Friday, August 03, 2007
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
At the airport hub: People moved all around me. I couldn't help from staring. The diversity of ethnic backgrounds really hit me. There were Hispanics, Asians, African Americans, Caucasions, etc. People were waiting for local buses, private limos, shuttles, cars, etc. In LA, you could be a starbucks coffee toting Buddhist in traditional garb walking a poodle with silver studded black leather collar and you would perfectly fit in. I love LA.
( Not too long ago. When someone i.e Malaysian international student, an Australian student entertaining studying in US enlisted LA as the city they most coveted to see, I silently cringed. I cannot stand LA.)
But today. I love LA. Those words would come out of my mouth repeatedly.
Upon arrival at Venice beach. The guys playing B-Ball. The original Golds Gym. The realization no one is haggling me. No one even notices me. Girls in rollerblades. Corndogs. Cheeseburgers. Bling Bling flashing. The cool ocean breeze. The stretch of sand. Again, such a diversity of people enjoyin themselves.
During my first swim in the Pacific.
While watching the lifeguards as they do their tag team drills. Kayak. Swimmin. Rafting. Ripple of muscles and sinew cutting fluidly through the surf as the sun set.
At my first visit to a Kwik-ee mart where a line of people formed outside. (To celebrate the Simpsons movie, 30 7-11s were converted to Kwikee mart. Coincidentally, the one I went to were staffed by Indians).
And being greeted my a familiar face. A friend of the sea creatures and writer of scripts, I met not so long ago in Thailand. Ben turned out to be a pro bona fide host. Don't think you'll be reading this, but THANKS!
( Not too long ago. When someone i.e Malaysian international student, an Australian student entertaining studying in US enlisted LA as the city they most coveted to see, I silently cringed. I cannot stand LA.)
But today. I love LA. Those words would come out of my mouth repeatedly.
Upon arrival at Venice beach. The guys playing B-Ball. The original Golds Gym. The realization no one is haggling me. No one even notices me. Girls in rollerblades. Corndogs. Cheeseburgers. Bling Bling flashing. The cool ocean breeze. The stretch of sand. Again, such a diversity of people enjoyin themselves.
During my first swim in the Pacific.
While watching the lifeguards as they do their tag team drills. Kayak. Swimmin. Rafting. Ripple of muscles and sinew cutting fluidly through the surf as the sun set.
At my first visit to a Kwik-ee mart where a line of people formed outside. (To celebrate the Simpsons movie, 30 7-11s were converted to Kwikee mart. Coincidentally, the one I went to were staffed by Indians).
And being greeted my a familiar face. A friend of the sea creatures and writer of scripts, I met not so long ago in Thailand. Ben turned out to be a pro bona fide host. Don't think you'll be reading this, but THANKS!
Sunday, April 08, 2007
String Attached NOTES
"Wow, I had no idea that kties were such a great way to get at the essence of waht Lucknow is and I can't wait to do some more exploring on my own. But first I should learn how to fly one and that is a long road. But when you come back, I will be challenging you to a duel."
-resident (Lucknow)
"A kite-such a thing once in someone's hadns forget abouteating, drinking, sleeping,...."
Salamat Thali, manjha maker (Lucknow)
"We meet at Rishikesh Ram Jhula Beach and enjoy the kites _ _ _ _ _ _ the same partners. Place is peacefall at River Holy Gangi, your kite went to water. So you want to enjoy more I bring a few kites again at about 2'0 clock in afternoon I am glad feel pleasure in your company. "
K.K. Gauti saddhu (Rishikesh)
"Wow, I had no idea that kties were such a great way to get at the essence of waht Lucknow is and I can't wait to do some more exploring on my own. But first I should learn how to fly one and that is a long road. But when you come back, I will be challenging you to a duel."
-resident (Lucknow)
"A kite-such a thing once in someone's hadns forget abouteating, drinking, sleeping,...."
Salamat Thali, manjha maker (Lucknow)
"We meet at Rishikesh Ram Jhula Beach and enjoy the kites _ _ _ _ _ _ the same partners. Place is peacefall at River Holy Gangi, your kite went to water. So you want to enjoy more I bring a few kites again at about 2'0 clock in afternoon I am glad feel pleasure in your company. "
K.K. Gauti saddhu (Rishikesh)
To leave Delhi gift of relief. The acrobatics to secure a visa to Vietnam kept me in Delhi longer than I needed.
