It has been15 hours that our bus has been driving through the gorge. The bus slowly drags along the serpentine road, which is so narrow, that there is hardly enough space for the bus to pass a jeep. The left side of the bus from time to time appears to hang out over the gorge, rocks fall into the abyss from under the wheels, and if you lean out of the window and look down, you have a complete illusion that the wheels have left the road and the bus starts falling rapidly into the abyss. The Indians, sitting next to me, do not pay any attention to this danger. What is it \u2013 fearlessness or do they not care? I heard that in India the accidents of buses falling into an abyss are not so rare, and from time to time it triggers a slight scare, a rush of adrenalin, and a thought that it\u2019s not for ME<\/b> to die in such an unattractive and unimpressive way, just because of some driver\u2019s blunder.<\/p>\n
This thirty hour imprisonment in the bus has completely exhausted me. The body is aching due to fatigue and constrained sitting due to the lack of movement and I do not care anymore about the view of the mountains through the window. Is it the Himalayas? These aren\u2019t that tall, grey, scarce greenery, unfriendly and looking alike. These mountains relate to the mysterious word \u201cthe Himalayas\u201d less than an apple core to an apple, but still this is the Himalayan foothills though, covered with endless kilometers of road that uncoil from the wheels of our bus. There is a narrow cement coloured river, running over large boulders, the sun peeps through once in a while, and all the thoughts are only around this monotony of the shaking of the bus and when it is going to end.<\/p>\n
The noisy company of foreigners that enjoyed their time the previous night, now looks weary. All of them are very tired from the long trip, they talk lazily about their impressions, plans, prices and hotels and do not even notice that their conversation circles about the same topics for the second or third time. This conversation lives its own life, it does not want to die, though it brings more boredom and tiredness, not impressions\u2026 I do not want to listen to this chatter or take part in it. It\u2019s nice to feel as if you are hanging out somewhere in space and time and not tied to any plans.<\/p>\n
Villages, the endless line of houses along the road, people live there\u2026 they are born there, have children there, die there \u2013 there\u2026 incredible\u2026 when I was a little girl, I used to go for an evening winter or autumn walk, looked into the illuminated windows of people\u2019s houses: the people\u2026 they talk, eat, walk, gesticulate, \u2026they live there\u2026 Every time, by some unknown reason, I felt very uncomfortable, as if my usual perception shifted, I stopped being myself and transformed into that person\u2026 or another\u2026 to be more exact, I impersonated somewhere \u201cbetween\u201d them and myself, as if hanging there in the middle and it terrified me, as if I was losing myself and my personality. Do they indeed live there\u2026 can there be any life which has nothing to do with me, where I do not and will not exist? There was something in common with the fear of death from an early age, when I was crying in bed, imagining that when I die, life will go on, but without me and not for me, that I will NEVER exist\u2026 I still have not agreed to this \u201cnever\u201d, – it is impossible to put up with it, it can be sealed, thrown away, forbidden to think about it, and who knows what else is there that is forgotten intentionally, what fragments of my life are buried\u2026<\/p>\n
People and their houses are passed by \u2013 \u201cAnti-Barbie\u201d carton toy houses that are turned inside out. All their life is in front of you, like on your palm. They wash, eat, study, do the laundry, argue, cry, laugh, and it all can be seen from the window of the bus like a giant performance two thousand kilometers long, a performance which has no place for me and will never have any place for me.<\/p>\n
