once true
The reality
that was once you
The sudden gush
of memories
cloud my mind
Heart beats
pound in my head
Alone left behind
Before you ran
before you fled!
The pangs
of our past sorrow
will follow all the way
till tomorrow
The storm?
The storm part of my past
The dream that didn?t last
The storm blowing outside
The mind blasting inside.
The love
gone and dead
The heart
tears it bled
The leaves
in the air blew
The storm
inside me grew
Bringing to my mind
the day I first
stared at you
Where did it come from?
The Storm
The memory
that crossed my mind
The memory
that you left behind
My eye
caught your eye
Your blush
and your sigh
First glance was
indifferent
Next few were
surprisingly frequent
My senses warned me inside
It just seem right
My love at first sight
destroyed my pride
Your courage faded away
your confidence in me betrayed.
The blood red evening skies
still brings memories to my mind
brings voices to my ears
To my eyes it brings tears
And when
your hand I held
Then
my love you felt
How did it start?
The storm!
Storm stopped outside
The fire grew inside
Closer and closer
still I came
Who would take the blame?
Your hair
blew on my face
as I held you
one hand on
your waist
another on your
face
I held you tight
with all your grace
You lied !
You lied ?
You lied.
You said you loved me
And I was a fool to believe
You lied.
As I stroked your hair
In the dream that wasn?t there
I know you don’t
but I care
I care.
I care.
The thunder in the skies
The fear in your eyes
Closer still I came
My passion set aflame
We couldn?t stop !
The Storm
You melted in my arms
Your beauty and my charms
Our lips softly touched
Your cheeks slightly blushed
Our lips fully met
And the wild fire it set
Our senses
on a ignite
On a wild, thoughtless
stormy night
The shock
from the vibrant touch
The breathless heart beat
made you insecure
and nervous
As you turned to retreat
I caught you in your flight
And held you tight
in the still of the night
Your eyes sparkled
and lips trembled
Where did it come from ?
The Storm.
I whispered in your ears
before you disappeared
Leaving behind doubts
distrust and fears
The storm
went on and on
The love
was dead and gone
My life torn apart
Crash!
Down went my heart
The storm passed
The love didn?t last
And all that
it left behind
fallen leaves
broken glass
and painful
memories
My world was broken apart
The storm crashed on my heart
Your memory remains a soft dream
which I couldn?t redeem
Our love was a savage storm
Me-I couldn?t reform
The storming emotional passion
Was it just another day
The rains lasted a life time
Our love was washed away.
Went to the Demolition Derby yesterday, where after they race all the cars; they crash into each other and the last one moving wins. I have moved to West Auckland and the air is better and nights cleaner. I have food in the big wooden balcony that faces bamboos.
Also visited a graveyard that is 200 years old. Will post pictures soon. There are old graveyards.
Well. A row with Bangera. A guilt. Next time I write a murder book I’ll wonder if I’m a suspect.
Now, then. I moved to West Auckland, away from the city into the greens yesterday. I could see stars on a dark night out of my window and it was beautiful. The bed’s bigger and I love it here. Had lots of eggs and the protein need is satified. I love it. The bed is harder and bigger and I feel like a million dollars.
Thanks for taking the story so maturedly. Because in my creative writing school we were asked to get out of our comfort zone and write things we are scared to write about. Thus I wrote the absolutely graphic tale.
There are three pieces we had to write. A Short Story. A Poetry and the Autobiography. I am happy with a lot of people who wrote to me privately. There were some who went on a public platform and thus I had to answer them publicly. The final drafts are at:
http://singingcactus.blogspot.com/2006/01/creative-writing.html and it is a bit graphic and only meant for adult audiences. Sorry. The short story is completely a fiction except the character is made of 3 people I know.
