Where To Now?

It is exactly one week until I hop onto that plane to Dubai and begin the first leg of my journey to Scotland. I was going to say, "home", but Scotland no longer feels like home to me, and I certainly don't have a "home" there. With the imminence of my departure from India - and my journey commences, in reality in just 4 or 5 days, to Delhi - I am face to face with the question: "where to now?" So, where exactly am I going? I really don't know. There are a number of options that have suggested themselves to me during my five and a half months away. The most appealing, so far, is to continue my quest for polyglottal excelence by studying and becoming fluent in Spanish. My game plan, originally, was to go and live in Cadiz and do a full-time course in Spanish, boosted to full immersion by living with a Spanish family. But I was slightly put off this course of action by several Spaniards that told me that the citizens of Cadiz speak the worst Spanish going (a sort of Glaswegian version of Spanish). I considered also Seville and Granada as further options. Then, after learning I would not be granted access to my daughter, I started considering options further afield, like Cuba, Costa Rica or Guatemala. But hell, right now I don't even know if I want to speak Spanish. Recently I read "The Alchemist" by Paolo Coehlo (which is a sort of new age entry level novel). It was hardly startling, but it did remind me that my destiny is to follow my dream. A simple observation, but one that led me to ask, am I following my dream? Coehlo suggests that as children we are all aware of our dreams and our destinies, but that we soon forget them. I don't know what I dreamed of as a small child, but the first thing I remember wanting to be when I was a kid was a train driver. I don't think train driving was my destiny. The first dream I remember having, which I actually attempted to pursue, was being a writer. It started with writing poetry when I was 14 and it ended when I was 42, when my first novel was published to next to no interest from anyone. I gave up then. Coehlo would say I shouldn't have. And maybe he's right. Maybe I should ressurect that dream again, and continue to pursue it all the way through the Valley of Failure until I reach the High Pass which will lead to who knows where? Dreams! I am haunted by the various unfinished novels in folders, gathering dust in a box in my father's house. Do I give up on those dreams once and for all? If I head off to Spain or Cuba to learn Spanish, will I also have time to write in English. So many questions. And meanwhile, my return to Scotland (and the end of my India dream) terrifies me. Back to the mean streets of Glasgow where shaven headed cro-magnons stalk each other in the name of religion and football, where violence is an everyday occurence, where fear accompanies nightfall (even in the bravest of souls). Glasgow, unreal city, lost in the dream of its own reality. The thought of returning there shocks me. And yes, okay, I'll only be there two nights (and in the sanctuary of my father's Hyndland flat) before heading up to the sacred Highlands for a week of yoga and meditation at Dhanakosa. But after Dhanakosa, what then? That big question prowls round the backwoods of my brain, as I attempt to remain steadfastly in the Here and Now. Here and Now, I've kinda done in the small of my back (again) and have been forced to rest up. No yoga today. None tomorrow either. And okay, it's a bit of a black cloud, but it does give me the silver lining of having free time to read the bible-sized and wonderful "Shantaram". Of course, silver linings also have clouds, and there is no cloud bigger for a wannabe writer than reading a masterpiece by a real writer. I could never write a "Shantaram". Or could I? Maybe if I didn't give up so fucking easily! Too easily discouraged. And, still facing that bloody question, "where to now?" After over five months away from Scotland, I still have no answers, just vague ideas. Lekin, koee bat nahee (but, no worries) for I will find a path when I get off that plane at Glasgow Airport. My one experience of life is that no matter how much I angst about the future I still wade into the future anyway and somehow find my feet. Glasgow will be just another staging post on my journey, and soon - in a matter of weeks or months - I will hardly ecven remember my arrival there. So, where to now? Who knows? I don't even think God knows!

The End Is Soon Nigh...

So, tomorrow I head down to McLeod Ganj and buy my bus ticket to Delhi. The end grows ever nigh-er. I've only got a few more days here, and then its the horrors of an overnight bus journey to the Capitol. Adios Dharamsala/ McLeod Ganj/ Dharamkot & Bhagsu. So, it's a week and a day until I get on the plane.... I was going to write some more here my friends, but I am now being SKYPED on both sides. Israeli on one side and English on the other. Whoever invented skype is going to burn in the lowest pit of hell, I swear. So, I think I'm just going to admit defeat and fuck off. Sorry, lots to tell, but no chance to concentrate. Next time I head off on my travels its with one of those sexy wee mini laptops. There's now 3 people skyping. Fuck me backwards... Dee retreats with seriously melted brain. Indeed I am now a Melted Rubber Human

The Countdown Begins

So, that's us into July. In exactly 10 days I will be on the plane out of India, heading to Dubai. In exactly two weeks I'll be arriving in Scotland. I cannae really believe it is so close now. And I am beginning to go through that process that so many of my traveller friends have gone through. I'm in the "denial" stage, at present, but as the days tick off I will start to get my shit together and get organised. How many days till I buy my bus ticket to Delhi? How long can I hold off for? Hmmm.... at the moment I'm in a bit of a dream, things have shifted and changed (yet again) in my absence, and my reason for returning to Scotland is not the same as it was when I began this trip. Now, my return to Scotland is purely pragmatic. I need to return to get my shit all organised for saying adios to Scotland long term. I guess I might even be going back to say goodbye forever. Who knows? In some ways it's quite exciting. The only thing that was anchoring me to the country has been cut away from me, and I am free to drift wherever I might. I'm sad to lose my wee girl, and I'm sadder even for her, but maybe my Ex is right. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe she doesn't need a dissolute, drifting Daddy. And who knows, maybe there's a step-Dad on the horizon (which might explain my ex's out of character decisions) and maybe he'll be a more dedicated, more focussed, more responsible Dad than ever I could be. Achha, que sera sera... if my ex ever decides I can see my daughter again, I'm only an email away. But in the meantime, I'm going to dream and plan, accepting the way things have changed. And, in the meantime, I'm going to focus as best I can on the here and now. This morning, I managed to get more into the yoga and stopped my mind from flitting over the events of the last 48 hours, and as a result I feel clearer and cleaner.

Stormy Weather

Today is the last of June: July following hard on its heels. So I've got exactly nine days before I head to Delhi, and my last stop in India before heading West (via Dubai) to Scotland... or... well, given my recent news, I could just say adios to my return ticket and head up to Nepal for a few months, and sit the monsoon out there. I could, I suppose... and then back down to India round September time? Except, I'm not really prepared financially (didn't put enough cash in my current account, and didn't bring all my details - was only planning to be away for three months) and also, not really prepared mentally or emotionally. So, I'm probably going to head back to Scotland anyway, for a wee while anyway. Okay, so I might not get to see my daughter, but I've got a yoga and meditation retreat with Angelika to look forward to, and maybe I could go to some festivals and do a bit of traveling round the UK, and maybe even Europe. Not sure what I'm going to do now. I guess all things are possible, or as they say here: "sab kuch milega". I'm back in my shantih internet cafe right now, only me and Henry here, and the sky has opened up big time, so I think I'll sit it out here and blog away for kingdowm come. Yesterday I got soaked through, walking back from Bhagsu. The heavens opened up, as they have done now. And this isn't even the official monsoon. They call this pre-monsoon rains here. Fuck! You should see it. Scottish rains are mere pussies in comparison. Yesterday the roads were rivers. Looks like they are going that way today. And, as I said yesterday, the weather is a reflection of the state of my heart. Last night I dreamed of Rosie, but not as she is now: as she was when she was 4 years old, and at her sweetest and most endearing. It was a delight to be reunited with her. I woke up sad and heavy, and full of guilt for having dragged her away to Spain when she was five, away from her friends and the environment she grew up in. She never really recovered from that, even upon our return to Glasgow. There's a part of me (albeit a futile part) that wishes I could clean the slate, return to 2005, not sell the house, not go to Spain, not rekindle my nomad spirit. I think of that wee girl, and wish I could undo the damage that's been done. And I worry for her now, being without a Dad. Everything needs its yin and its yang. Now there's no yang... and I worry about what will become of her. Maybe my worries are needless. Everyone thinks Su is a great mother. Maybe she can be a great mother and father too. I don't know. But my heart aches for my wee girl. I just don't think it will be good for her, growing up and no longer knowing her Dad. Or, maybe one day she will get to meet me again, if my ex deems that it is not detrimental to our daughter's well-being. One day... but when? These thoughts, and the remnants of my dream stayed with me all through my Kundalini Yoga session today. I couldn't get them out of my head, even whilst doing the breath of fire. I wish I could have scorched them out of my system. Not to say that the Kundalini Yoga has not been beneficial. I feel clearer and calmer today. I feel that I will make the necessary adjustments, and today my sorrow is not so much for myself, as for my daughter. But I am not totally clear and calm. I am quite angry at my Ex. I think she is wrong. But maybe it is me that is wrong. Maybe Rosie doesn't need me in her life. Maybe all she needs is her mother. Her mother was always more dependable than me. Friends always told me I was a good father, but the truth is I was only a good father some of the time. Other times I just couldn't deal with parenthood. Anyways, whatwever, I'm going to probably keep mulling this shit over for a while. I want to stop writing about it NOW, because it belongs to the land of tomorrow: it is not here and now. Here and now, I'm in my favourite, shanti, wee internet place, with Henry and Adam (who arrived 5 mins ago) and no-one else. It is chucking it down outside. There's lightning and hill-rattling thunder, and oh fuckity fuck, the power's going down.... gotta go!

The Rains Arrive Again...

Sometimes it sees that the weather goes to lengths to be symbolic. Yesterday afternoon, just after getting the email from my ex a storm blew in and the rains hamered on down. Today, drinking in the implications, the heavens have opened up and the street outside this Bhagsu internet cafe, where I am taking refuge, has turned into a river in spate. The rain makes me want to cry. A new email comes in from my ex to inform me that this situation is not for ever, but up for review, that maybe at some point in the future I might be allowed to see my daughter. Maybe. Not so much a headfuck as a heartfuck! So the rains tumble down... and tomorrow is the last day of June. After that I begin the countdown towards my departure from India. The 11th July looms large on the horizon. I'm glad I have a few days in Dubai before returning to Scotland.

Everything Changes (again)

I couldn't concentrate properly at Kundalini Yoga. We were supposed to be working on the crown chakra, but I just wan't there in spirit. My body did the moves and my lungs did the breathing, but my mind was utterly elsewhere. It was thinking about how I'm probably never going to see my daughter Rosie again. Yesterday, after the Aum Meditation (and after writing my blog) I opened up Gmail to see there was an email from my Ex. She has decided it is not in Rosie's best interest to see me, if I am not back in Scotland for good, that it would be disturbing for Rosie to see me for a few months and then for me to leave again. Personally, I think she is wrong, that it is better for Rosie to see me occasionally than not at all. I would certainly make the effort to visit Scotland 3 or 4 times a year so there is a continuity. The one thing I just cannot do though is remain in Scotland, living a sedentary life amongst bricks and mortar, in a state of financial water-treading and worrying about bills, jobs, mortgages and all that shit. I can't do it. I am a nomad by nature, and the rank life of Glasgow depresses my spirit to such an extent that I am not fit for fatherhood. Surely it is better for my daughter to occasionally see a spirited father living his dream rather than to have weekly visits to someone who is stable, but depressed, living just a couple of miles down the road. I just cannae live in Glasgow. It would not be good for either me or my daughter. Now, I previously wound my ex up something rotten by blogging about her and Rosie, or rather, blogging about my feelings about them. I definitely stepped over the mark (and realising this, deleted the posts). Bearing this in mind, I must emphasise quite strongly that what I am about to say is pure speculation, but I cannae help but feel my ex has a hidden agenda, that she wants me to suffer. I even think she might not be that conscious of such a desire, and that she genuinely believes her decision is in Rosie's best interest. Of course, I accept I am probably being paranoid here, but I just don't really know where my ex is at anymore. Her behaviour and approach to me since we split up has definitely been out of character. Regardless of whether or not she wants me to hurt, I think her decision is wrong for Rosie. Also, regardless of whether or not she wants me to hurt, I am hurting. I was looking forward to seeing Rosie when I got back. I was nervous about trying to reconnect with her. And now, with less than 2 weeks to go before I leave India, the carpet has been swept out from under my feet. The only real reason I was returning to Scotland was to see Rosie. If I'd known beforehand that this was going to happen, I'd have booked a single ticket and sorted my finances out properly so I could continue travelling. Now, I have to return to Scotland anyway... but, aside from a couple of visits to the bank, for what exactly? I am surprised at the strength of my grief right now. Didn't expect it. The nomad in me should be whooping and hollering, going wah-hey, because I now have the express permission of my ex to say adios to paternal responsibilities, and can travel forever, and if I wish, never return to Scotland... but the nomad in me is deathly silent right now. I'm grieving right now. And I guess with all my newly charged up chakras, I'm feeling that grief with extra poignancy. So, I'm writing it down here, because I must. I have no-one I can talk about it to here. My travelling companions are all 20-somethings, and lovely people, but they have no real conception of what it's like to be a parent, and when I shared my news with them last night they barely heard me and were very soon off on another track of conversation. So, I'm writing this for me, and also for those others out there who are enjoying the thorny fruits of parenthood.

Aum Meditation

Last night there was yet another reason to get drunk and stoned. It was, like the previous few nights, great fun. Somehow I've been surviving these assaults on my brain, liver, kidneys and lungs with no obvious effect. I put it down to the Kundalini Yoga, which is hardcore body and soul refreshment. I may even stagger towards One Nest, where it is held, but one and a half hours later, I am buzzing like a bee in the world's biggest flower. Today being Sunday, there was no yoga, and my drinking companions last night saw no reason for self-restraint, and encouraged me to abandon all common sense. I was, at the end of the night, one spliff short of barfing up my guts. The journey from Upper Bhagsu to Lower Dharamkot, along a rocky, not very clearly marked trail, will usually take about 15 minutes. Last night, it took about three years. Just getting up the steps from Unity Pizza took our giggling, falling about gang of drunken maniacs about 20 minutes. One, who shall remain nameless, almost wandered right over to where the land suddenly drops about 30 feet to a dry river bed. How we all got home without injury is miraculous, considering the state of us. What was more miraculous was that I actually woke up early and made it to the Aum Meditation. I prevaricated considerably about going. You see, it is a 12 step intensive meditation, and three of the steps I considered to be beyond my fairly expansive comfort zone. These were "hate", "crying" and "laughter". Jumping up and down, acting like a crazy and dancing like I love someone I've never met before do not faze me. I was most uncomfortable with the idea of yelling abuse at a stranger, and especially as it is the first stage of the meditation. Funnily enough, on the day, I managed to scream an unbelievable amount of abuse at a bunch of strangers who were also shouting abuse at me. We were all projecting. One person became my mother, another my sister, another the ginger heided little shit who bust my tooth when I was 9 years old. It was... cathartic! Unbelievably so. And that was just one stage of the meditation. Three hours later, the fifteen or so of us had hated and loved each other, shaken our Kundalini, acted like maddies, danced like angels and acknowledged the God and Goddess in each other; and in the end we all felt washed clean and utterly spent. It was an awesome experience, and one that I would highly recommend. So now, I'm off for my dinner, a beer (or possibly seven) and to say goodbye to a couple of friends who are on their way to Delhi tomorrow, and thereafter back to Germany and Russia. Another farewell... making me conscious that my own farewell is not so far away. But let's not think about that the now. There is beer to be drunk and tomorrow morning there is my Kundalini Yoga hangover cure!

Last Word on Jackson

I wish I'd never heard about Michael Jackson's death, as I have polluted my blog and Facebook and added my tuppence worth to the avalanche of news, comment and opinion about Michael Jackson's death. I should have just ignored it, but I couldn't. The celebrity industry annoys the crap out of me. It peddles the world's biggest lie, that some people are more important than others. Jackson was just a bloke what sang pop songs. That's all. He was no more important than a doctor or a bin man. His elevation to demi-God status and the eulogies after his death pissed me off so bad I had to comment. So, that's that. Now, back to India....

Michael Jackson - A Dead Paedophile

Man, oh man, my little trip to Kundalini Wonderland has been overshadowed by the death of a paedophile pop star. Man, that brother-fucker bought himself out of bad times by paying off his first accuser with millions of dollars. He managed to swing a not-guilty verdict when he was again accused, and everyone seems to think now he wasn't guilty. C'mon... do you honestly believe he just had "sleepovers" with all those little boys? D'you honestly believe he was some weird, sexless innocent? Well, from all the fawning media, facebook and blog comments I've read it seems like the whole world thinks Michael Jackson was some sort of brilliant (and innocent) genius. Eh? His songs were atrocious, pop pap. The only geniuses were his marketing manager and video producer. He was a talentless, manufactured pop clone (oh, and a paedophile too), but despite that it would appear the whole world is mourning his demise. If he hadn't had the best lawyers that money could buy he'd have died in jail, and only the most hard-headed and blind Jackson fans would be mourning his passing. Jackson was a paedophile: let's not forget this one salient (if unproven in a court of law) fact. Money can buy you innocence. There's a whole slew of rich fuckers out there who have swung not guilty verdicts, despite the obviousness of their guilt. Jackson was one of them, and I for one will NOT be mourning his passing.

The Heart Chakra

Today in Kundalini Yoga we worked on opening up the heart chakra. At some point in the proceedings, I had this moment of pure clarity about "love". In it, I realised my heart's true desire, which is to love, and which is the opposite of my ego's desire, to be loved. Nothing earth-shattering there, except that this wee epiphany was felt with the heart as much as the mind. Lately I have been reflecting a lot on Love, and on my desire, mainly to be loved. I came to India to heal myself, after the breakdown of a ten year relationship. My first task in that journey was to burn my ex's love letters on the exact spot where we had our first kiss, in an old temple in Hampi. I didn't do that in the end, but posted them into the sea at Arambol (where we spent a kind of honey moon), along with a letter telling my ex how sad I was that our relationship - which was once very special - had broken down. I'd hoped for some sort of cathartic release, but ended up with something infinitely more gentle. It felt like a soft breaking of the bonds. It was shortly after that I nearly had a romance, but it was with someone who was also nursing the wounds of a recent break up and didn't go any further than an affectionate cuddle. Since then though, nothing at all. For a while, I felt the keen desperation of the lonely, especially when I was in Goa, but this gradually dropped away and I felt more and more happy with being single. I'm now on my own for 9 months, which is the longest I've been on my own in more than two decades. I have been a serial more-or-less monogamist for all that time, getting into intense and co-dependent relationships. All of them have been good, and I have no real regrets, but the co-dependent bit has always fucked things up. Now I am learning independence, and a big part of me is loving it. What I am not loving though, is not loving. This is what I want more than anything, to love. I'm less keen to be loved. That is, I want to follow the path of heart, rather than the path of ego. And over these last months, I think I've been learning that more and more. I think, maybe, I am ready to love again, that maybe I could do it better now, that maybe I have learnt about myself and actually know the pitfalls and pratfalls enough to be able to avoid them. Dharamkot and Bhagsu are just spilling over with beautiful, spiritual, hippie girls. I cannae help but scout them, in case there's that special one for me there... but even if there was, I'm not sure I would know how to ignite that spark, how to stick kindling on the fire. It is a long, long time since I was last single, and at 47 I'm no longer the catch I was in my youth. I know lots of blokes my age play the wise old daddy card, and it works for them, but I just don't feel like I can pull it off, especially as I don't feel that old (nor that wise). In truth, I feel like I'm going to be on my own for a long, long time, but I hope that maybe this Kundalini Yoga will perform some sort of transformation upon me. I'm no bad looking for an old fart and most folk think I'm in my 30's; I've got a broad range of experience (if not exactly wisdom); I'm creative, spiritual-ish and have that ever-requitred g.s.o.h. - so you'd think I'd be in with a shot, but the way I feel, it's like no-one even looks at me sideways now. And I think the reason is nothing to do with my so called qualities, but because I ain't radiating out that vital spark. I've seen some buck-ugly fifty-somethings score with girls half their age here, and the reason they do seems to be that vital spark. They might have fallen through the Ugly Tree and hit every branch, but they are bristling with testosterone and desire. Nae justice, you might think. Good guys always come last. Yeh, maybe and maybe no, but I never came last before, and I'm not sure I'm a good guy anyway. I just don't really know what's going on right now, but it's fine ultimately. I'm learning a lot and experiencing a lot, and that's okay. So, I continue to fly solo, but at least my heart is beginning to wake up. Tomorrow, we do the throat chakra, which is all about communication. Mine has been feeling very blocked, tense and tight of late. I'm looking forward to seing what Kundalini Yoga can offer me there. If it lives up to the previous 4 sessions I'm going to end up with a serious dose of the verbal vomits. Expect a book length blog entry tomorrow...

Kicking My Own Ass Into The Here And Now...

