A vetti day occupation

Road of diametric opposites – The road to theosophical society in Beasant Nagar. Treacherous, well-paved, smooth ride with deadly curves and juddering rumblers, tree lined and streamlined traffic, steady drones, dying moans, rising wails, skid marks, spaced out – adrenaline pumping succumbs to composure as green exudes O2 enticing a pranayama quickie.

Sputter into theosophical society’s old gates and roll on a died down engine rolling till you bump to a stop under a tree. Sweet smell of flowers with highly nose pinching sticky sweet smell of rotting flora and fauna. All natural. Lemon yellow butterflies, pretty sedate moths, shriveling fungi, chameleons sunning themselves, sparrows looking busy, pigeons emitting their signature guttural talk, parrots acting like hoity-toits squawking and zipping all over the place. And then there’s the library, comfortable, co-existing and non-intrusive.

Musty books are guarded zealously in large rooms. The only place a reader knows is the shiny slippery smooth glinting mosaic and comfortable reading tables and wooden chairs with 2 parallel racks stacked with magazines of theosophy, philosophy and the environment in English, French and Polish and Space! Breathe easy. Mind space expands to gigantic proportions. Time lapse. The sun never looked prettier in any room…personal.

Getting back to the possessiveness that is the core of theosophical society apart from the things it is generally known for, the reader has to go through catalogues, scrawl numbers with a blunt pencil on lil squares and wait for 45 minutes to an hour for the books to be tracked, dusted and brought down. Well, one can enjoy time lapse but to assume that it’s a norm is a lil unsettling.

More cribs – Firang-sucker hatred takes root quite strongly. Borrowing membership is selective. Walking membership is selective. Apart from the theosophists who live there you see just firangs…mostly. Got nothing against them. Cross my heart. Just the management irks me. A walking membership requisition letter is necessary. Fine. But it’s not just a requisition. You gotta state why you want to walk there and why not the beach. Now really people got their quirks you know. The fact that the place is beautiful isn’t enough?! And then someone there decides if it’s reason enough, then you get to tread on those lovely dirt pathways with mango groves and the famed banyan tree, footsteps hushed by fallen flowers, sun streaks winking at you, and alternating gaps of warm and cool which surprise you every four steps, smothered by tweeters and crickets, sweetened silence.

As I was mulling over this, over the unfairness of it all, that I who live in this city, down the road from this personal space would have to wait for a whole freaking year, The Wasteland came along or so I thought. Turned out to b a criticism of The Wasteland. Happens when it’s just numbers and not books you’re thumbing through.

Fell in love with a freaky passage likened to psychedelic rock and got mighty troubled by its roots.

Here it is…

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are
those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked
earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only.
What is the city over the
mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling
towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
A woman drew
her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those
strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat
their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside
down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And
voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

This land that was desolate is become like the garden of Eden; and the waste
and desolate and ruined cities are become fenced and are inhabited…
Ez.36:
26; 34-5; 38

The last bit bothers me…more like nudge nudge and pops questions. Who? What? How? And just why? Why?

Strode off on a lil tangent after this and had Never ending math equation by Modest Mouse on a loop. Check them out…

I'm the same as I was when I was 6 years old
And oh my God I feel so damn old
I don't really feel anything
On a plane, I can see the tiny lights below
And oh my God, they look so alone
Do they really feel anything?
Oh my God, I've gotta gotta gotta gotta move on
Where do you move when what you're moving from
Is yourself?
The universe works on a math equation
that never even ever really ends in the end
Infinity spirals out creation
We're on the tip of its tongue, and it is saying
We aint sure where you stand
You aint machines and you aint land
And the plants and the animals, they are linked
And the plants and the animals eat each other
Oh my God and oh my cat
I told my Dad what I need
Well I know what I have and want
But I don't know what I need
Well, he said he said he said he said
"Where we're going I'm dead."