May Your….

To the children…

May your harvest be plenty

May the storms be at bay

May your children run merry

May there be food on your plate

May your winters bring warmth

May your summers bring shade

May you travel afar..

With your roots firmly laid

May you sing a sweet song

With a voice that never falters

May you look on with amazement

With eyes clear as water

May you see a fresh dawn

With new wisdom renewed

May you clasp each days worth

As if it were a boon

-n-

Cue Bob Dylan…

A rather lame title for this post, but for some unknown reason “The times they are a changing” is playing on the gramophone of my mind and it may have very little to nothing to do with what i am trying to say in the next paragraph or so…..

It has been a long ime since i updated this blog, i had set it up for such different intentions than what it turned out, but im happy with how “ole little fisty” has performed, over 1100 hits over the few months i was in India which surpasses any expectation i had by at least 1000 (mind you i only advertise this blog through facebook-so i think i’ve done good). I had promised myself to only publish those posts that i had written whilst in India but i broke those rules with my last post. I just felt i had not given this phase of the blog the farewell it deserved, and my last post was a story i felt deserved some telling.

So as you may all know i am back home, and have been here for weeks now. We all know the story of my Indian travels so i won’t go over them, if you don’t know then you obviously haven’t read this blog enough. But i am heading off to South Africa soon to salvage what was a tad disappointing a journey to the subcontinent. If time permits  i will update this blog with some more posts regarding my travels to “rainbow country”. But if not i’d like to thankyou for reading “With a Fist in the Sky”, i genuinley can’t get over some of the mail i get, and really it is flattering to know that so many of you actually bother. I appreciate it and genuinley hope in the future you do come back for more.

Best

-n-

Top 3 Rickshaw Names…

I think rickshaws are unique, i imagine if Mumbai were a human body, rickshaws would be red blood cells darting through the entire thing with no rhyme or reason. Some would compare them to a cancer, i guess that analogy makes more sense once you see how they drive. Anyway most rickshaws have been named by their respective drivers and the name is usually displayed on the back in really tacky lettering. Most of them are religious in significance, but some are absolute pearlers and really give us an insight into the mind of the chacha driving. My favourites thus far..

1) “Meri Jung”- roughly translated it means “My Battle”, the clincher on this guy was that it also had a cartoon Anil Kapoor (famous Indian actor from the 80’s and 90’s) embossed between each word, a shoutout to the 1985 film of the same name. A man who names his rickshaw after a film who’s central theme is murderous revenge is genuinley not a person you f&&k with on the streets.

2) Rabb Ka Darr- roughly translated from the original Urdu it means “Fear of God”. In this scenario Chacha could either be a pious man who leads a life of simplicity and prayer and drives his rickshaw as if it were a chariot to 786. Or the name of the rickshaw is a goal Chacha aims to achieve by driving like a madman in the hope of instilling “Rabb ka Darr” in fellow commuters. The sadist in me prefers the latter.

3) Sweety-Awwwwwww. Translation not required.

A special mention though must be made of another rickshaw with what i believe to be the coolest name. A more appropriate title there is not for this piece of engineering brilliance, Ladies and Gentleman a Fist in the Sky presents to you for the first time on the internet …….the Piaggio Ape

Now you can move your goods in the only way that makes sense….Ape-style….. The Piaggio Ape, the worlds first all luxury three-wheeler!  (cage for livestock not included)

-n-

Still here…

This photo has nothing to do with this post....i just like it

This is me channeling my frustrations. I’m typing on my laptop, the very smooth soundings of the Cinematic Orchestra gently massage my ears. Within the confines of my chunky Sennheisers Fontella Bass’s voice drips honey, “All that you are, All that you have, All that you give”, i attempt to decrypt it hoping to find some answers to my current situation within the very simple lyrics of the song…. Nope, nothing, nada, keep typing fool. A single incense stick burns infront of me, the product of my Aunt’s daily devotion. I stare at it, believing it to be the one icon of zen that may bring balance to the tired and hopeless terrain that is my conscious at this very moment. My conscience, responds to the situation with the raspy wit i have come to expect from it “You don’t do Zen” it says abruptly and then proceeds to change the topic, a tactic that more often than not leads to me wasting the day in escapism “How hot is DIora Baird?” he exclaims with the excitement of a puppy. I quietly pat it on its head, i will not waste my day googling “the hotness of Diora Baird”… at least not today. So for now i will continue to channel the frustrations of this trip, in words…..lets begin;

By now you all probably know things haven’t gone to plan in India. I am struggling, been here six weeks and haven’t done an awful lot, some will blame me, infact most people blame me, but i know i have tried, several times as well to break free and infact “travel” only to be catapulted right back to whence i began. I can’t help but feel as though the trip thus far has been a bit of a bad investment. I should’ve seen the signs in the beginning and the many many more signs that followed, the refusal of the 6 month visa by the Indian embassy in Australia, the attacks in Mumbai, a high alert (and justifiably so) India leading to a more complicated stay for those of us born across the border, a disastrous night in Bangalore where i missed a train to Kerala due to overbooked seats, being man handled at Bangalore train station and me reacting rather primitively with my fists, a solo attempt to book a hotel in central Mumbai only to run away in fear after being asked to show my passport (a gesture which if complied with could very easily lead to a face to face meeting with the police for me), missing out on a film workshop by Sudhir Mishra and Mira Nair as a result of the aforementioned, a roadtrip to inner Maharashtra that left me sick as a dog through the new year, NGO’s that once promised co-operation in my research turning their backs on me (leading to me having to can the documentary idea…for this trip at least) and now the latest snag a complete freeze on my credit cards and debit cards for reasons unknown, rendering me unable to transact anything online. Fun, fun, fun, but i shouldn’t complain all that much, i have people in Mumbai so for all the whingeing i get to be at home with family and friends, an option that is far superior than being stranded in an alien town and knowing nobody. So for that i am grateful. But a part of me yearns for the thrill, for the solitude of a backpack and a dusty road, i feel as though i may never ever really experience the high of real backpacking and i genuinely cant envisage myself seeing anything outside of Mumbai, i don’t say that seeking pity or anything like that. It’s just that i feel as though the fight really has left me and I’ve given up on planning and doing anything, partly out of fear partly out of resignation. I stand firmly between these two posts, just living, not really doing.