Oh man, every time I look at the date on a computer I get a wee fluttery shock. So, this is the 23rd June. That means there's only a week left and we're into July, and then my flight leaves on 11th July. It's kinda hard to actually believe I'll be leaving, because I'm feeling more and more like I'm living in India, rather than just merely travelling. Having a focus, and staying still helps. I stayed in Rishikesh for nearly 2 months (aside from a 6 day trip up Gangotri way) and I've now been in Dharamkot for nearly 4 weeks. In Rishikesh, learning Hindi was my focus (with a wee bit of yoga too), and here in Dharamkot, yoga is my driving force. I'm doing two sessions a day, of very different styles. I've really taken to the Kundalini Yoga, big time. It is a beautiful way to start the day. The asanas are still at times pretty strenuous, but there is a lot of meditation and chanting too, so all in all, it's more gentle of the body and soul than Iyengar. Come 4pm though, my body is up for some kick ass Iyengar, so I'm still going to Akhilesh's afternoon sessions. With all this yoga and meditation, I am for the most part staying in the here and now, but as soon as I hit this internet cafe (which is really all about far away, tomorrow and yesterday) my thoughts rock on their heels and I find myself contemplating my imminent return to Scotland. Why not just forget about it? If being back in Scotland sucks ass I am always free to leave again. And who knows, maybe it'll be nice! I've got a week's yoga and meditation at Dhanakosa to look forward to. Shortly after that there is Traquair Fair. There are also a few festies in late summer. Man, I might just have a fucking ball. So, I really should quit with the "what if" thang. No-one knows how it will be. Meantime, I've got another 18 days of India to enjoy. So, wah-hey and hooray! Lucky old me. God is great and all is well with the world. So, that's me back in the Here and Now. And man, it's a beautiful place to be. Outside, the sun is shining, the sky is blue and there's a cup of coffee and a piece of Bhagsu cake with my name on them in a nearby cafe. Yep, God is good, life is beautiful and I love you all!!!!!

Minfulness Of Smoking

So, I'm on a bit of a yoga bender again. This time though, not quite so ferociously as before. I'm doing Kundalini Yoga in the morning and a more strenuous Iyengar Yoga in the Afternoon. I'm well-excited by the Kundalini Yoga because it focuses more on the energy body than the physical body, and I've signed up for an eight day course that is all about cleansing the individual chakras and the aura. The teacher - who is a white Sikh (following the esoteric teachings of a renegade Sikh, whose name I can't remember) - reminds me of my old girlfriend, Debbie. The similarity is uncanny. I like this type of yoga because it is meditative, and the focus is more on the spirit than the body. It also complements the Iyengar style yoga I'm doing with Akhilesh. So, that's me pretty much sorted and focussed until the 1st July. I think I may even give the bevvying and the toking the old heave-ho. Last night I got properly pissed and the previous night I got stoned. It was, for the most part, fun, but I definitely feel the toxic after effects, and am more and more disinclined to put my body through that sort of hell, just for a night's entertainment. In some ways, I should just accept my age (and the sad fact that recovery from toxic abuse takes a lot longer than it used to) and stop trying to keep up with my companions, who are mostly half my age. They can afford to abuse their bodies. Youth is on their side. I'm not sure that I can anymore. I'm even beginning to feel the effects of smoking now. The hills in Dharamkot are ridiculously steep and even after nearly three weeks of climbing them several times daily, I am left out of breath. I am seriously tempted to quit... even to the point of considering doing a Vipassana course, if the timing is right (though it probably won't be). The old ciggie smoking bothers me big time. I know if I don't quit before I'm 50, I won't quit at all. Fifty ain't that far away any more. I'm 47 years old and have now been smoking for 30 years. Thirty years! That's a long fucking habit, and I find it hard to imagine making a change there, but at the same time I recognise that I need to make that change. The big questions are when and where and how? Answers on a postcard to... or come and see me in the Beatson Oncological Unit in Glasgow round about the year 2020 and observe me smoking through a trachiotomy hole in my throat. Yum!

A Short, Bright Night Of The Soul

The Solstice is upon us, and back in Scotland (or at least in the Highlands) it will not get properly dark. In Findhorn the midnight skies will shine electric blue and the fairies will dance amongst the plants like... well, fairies. I could almost get homesick thinking about it. Almost, except here in the woody hills of Dharamkot and Bhagsu I am almost in the Highlands. There are pine trees, roses, daisies and all sorts of flora and fauna you'd find back in Scotland. Only difference is the constant blue skies and the sun. I hear the "heatwave" (ha ha!) in Scotland is over and it is once again pissing with rain. So, yeah, not homesick... and no longer sick of being here either. Yesterday I found a new yoga place where the emphasis is more on energies, chakras etc and I went to a meditation there, followed by a shared healing session. It was lovely, and all my chakras were tingling like someone had poured sherbet through my veins. It was delish. Afterwards it was dinner at Horizon Cafe with an earnest white couple singing Bhajans (holy Hindu songs) and I'm sure if I'd understood the language it would have just been like attending a happy clappy Christian thing. It was just too damn earnest, but fortunately followed by some hardcore reggae. Yours truly did what he always vowed he wouldn't and smoked a chillum (even did the little saddhu salute!) and got well moshed, which wasn't a problem until trying to find his way home. Made it home, and surprisingly, woke at 8am, full of the joys of summer. So, been having a bit of a roller coaster ride of it. Feeling particularly optimistic about this Kundalini Yoga place, which appears to have a more spiritual emphasis. So, the plan is.... hmmm, if I make plans though, what then? Ach, so no plans. Let's live each day in itself and see where we go? And not that many days left, eh?

I NEED To Write

Aye, it's nice in this quiet wee internet place, but still, there are 6 other computers buzzing and spitting out electro-magnetic radiation, and I'm still being zapped into cerebral jelly, even if there ain't a loud Italian on the phone, breaking up with her boyfriend, and an Israeli and a French girl trying to talk over her on Skype. I just cannae be dealing with these places... and yet, at the moment, they are my lifeblood. I'm addicted to Facebook and to Blogger. Need to spew my thoughts over cyber-space and have my friends write to me, "calm the fuck down Dee". But really, guys, I am calm, it's these damn computers melting my brain. What I need is one of those little mini-laptops for travel. That way I can sit in the relative luxury of my hotel room and write to my heart's content. Also, I'd have the time, energy and clarity to write proper emails to all my friends. More than anything, it's the plain and simple neeed to WRITE. I miss writing more than anything. It's been my constant companion for 30 years, and without my laptop I have been bereft. So much to write about on this trip, and yet, whenever I sink into the soft balloon of public cyber-space my brain jellies out and I just witter on, witlessly, about whatever random thoughts come into my head. I guess I could have kept a diary, but I finished with diaries a good few years ago. Anyway, the answer is one of those mini-laptop things. They're only about 20cm wide and weigh about 1kg. A very worthwhile travelling companion it would prove to be. Looking forward to visiting the PC World store in Finnieston, Glasgow already. Hmmm.... what else am I looking forward to? Those of my travel buddies who have already returned to their native land mostly consolled themselves with the thought of foodstuffs not available in Mother India. But not me, the food here has been wonderful (and unbelievably so much better than it was 21 years ago, when I first came to India) so I haven't really missed anything, except maybe potato scones (but, really, I ain't even missed them). So, what am I looking forward to in Scotland? Well, perhaps some Ecstasy. I haven't indulged for 6 months, and I think a wee high might be quite nice. It is available here, but it costs 500 - 600 rupees a pill (round about eight pounds sterling) and they are probably the same shitty, weak pills you get everywhere else, so a decent night on the tiles will cost you upwards of twenty quid (and even then, you are guaranteed nothing). But maybe I won't bother... if I can continue to get natural highs from yoga and meditation, why fuck my brain up with chemicals? Ach, enough wittering.....

Three Weeks Left...

False alarm... the monsoon hasn't arrived. The last two days have been scorchers, and today is equally hot. I dread to think what temperature it must be down in Rishikesh and on the plains. I've just popped into my fave wee internet place (pretty much always empty during the day) to escape from the heat and to let loose a vial of verbal vomit. There's so much going on in my head, I don't really know where to start. I guess, uppermost in my mind is seeing the end of my India trip coming closer and closer. I've only got three weeks left. Suffering here from a bit of deja vu, as I've already put myself through this trip once (before changing my mind and extending my trip). I'm wondering if I was wise to extend the trip. I used to believe that 3 months was sufficient, and I observed that travellers who had been in Asia more than 3 months seemed kinda jaded. I don't think I'm exactly jaded now, but I am less susceptible to the sensory excitement that India provides. I guess, also, I'm beginning to wind myself down, and prepare for my eventual return to Scotland. And I worry somewhat about what awaits me there. My daughter, now nearly 8 years old, will not have seen me for nearly 6 months... I think maybe I was stupid to extend my trip, because 6 months is a long, long time in a small child's life. I guess, I'll see, and I'll just have to go with whatever unfolds, but it's kinda uppermost on my mind because I had a really unpleasant dream in which my ex wouldn't let me see my daughter for over a month after I arrived back. It was particularly unpleasant, as she was being used as a pawn in a metaphorical chess-game. So, I've been thinking about my wee girl a lot today, and wondering if I am necessary to her. Reports from Scotland say she is well, happy and totally adjusted to the new (now, not so new, I guess) situation. I wonder if my return will disturb her equillibrium, or if she will just accept having a Daddy who drifts in and out of her life at semi-regular intervals. I wonder if she will want a Daddy at all. I wonder if I'll just have to close my heart down and forget about the seven years we shared together. There's still a big part of me wants to spend the summer hill-walking with her and re-establishing our relationship. But, at the same time, I don't know if that would be the right thing to do, as I have no desire to live in Glasgow anymore... and I don't think I could sacrifice my need for a Glasgow-free existence, just for the well-being of my daughter. I know some folk may think this blindly selfish, but in Glasgow I was suffocating, especially after the breakdown of my relationship with my ex, and my daughter told me, point blank that I was no fun anymore and that she would like it if one of my ex's friends became her step dad. That was my daughter's parting shot to me. I took it on the chin, and accepted the truth that came from her mouth, but it hurt me quite badly, especially as I did used to be a fun dad. I think I would be a crap, no-fun dad if I went back to Glasgow and stayed there for good, and what good would that be for my daughter? Surely it would be better if I am living my life the best way I can, that I am happy, and that when I see my daughter, I am a fun dad! That's what I hope I will be for her when I finally get back to Glasgow. I want to do fun things with her. I want to inspire her, even... but who will she be, after 6 months? She is living a life I never envisaged for her, living in a council house in pleb district of Glasgow, going to a normal school, living a regular life. I thought she was going to be a hippie child, travelling the world, living a new age life of... of what, exactly? Nine months of gypsy life in Portugal and Spain proved not to be the nirvana we had hoped for. It just didn't pan out as expected. Goddamn expectations! Anyways, it seems she's suited to Glasgow and stability, and I'm not, and that's that. So, in about 19 or 20 days I head to Delhi, and that's the end (more or less). I've got a few days in Dubai, visiting Karen, and then on the 15th July I arrive back in Glasgow. I've got two nights there, and then I head to Dhanakosa for a week of yoga and meditation, in which I hope to properly arrive back in Scotland. And I guess, some time after that I finally get to see my daughter. I know I'm probably needlessly stressing myself out about all this, but as I approach the end of my trip I have to face up to the fact I arrive back in Glasgow with a whole pile of things still unresolved. I'd hoped that India might offer me up some clarity and certainty. Instead, it has only opffered up some ideas and vague plans. I still have no idea of "what next?" Yep, sure, I could go to Spain and learn Spanish, but is that really what I want to do? At one point, I thought so. Now, I'm really not too sure. Again, I guess it doesn't matter. Something always unfolds, usually. I might not get clarity, as such, but I'll definitely follow some path or other. Back in October, the idea of India came to me from nowhere, and by the end of January I was off there. Now, all I know is Scotland is looming ever closer, and I won't be able to make any clear decisions until I'm actually there, experiencing the reality of being there. I should leave it at that now, but I imagine there'll be more days like this. Three weeks will become two weeks. two weeks will become one week, and one week will become days, and before I know it I'll be in New Delhi airport looking at the departure board. I've witnessed so many friends go through this now, and I've nearly been through it myself... and right now, my two Rainbow Hat buddies are exactly there, in New Delhi Airport, waiting for the plane that will take them to London, and then on to Sweden. So, three weeks to go...

The Monsoon Has Arrived...

Just a few hours after The Rainbow Girls headed of to Delhi the clouds started gathering. There were a few spots of rain, but nothing my magic raincoat couldn't deal with. But come about 4am, a motherfucker of a storm burst upon us, waking me from my sleep several times over. If I hadn't been so tired (mostly from alcohol abuse) I'd have got up to watch the storm. Finally got up at 7am, then did my ablutions and went off to yoga with Akhilesh. It was good to do my yoga again, after 2 days off, and I really enjoyed it. Akhilesh surprised me at the end by bunging me 1,000 rupees, as a sort of commission I guess. It was unexpected, and certainly not asked for (I only asked for free lessons if I could recruit some new students), but it was gratefully received. I blew a fair chunk of it on some speakers for my mp3 player and a couple of books (something to see me through the rainy days ahead). The rest I will probably blow on Honey Bee Brandy or Bagpiper Whisky. With the rain in, I'm having a bit of a deja vu. Last time I was in Dharamsala it rained for a solid week, and we even got trapped in McLeod Ganj because of landslides. I remember it well, even though it was 21 years ago. Aideen and I spent a good part of the week with John and Sally, playing cards and drinking whisky. I find myself wondering where John and Sally are now. They were law students then, the pair of them. They could be judges or politicians now. Either that or wasters... or anything really. Ah, "good times" (as my mate Drew would say). I'm enjoying both the rain and the nostalgia, but hey, I'm glad they have the internet nowadays, because I'd rather waste time blogging than playing inane card games and pickling my liver (and I don't think my liver is as resilient as it was when I was in my mid-twenties). So, that's me sorted for some rainy days in. Looking forward to holing up for a bit, and if I get fed up with it, I can always haul ass to Spiti or Ladakh.

The End Of The Rainbow Hat Gang

Just a couple of hours ago we went down to Bhagsu main square to see The Rainbow Girls off (again). This time they head to Delhi in earnest, on an overnight bus. They've got two days there, and then they are off to Sweden. Chances are I'll probably never see them again, just like all the transient friends I've made over these transient four and a half months. I've been invited to Sweden, and I'd go for sure, except for the fact I grew to like Sara way too much. These feelings weren't even damped when she ended up getting it together with another of our friends. I don't really know how or why she got so under my skin, but she did, and she shouldn't have. I'm twice her age, and old enough to know better. Or should be. Should I be confessing this here? Yep, fuck it, why not?! Doesnae matter what anyone thinks of it. This is where I spill my beans, of all hues and colours. So, I'm especially sad to say goodbye to The Rainbow Girls. Not just Sara, but Anne too (who, although I didn't feel that way about her, had a special place in my heart). I love them both, and right now I miss them both. And sure, I'd go to Sweden to see them, if it weren't for the barb of being so attracted to Sara. She has a rare beauty about her, something soft, ethereal and so, so familiar. I wish I hadn't felt like that about her, because I really liked her also as a friend. Damn my fickle fucking heart... but there you go! So, now the original Rainbow Hat Gang are down to two - me & Henry - and tomorrow, there'll be only me. Henry is off to start his 10 day Tushita meditation course. I would have been going with him, if I hadn't prevaricated so terribly. In fact, I prevaricated so long the damn waiting list filled up. The office manager wouldn't even allow me onto the waiting list. So, in that que sera sera way I've got to accept it, but I'm disappointed nonetheless because I feel the strong need to sit with myself and to try to unravel the mysteries of my heart, especially after its recent fluctuations. And why, dammit, did I feel such a strong attraction to someone who wasn't attracted to me? Why, why, why? So, anyway, that's the end of The Rainbow Hat Gang. It was beautiful while it lasted, I'm sad that it's over, and I guess it's time to think of moving on (internally, at least, but maybe externally too). Another episode is over.

Tushita Or Not Tushita, That Is The Question.

I might have got onto the Tushita meditation course if I hadn't done my usual prevaricating thing. The source of prevarication was their non-smoking policy. Could I or couldn't I? In the end I decided I couldn't. Then, the day before yesterday, I wandered up to Upper Dharamkot (in search of non-bootleg Golden Virginia tobacco) and I got talking to Deedee, a Tushita graduate, who told me she just went out the gates for a fag, whenever she felt like it, and the Tushita people just smiled on with benevolent compassion. So - knowing the Rainbow Girls were going to disappear out of my life - I decided to apply for Tushita, after all. Unfortunately, the office was shut, so I left a note with Deedee who promised to pass it on to the office person. A bit of a precarious arrangement, I know, but I'm kinda working on the "what's for you won't go by you" principle. Hmmm... that said, I think maybe that is pushing precariousness to its limits and I should probably go up to Tushita and check they actually do have my name on the waiting list. So, that's what I'm going to do today. I don't know how big the waiting list is, but I'm told the gig is you turn up on the 16th at 1am, and if you're lucky, there are enough cancellations for you to get in. If you're lucky, or if God wants you to do it, or whatever... however you want to view it. I personally believe that if something is for you, then the universe will conspire to help you (as long as you actually show up). So, maybe in 3 days time I will be in Tushita, living a life of silence, contemplation and meditation (not to mention sneaking out for some toxic inhalations). If so, then there will be a total cyber silence from the 16th to the 26th of June. Hard to imagine, Dee actually shutting the fuck up for ten days. Very hard to imagine! I wonder if the universe can imagine it. Well, we'll see....

Fuck Agra

After my Swedish buddies disappeared out of my life I took myself off to my afternoon yoga session with Govinda (who was my yoga teacher in Rishikesh). He's giving me free yoga sessions, because I'm an ex-pupil (I guess) and because he is concentrating on teacher training. I've kinda lucked out on the free yoga. I'm also getting free yoga from Akhilesh (who was my yoga instructor in Arambol); though with Akhilesh I've earned it (and more). When I started going to Akhilesh's class, there were only two or three people turning up. Apparently there's been a bit of a yoga war in Bhagsu, and some unscrupulous yogi has been tearing Akhilesh's posters down (very shanti, eh!). Anyways, I said to Akhilesh I would get him some more pupils, in exchange for free yoga. The first day after I took on the role of Akhilesh's P.R. we got 7 people in. The second day, though, we got 20. Akhilesh was so pleased he bought me breakfast. I was pretty damn pleased too. I might have found a new, hidden talent. So astonished was I by my success, I offered to do the same for Govinda, but Govinda just ain't interested in the money-thing (which is impressive) and is only looking for serious Shivananda students who want to do the teracher training programme. Yesterday I was taught by one of his students. She was very good, aside from mixing up right and left feet during our rounds of sun salutation (which was fun, anyway, nice ice breaker). Had a great session there. At the end, during shavasana, I heard someone come to the door of the yoga hut and ask for me, which was very strange. So curious was I, I broke my meditation and went to look and see who it was... and guess who it was? Yep, Sara and Anne, the rainbow girls. I couldnae believe it. They'd come back. In fact, they'd only gotten as far as Dharamsala town, a mere 10 km from Bhagsu, before deciding - and this is in their words - "fuck Agra". I was wickedly pleased to have them back in my life, even if only until Monday, when they head off for Delhi (their flight's on Wednesday). I'd been trying to persuade them not to go back to Sweden, but I don't think my power's of persuasion extend that far. I wish they did, but I'm happy that they decided to forego Agra for a few more days with the Rainbow Hat Gang. And you know, I think they were right to say "fuck Agra". Everyone that I know that has ever gone to Agra (and there are hundreds) say it's a shit hole. It's certainly never appealed to me, with its hordes of pick pockets, rip off merchants and touts, who are all living off the back of the Taj Mahal. Fuck Agra, fuck the Taj, I say. Who wants to go and pay 750 rupees to join the mad throngs tearing round the grounds of an over-inflated monument which really is not so much to love as indentured slavery and corruption. Nah, fuck the Taj... I'm proud to say that even though this is my 5th time in India, I've never seen the place, and I hope I can still say the same after my 20th trip. The only way I'm going to go there is if I win the Tagore Prize for Poetry and the Indian Government drive me there in a limo for a private full moon party in its grounds. Other than thatm you can keep the Taj and it's ridiculous 750 rupee (10 British pounds) entry fee. I'm glad Sara and Anne felt the same way... though Sara did say she was feeling ill. Really though, truth is, she couldn't stay away from me... at least, that's what I'd like to think! Anyway, the main thing is the Rainbow Hat Gang are back together again. We're even contemplating a Sunday climb up to Triund, with our rainbow hats on, of course.