Soon night falls again\u2026 Will it ever end? The bus stops and there appears somebody\u2019s silhouette in the aisle. This silhouette was making sounds of either prayer or some sort of agitation. Is it a break for lunch? Fifteen minutes of solid ground under your feet. I am already used to people jumping in the bus every time it stops. They poke you\u2019re your face some eatable junk they want to sell, so this time I did not even look at this character. But the man was insistent, and at last I paid attention that in his hands he had a table with a name. On closer inspection I see my name is on it, – oh, my goodness! –\u00a0 the sounds that I thought of as the sparkles of local culture turned out to be his attempts to pronounce what was written on his table. With a wide grin he says something\u2026 ok, his name is Rum. Okey-dokey, I do not mind. For the first time from the moment of my arrival to this land the smile of an Indian seems to be right. Good bye, this bloody rattletrap!!!… Thanks to you one can forget how to walk\u2026 Oh, my God, I see an old \u201cVolga\u201d car\u2026 No, it only resembles a car, still funny. It is only my third day in India, but it\u2019s like it is day ten. Every step, every glance this or that way triggers \u201cGosh!\u201d, \u201cUnbelievable!\u201d, \u201cWow!\u201d At the edge of the world you suddenly emerge from this local colorful scene and find yourself in an old, rattling Soviet car! Something is whizzing in the car, to a certain extent it sounds like music and the driver happily sings along with it. He even moves as if dancing a little \u2013 we are on our way, good bye the dusty bus!<\/p>\n
Soon gloomy stone huts came into sight on both side of the road.<\/p>\n
– Is it already the town?<\/p>\n
– Yes, ma\u2019am \u2013 I catch the notes of subservience in his voice.<\/p>\n
– \u201cMa\u2019am?\u201d Oh, yeah..<\/p>\n
I remind myself, that now I am a \u201cma\u2019am\u201d, like any other white woman in India. This word \u201cma\u2019am\u201d is an officially accepted form of respect, but it borders with a servile submission so close that evokes the most secret instincts to domineer. You will not have a similar experience in a prim and proper Europe, far less in patriarchal Russia. I saw later, and not just once, that the plain-looking European women\u2019s eyes light up from these small, but tuned with an urge of domineering signs of submissiveness.<\/p>\n
– Is this already a town??!<\/p>\n
– Yes, ma\u2019am!<\/p>\n
– Where shall I live?\u00a0 – I feel uncomfortable from the thought that I will be boxed up in some awful place.<\/p>\n
– We are going to a big lake, ma\u2019am, with boats \u2013 big house-boats.<\/p>\n
Does he speak primitive English or is it his speech that is so primitive? I wonder \u2013 is he so stupid? Or does he think I am stupid?<\/p>\n
– This lake is called Dal Lake \u2013 he talks to me as if with a two-year old.<\/p>\n
Suburb!… Though, in India suburbs often do not differ from the centre of the town, especially if the town is not too large. Srinagar was the capital of Jammu and Kashmir State, and I was lucky to see that the dirt and misery are the same everywhere \u2013 both in the centre and on the outskirts.<\/p>\n
Roads full of potholes, houses somewhat ruined and darkened from dampness, innumerable rubbish piles everywhere\u2026\u00a0 this is how I would imagine a town after a nuclear blast. I cannot get used to the dirt surrounding me, even the scenery seems to be dusty and spiritless\u2026 Fifteen minutes of restlessness and fits of anxiety, and at last we approach a big lake \u2013 a wide picturesque patch between the shacks and the parks. It brings peace and freshness into the tense atmosphere from the street fuss, full of the figures of militant gunmen.<\/p>\n
– Venice of Kashmir! Rum smiled contently, darting his eyes in the direction of the lake. He definitely tried to lift the surge of my emotions, to make me admit \u201chis\u201d place is very beautiful.<\/p>\n
I finally scan this creature \u2013 more short than tall, impossible to guess his age. By local standards he is not dressed cheaply, but very untidy, like the overwhelming majority of Hindus. No wrinkles, his skin is smooth, elasticity like a teenager\u2019s, but the glance is not of a teenager. His manners are cheerful, but in his eyes there is something evoking sadness to me, though I am too tired to be concerned and I just view the surroundings.<\/p>\n
Along the lake the house boats form long rows that merge into the lotus haze. The names of the houses trigger emotions which are common for all the beginners of truth seekers\u2026 \u201cThe retreat of Shiva\u201d, \u201cDancing Shakti\u201d, \u201cThe Smile of Lakshmi\u201d, \u201cPrema Paradise\u201d, \u201cSleeping Krishna\u201d\u2026 I jump into a large colourful boat which resembles a gondola with Indian ornaments and an ornamental canopy. With pleasure I flop on a small coach with cushions, I want to lounge in this boat a long time, at last I can relax from the trip, from anxiety\u2026 it\u2019s good here, I can live on this lake! The silent gondolier set down the oar and we moved towards lanes and alleys somewhere far in this aquatic Harlem.<\/p>\n
