preparing to finally leave dharamsala, with some "life of pi" wisdom included for good measure

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what the hell? michael jackson was acquitted? gah. once again goes to show that money can buy anything.

so weak. had some bread yesterday. more today. enough to take some painkillers and a multivitamin. slept for 14 hours last night. so glad this happened up here in the mountains where the heat is non existant.

going to email our travel book "let's go" and let them know what we think about the goddamn om hotel. grrr.

sorry haven't been emailing people. will get back on that sometime...


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definitely starting to feel better. went out for kebabs and naan this afternoon, and then went to see a movie, 'be cool'. 30 RS ... so less than a dollar.

the boy who works at this internet cafe never charges us full price. he's sweet.

i'm going to miss dharamsala.

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one of my (mbaade's) favorite exchanges in yann martel's "life of pi". pgs 242-243.

pi has been floating at sea for hundreds of days. he has run out of food and water and has gone blind. suddenly he hears a voice. thinks it's a figment of his imagination. turns out it's another person, a frenchman to be exact, in another lifeboat.

I heard the words, 'Is someone there?"

It's astonishing what you hear when you're alone in the blackness of your dying mind. A sound without shape or colour sounds strange. To be blind is to hear otherwise.

The words came again, "Is someone there?"

I concluded that i had gone mad. Sad but true. Misery loves company, and madness calls it forth.

"Is someone there?" came the voice again, insistent.

The clarity of my insanity was astonishing. The voice had its very own timbre, with a heavy, weary rasp. I decided to play along.

"Of course someone's there," I replied. "There's always some one there. Who would be asking the question otherwise?"

"I was hoping there would be someone else."

"What do you mean, someone else? Do you realize where you are? If you're not happy with this figment ofyour fancy, pick another one. There are plenty of fancies to pick from."

Hmm. Figment. Fig-ment. Wouldn't a fig be good?

"So there's no one, is there?"

"Shush... I'm dreaming of figs."

"Figs! Do you have a fig? Please can I have a piece? I beg you. Only a little piece. I'm starving."

"I don't have just one fig. I have a whole figment."

"A whole figment of figs! Oh please, can I have some? I... "

The voice, or whatever effect of wind and waves it was, faded.

"They're plump and heavy and fragrant," I continued. "The branches of the tree are bent over, they are so weighed down with figs. There must be over three hundred figs in that tree."

Silence.

The voice came back again. "Let's talk about food..."

"What a good idea."


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more wisdom from 'life of pi' pg 285

What a terrible thing it is to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. It's important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left wtih words you should have said but never did, and your heart is always heavy with remorse. That bungled goodbye hurts me to this day.

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the narrator on indian food. pg 42.

He's a sweet man. Every time I visit he prepares a South Indian vegetarian feast. I told him I like spicy food. I don't know why I said such a stupid thing. It's a complete lie. I add dollop of yogurt after dollop of yogurt. Nothing doing. Each time it's the same: my taste buds shrivel up and die, my skin goes beet red, my eyes well up with tears, my head feels like a house on fire, and my digestive tract starts to twist and groan in agony like a boa constrictor that has swallowed a lawn mower.

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