Adios To The Rainbow Girls

I've just said bye bye to Sara and Anne from Sweden. They are off to Delhi, and in a week's time will be back in freezing cold Sweden. I was sad to say goodbye to them. Our Rainbow Hat Posse was pretty unforgettable, and I spent two wonderful weeks with them, starting with my birthday, back on the 29th May. I would wax lyrical about those two weeks right now, except there is an Italian woman going insane in the phone booth (maybe breaking up with a boyfriend, passionately) and there is a French woman and an Israeli woman using Skype. So there is a bit of a polyglottal cacophony going down. Interesting, for sure, but not conducive to blogging. I promise, after my experience of Indian internet places, I am buying one of those sexy little notebook numbers and writing all my blogs and emails offline, in the quiet and tranquility of my hotel room (or maybe even in the garden). So, bye bye Sara and Anne, I love you both dearly. Have beautiful dreams and beautiful adventures... and I hope one day we can do some beautiful dreams and adventures together again. Charlie, Henry, Bruno the Human and Bruno the dog say bye bye too. I hope the Taj Mahal was worth it! Just think, you could have had another three days with Henry, Ori and me. Bye bye sweeties, and thank you. xxxx

A Cinematic Trip

I got the urge to see a film today. Haven't seen a movie in nearly five months. So, I went to the "cinema", which was an emptied out stock room underneath a fruit and veg shop. It consisted of about 20 broken chairs, a DVD projector, a white sheet taped to the wall, and a bootleg DVD. But what would you expect for 50 rupees? The film was "The Reader", a surprisingly good film touching on the Holocaust, in an unusual way. It starred Kate Winslet, at her best (and I'm told she got an oscar for it). It was pretty surreal watching a movie after all this time, and the venue was even more surreal, but most surreal of all was getting lost in a cinematic Germany of the 50s, 60s, 80s and 90s. Europe. I was transported into another world, and more or less forgot all about McLeod Ganj and India for 2 hours or so... but then I walked out of Germany and back into India, into the main square of McLeod Ganj, buzzing with nightlife. Now, I'm digesting my weird sideways trip.

My New Posse

I met up with my new posse in Rishikesh, and we travelled to Dharamsala together. We're a small, intimate gang, and in the last week or so we've had a lot of fun: perhaps too much fun! We have sampled some of the local opium (well, "some" is perhaps not the right word because I could hardly function the next day) and last night we got slaughtered on Apple Wine and Bagpiper whisky, though it was Henry's birthday, so there was some rhyme and reason to it. It's a bit of a change of scene from my more-or-less teetotal days in Rishikesh. Not what you'd expect in the adopted home of the Dalai Lama, but there you go. Alcohol is freely available here, as is meat (if you dig the carnivore scene) and in Upper Bhagsu there is a cafe which plays non-stop trance with a dodgy looking bloke who will sell you anything you desire, for a price. It was aforementioned bloke we got the opium from. We could have got acid or ecstasy too, though at 500 rupees a hit, it did seem rather expensive (best stick to the homegrown!). So how was the opium? Not all that great really. I felt drugged, and then the next day I felt mugged, and it was collectively decided to give the remains to someone who enjoys those states better. So, no more opium! And the way I feel today, probably no more Bagpiper Whisky either. Famous last words??? Well... aside from the self-abuse, I have actually been on a bit of a mission to improve myself. I tried two people who claimed to be Hindi teachers, but turned out to be incapable of teaching anything, so that was a bit of a washout. More successful(ish) was my attempt to get back into being fit and healthy (yeah, I know, but as a sort of counter-ballance). I've been to a couple of yoga sessions with Akhilesh (my Arambol yoga teacher, who has now relocated here) and intend to go to more sessions. I'm also planning to do some yoga sessions with Govinda (who was my yoga teacher in Rishikesh, and who has also coincidentally relocated here). There have also been many long walks round the beautiful forests here, and yesterday we walked about 15km and ascended 1000 metres to Triund, which was fantastic. Up top, we hit a hailstone storm which was rather spectacular, and took refuge in a chai stall. Henry's birthday certainly was a memorable one, though it would be more memorable if my camera hadn't fucked up half ways up to Triund. Man, that pissed me off. It's the 2nd time it's happened on this trip. But, que sera sera and all that. So, one of today's tasks is to try and find a camera repair person... or maybe even just a new camera, because mine is a piece of shit, even when it is working. Not sure that today is necessarily the day to do anything. I'm trying my damnedest to upload my Dharamsala photos to Facebook and it is failing every time. And man, I've got some cool photos of Tibetan monks and women in traditional costume, not to mention reams of landscapes with prayer flags. I'm now attempting the more laborious "simple uploader", so we'll see how that goes. Hmmm... not good either! Probably too many people in this cyber cafe and not enough bandwidth or something. So, no photos yet. Sorry...

The Quest For The Perfect Hindi Teacher...

Aaaachhaaaa.... so, I've begun my prowl for things to do in Dharamsala. Today's little quest did not prove to be that successful. I went to a Hindi lesson and also to a yoga class, by a husband and wife team. Nice couple, with an 11 month old baby, but the wife hadn't a clue how to teach Hindi (and had no lesson plan to speak of) and the husband was a dreadful yoga teacher. Reminds me of my start in Rishikesh! However, I've just met up with another Hindi teacher and he seems more promising, and I popped in to see Akhilesh (my Arambol yoga teacher, now in Bhagsu, Dharamsala) and am thinking of getting my arse out of bed at 6am tomorrow, so I can go to his class. And, just by chance, my friend Astrid was there (she'd just arrived from Dehra Dun). So, it looks like there'll be things to do here... and if "doing things" doesn't work out, there's always the possibility of getting hold of some opium and getting wasted instead. So all's well that ends well?

Shock Of Impermanence

I am still reeling from how much McLeod Ganj has changed. In 1988 it was essentially two small, parallel streets and not much else. The hillside street had many wooden shacks, propped up on stilts; mainly restaurants, which, although basic, rough and ready, sold the best food and cakes in India. There were a good number of stalls, which sold woolen jumpers, singing bowls, brass buddhas and beads. That was McLeod Ganj as I remember it. It was quiet, peaceful and very easy going. Now, it is a town rather than a village. It is swarming with Westerners, and awash with ethnic retail outlets. It is, for the ethnic consumer, a shopping paradise. For me though, having little interest in trinkets, it is a far cry from heaven (or should I say, "nirvana"). McLeod Ganj has little charm left, and the only thing that would draw me here is the desire for a proper cappucino and a tasty cake (and there has been a significant improvement in the quality of food and confections in the last 21 years - so not all changes are bad). The only reason I came here today was to go to the Government Dispensary (a kinda mini-hospital) to get my eye seen to. I'm pleased to say the doctor managed to remove the offending barb with minimum of fuss and pain. The service was free, but I was so happy I left a donation 100 rupees. My eye is pretty sore still, maybe even a bit sorer, but I am relieved to have that piece of shit out of it. After the doctor, I went off a wandering and came across a free Sahaja Yoga meditation class. It's focus was on the chakras and the energy body, and was perfect for me, with my plans (or dreams) to further focus on the spiritual healing side of my life. I enjoyed the meditation greatly, and intend to return for more sessions. If I continue to enjoy it, I will make it part of my daily meditation practice. So, now I'm in one of many very full internet cafes in McLeod Ganj. There are probably several hundred tourists connected to the net all over McLeod Ganj at any given moment of the day (at least within opening hours). Not very "here", even if it is a little bit "now". It goes without saying, that back in 1988, there were no internet cafes, and contact with home was not easy (and in many ways, travel was qualitatively different because of it). Don't get me wrong, I'm not mourning these changes. Changes of any kind have positive and negative qualities; and it's really up to you how you focus on them. Yes, some part of me is sad about the changes to McLeod Ganj, but I just have to face up to the fact that all is impermanent, and even if a return to McLeod Ganj was some sort of pseudo-spiritual pilgrimage for me, for the many Tibetans and Indians who live here, the new McLeod Ganj (with the millions of tourist rupees being spent every day) is infinitely preferable to the old one. So, like.... get over it Dee, alright! And no doubt, I will. I got over what seemed like a desecration of Old Arambol, and grew to love the New Arambol, with its hundreds of retail outlets, bars, restaurants, yoga classes, music gigs and all sorts of evening entertainment. New McLeod Ganj no doubt has a lot to offer. Lots of yoga, meditation and even cooking classes. I'm also on the prowl for a Hindi teacher who might prove to be as good as Rishikesh's wonderful Sachdeva. But we'll see what unfolds. Main thing is I'm far cheerier. The eye is clean, and I've had a full night's sleep, so it's onwards and upwards from here....

Dharamsala

So my adventures and misadventures continue. On the way to Rishikesh railway station from Laxman Jhula (by Vikram) a piece of dust went into my eye and really stung like fuck. At the railway station, tried to get it out but it wouldn't budge. Then had to endure an sleepless, overnight journey in general class to Chacki Bank (2 hours from McLeod Ganj). By the time I got here my eye was totally fucked. Of course, it's sunday, so no government medical services. I'll have to make do with eyedrops until Monday. Can't really concentrate on this, so will keep it to a minimum. I'm in an internet cafe in McLeod Ganj, which is all but unrecognisable, though after much tooing and froing, I found what remains of the original two streets I remember from 21 years ago. I am totally shocked at what has happened here. It has mushroomed at an incredible rate. Unbelievable. Shocking. I'm reeling from it. But, no big deal, I've found a very shantih wee place to stay in Dharamkot. It is very tranquil, and the landscape is beautiful. The flora and fauna are very Scottish, so I feel quite at home. I could potentially stay here for the rest of my time in India, but don't know if I will. Lots of possibilities, but the first thing I've got to do is concentrate on getting well... that, and getting some sleep after a sleepless overnight train journey in general class. Very tired, a little sore, and even a little emotional. Frazzled. Nothing a good night's sleep and a visit to the doctor won't sort out. Will not witter on. Feeling good, despite feeling bad.

Me Aj Rishikesh Se Ja Raha Hu

Well, the big day is finally upon me. I'm leaving Rishikesh in about three hours. Big question on my mind is, will I actually make it out of Rishikesh? It feels (still) like Rishikesh wants me to stay... and I can imagine myself a prisoner, like Patrick McGooghan in the 1960s series, trying every which way to escape, but never succeeding. This will be my 3rd attempt to leave in a week. Riots in the Punjab and Delhi Belly thwarted my previous attempts. So, we'll see if I make it this time. I can think of worse things than being stuck in Rishikesh. Though, now the monsoon is here big time (and early) maybe it really is time to get out of the Kesh. The plan (don't laugh God!) is to go to McLeod Ganj or Bhagsu, just a few miles out of Dharamsala. I have a strong feeling I'll make it this time, and am looking forward to a new episode in my adventure. I'm hoping it's as nice as I remember, because I've only got 6 weeks left in India, and I'd happily settle my bones someplace for the remaining time. Maybe I'm getting too long in the tooth, or maybe I've been in India too many times, but the urge to go hacking round the place at the speed of knots is all but dead in me. I really like living in places, rather than flying through them. But hey, never say never: Himachel Pradesh is a huge and fascinating region, as is neighbouring Leh & Ladakh, so maybe the travel bug will bite me again. On a Hindi note (to wrap up) I managed to praise one of the waiters in Little Buddha for his new, groovy haircut, and I used only Hindi (and was understood). So that was a linguistic leap forward for me. Achha, me ja raha hu. Fir milenge!

A Happy Birthday

As fate would have it, my friend Ari was having a gathering on his hotel roof. There were guitars and whisky, and I brought along my fire poi, and we saw my birthday in with style. I didn't get into my scratcher until 4am, pretty drunk and very happy. Then I met up with folk in the Little Buddha Restaurant, and as a special treat, my favourite waiter, Shanu, was back from his holiday. I had my Banofie Pie at last, and folk sand happy birthday to me. After that, it was a trip down to the Ganga for a dip and a swim (my last dip in the Ganga?) and then to the Ganga Aarti ceremony, followed by a visit to The Office for Pineapple Samaosas (yes, you read that right) and coffee. So, it's been the perfect birthday. And the best present of all? Finding some folk to travel on to Dharamsala with. Aye, tomorrow I'm offski. It's adios to Rishikesh.... or is it? Who knows? It's in the lap of the Gods. I think if fate conspires to make it impossible for me to leave tomorrow I shall decide to stay in Rishikesh until the day I leave India. I will accept it as my destiny. I think. So, will I make it out of Rishikesh? Watch this space!

Joie De Vivre

So, yes, I think I'm getting better. I had... no wait, again, those of a sensitive disposition, please don't read any further. Yep, I had a semi-solid shit this morning. I've been taking Sat-Isabogol Psyllium Husk with my curd and it seems to be doing the trick. That said, I think whatever little bastard bug has been causing this diahorrea is still there, and it will erupt again some time soon. Unless, of course, that panacea of universal life - Grapefruit Extract - does the trick. My pal Ari told me about it, and as fortune would have it, I have a bottle. Anyways, I think I'm on the mend. I can tell this because I have a sense of joie de vivre once again, and actually got talking to some people in Little Buddha. And, as fate would have it, Ari plans to have a wee shin dig on his rooftop tonight, so there'll be guitars and booze, and I'll hopefully be able to welcome in my 47th birthday in style. To be honest, I'm not even that bothered about the prospect of a solitary birthday. I'm planning to go down to Ram Jhula tomorrow to get caught up in the swirling, insane mass of humanity down there. I'm also going to have a plunge in the Ganga it's the only spot where the police don't really hassle you - the hassle caused by a spate of drownings further upriver) and then come sunset time I'm going to head down for the daily ritual, the Ganga Aarti, which is beautiful and also fun. So, I'm going to have a birthday of some sort (a reoccurance of the diahorrea not withstanding). So, of a cheerier, less feverish disposition. Thankful to be alive and full of the joys once again. Maybe one day I'll get it together and get out of Rishikesh. One day maybe....

Sick Of Being Sick

Welcome to another slice of verbal diahorrea. And it may prove to be fun, considering the state of my head. I'm totally spaced out, and the beauty of it is that it cost nothing. So, that's the upside of being ill. The other upside is that you have plenty of time on your hands, so I've been drawing today, which has been enjoyable. Done a fair bit of drawing on this holiday. Got back into my little black & white ink artworks, which I'd neglected for years before heading out to India. Nice to be drawing again. Man, though, I am spaced out. It's like my brain has turned into blancmange. I was in Little Buddha restaurant before this, forcing down a plate of potatoes and a bowl of curd (mmm... yummy yummy!!!), which are the only advisable dishes in my present unpredictable state. Anyways, when not chewing away at the potato, slugged down with delicious electrolyte infused water, I was staring down at the street below, watching the world go by, in a very surreal state of mind. It was a bit like someone had spiked my drink with acid. So, that was enjoyable. You know, every cloud really does have a silver lining. That said, I am pretty sick of being sick. This is my second day of it (fourth, if you include my Gangotri escapade) and I just kinda want to be normal again. I'd really like to get on the road again, though I am resigned to being in Rishikesh for some more time. I'll definitely be seeing in my birthday here, and most likely will be celebrating it alone (though I do hope to be well enough to indulge in a slice of banofie pie). I was thinking about how crap that's going to be, but then I remembered my last two birthdays were pretty crap. My 46th was a very last minute affair, and few people made it, and no-one had any drugs, aside from valium, so we all took that (we'd have taken bloody baking soda if that was all there was to be had) and the party kinda dissolved at 2am (at least I got a good night's sleep). My 45th was even worse. I was chronically depressed, having arrived back in Glasgow, after our 9 months away in Spain. We were still living in the van, and it rained a lot. Fun fun fun. And then I remember all the joyful, wondrous parties we had at Lothian Gardens, and find myself reminiscing about our old flat, and wishing to fuck we'd never sold up, and all that. Que faire? No point in that sort of wishing, no point in that sort of self-pity. What's done is done, and the war will never be won if you don't quit dreaming about the past. You see, that's the thing with illness, it wears you down to the emotional raw bone. I've felt like crying today. Nearly bloody did, except for that stoic, Scottish reaction that clams up at the sign of any "poofy" signs of emotion. Man, nothing like a Scottish upbringing for emotional constipation. Wish I had cried. I'd probably feel so much the better for it. So, this is me wittering away, getting my fix of internet bliss, the feeling that someone out there actually gives a fuck. Because, let me tell you, being sick on your own in an alien land ain't much fun. I've done sick in India before, but there's always been someone there to give emotional support, and also (just as importantly) to be there to go out and get stuff like food and water. I'm that washed out now, the trek to the restaurant (all 200 metres of it) damn near does me in. I'm praying to my God that it ain't going to get any worse. Will have to lay me down on my bed and try some more self-healing. It worked last time. Oh man, since being hit with this - what with having so much time on my hands - I've been thinking tons of Glasgow, and feeling strangely homesick (which has surprised me), getting all syrupy at the thought of walking through Kelvingrove Park, ideally with ma wee daughter. I've been thinking of Rosie a lot lately, and thinking (more and more) that I was foolish to extend my trip beyond three months. I worry that over nearly six months (which is what it will be after I get back) she will have become totally disconnected from me, and that she will have changed almost beyond recognition. I emailed my ex recently, asking for an update, but have heard nothing back from her. Keep hoping to hear something, but am resigned to radio silence. Ach ach ach.... so now my head is working along the lines of maybe trying to carve some sort of life out for myself in Scotland, so I can be near my wee one, but what sort of life? I just cannae think right now. Still trying to work out what the fuck I'm doing. It's hard, for 7 years I knew exactly what I was doing. I was being a Dad. Now, even though I've been a sorta non-Dad for eight months, I still haven't made the adjustment. Maybe I should stop wittering now. Yep, probably should. Got myself into all sorts of hot bother with my Spanish travel blog, wittering away, forgetting people were actually reading what I was writing. Maybe I should get one of those old fashioned paper things. What were they called? Oh yes, a diary. So listen, those of you who have actually read this far, don't take any of this that seriously, it's just verbal diahorrea. I'm vomitting shit out of this end, just as I'm vomitting shit out the other end. I'm tired and emotional, and none of this is very real. It's like my fingers are typing and my brain is hardly even aware of what they are saying. I wanted to say something amusing about all this, but I think the potatoes killed my sense of humour. Achha, going to shut up now. Thanks for listening.

Burning Bum Blues

Those of you with a sensitive disposition, read no further... okay, remember, you were warned. It is probably a blessing that there was no train yesterday, because if there had been I'd have spent the last part of the journey perched over a squat toilet, getting flung all over the place by the motion of the train. That would not have been pretty! As it was, I spent a good part of last night, sat on the "Western style" toilet in my room, with the shit quite literally peeing out of my arse... or rather, peeing and simultaneously exploding. That wasn't particularly pretty either, but at least the toilet stayed still. So, that's me got the shits again, big time. I'm hoping it will clear up soon, but I'm less optimistic this time round, given that this is the 2nd time in a week. I think I may have picked up some bug or parasite, and that this may well be a recurring theme for the rest of my stay in India. Optimism isn't in plentiful supply right now. But at least I understand where yesterday's blues came from. The exact same thing happened to me the day preceeding my Gangotri attack of the shits. It's kinda tough because almost all of my Rishikesh friends have moved on, and I just don't have the energy or joie de vivre to attempt to make new friends. So, there's no-one there to help me... and I've got to face up to that age old truism, that you really are all on your own. It's a shitty situation (pardon the pun), but at least this time I'm in a fairly civilised place. I managed to purchase some Electrolyte solution, and once I've got over the verbal diahorrea here, I'm going to go to Little Buddha restaurant and have some bananas and curd, which I hope I'll be able to stomach. Not very hungry really, but now that I'm on my second dose of the shits, I'm beginning to lose weight... and really, the dysentery diet is not the healthiest! I'm doing my best to keep my pecker up here, but really, it's a bit of a crap situation, and it doesn't look like I'll be having the joliest of birthdays (only 2 days away now). So, I am pissed off, but I have to keep my mind on my motto: "il ne me reste que rire" (there's nothing left to do but laugh). It is quite funny really, and I know in months to come this will be one of my favourite anecdotes. At least my 47th Birthday will be memorable for something. I wonder how things are in the Punjab right now. And I hope my nearly travel partner, Ana, managed to make it through a 15 hour bus ride from Dehra Dun to Dharamsala. Man, I wish I was there. Rishikesh is baking hot, and there won't be any releif from it for several weeks, when the monsoon should finally break. My verbal diahorrea is almost over, but the urge to shit a few more words is great. The internet feels like a real connection right now, and I'm reluctant to let it go. So, I'll probably waffle on some more, even though I've nothing more to say really. Feeling a bit damn lonely, but that's not a new thing. Loneliness goes with the turf, when you travel on your own. Sometimes you just end up totally on your own and you've just got to deal with it. Other times, there's a ton of friends round you and you feel like you're at the centre of a fuzzy, warm universe. My old travel friend, Zoe, told me that three and a half months is a sort of hump you reach on your travels. It's when things start to go wrong, and the joie de vivre disappears. It kinda looks like she's right. Things started to go wrong, exactly then - not badly wrong, but wrong nonetheless. Also, my joie de vivre has significantly reduced. I'm not miserable (despite how the land lies), but I'm no longer full of wide-eyed wonder. All my travels in Asia before were three months or less. I had observed this jaded traveller phenomena on previous travels, and ascertained that three months is the max you should travel for. This time though, I pushed the boat out, not because I so HAD to stay in India, but because the thought of returning to Glasgow (and essentially to homelessness and purposelessness) was a less appealing prospect. I'm still glad I didn't return to Glasgow, and hopefully I'll get over this hump, get well again, and find that travel joie de vivre again. If I don't, I'll put it down to experience, and plan my trips at three months, once again. Achha, I think I've said enough. Apologies to all of those of you who have been vicariously living through my travel exploits, but the reality is, sometimes these grand adventures can turn bad. I'm thankful this adventure hasn't turned really bad, and despite being a bit blue, I'm optimistic I will rise up again. As Nietzsche said, "that which doesn't destroy you, only makes you stronger". On that note of wisdom, I'll shut the fuck up!

