That often excruciatingly long period between being awake and being asleep, when one image on top of another runs like a river through my head, a steady stream of seemingly random sights and sounds. A floating piece of paper, a rapid hand, a bicycle, descending to the subway, the color blue, saxophone sounds, a snatch of conversation, a pat of butter, a hint of skin….
Sometimes there is an obvious connection; other times, it’s simply a gift. A challenge. Why that architecture? Why that food? Why that memory?
This is how I experience India. One incredible sight and sound pile on top of another. It’s a waking dream, containing so much energy that it feels on the constant edge of explosion. This is a good thing, albeit exhausting. The traffic, where human-made machines vie with each other for nature made space, filling every available portal, as if they themselves were liquid, filling in cracks. Until there is no space at all and the mass is moving simultaneously but not together.