Freedom in year 2012 has the taste of India: a sensation which resembles being sandwiched in between the oily D-cup sized bosoms of a fat Goddess, at 40 degrees Celsius. It definitely stinks and sucks, but after all, still feels like a woman.
Let me tell you, I love India as much as I hate it: chaotic, smelly, pretty dirty, but also divine, sublime, naturalistically beautiful, and so sacred it is impossible to put it into plain words.
I am back in India after one and a half years living la Muslim vida loca in Malaysia, and I am back with a plan: my Journey to the West. I have been planning and working hard on this for the past six months, and finally, I got myself kickstarted out of Southeast Asia, for a much needed change. Because even tropical paradise, after a while, starts stinking. Exactly like when I frequently forgot to throw out the Malaysian trash, and it transformed into a bowl of steaming vegetable skins and white, twirling maggots. Bleargh.
Journey to the West, we were saying. Yes, this is the plan for 2012, as it may be the last year for mankind, why spending it doing something I do not like? Why chasing money? Or fame? Or education? The Gods may be crazy, but they decided to send me off on the journey of a lifetime… or one of the new ones. I want to go back home for a little while, and I am trying to go without catching a flight. Yes, I had to in order to reach Kolkata, but let’s say this is part one of a bigger project. The Subcontinent, first. The rest, later. Damn visas.
So, here I am in India again. I took it slow, I got it sinking inside for two weeks before writing anything, I absorbed it as a Spongebob under running water, constantly keeping that silly smile. A cow to the left, a cow to the right, three hundred people on the bus when it should fit thirty, elbows in my teeth, buying a train ticket like winning the New Year’s lottery, and you have a chance over one million. I love it. It was much needed and a refreshing getaway from the pension-fund-owner-friendly chillness of Southeast Asia.
Kolkata was like doing acid in London and see the lamp posts lysergically transforming into twirling tentacles and reach for the yellow cabs, everywhere. I loved Akilesh and the boys from Kalimpong, thank you people for making my transition a lovely one. These Northeastern people are amazing; I will see you soon up there. Then, the coast of Orissa was a welcome change from the coldish climate of wintered West Bengal. Staying in a desert, scorched land just a few miles from the beach with a community of international surfers was another nice addition to the shopping list of experiences that this country can profuse left and right… om shanti om India.
Last but not least, the quiet home of my good friends Matteo and Carola in Bollophur was a welcoming haven of peace to recharge my batteries before jumping on the train again… tomorrow.
These are, in a whirlwind of a nutshell, the Indian experiences thus far: I did not do too much, for two weeks, or maybe I already did too many things and I do not realize as of yet. But my mood is high, and I am really looking forward breaking the keyboard and write as much as possible this year because the Monkey Dragon will be, like a bad Bruce Lee rip off made in Cinecitta’ by Lucio Fulci and Joe d’Amato in a tag wrestling team. Keep tuned, and support. More news on the Journey to the West will be disclosed as they become reality: at the present stage, consider it will entice rock and roll, charity, madness, mayhem and travel to the less fashionable corners of the known routes.