God's Laughing, But I Ain't

Turns out it was a Sikh guru killed by someone from a rival Sikh sect in Austria that sparked the riots in the Punjab. This I found out whilst cruising the internet, trying to find out if the Punjab is still in flames and if there are any damn trains! Whatever the cause of the riots, I haven't been able to find out if they are still going on, or if there are any trains running. I'm a bit hacked off about it, to be honest. I really wanted to make tracks out of Rishikesh, up to Dharamsala. The heat down here is oppressive, and the vibe amongst those of us left down in the plains is one of listlessness. No-one seems to have much energy. I certainly don't, recovering as I am from a dose of Delhi belly. Been feeling rather sorry for myself today, if the truth be told. I've also lost my travel partner, coz she decided she was going to head to Dehra Dun and try to find an overnight bus to Dharamsala (she's hacked off enough with Rishikesh to put up with such a journey). So, anyway, I've no idea if there's going to be any trains or not tomorrow. I've heard mixed reports from travel agents and from travellers. The travel agents in Rishikesh are pretty shite really, not to be relied upon for information (especially when there is no commission to be made). So, what am I going to do? I haven't a clue. I shall pray for some inspiration to arrive pronto.

Errata

In the previous blog entry, I stated my birthday is four days away. Actually, it's only three days away. Shows how I've been losing track of time. But, hey I was only one day out, which is way better than my sister, Kaela, who texted me yesterday and asked me if I'd had a good one. Achha. So, aye, my birthday is only 3 days away, and my chances of celebrating it in Dharamsala are approximately NIL now.

God Laughing Again!

Well, the Sikhs are going crazy in the Punjab. They're burning busses, trains and even police cars, according to the Hindustan Times; and depending on whether you believe that paper or The Times Of India, either one or two people have been killed so far. A wee, localised hoo-hah, not exactly national state of emergency material (yet!); and, as far as I can make out, it's about a conflict between two Sikh temples in Vienna, Austria. Yep, that's Vienna in Austria in Europe, about three thousand miles away. Man, I tell you, if two Moslems in Birmingham had an arguement in a telephone box in Birmingham there would be mosques on fire in Mumbai. So, the Punjab is aflame... and how does this affect me? Well the train to Pathankot has been cancelled... and having looked at the pictures of Saturday's train on flames, this is probably not being over-cautious on the part of the Indian Rail Company. So, where am I with my plans now? God knows! And God's laughing again. More fool me for making plans. It's only 4 days until my birthday, and the chances of me getting to Dharamsala before then are slight, and looking like getting slighter. Meantime, Rishikesh feels like its in flames. No idea what the temperature is, but it's definitely in the 40s. I'm melting here, even in the relative cool of this internet cafe. Got to admit, I'm feeling a wee bit frustrated about not getting on the road to Dharamsala today, but what can you do? I look down at my poor old, very worn t-shirt, with its legend: "Il Ne Me Reste Que Rire" (There's Nothing Left To Do But Laugh) and all I can think is, you've got to laugh. So, God, what plans you got, huh?

Me & His Holiness

So, the gameplan is to head down to Rishikesh train station tomorrow afternoon and go 2nd class unreserved. Doesn't sound a bad idea, unless you've actually travelled on an Indian train. Not my first choice, but there are no reserved seats or sleepers for over 2 weeks. So, me and Ana will be sharing a carriage with every man and his dog (and his chickens too, probably). We will arrive in Pathankot at 3am. So, no sleep for the wicked and all that. Then we've got a 3 hour wait until the first bus to Dharamsala. After that, it's an auto-rickshaw to McLeod Ganj. Not really looking forward to it, but once it's done it's done and then I can go and hang out with the Dalai Lama and we can chat about Celtic's chances in European championship. H.H. reckons they can go all the way. Me, I'm not so optimistic. Actually, that's a joke, the Dalai Lama is a Partick Thistle fan.

Leaving Rishikesh So Soon Mr Sunshine?

Yeah, I know I've hardly even arrived back in this place, but the call to move on again is great. You see, it's my birthday in 5 days and I have a very strong desire to celebrate it some place where Buddhism is the prevailing vibe. Now, I am not the type of person that could easily subscribe to a religion, but if a gun was put to my head and I had to choose a religion to subscribe to, it would be Buddhism. Me and the Buddha go back a long way. Even when I was a mardy, teenage atheist I had a lot of respect for the dude. It started off with reading Hermann Hesse's "Siddhartha" (which was on every stoner's booklist in the 1970's) and has been an on and off love affair ever since. Those of you who have been following this blog will know I've had something of a spiritual rennaisance of late: well, it kind of kicked off last Autumn at Dhanakosa, a Buddhist retreat centre in the Highlands of Scotland. A bit of Metta Bhavana and general Mindfulness took me to a place I really appreciated, which was, roughly, the same place that Ecstasy had been taking me to for the previous ten years. I needed that, big time. While I will still sing the praises of certain chemicals, I have become acutely aware of something I was told a long time ago. Drugs, if used with respect, will pull open the curtains so that you can see the mountain through your window. And man, it's a beautiful mountain, so worth looking at and dreaming about. The trouble is, you get kinda addicted to looking and forget that the task is to go climb the mountain. So, that's me now, I'm no longer gazing at the mountain from a distance, I'm right there, climbing it. And let me tell you this, the view from these lowly foothills is breath-taking. Sure there are dark, ungainly forests to trawl through, full of scratchy gorse and stumbly stones (and no view at all), but I know I will come to a clearing again and be astonished. And yes, if I think about it, I know I've a long ways to go, but already, I feel that wonderful, clear, sharp air; and in this "here and now" which Buddhism so sharply advocates, I am enjoying these foothills for what they are and not angsting about how hard it will be or how long it will take to reach the summit.* I dig Buddhism big time, and wonder if it is not beyond the realms of possibility that I will become more actively involved in some way. Certainly, I have been told as much by that wee small voice that is of God. Though that is not a fixed, definite; as nothing is fixed or definite. The future is infinitely mutable. Let's just say, for the moment, I am feeling a calling... and I would like to test that calling by heading off to Dharamsala. And already, there have been favourable signs and indicators. My one big reluctance was the thought of travelling all those many miles (and overnight, with a journey break at 3am and so no sleep) todo solo. Then, as fate would have it, I meet a Polish girl (who lives in my homeland) and she is travelling to Dharamsala. I was reluctant to impose, but she asked me if I would be her travelling companion. So, let's just say I took this as a sign. Not exactly a major miracle, but my life is so full of minor miracles it makes up for the general lack of major ones... and to milk an analogy too much, I'd prefer many little sweets to one big one. Anyways, that's it decided. I'm moving on again, and it will be good to have company. Travelling solo can be a real shag. There's nothing worse than railway station queues and hotel searching with a full rucksack, guitar and daypack. So, thank you God for another small miracle. I'm going to be sad to split from Rishikesh, but it ain't my only "spiritual home". I'm lucky enough to have many. Dharamsala may prove to be one of them. Certainly, when I was there before (nearly 21 years ago) I felt a strong affinity with the place. I'm hoping I will still feel this (or maybe more). And I'm pleased to say, I'm fit to travel again. Rishikesh has delivered the goods strongly. Last night I went to bathe in the Ganga and I had a very powerful experience (I swear to God it's been a bit non-stop of late) and I heard God with an intense clarity. Later, back in my room, I was directed how to perform a healing on myself, a technique I had never used before, and it was immensely powerful. And today, boom shankar, solid shit again. Hooray! I know, a bit graphic, but as anyone who has visited India will tell you, bowel movements are quite a conversation topic here, and there is so little squeemishness the more hardcore will happily describe their toilet acrobatics while eating dinner. Anyway, away from that, and back on track, I have this real thing about seeing in my birthday in a place with a Buddhist vibe. I celebrated my 30th in such a way, and it was only 7 months later that I opened up as a spiritual healer. I have a very strong feeling that healing will play a more important part in my life soon, so... and perhaps that's enough rabitting for now. The anal diahorrea may have abated, but the verbal kind carries on, as strong as ever.

*NB: I am not saying I will never take drugs again ("never say never" is my motto), but my interest in them has waned considerably

Home Sweet Rishikesh

Travel snobs of the hacking through the jungle kind will tell you that Rishikesh is "not REAL India". They'll level this thoughtless accusation at the whole of Goa, large chunks of Kerela, and maybe even Rajasthan too. I'm sure there are other bits of India that are equally unreal. It's a rather patronising take on things, but I guess they are entitled to their opinion, no matter how erroneous it is. What exactly is "real India" then? Gokarna? Come on guys, just coz you like your piece of the pie with a few thorns on, doesn't make it more real. By your supposed criteria, I imagine Bihar is more REAL. Or maybe Bhopal, where folk are still suffering the fall out from Union Carbide's negligence. But hey, I haven't heard many crusties telling me that Bhopal was on their itinerary. So, here I am then, in Unreal India. Yes, sure, here you can get pizza, you can buy singing bowls and you can do yoga, but for me (and this is only my opinion) this is REAL India. It's no more real than any other part, but it's in India and it exists and that makes it REAL India for me. By that criteria, even Calangute with it's endless lines of lardy brits on sunbeds is REAL India. Deal with it! But hey, back to Rishikesh, and what I really wanted to say. I love this place. It is one of my spiritual homes. That is, my spirit feels at home here. It's something to do with the Ganga river, but it's more. What I love most, when I think of it, is the people it magnetises to its shores. These people are seekers and drifters. They are my kind of people, and I feel very at home in their company. To many of them I could happily tell of my own wee conversations with God, and they would not sneer or scoff. They'd dig where I was coming from. They'd understand that I'm talking about that universal spirit that permeates everything and not about a scary, hairy-beardy guy on a cloud with a persecution complex. So, talking universal spirit here, I had a religious experience down by the Ganga this evening. God spoke to me, loud and clear, and he answered that question I've been asking this last wee while. And that question is simply this: what the fuck am I doing? And, I suppose: what the fuck am I going to do? I'm not going to elucidate upon the answer I received, but suffice to say, it amounts to changing my ways so that the emphasis is more on serving others than serving myself. I'll keep you posted on how things unfold. But, before I say more, I feel it necessary to emphasise that God says all missions offered up are entirely voluntary. No-one is coersced to follow his ways, not even the likes of Jesus or Siddartha. My task (should I accept it) isn't remotely as glorious as the afforementioned (and I shouldn't really mention those dudes in relation to myself, lest you get the idea I've got a messiah complex along with the madness of talking to God): no, my path is simple, humble, inglorious and will - except for the people it directly affects - go entirely unnoticed. So, no glory there. Of course, I could just carry on down the path I've been trawling these last two decades, making art and writing and generally indulging myself. The choice, ultimately, is mine. But man, after bathing in the Ganga tonight, I wonder...

Some Things Should Not Be Shared

This is a truth that is self-evident to the majority, but to a small minority (myself included) it is far from evident. I tend to open my mouth and speak exactly what is on my mind, without a thought about the consequences. This is true of my blog also. And I am most guilty of having vented about my ex here. I keep forgetting this is a public forum, and not a personal diary. I do tend to use it as a diary, and am generally unconcerned for what people may think or feel about it. My thoughts are this, I suppose, this is the true me, and if folk think I suck because of that, well it kinda separates the goats from the sheep. However, some friends have pointed out that what I said about my ex was perhaps not appropriate for a public forum, and after much mulching, I have come to see the light, and have deleted those entries. Now I feel like a bit of a twat for having written them. I need to buy a diary - you know, one of those things made out of paper and cardboard - and if I need to vent about anyone, then I should do it there instead. But don't worry, fellow blog-followers, I will still be exposing myself inappropriately over cyber-space (the only difference is I'll try not to expose anyone else).

God Is Good!

This is probably something I shouldn't share with the general public, but, as my friends might tell you, I never really take that into account. Maybe I should this time, considering what I'm about to confess. Ach, what the fuck... here goes. God talks to me. Yep, you read that right. And I guess I might just as well have confessed to dogs talking to me. However, let me just qualify that statement. I believe God is inside everyone of us, and because of that, we can hear that "God", if we choose to listen. Okay, some of you think I'm loo-la now, fine, but I know some of you out there will dig what I'm saying. So, this is for you! Let me roll you back now to my "long dark night of the soul" in Gangotri. At my lowest ebb, feverish, delirious and with no means of contacting anybody, I heard God speak to me. He said simply this, "Dee, everything will be alright". Shortly afterwards (actually, I exaggerate, it was the morning afterwards) the manager of the hotel I was staying in knocked on my door and said, "check out time is 12 o'clock". I told him I wasn't leaving because I was ill. He then explained that he had a previous booking and I WAS leaving. Now, given that I was weak, washed out and on the verge of delirium, you'd have expected me to break down and cry at this point, but instead, I just laughed out loud. It was, even to me, hysterical. I guess it's not for nothing that for the duration of this trip I've been wearing a t-shirt which bears the legend: "Il Ne Me Reste Que Rire" (which translates from the French as "There's Nothing Left To Do But Laugh"). I'm pleased that t-shirt had such power for me. So I laughed, packed my bags and managed to get myself down to the bus stand and negotiate a ride in a share jeep. Now, I think I also mentioned earlier I shared this jeep with 13 others. Anyway, so there's me, having vacated my bowels 20+ times in the last 24 hours and I'm jammed in a tin box with wheels with 13 other people, and the only thing that's keeping me from vacating my bowels once more is a little pill (thank God for little pills). So, I made it as far as Uttarkashi, half the way back to Rishikesh. I even found the strength to go to the one internet cafe there (I badly needed to feel connected to others after my long dark night and day) and was rewarded by hearing that my friend Geof has found the courage and vision to decide to radically change his life and head off to Nepal to share his skills with others (I was really happy about this, coz when I first met Geof he was in a bad way). So, after the internet, back to the hotel, coz I had a 5am rise the next day. But guess what? Well, I wasn't quite out of the forest yet. Yep, I had a total dose of insomnia. Last time I looked at the clock it was 1am. So, next thing I know the alarm clock's buzzing its wee head off, and I've got to get my shit together and get a bus to Rishikesh. And was my shit together? No, it was as watery as ever. So, I popped two more imodium (or tescos generic version), picked up my rucksack, daypack and guitar and headed off to the bus stand. And then guess what? Life suddenly became kind. The bus was only half-full for over half the journey... and those of you who know Indian public transport will surely acknowledge this as a "miracle" (although a relatively minor one). And by the time the bus filled up, I was in fine spirits, knowing I was only a couple of hours away from Rishikesh. Then, reaching Rishikesh, I managed to get a Vikram for the proper price (another small miracle) and when we got to Laxman Jhula, I managed to tell the driver in Hindi that I wanted him to take me right to the bridge, instead of being dropped off nearly half a kilometre back (Vikram drivers hate that las half kilometre because of the crowds). Again, a very minor miracle. A bigger miracle was being able to get across Laxman Jhula bridge with out a people and scooter jam. I made it across without stopping once. Possibly the only time I've managed that in 6 weeks (aside from at maybe 7am). So, THAT was a miracle. What I'm saying here is God is good. He promised me it would all be alright, and it was, and that was a pretty damn big miracle. And let me tell you, India is NOT kind on people down on their luck. It usually kicks you in the guts. Most people's experience is that when they are weak with the shits, that's usually when they get robbed, or if not that, get ripped off, or even simply get on the wrong bus. That's the way it goes. So God is good. And man, I am so fucking grateful. I can't tell you how beautiful Rishikesh looked (and how it still looks). So, I got to Laxman Jhula, and I went to my old hotel, and my old room was available (as I knew it would be). And after a HOT shower I went to Little Buddha restaurant and had 2 cold coffees and a fruit salad with curd (ok, guts still a little dicky, but who cares!?) and then I met my friend Marion and she shared with me all her thoughts about her own spiritual journey (which has been magnificent) and she made me see the beauty of my own journey, and helped me to be even more grateful. Even in this internet cafe, Marion is talking to a man and I'm overhearing fragments of a conversation that again reaffirms my own beliefs. It's like God is teasing me with beauty. And so, here I am, richer and fuller for a journey which most people would think was a failure. I didn't reach the physical source of the Ganga, but I do believe I ventures right to her spiritual source. I cannot tell you how much I love that river. I cannot explain to those of you who are more pragmatic than me, how a river can be spiritual, but it IS. You don't need to take me seriously, because I'm a man who talks to God, and even more crazily, I'm a man who God talks to. So that's it, the cat's out the bag. Dee is CRAZY. Crazy, but happy... and I end this blog entry with a big THANK YOU to God. Thank you God for listening to me, for talking to me, and for helping me.

Uttarkashi

Funny thing, when I arrived here on the way up to Gangotri I was less than enamoured with the place, as I mentioned in a previous post. It was probably a lot to do with the fact I had only had 4 hours sleep, and I'd endured 8 hours on a bus. The next day proved to be rather wonderful, and Uttarkashi shone in a completely different light. Now, it shines with an even brighter light. After I'm done with the internet (which is a delight after the internet void of Gangotri) I'm going to go down to the Ghats for Aarti (a pre-sunset puja ritual). The one I witnessed here before was quite beautiful. I will soak my head in the waters of the Holy Mother Ganga and pray that this dose of the "rice water" blues is only temporary. I'm feeling pretty washed out now, and also, my arse is telling me that the imodium are beginning to wear off. I'd like not to spend the next 16 hours (until the bus or share jeep to Rishikesh) lurking in my hotel room, close to the toilet. Not sure how many imodium it's safe to take in any given period, but I probably should err on the safe side and not take any more till I really need to (ie tomorrow morning, to get me through an 8 hour journey to Rishikesh without shitting my pants). Hopefully this little episode will soon pass, and I'll not have to take any further remedial action, but if I do, at least Rishikesh (and its array Ayurvedic doctors) is only 8 hours away. Sorry to go wittering on about the malfunctions of my guts, but that's India for you! Anyways, what I meant to say was, Uttarkashi - great place, love it (and so fucking glad to see it again).

An Old Joke

You know the old joke... Q. How do you make God Laugh? A. Make plans. Well, that pretty much sums up my trip to Gangotri. My plan was to go hiking up to the very source of the Ganga, at Gaumuk, a 38 kilometre hike from Gangotri. Indian bureaucracy being what it is, I had to obtain a permit in Uttarkashi and state the specific day that I would begin my trek. I chose the 21st May, figuring I'd need 2 days to acclimatise. Well, I arrived up in Gangotri on the 19th and was glad I'd given myself 2 days for acclimatising, because I was indeed showing signs of suffering from the altitude (3,000 metres), most notably I was finding breathing difficult and any physical exertion proved to make breathing more difficult. I was surprised by this, as I had previously trekked up to 4,200 metres in Nepal and had no difficulties. Ach well, I figured, I'm 46 now, a good deal older than I was when I went trekking in Nepal. So, the following day, I was still suffering, but I figured all would come right in the wash and that I'm still hard enough to endure high altitude mountain walks, and would only be ascending to about 4,000 metres. Then, that evening, I pulled something in my left buttock. It was very painful and not a good portent. Still, undeterred, I took a couple of painkillers and then performed some healing on myself (which worked, because after the painkillers had worn off, the pain was gone). I was pretty bloody determined to get to the source of the Holy Mother Ganga. I had a plan. So, I went to bed early that evening, to give me strength for the day ahead. Then at 1am, I woke and did what I thought was a fart, but proved not to be. Yep, after three and a half months of travelling through India without so much as a touch of Delhi Belly, I was hit with it, full thunder (so to speak). Over the following ten hours, I was up and down to the toilet, several times an hour, with what is commonly known as the "rice water" version of diahorrea. So, that was kind of the end of my planned trip to Gaumuk. It was the 21st and no way was I fit to go trekking. In fact, the day of the 21st I spent in a feverish delirium. It was not pleasant. There I was in Gangotri, on my own, with no mobile signal and no internet access, and a 13 hour journey away from Rishikesh (the nearest centre of relatively "Western" civilisation). No-one knew where I was. I could have died and no-one would have known. Such were the thoughts I entertained as I went through my delirium. As I said, it was not pleasant, but what trip to India would be a trip to India without such a "long dark day and night of the soul". So, I guess it was in the post. The following morning (today), still weak and feverish, the hotel owner came and told me I needed to vacate my room as he had a booking. So, I took that as a sign to get the fuck out of Gangotri. I re-packed my bags (which had previously been organised for the trek), then I popped two imodium (anti-diahorrea pills) and somehow managed to get my shit together and get down to the bus-stand, where I got a shared Jeep. Shared jeep? A method of transportation common to the Himalayas. And not uncommon to the experience is the fact that these shared jeeps have 12 passengers. In this case, 13 (though maybe only 12 and a half, as it was a young girl of about 4 years). How do you get 14 people (including the driver) into a jeep? Well, go figure... coz it sure the fuck isn't conceivable to the Western mindset. Let me just tell you though, it IS do-able, unfortunately. So, we made the 6 hour journey, round hairpin bends, over roads that don't really deserve the name "road", slowly down to an altitude that is more becoming to my nature. So, here I am, once again, in Uttarkashi, and I am still weak and slightly feverish. I'm glad to be here, and much more confident about my situation, even though tomorrow I have to endure another 7 hour butt-crunching journey down to Rishikesh. There, I hope to re-group, and make new plans. Hopefully God won't laugh in my face this time. I'm thinking of going to Dharamsala. I'd quite like to be there for my birthday, which is only a week away. It would be a nice echo of my 30th birthday, which I spent at Swayanbunth Stupa in Nepal. I'd like to be in a place of Buddhist influence again. But, we'll see. Best not to shout it from the rooftops, just in case God has other plans for me. So, hopefully I've done my "long dark night of the soul" and I won't have to do another one.

