The dry yellow grass of Californian hills gave way to more and more trees as we entered the area of Yosemite mountains. We reached Olmstead point just after sunset and made our way towards our lodge. We stopped to eat a late lunch/early dinner (linner as we have started to call it) under the stars near Tioga Lake. We had been watching the weather and Santosh was worried about the cloud cover predicted. We saw half the sky full on stars on that night itself.
The sound, smell and sight of a storm are reassuring and comforting to me. I sit here thousands of miles away listening to Ghanana ghanana from Lagaan for a moment transported to Bangalore. The breeze outside is warm and whispers promises of a downpour. I feel peaceful and content.
I’ve been having smell hallucinations of various things which just take me back to moments and feelings of when I was a child, and dreams about family and boats.
Let me narrate another interesting bike story: My bike is a brown-maroon sports gear bike called Spirit. It doesn’t have a bell but it does have a dim and moody light. A friend took me to the back of the student building where bikes are fixed. I could buy one from them or pick a discarded one and spend some time fixing it to take it away for free, the only charges being for the spare parts I buy from them.
I suddenly realize I am a machine. I do the same things everyday. I’ve stopped feeling. I’ve stopped thinking.
I’m too busy with my life. I’ve grown far away from childhood. I’m passive. I’ve stopped caring…cold, inert, dead. I’m insensitive and superficial. Everything I thought I shouldn’t grow into. I’ve become that machine.
This yellow evening,
Winds tell of rains to come.
A healthy, happy wind
That I haven’t felt for so long.
Dry mango leaves
Scrape along the concrete
Of my terrace.
Thunder from different directions
Kites dance in the wind
A Monsoon song.