I took residence in Pahar Gang, an area adjacent to the New Delhi Railway swarming with the backpacker species. Something overcame me. what I am not sure. I transformed into a monster of consumption. I amassed goods: indulging in eye candy: stainless steel lunchboxes, kashmir tea, books, and colorful fabrics... The want endless. The more I collected, the more my range of freedom got restricted. I accumulated so much stuff that I became immobilized in my bed- bug infested hotel room. The truth is I got lost in these indulgences, in the game of bargaining and acquisition.
Once I had my visa, I went straight to post, parcel my packrat collections, and then Houdini out.
During the last 24 hours, I travel across the country, hop a train to catch a flight to Kolkata. Case of spontaneous choice coinciding with original palns to return to Kolkata. I thought it would be one of those masochistic ventures, not to have waited for the offices to reopen after the elections, to book a flight from Delhi. But I craved fresh air (breath that did not coat my nose with grime and burn my throat) and wanted no more of the fluorescent night, dim interiored mornings, or vortex of Pahar Gang, Peace out.
I slept more comfortably on the sleeper class train than I did the entire week in Delhi. Credit it to fresh ventilated air and exhaustion. The second leg of the journey turn out to be on masochistic side(not so bad beacuse expectantly so), without a bed secured, I sat 17+ hours. there,, I contemplated the comfort of a seat on Biman Bangledesh fleet and a 5-star hotel in Dhaka layover.
But I am glad for the chance to meet certain passengers, see Varanassi, and fall in love with India again, as the emerald chapati fields, mud brick houses, village cricket game, women collecting water, ...peering out from my passenger window to these rolling simple scenes of the life of rural people, cast in the dust, light, and mist of dawn lifting.
I folded two origami cranes for 2 girly munchkins and flew a miniature kite (made from a broken frame and plastic wrapping for cashews).
Yes, I am glad for this leisure train pace to say goodbye to India.
At Howrah I am back in the rush. I bypass the taxis (300RS) and rickshaws...ignore the recommendations of the staff and official (because I know a minibus exists despite their insistence of "it is impossible madam" and also because I only have pocket change remaining). Shuffling pacing further inquiring, I find the elusive minibus to the airport (7RS). As the bus L238 speeds pass the autotransport (mentally cheered on at added advantage) to Dum Dum international terminal, I mentally travel down lanes we pass to my favorite samoasa shop, chai stand, book binding shop,...alleys where I first lost and found myself in India. I surprise at all I recognize and remember. I think this is good somehow to see Kolkata again, to be awe by the berth and weight of things ppl carry on their heads,..to feel this sense of familiarity in a foreign land, to leave the same way as I came...only that the person who came is same same but different.
I took residence in Pahar Gang, an area adjacent to the New Delhi Railway swarming with the backpacker species. Something overcame me. what I am not sure. I transformed into a monster of consumption. I amassed goods: indulging in eye candy: stainless steel lunchboxes, kashmir tea, books, and colorful fabrics... The want endless. The more I collected, the more my range of freedom got restricted. I accumulated so much stuff that I became immobilized in my bed- bug infested hotel room. The truth is I got lost in these indulgences, in the game of bargaining and acquisition.
Once I had my visa, I went straight to post, parcel my packrat collections, and then Houdini out.
During the last 24 hours, I travel across the country, hop a train to catch a flight to Kolkata. Case of spontaneous choice coinciding with original palns to return to Kolkata. I thought it would be one of those masochistic ventures, not to have waited for the offices to reopen after the elections, to book a flight from Delhi. But I craved fresh air (breath that did not coat my nose with grime and burn my throat) and wanted no more of the fluorescent night, dim interiored mornings, or vortex of Pahar Gang, Peace out.
I slept more comfortably on the sleeper class train than I did the entire week in Delhi. Credit it to fresh ventilated air and exhaustion. The second leg of the journey turn out to be on masochistic side(not so bad beacuse expectantly so), without a bed secured, I sat 17+ hours. there,, I contemplated the comfort of a seat on Biman Bangledesh fleet and a 5-star hotel in Dhaka layover.
But I am glad for the chance to meet certain passengers, see Varanassi, and fall in love with India again, as the emerald chapati fields, mud brick houses, village cricket game, women collecting water, ...peering out from my passenger window to these rolling simple scenes of the life of rural people, cast in the dust, light, and mist of dawn lifting.
I folded two origami cranes for 2 girly munchkins and flew a miniature kite (made from a broken frame and plastic wrapping for cashews).
Yes, I am glad for this leisure train pace to say goodbye to India.