Me Hind Bolta Hu (Thodee Thodee)

I'm sitting here listening to the internet cafe owner chat with his mate, and I'm actually understanding the odd word that they are saying. It's quite bizarre. Also, I can now read almost all Hindi signs, not that I actually know what they mean, but I can sound them out, more or less correctly. To think that just 5 weeks ago they were just a bunch of squiggles! So, thank you Sachdeva guru for enlightening me. I'm inspired to sit down with my vocab and study some more. Inspired, but probably ain't gonna do it tonight, what with being so spaced out and all.

Ennui in Uttarkashi

Well, I managed to cut the prevaricating down to an absolute minimum and was up at 4am (with about 4 hours sleep under the belt) and then off to the Yatri Bus Stand. Come 2pm I finally arrived at Uttarkashi; bus weary, bone-rattled and spaced out. It was a tough old trip... and still only half ways towards Gangotri, by God! You should have seen me when I arrived, the biggest question on my mind was, "why the hell did I leave Rishikesh?" I've got a poky wee room, right next to the bus stand, and I'm paying 300 rupees for it. And round the bus stand it is noisy hell. I was too travel-fucked to imagine there might be a quiet hotel somewhere down a back street (which there is) or that it might be cheaper (which it is). I didn't really care, I just wanted to offload my backpack and guitar as quickly as possible, and figured, what the hell, it's only for one night. Well, that's what I figured, not listening to that wee small voice that told me not to travel on a Sunday. You see, I need to pick up a permit in Uttarkashi, before heading off to Gangotri and Gaumuk (no mention of thisd in the rather useless Lonely Planet). Anyway, the office, which is 1km out of town is closed on a Sunday and not open for business till 10am tomorrow. So, what with check out time being 12 noon and last bus to Gangotri being at 1.30pm, I may well be spending another night here. What to do in Uttarkashi? Well, not a lot really. I've explored it a fair bit already and have managed to find one fairly decent restaurant and a suspension bridge over the Ganga. There's a mini-ghat, where I washed away almost all of my worries and travel-weariness. Ah, the dear sweet Ganga did it again. I love that river. But aside from a decent restaurant and a mini-ghat? Well, there's this internet cafe. So, that's a find. I wasn't expecting to find anything like that here. Brilliant, coz there's not much else to do with myself right now. Probably a bit of a lack of imagination on my part, but with only 4 hours sleep in me and having endured an 8 hour bus journey, I think I've done reasonably well. It's very strange (and quite refreshing) to be virtually the only white face in town. I guess this place is what some purists are inclined to call "real India". It's real alright. But is it really real? I mean, it's actually pretty clean and tidy here (relatively speaking). So, is that real? Also, hardly anyone speaks English... so I guess that makes it pretty real. I am SO glad I spent the last 5 weeks learning Hindi, because it really helps. It's great to be forced to practice it, even if I speak it like a three year old with learning difficulties. So, tomorrow I've got to try and get this trekking permit asap, and get my ass off to Gangotri. Don't know if I'll make it or not. I guess one more day in Uttarkashi won't kill me, but if I'm honest with you, I'd rather not...

The Last Post

The last post? Well, it could be for a while. I've finally decided to get on the road again. Or, at least I think I have (my friends will know me for the prevaricator I am). I'm reluctant to leave Rishikesh. The frantic, frenetic travel rush I had in my twenties has somewhat dissipated. No longer do I enjoy 12 hour journeys in the bone-rattling wrecks that the Indian's call busses; and now that I am heading into the Himalayan foothills, that is the only travel option. No doubt as I brave the hairpin bends, sheer cliff drops and possible landslides, I will be thinking fondly of that wonderful luxury - the train. So, you might ask, why don't I just stay in Rishikesh? Well, two reasons really. First is, the HOT is back in, big time. After a couple of weeks of relative cool (round the mid to high 30s) we're back up into the 40s, and I am feeling that sluggish ennui upon me again. The 2nd reason is that I have said hello and goodbye to too many people here. I've run out of energy for many more hellos. I used to be a friendly wee traveller, breaking into conversations at the drop of a hat, but now I just sort of grunt at people, and still some of them insist in engaging me in conversations. I think it may be the heat, but it is also more than that, I am beginning to get jaded round the edges. I've been in Rishikesh too long. I'm beginning to regard it as a home, and the constant flow of transient tourists through my home will soon be as irritating to me as when I lived in Edinburgh. So... on that count, I definitely need to reassess my idea of living in Rishikesh for 6 months next year. Much as I love my teacher (and guru), Sachdeva, and much as he has taught me an appreciation of Hindi (and Hindu philosophy) I think I am going to have to opt for somewhere where the proportion of tourists does not outweight that of the locals. So, plan A it looks like being. That is, Varanasi. Anyways, looking to the more immediate future, I'm 90% certain I'm leaving Rishikesh tomorrow. The 10% uncertainty stems from the fact that the bus to Uttarkashi and Gangotri leaves at 5.30am, which, allowing for the journey to Yatri Bus Stand means a 4am rise. Don't know how in fuck's name I'm going to manage that! So, this may not be The Last Post. I could easily find myself still in Rishikesh tomorrow. An easier option would be to head to Mussoorie (only 4 hours away), except that I hear hotel rooms at this time of year can be upwards of 600 rupees. Anyways, why go for easy options? I'm not a pussy, am I? Well, actually, I am a pussy. In two weeks I turn the ripe old age of 47, and I'm not sure my poor fragile arse can take monumental journeys any more. Actually, that's not true, my arse probably can take it (there's certainly more padding there than there was when I was in my 20s). I guess I've turned into a bit of a softy in my old age. All the more reason to challenge myself, I guess. I don't ever want to turn into a cream bun. So, tomorrow, I begin my two day journey to Gangotri (via Uttarkashi) and after some acclimatising to the lack of heat, and to the altitude (3,000 metres) I will trek up to Gaumuk (at round 4,000 metres) from where the Ganga springs. It is the Holiest of the Holies in India (and that's really saying something). I'm hoping it will prove to be so for me. I love the Ganga river. I love it more than any other river I've ever encountetred. It is holier than The Clyde or even The Forth. So, to go to the souce of the Ganga will be a pilgrimage for me, not just a sight-seeing tour. And, as pilgrimages go, it should be pretty hard core. It's a 19km trek on foot from Gangotri to Gaumuk. Oh, and guess what? Likelihood of an Internet Cafe at the source of the Ganga? Nil! So, this will possibly be the last post in quite a while, although there may well be a cyber source in Gangotri itself: maybe not the last post then.....

Flying Solo (getting the hang of it)

Today is a bit of a weird anniversary (it being one of the few I remember). It is the 31st Anniversary of my first ever proper date, and beginning of my first ever, ahem... "relationship". It marked the beginning of a very long career in (more or less) serial monogamy. Yes, I am a serial monogamist, guilty as charged, but I am on the twelve step programme now. I have been alone for nearly 8 months. Yes, a whole eight months (or not quite). Last time I managed a stretch like that was back in 1981. Seriously! (All you independent folk in the back row, stop snickering!). And I feel quite proud of myself too. I have ridden through loneliness, sexual frustration, self-loathing and purposelessness and come out the other side a stronger, brighter and more together person. It is quite strange for me. I am used to being alone, and even like it now. I can see the many blessings flying solo brings. I would enumerate them here, but would be in danger of sounding like one of those desperate, "I'm really happy single", forty-something Cosmo women (or maybe they do Cosmo men nowadays?). I'd also probably sound like I'm in denial too. And maybe I am a bit, because there is still part of me scanning every new woman I meet, seeing if she ticks the boxes etc. Though I do it in a very half-hearted way these days, because, inevitably, if she ticks more than half my boxes, she's ticked way more than half of someone else's. Any woman who has seemed promising is either 1, with someone or 2, just split up with someone and too hurt, confused or upset to get involved or 3, doesn't even give me a second glance. So, that's kinda where things are at for me on the romantic front... and you know what, I really don't mind. And that's kinda a good thing, coz it means I've more or less let go of it... and once you properly let go, the universe is no longer held back from delivering. Chances are, a beautiful, free, single woman with a penchant for feckless, arty, spiritually inclined nomadic males will bump into me as soon as I exit this internet cafe. Well, that's the way my universe often works... but, if this time it don't, well, what the fuck, I've got nearly 8 months practice under my belt and I can handle being in for the long haul.

Memories of a Pusher in Pushkar

I've been in this internet cafe for over an hour now, mainly writing emails, and my brain has turned to mush. The gameplan was to write some more blog. There was something I badly wanted to say, but I swear to God, I've now forgotten. It's gone clean out of my mind. I feel like a robot, and the white screen (well, mostly white) is drilling a hole in my head. So much of what I wanted to say got lost as soon as I get sucked into the cyber void. I do remember one thing though, which is worth conveying. It's about when I was in Pushkar, nearly two months ago now. To give you the background... Pushkar (like Rishikesh) is a Holy place. So, officially you can't get alcohol anywhere (though I found several overpriced sources there). Also verbotten are eggs and meat. It's strictly a teetotal, vegetarian place. Not that you cannae get hold of "special" lassi or even order various opiate derivatives at the chemist. Anyways, as I said, officially, it's the bastion of Hindu cleanliness. Was I clean? Well, not exactly! And one day I was approached by a rather grimy looking dude who inquired if I wanted to buy some "charas" (solid cannabis, to those not in the know). Well, I refused, but not out of puritanism, just coz I don't enjoy weed. So, grimy chap offers me some "brown". "Brown?" I enquire. "Yes, yes," he says, "brown sugar". Now there are some out there who would say I was foolish here, but my curiosity was roused and I began the process of haggling. I got the dude down to 300 rupees for half a gram, but during the process I kinda lost interest. So I started walking away. The dude followed me. He stopped me in a doorway, and looking well-shifty, he pulled a huge packet out of his pocket. His eyes were shining, almost feverish. I wondered what exactly he had in this packet: half a kilo of cocaine? a thousand happy pills? what? Then, he thrust the packet in my face. "You want chicken?"

Great Spirit

I've now been in Rishikesh nearly 6 weeks, and I still can't tear myself away from the place. Between my Hindi lessons, bathing in the Ganga, going to Osho meditations and hanging out with my Kesh buddies, I am just way too happy here. The River Ganga is supposed to be Holy. When I first arrived in Rishikesh, I was pretty skeptical about that, but I've had a bit of a turn around on that one. The river definitely has an energy about it, and every time I emerge from it I feel more than just clean. As for the Osho meditations, I'm still enjoying them, despite the miserable failure of the laughter meditation. I don't care if Osho was a fraud, he knew the Western soul, and he knew some sure fire ways to help Westerners shake off some of their shit. I guess Osho was a kinda idiot savant: a child genius. He certainly had something of the child in him, to dream up a fun version of meditation. And what of my Hindi? Well, every few days I feel myself make a further breakthrough. I can now read the script though "thodee thodee" (that is, "very slowly"). I've got a Hindi buddy, Heather, who is at about the same level as me, and working with her has been inspiring. It's a shame she's heading off to the mountains in only a few days. I still don't feel the urge to leave. Beautiful as Gangotri may prove to be, I am enjoying the hazy heat of Rishikesh. The weather has been kinder. It's now in the mid to high 30s, rather than in the mid 40s, as it was at the beginning of the week. I cannae tell you how happy I feel at the moment. It is a delicious contentment. I've been floating in a sea of "here and now", barely thinking of yesterday, and not that concerned about tomorrow. I even feel like I'm kinda in the gentle process of breaking through to a place that is softer, kinder and wiser. Of course, there is still that wee spoilsport voice in the back of my head that is screaming at me to stop being such a fucking fluffy hippy... but hey, I like being a fluffy hippie, I do. It's a very pleasant place to be.

Bye Bye Michael (and Sionaid)

The last five or so days I became a sort of surrogate Dad for Michael. I didn't really have any choice in the matter: Michael adopted me. It was quite an unsettling experience, because Michael reminded me a lot of Rosie. He is a spirited child, very sweet, open and innocent. Being with him brought out the Dad in me again. I had kinda forgotten that aspect of myself, even though it was my main role for 7 years... and now Michael is gone, I feel kinda adrift once again, just the way I felt 7 months ago when I stopped being a proper Dad. So, today I am thinking of wee Rosie, and wondering how she is growing/ changing/ developing. I'm hoping that when I see her again, she will be pleased to see me, and that we can go and do some Dad and daughter things. I'm hoping that her feet are now better, that she's shed some pounds and become fitter, because I want to go climbing some hills with her, just the way we did what now feels like "way back when". More than that, I'd love to take Rosie to India with me over an extended Christmas holidays, spend two months travelling all over the place, all the way from the Southern tip up to Rishikesh... but I'm kinda resigned to the fact that that will never happen. When I see kids like Michael, and kids like the ones I saw on the Ganga beach today, I wish I had had the bredth of vision to take Rosie to India when she was younger. She'd have loved it, I'm sure. Maybe one day, maybe in the distant future, she will get to see India and to find out why I love this mad country so very much.

Too Long In Rishikesh

Ach so, I finally found another internet cafe in Laxman Jhula that will let you upload photos (the previous one changed their mind, and lost my custom). So, I am now endeavouring to load up another pile of Rishikesh photos. These are mainly noteable for the ones of Fifi, Sinead, Michael and myself getting down with a holy and exceedingly affectionate cow. There are also a pile of photos of my ongoing Rishikesh posse. There's at least 100 photos to go up, so I've got a long time of hanging around here and a long time to think of something wise or witty to write in my blog. Can't think of anything right now because I baked my brain on the banks of the Ganga this afternoon. Beautifully baked, and kinda brain dead. Also very very hungry. I could tell you about the daft Russian lassie who decided to skinny-dip in the Holy Ganga, and who, as fate would have it, chose to do so, just as a police patrol arrived (and I hadn't seen any polis for days). But how amusing is it, the exploits of a disrespectful tourist? Not very. Ach so, shall I tell you about the laughing meditation? Yes, old Osho was really up to fun and games when he invented that one. I think he was having a laugh. Yep, so with some trepidation I went to Osho's laughing meditation the other day, and I was right to be anxious. The meditation leader, god bless his cotton socks, tried to get everyone to laugh... and he sorta succeeded, if success csan be measured by a bunch of folk hee-hawing fakely and sounding like a lunatic asylum on fire. For me, and for Sinead (God bless her cotton socks too) it was just too much for our fragile, uptight Celtic souls. We ran out after only a few minutes. If only the guy had started with a few jokes. And I should have known better, because I tried a laughing meditation session in Arambol with Akilesh, and with similarly crap results. What's wrong with me? No sense of humour? Seriously though, the laughing meditation kinda put me off the whole Osho malarky, and I'd been kinda enjoying it, as a fun sorta distraction (often feeling spaced out and high afterwards). So, that's me. And where am I right now? Well, I've been a wee bit too long in the Kesh now: 5 weeks, I think. I reckon I've got another week in me and then I REALLY must leave. I met a bloke who has been here since Feb 1st (hasn't been anywhere else aside from Delhi) and he was looking somewhat tired and emotional (or some might say, a little crazy). Lovely place, Rishikesh, but the Beatles were right to get out after two months. Imagine... no White Album. So, I too need to get out of the Kesh. I feel there's a White Album lurking in my soul (possibly even distilling), but if I don't head off soon to the fresh air of mountainous Somewhere Else, it may well stagnate, and even possibly turn upon me. Oh, and by the way, I haven't visited what the locals (and travellers too) call "The Beatles Ashram". It's a bit like not visiting the Taj Mahal. I do it out of pure inverted snobbery, just so I can say, "yes, I actually did spend X weeks in Rishikesh and never went to the abandoned ashram which the Beatles visited over 40 years ago". It was the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's ashram, not The Beatles' ashram. Man, pop culture... give me a break. Sorry, still waiting for those damn photos to upload, and I'm now very hungry as well as sun-woozy. So... saved by the bell. The photos are now uploaded and I can just shut the fuck up now.

Beltaine

May 1st is a day of new beginnings. In Scotland, last night, Beltaine fires burned, and none bigger than the one on Calton Hill in Edinburgh. I once drummed at this celebration, and what a fucking buzz it was. Nowadays (in these nanny state days of Health & Safety) it is no longer quite the pagan fest it once was. The polis clear the hill at 2am, the fire is fenced off, and a five pound entrance fee has to be paid. Not exactly the spirit, eh? Last time I went was when Rosie was maybe 2 years old. I had to carry her on my shoulders the whole way, which tired me out, and perhaps also jaded my eye. Still, I do think about Beltaine this day. The beginning of Spring. I imagine the dourness getting shaken from the Scottish psyche, and the joys of Spring at last filling the air. Hopefully the Beltaine dancers saw in a blue-skied hopeful dawn. It wasn't for nothing I originally planned my return on 29th April. The plan was to celebrate "a new life" on Edinburgh's Calton Hill the following night. I guess that's exactly what the Sliding Door Dee did in that alternate universe. This Dee, however, has no sense of Beltaine. I haven't experienced being chilled to the bone since January. Everything has been hot hot hot for these last three months... and now, entering May, it is just a wee bit too hot (every day over 40 degrees) and in a reverse turn, I may be heading soon to the chilly heights of Gangotri (which at over 3,000 metres is twice as high as Ben Nevis - and only in the "foothills" of the Himalayas). By chilly, I mean a jumper may be required at night (hey, maybe even a coat too). Once up there, I intend to travel round small Himalayan villages and towns, and to enjoy the relative cool of the mountains. I may even head off to little known places where there's no such thing as an "internet cafe". In which case, no more blog postings. I'm guessing I'll be able to hack the heat of Rishikesh for another week (especially now I've found a cool hotel room). I'll hack it for longer if I can, because my Hindi lessons with Sachdeva and my study sessions with Heather are my current raison d'etre. I think I will suffer terrible withdrawal symptoms when I finally leave. Rishikesh has kinda become my home.

Osho Lives On!

Here in Rishikesh (and in many places all over the world), the spirit of Osho lives on. Osho, who we mustn't forget, was originally Bhagwan Shree Ragneeesh (owner of 97 Rolls Royces and indicted in the USA for tax evasion), was a clever wee bugger. He basically stole a whole bunch of meditation techniques and molded them to Western tastes (mainly by adding cheesy pop music). He hit the zeitgeist running, both feet hitting the ground, kicking up a storm of dollars, rupees and yen. In the wake of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and the Beatles (which Rishikesh is still famous for, by the way), old Baggie baby saw the dollar signs in the hippie kids' eyes. Never one to miss a trick, he rehashed Hinduism for a generation of hedonists. Now... don't get me wrong, I like old Bhagwan, I dig his hippie, free love take on Hinduism and wouldn't mind a bit of free love myself. What I don't like though, is po-faced Osho accolytes getting all soor-faced with me when I suggest his meditation practices are less than "spiritual". Yay, Kundalini meditation makes you feel good, but let's get something straight, it is not for no reason that yogis spend decades cleansing their chakras (and their mind and emotions) before daring to release the snake. If Kundalini meditation actually activated the kundalini snake there would be a million dead, brain-fried hippies and new-agers lying dead in Osho's Meditation Resort and other such centres around the world. Kundalini! Respect the snake, man! But seriously, are Osho's meditations actually spiritual? I don't think so. They are fun, playful, sensual, and even a wee bit sexy, but that's about it. The ghost of Osho is going to lead no-one to enlightenment. Osho was a fraud. He was a clever fraud. However, I salute the dude, and if by following his principles people feel happier in themselves, all the better. It doesn't matter that Osho, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and Sai Baba are frauds. It doesn't matter at all... unless you actually are a seeker after the truth. For me, I guess it does matter. I'd still like to find a guru who actually was enlightened (if such a thing is possible), not because I'm looking for someone to follow, but because I would love to actually KNOW that enlightenment is possible. That said, this desire is not going to stop me from going to a Kundalini meditation, shaking my body and dancing like a free-love hippie. It's good fun. It ain't quite as good as going to a free party and dancing entranced to the sound grooves of a hard house DJ, but under the circumstances, it'll do. Neither of these things will take me any closer to the Godhead, but for a moment in time, I'm given a wee window to taste what I normally can't taste. Afterwards? Well, there's just me. The universe remains a mystery, and God remains as unfathomable as ever. But hey, wouldn't it be nice if you could dance your way to enlightenment!