The boat made a turn between the house boats, then another turn, and another\u2026 it looked like streets on the water. There were practically no people, but those that are there, stare at me, as if I am an exotic creature from another world. Somebody smiles, but most of the curious onlookers are wary and even displeased. Possibly, their discontentment is caused by the smaller and diminishing number of tourists in these places due to the recent war, and now this number is close to the nil… Tourism is their main source of income, and now they see I am not on my own, their faces reflect a bitter understanding that I am already in somebody\u2019s net, I am already going somewhere\u2026 The permanent anticipation of the possible military conflict with Pakistan, as well as continuous terrorist acts of Kashmir separatists have turned this paradise of the1980s into a cheerless land of greedy swindlers, and tourists do not like it, and I also do not like it.<\/p>\n
(Why the hell am I here??)<\/i><\/p>\n
The gondolier is humming monotonously, but with feeling. I cannot relax after my long trip, maybe I will make myself comfortable on the cushions? Rum approves of it with a nod and adds in English something like \u201cyour way was very long, ma\u2019am, but it will make your rest even sweeter\u2026\u201d Regular water splashes, slightly wobbling of the boat, the silence of the lake\u2026 large lotus flowers that pass us by\u2026<\/p>\n
My eyes close, though I still remember where I am\u2026 and also I remember\u2026 The scenes of my dream pierced reality and in the pearly reflection of the lake I see myself in a strange town, Rum is walking next to me and is telling me something. He is my guide and I follow him. We approach a very strange building, and I cannot understand what makes this building so strange to me? I turn back to Rum to ask him, but he is not around. I again look at the building \u2013 this is either a dilapidated palace, or an ancient Hindu temple, forgotten by God and by people, but definitely there is something in it that I know about\u2026 I can nearly smell the scent of hot rocks, the odour of fumigated wood\u2026 all is so familiar and so far away\u2026<\/p>\n
– Welcome, ma\u2019am! \u2013 At the time these words were said, the boat bumped into the concrete piles that supported the staircase leading to a house.<\/p>\n
With a shudder I woke up. On a small wooden platform in front of the house there is a young Hindu, dressed all in white \u2013 wide pants and a long shirt, reaching nearly to his knees.<\/p>\n
– How was your trip?<\/p>\n
I did\u2019t want to tell him the whole story about the trip, how I was cheated by the tour agency, when they promised the journey would only be twenty hours long, and actually it took thirty hours, and how hard it was to sit for those thirty hours actually in one position, and how much that pose was so uncomfortable (but you know for yourself, why ask stupid questions, better let me have a warm bath and wide soft bed and fluffy towels\u2026<\/i>), so I just answered politely \u201cOK\u201d and got off the boat, refusing Rum\u2019s helping hand.\u00a0 I still have this unclear feeling that in my dream something significant has happened, and if I could go on dreaming, I would reveal the mystery of the temple\u2026 I feel slightly irritated with the man in white\u2026 Rum exchanged a few phrases with him, accompanying his speech with active gestures, then easily jumped into the boat and gave a sign to leave. The boat started moving away from the small berth, and again I saw something inexpressibly sad in his eyes. He didn\u2019t even look stupid any more, I even felt sorry for him, as if for a sad child\u2026<\/p>\n
– Good bye, ma\u2019am! We will never know if we meet again, but if you ever need a guide, – my heart missed a beat at the moment, – ask Shafi, – he pointed at the man in white, – he will find me.<\/p>\n
He offered me to be my guide \u2013 as if he overheard or looked into my dream! Such strange coincidences \u2026 it cannot be the act of a chance, especially now, when the air starts as if buzzing\u2026 If I cannot find a clear interpreting of such a coincidence, it still remains meaningful \u2013 at the moment when it happens, I experience a certain something that takes me outside of commonness and everyday life rules. The moment itself already has a hint that there is something else, maybe beyond my comprehension so far, but if I pay attention to it \u2013 who knows where these signs can lead me?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It has been15 hours that our bus has been driving through the gorge. The bus slowly drags along the serpentine road, which is so narrow, that there is hardly enough space for the bus to pass a jeep. The left side of the bus from time to time appears to hang out over the gorge, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":5871,"menu_order":2,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-6899","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n