At Howrah I am back in the rush. I bypass the taxis (300RS) and rickshaws...ignore the recommendations of the staff and official (because I know a minibus exists despite their insistence of "it is impossible madam" and also because I only have pocket change remaining). Shuffling pacing further inquiring, I find the elusive minibus to the airport (7RS). As the bus L238 speeds pass the autotransport (mentally cheered on at added advantage) to Dum Dum international terminal, I mentally travel down lanes we pass to my favorite samoasa shop, chai stand, book binding shop,...alleys where I first lost and found myself in India. I surprise at all I recognize and remember. I think this is good somehow to see Kolkata again, to be awe by the berth and weight of things ppl carry on their heads,..to feel this sense of familiarity in a foreign land, to leave the same way as I came...only that the person who came is same same but different.
I find myself wanting to combineand repeat these two events over and over until the date ofmy death: the first kite in my youth flying up there in theclouds coupled with the event in Khajuraho. I imagine it hovering quietly in the sky above and my older self sharing something precious there in the magical kingdom of India, something precious,beyond telling, something which had the power to enter into our being. From that moment changing forever our character, who we are. - Tal Streeter
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
I got word that a friend from Australia, past away... "physically departed the premises" oka past away at Hotel in Everest.
the sadness did not really hit me under early hours in the morning. memories of yoga underneath a Eucalyptus treeful of parrots...his rigid balancing pose, the hunt for boxing kangaroo emblems...the search for tasmanian devil and his chivalrous flight at the commotion of possums (he left me behind, this brings me amusement)...surprise me the details that return, his generous application of gel and mosquito repellent, cologne and all things fragrant inspire moans from our group...my tears came from sadness but also joy and laughter, for the gift of these memories, for him.
I thought about floating out a fire offering on a leaf with a parcel of my favorite apple pie on the river gange.
Instead, I flew a kite for him. on its banks. A red indian patang, diagonal shaped with a small blue patch on bottom tip. It lifted swiftly and soared in the strong morning wind. On three occassions, it plummetted, the first two times, I was able to rescue with a few desperate tugs. The third, the river took. we fished it out. A piece glimmering with sand to the wind and the rest buried on the side of the boulder where the sunset light graces.
During its flight, the kite inspired much happiness and smiles...and brought a curious bunch of people together, a beach yogic recluse, a chai (tea) seller, BabaG(ashram temple caretaker), and a me.
the sadness did not really hit me under early hours in the morning. memories of yoga underneath a Eucalyptus treeful of parrots...his rigid balancing pose, the hunt for boxing kangaroo emblems...the search for tasmanian devil and his chivalrous flight at the commotion of possums (he left me behind, this brings me amusement)...surprise me the details that return, his generous application of gel and mosquito repellent, cologne and all things fragrant inspire moans from our group...my tears came from sadness but also joy and laughter, for the gift of these memories, for him.
I thought about floating out a fire offering on a leaf with a parcel of my favorite apple pie on the river gange.
Instead, I flew a kite for him. on its banks. A red indian patang, diagonal shaped with a small blue patch on bottom tip. It lifted swiftly and soared in the strong morning wind. On three occassions, it plummetted, the first two times, I was able to rescue with a few desperate tugs. The third, the river took. we fished it out. A piece glimmering with sand to the wind and the rest buried on the side of the boulder where the sunset light graces.
During its flight, the kite inspired much happiness and smiles...and brought a curious bunch of people together, a beach yogic recluse, a chai (tea) seller, BabaG(ashram temple caretaker), and a me.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
"
Namaste TJW!
Kites darting and fleeting, jousting restless in the sunset skies above the dome and spire rooftops of an ancient Mughal kingdom, this is the beauty that steals my time in Lucknow. "
On Jarard's motorbike, we speed underneath ancient goldfish inscripted gates. This is the old Lucknow, with its breathtaking architecture. I had no idea. By feeling, I suspect we are moving into a more different area of lucknow. There are many completely covered women. Longer lingering stares from the pedestrians. Currently I have been anticipatign whiplash with my hands near Jarard's waist. I start to feel self-conscious about touch. And look around for appropriate ways to hold and seat myself. I have difficulty finding examples of woman travelling with a man on motorbike. I adjust my hand to brace his back upon abrupt stops.
We speed down lanes nearly missing a Muslim Shiite woman buying milk, her eyes peering from curtain of black that conceals her body.