Sliding Doors Day (part 2)

In that alternate universe, my alter ego is now 35,000 feet above East Germany or Poland, moving ever closer to Scotland. He is probably quite drunk (free booze with Emirates Airlines) and probably watching one of the many video options on his own personal video screen. I like to imagine he is actually watching "Sliding Doors"... or maybe, in this instance, "Trainspotting" (edited down for "family viewing"), just to remind himself of exactly how grim Scotland can be. He is maybe only three hours away from touching down in Glasgow Airport, where it'll be sometime after mid-day, and a rather cold 12 degrees celcius. If his luck is in, the skies will be blue, and he will walk out the concourse and feel the delicious taste of being "home". But, of course, there will be no home. He'll be on his mobile to his friends, looking for a couch to surf for a night, or maybe a week. Hopefully, someone will be at home. Hopefully, someone will welcome the wanderer back with open arms. Hopefully a night of MDMA and brandy await him. And hopefully, he'll feel glad to be "home". I send out prayers ofhope for that other Dee, in that other universe. Meanwhile, in this universe, I am sitting in my favourite internet place in Rishikesh. I am writing a blog, which isn't really a blog, and, at this moment - given that it is "Sliding Doors" Day - I am thinjking about all my friends back "home". I am wondering how they are getting on. I am wondering if they are missing me. I like to think that they are planning a big hoolie for Beltaine, and that every single one of them has thought, at some time, "what a shame Dee won't be back for the party". Today, I am thinking about my friends. I wish I could "beam" them over to Rishikesh, Star Trek stylee. I'd love to take them on a walk down to Ram Jhula to see the crazy Babas, queueing up at what is essentially a food kitchen, for their daily fix of Dal and chapattis. I'd love to take them up to second beach and for us all to jump in the near-freezing waters of the Holy Ganga. But, this ain't Star Trek, and three thousand miles equals 12 hours in the air and about 400 pounds. I love this place. I love Rishikesh, and I'd love to share it with them. I hope that every one of them has the opportunity at some time to come to this mad, wonderful sub-continent, to experience what I have experienced. I hope that my Facebook photos inspire them to make this leap, and that they in turn become as addicted to India as I am. I like to imagine us all meeting up in Gangotri 20 years from now, drinking together from the source of the Ganga, like a holy communion. I'd love them all to get hooked to this place, like I am. I'd love them to understand this side of me, and for them to understand why I will most likely spend very little of the rest of my life in my homeland. I also think of my daughter, almost constantly now. I see many hippie types travelling round here with their kids in tow. I wish I had done this with Rosie. I hope, maybe one day, I will, that maybe I could take her out to Goa for the Christmas holidays... or, better still, take her camel treking in Rajasthan and hill-walking in Himachel Pradesh. I wonder how she's doing without me. I wonder if I'm missed at all, or just forgotten about. Feedback from my ex seems to sugget the latter, which is a good thing, I guess. That alternate Dee, returning to Scotland, is planning what to do when he meets up with his daughter again. It is, for him, the one ray of light in his gloomy return. He is hoping he can muster up enough joy so that his wee one will be glad to see him again, so that she will not say (again), "Daddy, you used to be a lot more fun". The Dee in this universe (ie: me) is thinking more or less the same thing, even though this meeting is nearly three months away. I hope, by the end of this trip, my heart is full of light and joy. I think I am lighter and more joyful than I was on January 29th, when I set off on this adventure, but am I light and joyful enough? Sliding Doors, man? I hope by missing that plane I did indeed make the right choice. I'm pretty sure I did. Despite the melancholly of this particular moment, I feel happy and even relatively purposeful. I'm here in wonderful Rishikesh. I'm learning Hindi. I've got the Ganga River as a friend. And tomorrow I'm going to try out some Osho meditation. Ahead of me lies more adventures... and the beauty of it is, I really don't know where they are going to take me.

"Sliding Doors" Day

For those of you who are not film buffs, "Sliding Doors" is a whimsical, romantic comedy, starring Gwyneth Paltrow. The plot of the film follows the fate of two Gwyneths, from a pivotal point in which her destiny is changed by the sliding doors of a tube train. One Gwyneth misses the train by a whisker and the other makes the train. We follow both these alternatives in a montage, seeing how the two Gwyneths' fates unfold. With me? Well, you know the way it is, your whole life can change upon the head of a pin: you miss a train, and your whole future has changed. For "train" read "plane". This is my "Sliding Doors" day. In some other reality, there is a Dee ensconsed in (most likely) a slightly upmarket, aircon hotel in Delhi. He is probably watching a cheesy film, like "Sliding Doors". In fact, he definitely is watching this film; and is not unaware of its irony. He is a little bored, a little restless and a little anxious about what lies before him in Glasgow, which is now less than 24 hours away. He has 12 hours to kill before his taxi will arrive and whisk him away to the anonymous and relatively un-Indian bowels of New Delhi airport. The Indian Adventure is over for that Dee. What lies ahead for him? Well, we just have to leave that up to the imagination of a Hollywood scriptwriter. There is potentially a film there, maybe... something like "The Beach" meets "Sliding Doors". Maybe Ewan MacGregor in the lead, playing a person whose life is so much sexier and compact than my own. Anyways, I like to imagine, in some other parallel universe, there is a Dee making his way back to the confines of Scotland. I wonder where his life will go, what he will experience and who he will become. I'd like to meet him when I'm 60... and most of all, I hope I'll say to myself, "thank fuck I didn't get that plane", because this is where the Sliding Doors finally slide shut. I am in Rishikesh, not Delhi. My Indian adventure continues, and, most likely, the whole colour of my life changes. It's a bit of a strange, wee day for me, knowing this is the day that my life has surely changed. I have no idea how it will change, who I will become, or what I will do, but it has changed anyway. I'd like to think that I have made "the right choice", in that I have had the courage to face an uncertain future and the courage to follow my heart. I'd like to believe that the colours will become brighter, the sounds become clearer and my heart become cleaner. I'd like to believe I am following my "destiny" or, more accurately, "my path" and that this journey will become a wondrous, gentle, inspiring adventure. A good part of me actually does believe this, but then again there's a sneering spoilsport that lives in the back of my brain and he slags me something rotten for entertaining such fluffy, hippie, new age gibberish. I wish I could get him to shut up and leave me alone to my dreaming. So, anyway, that's those doors slid closed. One future is no longer to be, and another takes it's place....

Meditating With The Babas

Today Anna & I followed Joel to a cave about 20 minutes walk up a hill from the Ram Juhla area of Rishikesh, to meditate in a cave with a Saddhu. In the light of experience, I wasn't expecting a sudden fix of enlightenment. So, there was no enlightenment, but I did get to meditate in a cave. It was quite good, but not earth shaking. I left after an hour to go and see Zoe off. Anna and Joel stayed on. Joel reported to me that Anna deliberately set things up so she could be alone with the baba to test him. And sure enough, he failed the test. That is, she went to hug him goodbye and he managed to grope her arse and tit. So... not a genuine saddhu then. I take my hat off to Anna for devising this perfect Baba Bullshit Detector.

So The Journey Continues...

In four days I need to get the bus to New Delhi, if I hope to make my flight back to Glasgow. That particular deadline started haunting me, big time, about two weeks ago. And it was with that that I started agonising Clash-stylee, "should I stay or should I go" and based on the logic of "if I stay there will be trouble, if I go it will be double", I decided to stay. But did I get the lines wrong? Is it the other way round? Perhaps, no matter, Joe Strummer never was my guru. Still, the day before yesterday I finally decided I would stay. I didn't quite get round to organising the change of my flight dates yesterday, and this morning I woke in a right old funk. I tell you what, I'm learning a shedload about myself on this trip, but it ain't the sort of thing one likes to learn. I've discovered exactly what a prevaricator I am. I suppose though, in the end, I always do come to a decision. Probably because time forces it upon me. Time is running out for me now, and if I don't get my skates on and organise the change of date of my return flight, I will return to Scotland by default, just because I couldn't finally make a decision. On my Facebook my friends are now telling me to "get a grip". I think they are exasperated by my humming and hawing. I hope though, they still love me despite my flaws. Certainly, I've become increasingly aware of this flaw in me. Decisions about my future, decisions that seem pivotal to the rest of my life seem just too fucking crucial. I angst that if I make the "wrong" decision that disaster will ensue. I don't know why I allow myself to think this, because the evidence points to the fact that there are no "right" or "wrong" decisions: there are only decisions. Your life flows on and adjusts its flow to the contours you choose. I know people who suffer from panic attacks, even over the smallest of decisions; and I feel for them. I understand where they are coming from. I suppose the thing is, what you want to do is "the right thing", to ensure that whatever choices you make will be beneficial for you and beneficial for all those around you. I guess, in the end, it doesn't matter whether I stay or I go, just that I am able to conduct myself to the best of my abilities. In truth, I think the constant heat (and the subsequent inability to get a decent night's sleep) has been affecting my judgement. I have already made a decision. I am staying. Now, I must bite the bullet and implement that decision. I have to - in the spirit of the shaman - follow the warrior's path. That is, after making a decision, following it through with determination and single-pointed vision. So, I am staying. I will leave this internet cafe and go and phone Emirates Airlines and make the planned changes. I imagine once I reach the relatively cool climes of Mussoorie I will feel once again invigorated. My journey is not yet over....

Agonising...

Even without the latest piece of news about my mother, I have been agonising about whether or not to fly home on my alloted date - 29th April - which is sadly only two weeks away. For a while I thought it was for definite, that is, fated, because a friend wrote me and offered me her flat in Glasgow for the summer, and for cheap. Now, she isn't so certain it's a go-er, and I'm still waiting to hear back from her and find out what her plans are. If it ain't a go-er, I'm less and less tempted by an imminent return. Don't really know. My ex was in touch relatively recently and it looks like my daughter is well-happy, showing no signs of missing me, and seems to have adjuested well to the new situation. I'd only be kidding myself on if I told myself I was going back to Scotland because she needed me. So, really, I'm kinda struggling here... part of me really doesn't want to end up back in Glasgow, homeless and purposeless (I mean, a very large part of me, not just 20 percent, more like 95 percent). My flight leaves Delhi at 4am on the 29th April. There's a very good chance it will be leaving without me.

Possible Change Of Plans

I've just heard that my mother (who I haven't spoken to in 4 years) is ill. She is in Cochin, in Kerela, which is about 72 hours away by train (or 12 hours away by taxi and plane). Various members of my family have been in touch with me about it. Because I am in the same country as her (albeit a sub-continent) there is a certain amount of emotional pressure being laid upon me. The fact that I detest my mother (for reasons to complex to explain) seems to have no bearing. The fact that you could get to Cochin from Glasgow (Scotland) quicker than you could get there from Rishikesh seems to have also been overlooked. And, what with a taxi to Delhi, return flight to Cochin and the expense of changing my return flight, it would only be moderately more expensive to fly from Glasgow. Worst case scenario, if she ends up going critical and no-one else can get to her, then muggins will make the 3,000 mile round trip. I ain't pleased about it, given all the shit the old witch has given me. Sorry, can't even feel compassion for the woman, even though I know she is ill. I guess I'm detestable... but if you really think so, that's your problem. You don't know the back story. No child ends up detesting their parent(s) without good reason. So don't judge me until you've walked a mile in my mocassins, oh and make sure you give me back my mocassins afterwards, eh?

Rishikesh Ra ra ra....

Man, Rishikesh is just proving to be wonderful. I've had some amazing times here, and I'm also feeling wonderfully purposeful. I've found a good yoga class, at last, Sivananda style of Hatha Yoga; and even better, I've found a good Hindi teacher. I've now had about 6 lessons and little bits are beginning to stick. It's a bit of an arse over tit language (if you compare it to English) in that the sentence structure is bizarre and nouns have genders (like French, Spanish and German), but even more weird is that if the nouns are near prepositions they change sex. Go figure. Anyway, it's a lot to wrap my puir wee heid around. Aside from being purposeful, I've also been wonderfully indulgent, with some of the finest food I've experienced in India. And, oh man, a landscape to die for! It's like a cross between the Scottish Highlands and the Spanish/ French Pyrannees. Utterly beautiful. The other day Claudia, Zoe and me walked five km out of Laxman Jhula (our wee patch of Rishikesh) towards an Ashram I cannae remember the name of. We headed off round late afternoon and walked up a twisty, quiet road, following the Ganges upstream, towards its source in the Himalayas. It was sharp, crystal green and the hills were steep and verdant, and as the sun gradually set, all the colours came alive. We arrived at the ashram round nightfall, and a God-the-father thunderstorm blew in from nowhere. It was exhilerating. The nice folk at the ashram fed us, and even arranged for a taxi to ensure our safe return to Laxman Jhula. I was quite tempted by the ashram, tempted to ensconse myself in it for a week's course, but I don't think I can let go of my Hindi lessons. I want to keep them going until the very last minute. Want to have the foundations to build on for my next visit to India (totally inspired by my friend Amitasuri - who I sepnt a week with at the beginning of my trip - and who is more or less fluent in Hindi). The language thang has really bit my arse. Not only do I want to get there with Hindi, but I've got a master plan about how to go forward with my Spanish and French. I love languages, just wish I had a bit more aptitude. So I could wax lyrical endlessly, not just about Rishikesh, but about India in its entirety. I'm counting down the days to my flight, and there is a gradual build up of... well, not quite sadness, don't quite know what to call it. There is also the knowledge that I'll be arriving in Glasgow and will have no home, no base, no nothing. I'm sure I'll be fine. In fact, I know I'll be fine. And as soon as I get back I will start planning my next adventure. At present, the idea is to head to Cadiz in Spain and throw myself into one of those full immersion Spanish classes (living with a Spanish family too). That's the idea anyway. But who knows which way the wind will blow!

Fantastic Rishikesh

I was going to tell you all about how wonderful Rishikesh is, but there is an Israeli woman using a skype phone next to me and my brain has gone into meltdown. Very hard to wax lyrical when you can't hear yourself think. Check out the photos and you'll get the picture. Beautiful, wonderful, exciting and various other adjectives. Also, I'm very excited to be learning Hindi, even if it is like about the most difficult language in the universe (at least, that's what I feel).

Deadline Looming

It's exactly 3 weeks until my flight back to Scotland. I'm kinda filled with the fear at the thought of that. Reality! Back to reality! And what a grim fucking reality it is! I just don't want to return. Even if I am thinking of not staying long. The thought of Glasgow, grey skies, drizzle, wind and pissed off, depressed Glaswegians just gives me the total heebes. Glasgow, grotty old Glasgow... and then all the shit I've got to face up to there, and no home to return to. From India to a sofa and a sleeping bag in some kind friend's flat. And here I am in Rishikesh right now, learning Hindi (very slowly), doing yoga (occasionally), hanging out in cafes, eating good food and just generally having a good time. Exactly why would I want to return to Glasgow? Frig, fuck and damn. I know three weeks is longer than most folks have holidays - sorry most folks - but it seems like a very short time to me, and I am haunted by visions of Glasgow, and even more frightened that somehow or other I'll get stuck there and be unable to escape.

Rising Up In Rishikesh

Of course, I should have looked for accomodation before blogging. Didn't start looking until late afternoon, and ended up walking several miles with rucksack, daypack and guitar, round and round in circles on a wild goose-chase, which saw me end up in a hotel I had previously kb'd because it was pretty grim (a concrete box with a mesh window looking out onto a lightless corridor). It wasn't a great start to Rishikesh, and the shanti mood left me pretty quickly. After checking in (and paying) a screaming, grinding noise, accompanied by hammering started up. On inspection, it turned out several workmen were in the process of building the floor above me. The screaming, grinding noise stopped (though the hammering continued) after the power went out. This left me in almost pitch darkness. No, strike that: it was pitch darkness. I could only find my way out by use of a torch. Tired and bedraggled, I headed out to try to do something useful (rather than sit in the dark with the hammering overhead). So, I looked for a new hotel to move into first thing next morning, and I searched out yoga classes. I also managed to find a Hindi teacher (who I'm going to try out tomorrow). Anyways, when I got back to my room, the power was back on and the hammering had stopped. There were still a couple of kids screaming, but that was pleasant compared to the racket that went on before. So, I gubbed a valium, put my earplugs in and slept like an angel. This morning, I booked into a new hotel and got a fantastic room, which even had a table (pure luxury). In celebration, I spent a good part of the early day working on a drawing. I'm determined my last weeks in India will be productive. Tomorrow I'm going for a Hindi lesson, and I'm also going to go for a yoga session. Who knows, given the wondrous amount of floorspace in my new room I might even buy a yoga mat and try to get my own practice going. I'm fairly inspired. That said, there is also a part of me that is keen to head home: not because I love Scotland (or even Glasgow), but because lately I've been pining after my wee one, Rosie. It's taken a wee while to kick in, but there it is, that parental urge. I realise there's a bit of a hole in my side. Seven years I've been a Dad, and it's strange not to be one any more. I'm kinda hoping that maybe Rosie has also been missing me, but no reports of such from Glasgow, as yet. Anyways, fate might be conspiring to keep me in Glasgow for the summer, at least. My friend, Marianne, is planning to head off for some rural living over the summer and her flat should be free for a couple of months. September though, I'm probably still going to go off to Cadiz and immerse myself in learning Spanish. A polyglottal future awaits! Or does it? You know the old joke? How do you make God laugh? Make plans!

Arriving In Rishikesh

There is a book that's doing the rounds amongst travellers at the moment, called "White Tiger". I can't remember the author's name, but I was surprisingly impressed by it. In this novel, the author refers to the Northern area which borders the Ganges river as "The Darkness". On the bus journey from Haridwar to Rishikesh, I saw some of this darkness - squallid little shanty villages made of bits of wood and old tarpaulin. I'd kinda forgot about that side of India, having spent a month in Goa, and a month in the light of Rajasthan. Haridwar itself was pretty grim, and now, pretty busy. The journey here was dirty and smelly and my eyes feel like they are weeping pus (don't worry, they aren't). So I'm now in Rishikesh, walking in the footsteps of John Lennon and George Harrison. I've just arrived. Haven't even found a hotel room yet. Was too excited because I found an internet place with SD card reader and can now upload my photos of Mt Abu and Haridwar. I hope you enjoy the photos. God knows how many I've uploaded so far, but they are only a small fraction of the 1,500 photos I've taken. India is just TOO photogenic. So, anyway, I guess I'd better find some place to stay soon. What little I've seen of Rishikesh looks good to me. I can see why the Indians think of the River Ganges as a Goddess. A sparkling life bringer. Even i9f it does flow through The Darkness...

Back To Haridwar

I first came to India, back in August 1988. After arriving in New Delhi, with my then girlfriend, Aideen, where it was blazing hot, we headed off to Haridwar, where we were advised it would be cooler, because it was "in" the Himalayan foothills. It turned out Haridwar was not quite in the Himalayas, as we were led to believe, but near the Himalayas, and at an altitude of only 100 or so metres, it was even hotter than Delhi. Aideen and I spent most of our time in our hotel, taking frequent showers to cool down, and planning our next move (to Mussoorie, which was actually in the Himalayan foothills). The hotel was Hotel Kailash. I didn't remember this, until I spotted it - walking into town from the railway station - and so, for old time's sake, I am staying there today. The hotel hasn't changed much in 21 years. The room I'm staying in is a carbon copy of the one we stayed in last time. It's on the same floor, and is only about five rooms along from the one we actually stayed in. Very strange to revisit it. I remember one thing very clearly about my stay in Haridwar previously, and that was how little traffic there was. It is now screaming with traffic, which goes to show how much India has changed in 21 years. The reason I remember this is that Aideen was standing on the balcony and suddenly she called me and said we had to leave the hotel right now, because she feared there was going to be an earthquake. She told me she could feel a vibration in the railing of the balcony. There had just the previous night been an earthquake in Nepal (which was felt as far away as Delhi). I tried to tell Aideen not to worry, that the vibration was probably the traffic - but I had a hard time convincing her (and myself) as all I could see was a cycle rickshaw, a donkey cart and a car. There was that brief moment of panic, before I realised the vibration was caused by the aircon unit. So, no earthquake then! (though it turns out we were actually on the 13th floor of the Hotel Ashok Yitri Niwas when the earthquake occured, but too fast asleep to feel it). Now, the balcony does indeed vibrate, what with the mass of beeping, squeeking, groaning traffic below). It's probably not much cooler in Haridwar today than it was 21 years ago, but I'm a bit more hardcore/ experienced and a bit of sweat didn't deter me from a huge walk round the city. In my travels this time, I found the bathing ghats at the Ganga Canal (a Brit made offshoot of the sacred Ganges), which is a haven of peace in this noisy, dirty city. Haridwar has little to offer otherwise. I understand it's quite magical at sunset, so will go down there again tonight. Otherwise, I'm heading off to Rishikesh tomorrow. Nice to stop off and see the place again. I hope to maybe also go to Mussoorie too, but it depends on how nirvana-like Rishikesh is. If I can find good Hindi and Yoga classes I may stay put in Rishikesh for my remaining four weeks.

Apologies In Mt Abu

Yer folks, I do apologise for my recent spate of bitching and moaning. How can I excuse myself? Well, it's kinda just sorta been my habit to use my diary or blog as a vehicle to vent my spleen. I'm gonna try to quit, but it's going to be as difficult as quitting cigarettes. I KNOW my duty is to spread light, love, happiness and joy, so really I should just keep my grimmest, darkest thoughts to myself, and share only those thoughts and feelings that are gonna raise the vibes of everyone that reads them. We're all darkness and light, but ultimately, only the light is real. Alll it takes is one solitary candle flame to banish the darkness. Well, that's probably enough said for the now, as I'm off on a big journey, to Haridwar, in about an hour. I'll be revisiting a town I visited on my 2nd day ever in India, nearly 21 years ago. That'll be interesting. So, love and light to you all. Sorry I never found the anti-aging guru and haven't been able to get him to share his secrets. I do however have a few "secrets" of my own, in that department, and I'm happy to share them with you. They are simple rules, and to summarise - work less, play more: that way you'll stay young. Enjoy!

