MIDNIGHT TRAIN RIDE #1
The rhythm of a train rolling through the country side
at night, "Tuk, ka tuk, ka tuk, tuk, tuk," the
bellowing call of the chai wallas, each one in his own
distinct melody, pitch and rhythm, "Chhaaaaiii!
Chaaaiii! Copi, Copi, Copi," The noisy silence of the
late night stops, the children begging for rupees and
food, "Ma, Ma, Ma!" Despite my lack of sleep and
sudden digestive troubles, I switch on the mini-disc
and try to capture as much as possible.

There's absolutely nothing that could have prepared me
for the all-sense symphony of India.

Mumbai. All that you've been told, seen in photos or
may have heard about this city of romantic
destination, cannot begin to describe the chaos and
vitality that envelops you as the door to the
airplane opens and hot, thick midnight air fills your
lungs along with the smell of disinfectant cleaners,
human bodies, car exhaust, cooking fires and spice.

In India, it seems, there are no lines that make
sense. The streets curve round and round. There are no
lanes or stop signs, and all the driving is on the
left. No one waits in line. Everyone huddles. At
intersections, if a driver chooses to stop, the cars
and rickshaws cluster, vying for position, cutting off
one another, playing chicken with pedestrians and
motor scooters.

Everywhere I go I feel that to stand in line is to
become lost...no, prey. The feeling of being
short-changed is a constant reality that is a dilemma.
On the one hand everything is so relatively
inexpensive compared to western standards. On the
other hand, no one likes to be cheated. Like a swarm
of thirsty mosquitoes, there comes a point when you
just can't slap anymore and you let em have a little
blood.

All this in the mood of awe and without sleep. Like
being in a totally alien world with so many new sights
and sounds or seeing a color for the very first time,
little distractions don't really matter.

"Tuk, ka tuk, ka tuk, tuk, tuk..."

On a train heading for Tirupati and Tirumala in the
south, I finally began to hear the music. Its in
everyone. Its in the chatter of the passenger cars and
the cooing of a mother to her child. The mysterious
ragas and melodies that have always fascinated me are
here, oozing from the walls of a dark night.
Illuminated by a small dung fire on a train platform
in a tiny village in the middle of absolutely nowhere,
a family, sings baijans to God with such deep
sincerity, I nearly weep.

"Om Namo, Om Namo, Om Namo, Om Namo Shivaya..."

There is no difference between daily life and
spiritual life. Everything is dedicated to God and
requires ritual and devotion. The performing of a
Pooja at the beginning of the working day is nearly
compulsory. Even money received by shopkeepers and
vendors is often touched to the forehead and offered
to the Lord. Everything is a song for the Almighty

"Chhaaaaiii! Chaaaiii! Copi, Copi, Copi..."

Coffee sucks in India. What I wouldn't do for a good
cup of "Fair Trade Organic" right about now.

Sound, sound, I am swimming in a sea of sounds. I
always thought it would be hard to sleep in such a
noisy place. Hell, after living in New York I thought
the rest of my life would be a meditation retreat. But
there's something different about the pandemonium.
There seems to be an inter-connectedness, a purity of
necessity, a calling out, to God, to one another. I am
suspicious and plan to delve deeper but sleep is good
when you can get it here.

"Tuk, ka tuk, ka tuk, tuk, tuk..."

3rd class sleeper rolls into Indian pre-dawn darkness.
In its wake, a silence of the variety filled with
crickets, dog-barks and cattle-lowing engulfs the
deserted tracks. A single strained voice of one
singing old man is heard in time to the rhythm of
sandals shuffling and metal water can clanging.

Did I mention that train tracks are where
many Indians do their morning, ahem...business?

God is everywhere.