Above another Muslim woman shakes out sheets of fabric that rolls down the side of building, laundry out to dry. I gasp when my eyes extend beyond her, there are so many patangs in the skies. I call Jarard's attn to it, "Look!" "I know he says. And thought the better of it, we are moving so fast through narrow alley. Having trusted my day's program to Jarard, I do not question where we are going, just hoping that is closer to scene of these patang. Blur of Hindi, directions feedback, on off motorbike, doors open close, backagain, uturns,... we are on the rooftop of Jarard's uncle. He shows me his pigeons, a hobby. The men chat. I am happy to watch the dance of the patang. Silohuettes of kiteflyers from distant rooftops, their heads bent to the sky. The sun is setting. Jarard calls out my name. Behind me, his "uncle" son has taken my jerky and set a purple patang up. "They are flying it for you!." Jarard tells me. I am all smiles watching patang lift higher and higher joining the pagentry above. The son hands me the line, and I let the line run between my fingers and thumb as I was shown earlier. It's not long, before the line goes slack between my forefingers. It plummets and catches between two powerline. I am concern, (Louie the Lightning Bug, "No playing kites around powerlines" jingle through my head). They tell me not to worry, the lines here are not naked.
The son, with expert maneuver, skillfully sets the dangling kite in flight, and flicks it from beneath and out from between the lines several hundred meters away. Amazing!
Namaste TJW!
Kites darting and fleeting, jousting restless in the sunset skies above the dome and spire rooftops of an ancient Mughal kingdom, this is the beauty that steals my time in Lucknow. "
On Jarard's motorbike, we speed underneath ancient goldfish inscripted gates. This is the old Lucknow, with its breathtaking architecture. I had no idea. By feeling, I suspect we are moving into a more different area of lucknow. There are many completely covered women. Longer lingering stares from the pedestrians. Currently I have been anticipatign whiplash with my hands near Jarard's waist. I start to feel self-conscious about touch. And look around for appropriate ways to hold and seat myself. I have difficulty finding examples of woman travelling with a man on motorbike. I adjust my hand to brace his back upon abrupt stops.
We speed down lanes nearly missing a Muslim Shiite woman buying milk, her eyes peering from curtain of black that conceals her body.
Above another Muslim woman shakes out sheets of fabric that rolls down the side of building, laundry out to dry. I gasp when my eyes extend beyond her, there are so many patangs in the skies. I call Jarard's attn to it, "Look!" "I know he says. And thought the better of it, we are moving so fast through narrow alley. Having trusted my day's program to Jarard, I do not question where we are going, just hoping that is closer to scene of these patang. Blur of Hindi, directions feedback, on off motorbike, doors open close, backagain, uturns,... we are on the rooftop of Jarard's uncle. He shows me his pigeons, a hobby. The men chat. I am happy to watch the dance of the patang. Silohuettes of kiteflyers from distant rooftops, their heads bent to the sky. The sun is setting. Jarard calls out my name. Behind me, his "uncle" son has taken my jerky and set a purple patang up. "They are flying it for you!." Jarard tells me. I am all smiles watching patang lift higher and higher joining the pagentry above. The son hands me the line, and I let the line run between my fingers and thumb as I was shown earlier. It's not long, before the line goes slack between my forefingers. It plummets and catches between two powerline. I am concern, (Louie the Lightning Bug, "No playing kites around powerlines" jingle through my head). They tell me not to worry, the lines here are not naked.
The son, with expert maneuver, skillfully sets the dangling kite in flight, and flicks it from beneath and out from between the lines several hundred meters away. Amazing!
Friday, January 12, 2007
"Kite"
New Zealand Maori manu taratahi
Malaysia Melayu: Kelantan state wau Johor state (& Indonesia) layang layang
Thailand wau
India Hindi patang
Vietnam Vietnamese dieu
Can you guess the country or language for the following?
tako
drachen
feng zheng
yeon
papalote
cometas
leija
kajto
drake
Answers:
tako Japanese
feng zheng Mandarin
yeon Korean
papalote Spanish (Mexican)
cometas Spanish
leija French
kajto Esperanto
drake Swedish
Know any others? Add a comment.
New Zealand Maori manu taratahi
Malaysia Melayu: Kelantan state wau Johor state (& Indonesia) layang layang
Thailand wau
India Hindi patang
Vietnam Vietnamese dieu
Can you guess the country or language for the following?
tako
drachen
feng zheng
yeon
papalote
cometas
leija
kajto
drake
Answers:
tako Japanese
feng zheng Mandarin
yeon Korean
papalote Spanish (Mexican)
cometas Spanish
leija French
kajto Esperanto
drake Swedish
Know any others? Add a comment.
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