Mo Willett

I've just heard that my old friend, angel and helper, Mo Willet has died of cancer. I first met Mo in 1993, when I was a volunteer with the Iona Community, and we hit it off big time. Later that year, homeless and friendless in Findhorn (with no help from the officious "new agers" who work there), Mo helped me find a caravan to rent, and even helped me get some work. She was my Findhorn Angel, and she was a pragmatic and compassionate voice railing against the prevailing tide of "me first" which subverted the Findhorn Foundation many years ago, despite the wisdom and compassion of one of its co-founders, Eileen Caddy. So here's to you Mo, and thank you. I hope wherever you are now you no longer need to deal with arseholes and committee member who constantly block your altruistic dreams

Dream A Million Dreams

The news from my daughter is that my mother is in India. God, damn, blast and fuck! A long, long story, but I haven't spoken to my mother in years, after a pretty major incident, which after the many straws the old bitch loaded on this old camels back, was like adding a hay bail,k which finally broke it, and made me vow never to have any contact with her any more. Please understand, I do not come from a functional family. There isn't one member of this blood-grouping who has not had some huge dispute with another at some time. It is not uncommon for one person to not-be-talking to another for several years. Me? I've just grown fed up with it all, and the hay bail (in this instance) involved out-and-out lying, deception and being screwed out of an inheritance. So, I feel justified in not speaking to the old bitch (and please, my lovely Facebook friends, just let me vent my spleen without adding your comments, it's a necessary process for me, and always way too complicated a situation for you to understand the ins and outs of). Sorry, just had to get that off my chest. Now, onto finer things... I guess this particular student is nowhere near ready, because the guru did not appear. That said, he's still got 2 days to pull something out of the hat, because I'm stuck in Mt Abu until 31st. Oh Yogi, where are you? I really wanted to find out if you were the real McCoy or just another bullshit artist. Talking of bullshit artists, I met one of them in Pushkar. I went to a yoga class in Pushkar, and it was with a leary old man who had the cloudy, slightly red eyes of an Old Monk rum drinker. He led me & Ellie through three asanas, which he protracted by making us hold our breath a lot, then at the end he gave us some pseudo-spiritual waffle and told us he could walk on water. "Okay, guru dude," says I, "put the old money where the mouth is, and demonstrate - if you can walk on water I'll becopme your disciple straight away!" So, did the guru dude walk on water? Did he fuck! He said, "the time is not yet right". Nice one! So when will the time be right, after I've studied with you for several years and passed over several crore rupees??? I hate these fucking charlatans! Bastards. And it makes it so much harder to find anyone who's actually got any real spiritual wisdom to impart. Times, in India, I think there is no-one at all and it's all a crock of shit, but then one day I'll be walking down the street and I'll see a Saddhu that has a perculiarly fiery, clear look in his eye. Those Saddhus I want to grab and ask, how did you get that look in your eye? But, invariably, they don't speak a word of English. That's why I wanted to find Yogi, he was pretty fluent in English. And that's why I want to learn Hindi! But not just so I can speak to Saddhus, but also so I can speak to urchins, chai wallahs, beggars, bus conductors, and the other 95% of Indians who speak no more than a few words of English. Fuck, but I love this country. It sits inside me like a million jumping jelly beans. I dream of studying Hindi and yoga and maybe even the tablas. Dream a million dreams.

Enlightenment In Mount Abu

How glorious the colours are here in this Rajasthani hill station, 1200 metres above sea level. After weeks in the dried out plains, they seem as sumptuous as the colours in rain-drenched Scotland. Utterly beautiful. So, I have received "enlightenment", though not of the kind I was hoping. The mystical Yogi did not appear at the bus stand, or if he did, I couldn't see him for the swarms of hotel tauts who landed on us, like proverbial flies on shit. Nor has he appeared elsewhere. I was expecting Mount Abu to be a small town (population less than 20,000), but it is actually a vast village, spread over many square miles. I have walked the highways and byways, looking for a rastaman yogi of preternaturally youthful appearance, and have seen nothing. Haven't even got a whiff of an ashram. There are, though, white-clad Brahma Kumaris in abundance, who will - at a side ways glance - collar you and proselytise until you feel your brain melting under the sheer pressure of their enthusiasm. However, a life without sex, onions or garlic is unappealing, even if it promises a reincarnation in the golden age. So, Mount Abu is beautiful, but not quite the spiritual haven I was hoping for... and the enigma of Yogi goes unanswered. This was what I expected... but still I hoped, you know? As for Astrid - the clay oven maker - well, she left the day before I arrived. I imagine our paths will cross in Rishikesh, which is probably my next destination. I've decided against Jaiselmere and camel trekking. It's just too damn hot down in the Rajasthani plains now. Another time, I guess. It's now a month and a day till my flight. I can't believe how quickly 2 months have passed already, and I can see my return to Scotland looming on the horizon. I know it will be no time at all before I'm on that big bird; and I hope to God that by then I will have found the answer to that ever-present question - what next?

Brahma Kumaris

Well, even if I don't find yogi, Mt Abu is also the home of the Brahma Kumaris. I did a meditation course with them, years and years ago. Their meditation was really nice, but some of their ideas seemed a bit off the beaten track to me then (and now). Curiosity has got the better of me, and I'd really like to check up on them. Also, one of my Arambol buddies might still be there, learning to make Tandoor ovens. So even if the enigmatic yogi remains an enigma, my trip to Mount Abu will not be in vain. I hear it is also a traditional honeymoon haven for Indian couples. So, I'm looking forward to it immensely.

Off To Find God In Mount Abu

Well, here's a wee story for you. Back in 1988, while I was in Manali (in the foothills of the Himalayas) I met this amazing dude. He looked a bit like Bob Marley, but with less wrinkles. He invited me and Aideen (my girlfriend at the time) up to his shack, two miles uphill from Old Manali. He strode like a God up that hill and left me and Aideen panting to keep up with him. This might not seem unduly surprising, except that I was only 26, Aideen was 23 and our host was 67 years old. He was super-fit and looked only about 30 years old. I was surprised, in fact I was dubious when he told us his age. When we reached his shack, he showed us his passport, and sure enough, he was born in 1921. If you'd seen the dude, you'd have said this was impossible. There was no way he was 40, never mind a pensioner. He insisted that he maintained his youth through the practice of yoga, and that indeed his guru was 300 years old. He himself was a guru (or teacher) and I learned that he had an ashram in Mount Abu. Shortly after returning to Scotland, it dawned on me that Yogi (that was the abbreviated version of his name) might have been a fraud, that he had bought a forged passport and was now earning valuable rupees from gullible Westerners. Why not? But, the only flaw in that notion was that he did not try to enlist me in his ashram or elicit any sort of contribution from me... in fact, if memory serves me right, he even offered us dinner (albeit dal & rice). So, if he was a conman, he certainly didn't try to con us. So maybe, just maybe, he did have some secret, some piece of magical knowledge and wisdom that Western seekers have been chasing since the 1960's. He was the only person I ever met in my Indian travels that left this question mark in my life. What if his guru really was 300 years old? What if? That question has haunted me for nearly 21 years. So, now, I am on an adventure to try and resolve this riddle once and for all in my mind. I'm off to Mount Abu tomorrow to try and find Yogi. I don't have much to go on, except he had an ashram in Mount Abu 21 years ago. I don't even have his full name. A bit of a fool's errand perhaps, except that Mount Abu has only twenty thousand people, so if I ask around after ashrams and stuff, eventually I will find his, if it still exists. If I find yogi and he now looks like he's well into his fifties, then I'll know he was a fraud, but if he looks like he's only in his mid-30's, then I'll know he's the real deal. Wouldn't that be amazing, if he was the real deal, if there really are people in India who have conquered processes that we take for granted. Chances are, Yogi will have moved on and be untraceable, and my cynical Western mind tells me he was probably just having a laugh. In Pushkar, just last week, I went for a yoga lesson with a guy who definitely had that Indian whiskey red-eye look, who taught uninspiring pranayama, and then insisted that he could walk on water. "Okay," I said, "show me". No beating about the bush Mr Enlightened, if you can do a Jesus I want to see it. Of course, I was told "the time is not yet ripe". He spun a tasty line in bullshit. Miracles everywhere in India, but none for the showing.... Anyway, cynicism aside, I still want to believe, despite all the bullshit I've encountered over 5 visits to this wondrous country; and Yogi is the closest I've come to a miracle. I'd like to believe he's still strolling up hills like a young man. I'd like to believe he is still learni8ng from his 320 year old guru. I'd really like to believe. And what I hope is that he'll be waiting for me at Mount Abu Bus Station, because - of course - he already knows I'm coming. He'll wave and he'll say, "you're a day late" (and, he'll be right, because I was going to leave Udaipur today). Yeah, sounds like a fantasy, but you know, magic can happen. I've experienced it in my own lifetime. I'm 46 years old, and yes, I still do believe in fairies.

Bourgoise Udaipur

In Pushkar I met a talented French juggler, Alex. When I told him I intende to visit Udaipur, he spat with contempt, as only the French can do, and said, nay, declaimed, that Udaipur was "too bourgeouise", virtually spraying me with consonants and vowels. It was an impressive display of Gallic disdain, but did not deter me in my mission to discover more of Rajasthan. So, here I am in Udaipur. My first impression of this city is that it is distinctly European. It reminds me of one of those Mediterranean seaside towns, with twisting narrow roads and shops selling high class tat. It is also the cleanest town I have encountered in India thus far. That is, it still looks like a tip compared to its European equivalents, and there is still the all-pervading smell of stale urine, but it is, after Bundi and Pushkar and especially after Jaipur, unbelievably clean. This is my second day here now, and I've been creaming my SD card, taking photos of palace hotels and back lanes. All of them are uploading to my Facebook as I write and hopefully will be there for you to see. So, is Udaipur bourgoisde? Well, I guess so! It's the first time I've walked past Rayban and Gucci clad rich Europeans since arriving in India. And I guess there is a kind of relative obscenitiy when I think that some of them are paying the equivalent of a year's wages for an Indian waiter, just for a night in a glitzy (probably tacky) palace hotel, in the middle of an almost dried up lake. But who am I to criticise? I just spent the day's wages of an Indian waiter on a piece of apple crumble and a cappucino... and very nice it was too!

Upload Problems

The downside of small towns which do not cater that well for tourists is that internet places are generally shit, so today, trying to upload my photos of Bundi to my Facebook has been problematic. The computer cut out on me, and all my photos just disappeared. Frustrating. Trying again now. So, while I try again, I shall muse some on my blog. Muse and pray that they get there this time. Funny to think back on my very first time in India, when there was none of this instant communication. I remember telling my Dad that we would be going to Kashmir and Nepal that year. We didn't actually make it to either, because 1988 was when things exploded in Kashmir and Muslim separatists started killing tourists, and then there was that huge earthquake in Nepal. However, my Dad didn't know we didn't go. So, all I could think of was him worrying at home. Eventually, we decided we had to get in touch, so we went to the considerable expense of sending a telegram. I guess we could have phoned - if we had found somewhere to phone from (there was no STD connections then). A telegram seemed to be the only option. I keep thinking of "old" India, a land free of technology as we know it now. These days, you can see Saddhus (supposed "holy" men) walking round with their begging cans and mobile phones. The other day, on a mountain top, near Pushkar, I met a Saddhu who was stoned out of his mush, just staring and staring at his mobile. It was kinda absurd and hilarious.

Bundi

Bundi is a hidden gem in Rajasthan, as yet not on the mainstream tourist trail. It is a pleasure to be in a town where white faces are in a serious minority. I don't know why it hasn't been "discovered", but suspect it soon will be because it has a serious write up in a French guide book (and there are many French here) and no doubt Lonely Planet will be waxing lyrical about it soon too, and then Bundi will become the next Pushkar, full of tat stalls, pizza bars and desperate shopkeepers saying "hello, you want to buy" to every passing white face. For now though, it is a small paradise: a shanti town, full of dazzling colour, dilapidated buildings, temples; and it is just wonderfully Indian. It reminds me of when I was here back in 1988, except of course there was no Internet, no blogs and no Facebook back in those glorious days... also no place in North India where I could actually buy coffee. So not all change is bad. I've been here a few days now, and what with planning to visit God-knows-how-many-places before my flight (getting ever nearer) I plan to move on again. Next stop, Udaipur (I think). So it's hello and goodbye to Bundi. Totally recommended stop off. I've posted up about 50 photos on Facebook so you can get a flavour. But for a real flavour of all the places I've visited you'll have to wait till I get back to Scotland, when I'll be editing and uploading video clips up onto my YouTube account. Nothing like seeing India moving at either full throttle or totally languid pace, especially hearing the sounds of India. I just wish there was a video camera that could catch the smells, because it's the smells more than anything that speak of India, a mix of stale urine, incense and food (doesn't sound very appetising I know, but believe me, it is truly magical).

Itchy Feet

I've been in Pushkar about 10 days now, and I think it's time to move on. It's the 18th March, which means I've only got a month and 11 days until my flight back to Glasgow. I was going to say "home", except I haven't got a home anymore and I'm not sure that Glasgow or even Scotland feel like home any more. Maybe they'll feel like it closer to the time. Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, the game plan is to head to Bundi tomorrow. It's a small town, and not really on the usual traveller itinerary, so it won't be set up like Pushkar. I'm told there is one internet place and only one money changer. So that sounds good to me. I've very much enjoyed my stay in Pushkar, but now I've got itchy feet, and I'd like to go off exploring again. No doubt I'll see Pushkar again some time. Adios. Or maybe just, hasta luego.

Still In Pushkar

I've kinda got sucked into Pushkar. It's the sort of place I could happily live in. At the moment, I am studying poi with Sunni, who is a bit of a poi master, and I have made breakthroughs I could only have dreamed of. I now have seven or eight moves under my belt, and am getting pretty nifty. Still quite a few I'm still learning to master. Sunset time, there is crew of poi swingers and assorted jugglers that gather in the grounds of my hotel. It's a wee haven of creativity, and I love it. I'm in serious danger of not moving on... though I will, because I want to go to Bundi, Udaipur, Mount Abu, Jaiselmere and Kurti (and that's just places in Rajasthan). We'll see... it's only 6 or 7 weeks till I return to Scotland. And then what? After the shit that the ex has rained down on me I'm thinkingg of exiting Scotland pretty soon after returning. Ideas are brewing. Thinking, maybe I go to Cadiz in Spain and spend some time in a language school there. Maybe spend 6 months in Spain, six months in India. Thinking.... who knows. There's fuck all for me in Scotland any more. If one daughter can grow up into a wonderful human being without my influence or presence, I figure the other can too. My ex may be a turncoat renegade, but she's still a fucking good mother. I'm sure Rosie will manage fine without me. Now I know I'm going to get flack from some quarters for expressing myself honestly, but before you bother, please, ask yourself what you actually think you will achieve. Anyways, I still don't know what I actually want to do... just thinking aloud (and publicly).

Self-Pity Sucks

Handy hint for everyone out there. Self-pity sucks. Don't do it! I'm going to head off from this internet cafe in the pink! Enough of these Goddamn blues. And besides, I am still a nice purply-pink, after the madness that was Holi. How lucky am I to be able to travel this magical land?!!! Lucky as fuck! Already those blues are shifting. Keep talking the talk, and eventually you can walk the walk again. Next stop, Udaipur, me thinks!

Pushkar Blues, Pinks, Reds & Yellows

This morning, sitting on the roof garden of the Pink Floyd Hotel, looking out at the wakening town of Pushkar, I was hit with the blues (I've been every other colour since I arrived). Those lonesome blues have hit me every now and then, since leaving Scotland. They hit me real bad in Arambol, and they've hit me again in Pushkar. Looking out over this magical wee town, there is something missing... that is, there is someone missing. I keep thinking to myself - so many times - Su should be here to share this with me. I've dreamed about her three nights in a row, unpleasant dreams, full of symbols of loss. My Big Love, my "the one"... and yet, not! I keep thinking of how she would have felt this all the same way as me, how she would have talked my language, how there would have been this complete understanding. Goddamn, but I still miss her... the "her" that she was before our relationship started disintegrating. It's nearly half a year since we split up - and even though it was me that did the splitting - I still haven't gotten over it. I've met lots of lovely women here in India, but I just haven't felt the spark, the rush, the lust, the desire to make the leap. I know, if I could make that leap, it would be the cure... but still I can't. I keep hoping I'll find that vital spark again, because I sure could use some romance, even if it were finite and limited.

Pushkar, Rajasthan

Well, I'm now in Pushkar, Rajasthan, which is a small, beautiful town - an oasis, in a near-desert. At the moment, the celebration of Holi is going down, and there has been much drumming, dancing and merriment. Pushkar is a haven, after the madness that is Jaipur. I enjoyed the madness, but 36 hours of noise, chaos and fumes were enough. Geof and I decided to head to Pushkar. He has now gone off on an overnight camel trek. And I am spending the day wandering round the town. I've finally found an internet cafe where I can upload photos, and am endeavouring to upload photos up to my Facebook. I've probably shot off about 1,000 photos so far (and only a selection of them can I put up on Facebook). I've also shot off over 2 hours of video. So, friends in Glasgow, beware... a night of video footage awaits you round the beginning of May. Can't actually believe so much time has passed already. I'm more or less half way through my three months away... and still find myself wondering what I'm actually going back to Scotland for. Answers on a postcard to God, 1 Paradise Lane, Heaven, Nirvana, NV1 0XX.

Not Going To Hampi

One of the things I fell out with my Ex about was that I posted up details about my personal life (and by extention, about her personal life) in my blog. She had a sense of privacy that I did not share with her. I had no qualms about people knowing the "truth" about me (or whatever I perceived that truth to be - often according to mood). In deference to her - and with a certain reluctance - I deleted about three years worth of blog from the internet... I was also slightly paranoid that the bigwigs of "The New World Order" would have my cards marked for expressing unsavoury views. So, I deleted my blogs. I'm sure the CIA and MI6 have the entire world's blogs on some super-computer database anyway, so the deleting was pointless, if I was worried about saving my subversive skin. Anyway, fuck the Illuminati and all that, they can have their pathetic world. The main thing is, the blogs got deleted to save the feelings of my partner... my now ex-partner. One of the small consolations of her being my ex-partner is I can now write my blog freely, as I wish. And so I wish to tell you about something I had planned. I was going to go to Hampi, where I met Su, just over 11 years ago, and I was going to burn her love letters to me, on the exact spot where we shared our first kiss. In the end, I posted them to the Sea Goddess of the Arabian Sea, and asked the Goddess to help release me. So I have no love letters to burn. Also, now that the temperature is 40 degrees (and then some) I really don't feel like travelling into the baking interior of India to torment myself with some of the happiest memories of my life. I don't think I believe in exorcism. So, instead, I have invested 90 quid on a flight from Goa to Jaipur in Rajasthan, and I am going to indulge in the three days of mayhem that is the festival of Holi (where people throw colour pigment at each other). I am looking forward to it immensely (my flight leaves in three days) and I am looking forward to exploring Rajasthan, which I've missed on previous trips to India. Of course it would be nice to revisit Hampi (if nice is the right word), but as it threatens to be about 45 degrees there, I think I'll pass this time. Maybe next time....

Ligging With Andrew Logan

Well, just yesterday I discovered that one of the hosts of my yoga and painting retreat is none other than Andrew Logan who is probably most famous for being best buddies with Derek Jarman and for hanging round with the likes of Vivienne Westwood and the Sex Pistols before they became mind-bogglingly famous. I think my Dhanakosa friend, Adelaide Damoah (who is a pretty ambitious artist) will be kickingh herself for the fact she never came out on this yoga retreat, as I'm sure Mr Logan would be a very worthwhile and influential friend for her.

It's been a pretty strange time that way for me. Yoga seems to be bringing me into contact with a lot of famous/ influential people. In Arambol I was doing yoga with a sanyasin dude, Akhilesh. One of the friends I made there was a guy called Matt. His sort-of girlfriend, Stella, told me that Matt was in a band that had a number one hit in the Eighties. The band he was in (still is in?) is called Cold Cut. The name is vaguely familiar, but maybe I'm mixing them up with Coldplay? Anyways, he's now more into the recording side of things and owns a record label called Ninja Tunes. I'm told they do Electronica. I suppose I should have tried to do that networking thing, since I also make Electronica (of a sort). Maybe in 5 years when I have mastered the art....

So, I'm hanging out with the rich and famous...

Actually, more the rich. All my fellow retreatants at this course have flown out to India for two weeks, just to do this yoga and painting retreat. Amongst our numbers is a hotel owner, a buyer for the Dorchester Hotel, an Oxford educated architect, a costume designer (for the Benny Hill show, no less). They all seem to have money to burn, and don't even flinch at the idea of paying 250 rupees for a sarong (which was thought a bargain).

