Indian Journal
In a way, these two images say something of what the opening of Delhi felt like for me — physically, emotionally.
Hot, disconnected, out of focus — slightly poisonous.
Dizzying and entirely disorienting.
India(ns) 11.03
The character of Delhi is:
heated mirage
wavering, rippling
human meshed labyrinthine
buoyant
crying
exuberant
begging
foetid
enthusiastic
con ridden
fragrant
dust bounded
silent and clear(for a moment)
terrifying.
Meanwhile, great birds — raptors — wheel and loom everywhere; tropical birds sing; ravens chortle, myna’s parody and parrot caw…
I find that being here is difficult — the compression — in coming from the quietude of Bhutan, the rural honesty, the open-eyed clarity. It’s too tight; it’s too hot; it’s too hard. Focusing is impossible; the heat is dithering, withering; it’s dizzying.
But it’s alive — profoundly so alive that it’s a testament to living. Humanity — the web of living, beauty, work and the struggle to balance them all.
And there are things to see.
Like:
wander on, wanderer…