If I didn't actually like these people immensely (and I do), my Glasgow chip-on-the-shoulder would have grown to the size of a sack of potatoes right now. The thing is, they are all terribly nice, frightfully nice even (this is me talking like them). I'm glad my prejudices are gradually sinking/ shrinking, because there is nothing worse than envy... and in this country, where I can easily spend a labourers weekly wage in a day, I would have to be completely lacking in a sense of irony, if I were to be jealous or even envious of my more well-to-do fellow retreatants.

This "holiday" has been nothing, if not an education for me.

Today I am thinking of my wee daughter, Rosie Sunshine, and wondering how she is. I was pleased to hear there was snow in Scotland, and hope that she had a fun time making a snowman. It made me sad to think that this is the first time she will have made a snowman without me, and I still tremember fondly when we made a snowman on a bench, on the banks of Loch Katrine, and she go the idea of putting twigs in it, and we gave the snowman a distinctly punk look.

One of the things I have been having to deal with on this trip is my separation from my ex, Su. We met in India, just over 11 years ago. On what would have been our 11th anniversary, I performed a goodbye ritual, in Arambol, which is the seaside village (more a town now) where we went, after meeting in Hampi. I had hoped for release, but it didn't really come, not properly.

I think the thing is that Su set the bar so high, it has been impossible for me to meet a woman who even remotely compares to her. And after 5 months of being single, believe me, I've been looking. I was lucky to meet a lovely woman called Anni, who was as soft and gentle as Su, but there was no vital spark beltween us... and that is the nearest I have come. There has been no holiday romance. No nothing.

For the most part, I am used to being single, but the other night I heard a couple fucking in the room next door. It was loud and protracted... and it made me remember what I've been missing all this time.

Five months! This is the longest I've been single since I was 18 years old.

Addendum In Arambol

Well, I've just found out my yoga retreat with the angel, Angelika starts later than I thought (actually thought it starts tomorrow), so I've now got another 5 days in Arambol... don't know what happened in my head there... time melting into itself. Certainly losing track of it.

Waiting for the return of my camera and video camera, which are at a repair shop, suffering sand damage (I never learn!)

Two nights ago, I woke with a rat trying to eat my head.

A few things to mention in passing.

Changed Days in Arambol, Goa, India

It is hard to remember Scotland now. It seems so far away, so distant. I meet the odd traveller who has just arrived and tells me Britain had really heavy snowfalls, that London was at a standstill. Snow? And here's me swimming in the sea every day, swanning about in light cotton trousers and t-shirt at night.

It's utterly brilliant here in Arambol, but shhh... don't tell everyone.

And that's kinda the problem now. Too many people have heard about it, and it has grown into a sorta hippie metropolis. I nearly cried when I arrived. Ten years ago it was a couple of restaurants, some shacks, pig toilets and empty beaches. Now, you can walk a mile through stalls selling ethnic tat. There are more restaurants than you can count, and the shacks have largely beern replaced by concrete rooms with en-suite facilities. Last time I was here I paid 50 rupees a night. Now, I'm paying 350. First night I had to pay 650 for a concrete room.

I was shocked and saddened by what has happened to Arambol, but a band called Minimal Fusion saved me from despair...

Arambol is a haven of originality and creativity. To be able to indulge in it is a delight. Every night, more music. Brilliant!!! Lots of beautiful people. Morning yoga sessions with Akilesh. Cakes from the German bakery. Oh God, I could go on, but I won't....

Okay, enough of this internet mallarky, I'm off to the beach....

A Life Of Luxury In The U.A.E.

Today I'm pretty worn out, from accumulated jet lag, frequent trips from Al Ain to Dubai, and a day of hardcore yoga and pampering at a 5 star hotel I've already forgotten the name of.

I'm sitting at Sherif & Karen's computer right now, staring kinda vacantly at the screen. So much I want to say, but the brain is just not in gear.

The UAE is a very odd place, and the oddest thing I have found so far is the downright brutal honesty of the way it exploits third world workers, who live ten to a room in dusty encampments by the sumptuous highways, while the rest of the UAE - Emirates and mostly white ex-pats - reap the benefit of their cheap labour.

Not that I'm standing on a soapbox here, after my five star pampering (and very real experience of how the other half live)... just that I was shocked that, what with the oil and everything, that labourers - particularly the ones who are actually building the ever-expanding Dubai - are so cruelly exploited. I thought everybody here was getting a free lunch, but it just ain't so, Joe! These immigrant workers are getting paid fuck all, working almost all the hours that God gives them, and living in shanty towns.

When I look at the rich Emirates and the rich whites in their souped up SUVs, lounging about 5 star hotels, with ennui painted over their bored, bloated faces, I wonder why they don't discover the pleasure of giving... you can see they aren't happy with all the shiny trinkets that capitalism offers them, you can sense their emptiness...

And I wonder, will they wait until the final crumbling of the banking system before reassessing their vaccuous lives. Will they? Will they wait until they are forced to downsize and no longer can afford to consume these vast heaps of junk that have become their habit.

The Emirates is fascinating... fascinating and horrifying... and, even here, the rumbles of the world financial crisis are being felt. Methinks the free lunch is almost over.

So, that was some experience! Tomorrow night I fly off to India, for more experiences.

There's so much more I'd like to write, but I'm tired out now, ready for an early bed.

Melted Rubber Humans - Music Videos

One of the things I have been doing is putting my tunes up on You Tube, together with videos. So, here is the complete list (so far).

Addicted To A Dying World
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=tPLos63JwhY

All Over The Universe, The Winds Of War:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=GRaArtjeags

Antichrist Cometh:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vaXuKRiiU3k

Coming Down To Ground (flashback mix):
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=crApeVfeD14

Dancefloor At The Centre Of The Universe
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=4J033ApyROQ

Escape From A Totalitarian Mindset
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=s5x6CVQwxog

Fear Of The Lord
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=DTNNgeNJ-ds

Goddess And The Orgasm
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=iRvgaWn8Hd8

Here Comes The Apocalypse
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=9iwXP93EG2s

Here Comes Tiffany
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=_aRa0J9SoMk

Hurdy Gurdy Woman
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=PlMO3DtgUEk

I And I Fly
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=y502IEPdEyM

I'll Get You My Pretty
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=YxVyugvVLQ8

In The End Just Radio Waves And Static:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=yZPSWtRPpr8

Journey Thru Inner Space
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra_lhbQQEB0

Last Of Days v1
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=lnzNKtbloYs

Last Of Days v2
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Jt0CJTODjpM

Life Is Just A Dream
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=53qtIxbUgUA

Living In A Different Reality
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=wDQ3SRo5llQ

New Beginning
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=7gHxeR1HFHE

Nightclub At The End Of The Universe
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=qIFa31AH1C8

Nightmare Vision Of The Golden Age:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=hG1OOhbE4Fs

Oh Switch Off (original version)
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=p-K42kMah-c

Oh Switch Off (Blue Peter version)
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=jnPhMxBkcrM

Out Of Primeval Chaos We Are Reborn:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=HaAEzVK3ZGQ

Out Of The Chaos And Into The Light
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=IsuGNoiF5ek

Seek Out Your Gifts
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=lXtIOWTES_Y

Self Medicating Magus Moves Mountains
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=_xzHd-QCgjw

Seven Angels Of The Apocalypse
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=UJfKkiVZjlA

Seven Angels Of The Apocalypse (2nd coming mix)
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=8X9KUj5oNfQ

Shaman In The Underworld
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vzZhUm5n2-g

Shut Down:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=KwjbUwWl1Gs

Sunrise
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=cgonmSr57Dg

This Divine Light
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=adePNvv7uvw

This Is The End My Beautiful Friend
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=v5WZpffniAo

Tribes Will Rise Again:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=YeJX4KR7dww

Five More Poetry Videos

Waves
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=sDBbr7bnfUI

Heaven & Earth
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=dF2KgSdZWBQ

Tindersticks
http://www.youtube.com/v/omsvuCV5ZXY

Crow
http://www.youtube.com/v/s0mX0hXebz4

Awakening To The Light
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Tt-hc091KW4

New MELTED RUBBER HUMANS music videos

A Nightmare Vision Of The Golden Age:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=hG1OOhbE4Fs

Shut Down:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=KwjbUwWl1Gs

All Over The Universe, The Winds Of War:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=GRaArtjeags

The Tribes Will Rise Again:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=YeJX4KR7dww

Out Of Primeval Chaos We Are Reborn:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=HaAEzVK3ZGQ

In The End Just Radio Waves And Static:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=yZPSWtRPpr8

The Antichrist Cometh:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vaXuKRiiU3k

Oh Switch Off:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=jnPhMxBkcrM

Coming Down To Ground (flashback mix):
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=crApeVfeD14

Last Of Days:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Jt0CJTODjpM

Seven Video Poems

These poetry videos feature work from my collection, Dropping Ecstasy With The Angels


When Angels Collide & Bang Their Heads:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=CJmi3fikDww

Arc Of Descent:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=zqqRJ_NnFOw

The Morning After:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=3TNl32yEU5Y

Mother Of God:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=uDAnHNkwJpQ

A Beautiful Chemistry:
http://www.youtube.com/v/PAG-9qTi4tE

No Daisies:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=XNFlusVdHMk

Apple Of My Eye:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=DdrCX-2UTXw

The Birth Of The New American Century

My two latest tunes are, "All Over The Universe, The Winds Of War" and "The Birth Of The New American Century".

You can find them at:
http://www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans_3

You can download them for free. Also, if you so wish, you can copy them and send them to your friends.

Two New Drawings

I've just added two new Melted Rubber Humans songs, Out Of Primeval Chaos We Are Reborn & The Tribes Will Rise Up Again to our new VIRB site, which is at http://www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans_3

Also, I've just completed a huge re-vamp of the art pages on my website, uploading several hundred artworks that haven't been available before. You can see these at http://www.rimbaud.org.uk/artmainpage.html

The Wind Whispering

The wind, you say, does not whisper in your ears,
does not confound with conundrums, nor exalt,
rather it chafes, rubbing rough channels
of bruise coloured, brittle ice
down through the ductus cochlearis
into the lightless kernel of your being.

Of course we have no soul, you divine:
a mind, maybe; consciousness, barely.
We are a race of grinning golems
sleepwalking towards our own extinction.
There is no animate spirit,
just the dull raging
of imbecile instincts.
We are born, we struggle to survive
and then we die.
We assume and consume,
in a desperate, blind rush
through the corridors of loneliness
to the grab sale of empty promises,
sating ourselves with pathetic comforts
that are scant protection,
for in the end
the thin darkness
will still consume us,
as it must.

Ah, but the wind does whisper in your ears,
it insinuates itself into your soft core,
through the staunch castle walls
of your meticulous cynicism.

How do I know this?

Well I too have been touched by the wind,
in the deepest, most secret of places;
with the sultry syllables of her sibilant fingers
she stoked up an inferno
of absolute uncertainty.

Listen to me, she commands,
can you hear her?

Listen to me...
open your legs and beg me to enter in,
for together we will bleed as one,
together will be poetry,
an infinite verse
that traverses the universe,
singing like the Rosenbergs in Sing Sing,
like a Stradivarius violin,
snapping to the beat of violence,
to the absurd silence that commences
when the words end,
when the rhythm finally moves through you
like a monk walking through boiling waters
wearing only feathers for clothes
and dreaming of wings.

So let me confound you with conundrums,
let me exalt you, like an angel of melting ice,
let me excite you, let me entice you,
for I will swim through the lightless channels
of your stoppered up ears
and my whispers will grow fierce,
throwing up a tumult
that will ignite the smouldering embers
in your no longer lost or lonely soul.

In The End, Just Radio Waves And Static

I've written a new tune, "In The End, Just Radio Waves And Static", which you can hear on Garage Band, here. It's a post-apocalyptic vision. A hopefully not psychic vision of our future, but something born of a cold, small fear. Something born of watching too many You Tube videos about the prophecies of Mother Shipton, Nostradamus and John the Apostle.

I'm not frightened of dying exactly. I had that fear dampened down in September 2001, when I nearly bit the big one, with a brain haemorrhage. I saw "death", and it was not nearly so big and terrifying as one has been led to imagine. I also saw the seeds of our planet's death, as I lay in my hospital bed, with that second plane hitting and hitting and hitting the second of those twinned towers, in constant action replay. Even in my fevered state, I knew a bunch of mad mullahs could not orchestrate an attack of that magnitude against the most powerful, most well-defended nation on this planet. Sadly, my first fevered thoughts proved to be vindicated.

Maybe we all deserve to die, for letting murderers and psychopaths take control of our lives. Maybe we are just not evolved enough to be able to peacefully co-operate and co-exist. It seems painfully inevitable that we will eventually - probably very soon - wipe ourselves out. If it isn't with weapons of mass destruction - as stockpiled mainly by Saddam Hussein's accusers - then it will certainly be because of the climatic (and maybe even seismic) havoc we are reaping, as we rape and despoil our once beautiful planet.

In some ways, I might have welcomed this collective self-destruction - after all, it is the pettiness of our skin, the blindness of our belief in our individuality, our isolation, each from each other, that causes such untold misery. In death, we will all be brought back to our true form, which is spirit, not flesh. Spirit recognises no boundaries. Spirit has no divisions. It cannot go to war with itself. It cannot steal from itself. It cannot neglect a part of itself. It cannot inflict pain upon itself. And yet, that is exactly what Spirit does, while encased in these separate bodies of flesh. So yes, part of me would have welcomed our collective death. Except....

Except that same month, September 2001, I became a father. I became blinded by the little parcel of flesh that I had helped to co-create. I became blinded by bio-chemical love, as all procreators do. I became jailed by the illusion of flesh. Like all fathers, like all mothers, I quickly grew to see myself as a guardian. I guard the little life that is my daughter's, just as preciously as any other parent. I may even kill to protect her, if push came to shove. I may even lay down my own life for her. So sucked in have I become to that bio-chemical illusion.

Yes, I see the bigger picture. Yes, this is all illusion. But what a beautiful illusion it can be; and I want my wee daughter to enjoy her allotted span of three score years and ten (and hopefully many more) before she shuffles of her mortal coil and joins the amorphous otherness of Spirit again. I want to shake George Bush, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. I want to shake Gordon Brown, Tony Blair and Alasdair Darling. I want to shake the slimy, cold bodies of every politician from Downing Street to Darfur, from Beijing to Washington, from Stockholm to Sao Paulo. I want to shake them until some dormant part of their brain wakes up and they realise the consequences of their actions (and their inactions). Like me, most of them have children. Many of them will have grandchildren too. And surely - even though their blood is colder, their hearts more calculating than the rest of us - they must at least love their own offspring. They must surely want them to thrive, even if they don't give a rat's as about the rest of us. Sure, they do deals with multinational corporations and line their own pockets, to ensure that their offspring inherit their wealth and power. But what use will wealth and power be in a world that is no longer inhabitable? I'm guessing that all those politicians and big business people just live day-to-day, that they truly are blind to the consequences of their actions, because I cannot believe that they would willingly sacrifice the happiness and well-being of their children for the sake of a quick buck. Cold-hearted as they are, I cannot believe they are that cold-hearted!

It is with these thoughts rattling round my head, rattling round my heart, that I compose my latest tunes. The thought that we will all die son. The thought that my daughter may not live long enough to produce a daughter of her own. The thought that we have turned our abundant Mother Earth into a weeping, angry, vindictive crone. That one day she will shuffle us off, like a dog scratching away blood-sucking flees. And then, what then? All that will be left of us will be radio waves and static.

(Click here and listen while you read the poem below)

In The End, Just Radio Waves And Static

What will we be in the end, but radio waves and static,
chaotic patterns of interference, perhaps detected,
but not understood, many years after
we have finally extinguished ourselves.

Maybe, high-powered telescopes will be trained
upon the dim star we once worshiped, long before
we were sophisticated enough
to bring about our own destruction.

Maybe those far off others
will be sufficiently technologically advanced
to be able to detect the cold mass
that was the planet we used to inhabit.

What will they suppose
when they hear the static encrusted voices
that once belonged to our leaders?

Will they try to decipher meaning
from those alien voices
that hiss and crackle through their atmosphere?

Will they speculate upon the reasons
for our demise,
or nod knowingly, sadly, sagely -
glad they had the luck to be so far away?


(You can hear more songs from The Melted Rubber Humans latest album, "Tunes To Play As The World Goes Up In Flames" at www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans_2 )

Six New Pastel Drawings

I've posted up six new pastel drawings, below. All are for sale. All are UK £100 (plus p&p). I can accept payments in Dollars or Euros, subject to conversion charges.

If interested, contact me by email: dee@thunderburst.co.uk

You can view this pictures and more that are for sale at:
http://www.rimbaud.org.uk/artforsale.html

Shamanic Dreamer

Tender Is The Night

Pulling Down Flowers From The Moon

The Woman Who Dreams

Dreaming Of Wings

Drawing Down Flowers From The Moon

New Videos

I've posted up 10 new videos on my daughter, Rosie Sunshine's YOU TUBE account, at http://uk.youtube.com/user/rosiesunshine2001

Much more fun than my usual sorta stuff. Lightweight and fun.

40 Million Downloads and I'm A Dollar Millionnaire

You can download 15 Melted Rubber Humans tunes per month for FREE from:

http://newmelodies.com/index.php?action=iperfil.view&ID=melted_rubber_humans

and if you do, I will earn two and a half cents per download. That's a whole shiny new dollar for every 40 downloads. So, please do let all your pals, and who knows, if my luck holds out I might just earn enough to buy the new Britney Spears LP.

The Wonderful Rosie Sunshine

I've taken some time out from my own creative projects in celebration of someone who is so much more creative, so much more imaginative and so much more alive than me: my daughter, Rosie Sunshine. I've been working my way through 50 hours of video footage and editing clips of Rosie at her shiny, brightest best and posting them up on her very own You Tube site, which is at http://uk.youtube.com/user/rosiesunshine2001

Already there are 163 clips up there, and I've only got as far as December 2004; and I promise you, each one is a shiny gem. If ever you succumb to ennui or world-weariness, just log on and rediscover the delight in life.

Remember, you too were once a child... and somewhere inside that old, shrivelled up, hardened skin, a child STILL resides. For you ARE the totality of all your experiences, and inside you is that child who delighted in everything.

Art Slide Shows

I've made five slide shows featuring my art, accompanied by Melted Rubber Humans tunes. They are now up on You Tube for your viewing pleasure.

Photomontages & Collages
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra_lhbQQEB0

Charcoal Drawings
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=7gHxeR1HFHE

Pastel Drawings & Paintings
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=cgonmSr57Dg

Black & White Ink Drawings
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=53qtIxbUgUA

Black & White Ink Drawings (early work)
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vzZhUm5n2-g

If This Is Heaven I'm Bailing Out...

I've just finished the last track on my fifth album, If This Is Heaven I'm Bailing Out. So, it's now available in its entirety for free download.

The track listing is as follows:
Escape From The Totalitarian Mindset
The Seven Angels Of The Apocalypse
Addicted To A Dying World
The Last Of Days
Out Of The Chaos And Into The Light
Seek Out Your Gifts
A Journey Through Inner Space
The Self-Medicating Magus Moves Mountains
This Is The End My Beautiful Friend

Why I Got Sick Of Blogging

In the end, I thought, what is the point? It was just an exercise in spewing my bile into cyber-space. It felt very negative and not particularly creative. The other day I read through some of my blog entries and I thought, "What does this add to the universe?" So, I decided to delete all my entries and be done with it.

Now, I'm going to use my blog in a more creative way (I hope). That is, I'll use it to post up art, writing or links to my music and video pieces.

Mostly, at the moment I'm working on music, under the moniker, Captain Melted. My "band" (ie me and my laptop) are called The Melted Rubber Humans. For the last six months or so I've been obsessively working away with two programmes, Adobe Audition and Sony Acid, gradually learning my craft. I've completed 5 CDs worth of tunes and have posted them up on the internet for free download. The first three albums, "Life In A Scottish Bed-Sitting Room", "Hypnotherapy Or Something Like It" and "Call Me Daddy While I Fuck You" are posted up on http://www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans and the latest two albums, "God And The Orgasm" and "If This Is Heaven I'm Bailing Out" are posted up on http://www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans_2

I've also produced a series of erotic music-video/ collages to go with some of my tunes and these have been posted up at http://uk.youtube.com/user/deerimbaud

Aside from the music and video stuff, I've a whole pile of writing that is sitting in a folder, waiting for a final edit. So, as and when I get these done and dusted to my satisfaction I'll be posting them up here.

I also have a keen yearning to start drawing again. So, if I find time, between my various other projects, I'll post new drawings up here to.

As for blogging... well, if anything pisses me off enough, instead of just bitching about it I'll try and pour it into something creative.

T-Shirt Legends

Well, I am now a t-shirt legend. Intrigued?

Dog-gone, Where's My Blog Gone?

Okay, where's the blog gone? Well, I'm done with blogging forever. Fuck it! You blog if you want to. I'm going to focus my energies elsewhere from now on. If I get my shit together I'll post up some stories, artwork or music links up here. But blogging? I mean, who cares?