I’ve had the privilege of growing up in a highly spiritual household, Kabir, Gibran, Yogananda, Vivekananda are names I’ve grown up with, and its not uncommon to find my parents locked in discussion as to the mechanics of the Gita on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. I went to a secular version of Sunday school since i was a child and as a result have plenty of life long friends who have had a similarly gnostic upbringing, the result is a bunch of friends who rationalise everything with a spiritual twang. So when the Indian sob story was retold by yours truly in the comforts of gmail with emoticons and all to highlight my pain, the responses i received would make even the biggest spiritual swindler blush. I was told to surrender my will to the powers that be by doing nothing (laziness comes naturally to me so this is an option i am taking up with great gusto), i was told that i was in all probability burning bad karma through this process and that things would surely turn around sometime soon, i was told that maybe my birth charts were not “travel friendly”, i was even told that by doing “nothing” i was infact doing “something” to better my trip and that i should learn from the nothingness and embrace the inactivity. Each rationalisation was like a metal tipped Colorado boot to my groin, and as great as spiritual rationalisations may look on paper and in all the guidebooks, when you’re stuck in a rut, cornered with almost every option cut off due to powers outside of your control you can’t help but feel as though almost everything is a cop out. I don’t know what i’ve learnt in my six weeks here, but a life lesson amongst them there definitely is not.

I think alot of this is my own fault in one way and in one way alone. I have emotionally invested far too much in this trip. I have put all my eggs in the one basket….. a part of me wants to travel yes, but an even greater part hopes that the liberation of solo travel will unlock a level of self knowledge that i had equated with prolonged solitude. This desperate reliance on India to be that substrate upon which i gather my life epiphany is driving that very experience away from me, i want a life changing experience so badly that fate is keeping it out of reach, maybe I’m not ready for the trappings that come along with this level of knowledge? Maybe i need to stop wanting? Maybe you just cannot force yourself to learn anything and true learning comes only through experience? I think all this disappointment is really starting to affect my brain and I’m organically starting to dole out the very same faux-remedial kernels of spiritual nothingness that my friends were showering upon me earlier. I don’t know….. for now i remain utterly confused and desperate, without any answers for the future, without any plans. Firmly, firmly placed between the granite walls of fear and resignation….i should probably make the most of this “nothingness” …..

-n-

Happy New Year!

Ahmednagar

Reds, yellows, pinks and greens (no blues sadly), but the aforementioned mosaic of colour was infact my last three meals combined that i just threw up in a lovely vintage pink ceramic basin here in Ahmednagar, Maharashtra. I’m sickly and for some reason inspired to write SOMETHING for my rather malnourished little blog, so here we go.

Were only three and a half hours from 2009 here in India it’s already the new year back home in Sydney, and i must admit i am missing my people at this very moment. Would genuinely do anything for a few sms’s from my Sydney mates, but i guess i must settle with what the situation has given me. I remember this time last year and think about just how different my life was back then….comfortable is probably the best way to put it. A comfort ability that was beginning to gnaw at me and loosen what little foundation of being I may have had.

2008 has been the most eventful year of my life, yes thats probably a big call seeing as i’m really not that old but its the truth. Im not going to lionise myself and say i have overcome hurdles the size of mountains this year or anything even closely resembling that, my life in comparison to most peoples is a piece of cake, so complain i not. But for the rather sheltered 26 years i have had on this planet of ours i have gone through a few things that have forced me to really cut the anchor and let go. Relationships were ended , work allegiances severed, careers reconsidered, my mettle tested in one moment in February that has forever shaken me and now this trip here to a country i have always considered my muse (none of the above i regret though, i needed to experience all of them, and they needed to happen). This really is the furthest i have been from myself let alone my rather comfortable and to a mild degree privileged north shore existence, and what have i learnt?… I am a creature of comfort. Seeking comfort is almost always my first instinct, its a trait i am not at all proud off, it encourages one to never ever really test themselves and i think people who allow this characteristic to consume their behaviour and personality never ever leave a comfort zone that can do more damage than it can good. The trinkets are nice but they are familiar, and familiarity in my opinion breeds mediocrity of being. Something i fear for myself as i realise more and more that six weeks into this trip i have left my comfort zone maybe once. It’s rather disappointing and it shows how engrained into my psyche this disease is. I have decorated my rationalisations with an infinite number of rather creative scenarios that don’t do much for me, anything becomes an excuse, and right now my excuse has been my passport and the recent terrorist activity in Mumbai. Some would say fair enough the environment isn’t conducive to your search, but maybe i’m letting “them” win. Maybe the fact that i’m in Ahmednagar right now is a subconscious plot to remain comfortable amongst friends and family? I can’t really say i know…… everytime i fight against this quantum force i find myself right back where i began, in the comforts of home. Is this a test? Is this India saying im not ready for her? Should i let it guide me or should i throw myself into it and let it gnash away at me with its dusty stone teeth, its raspy arid tongue (i’m in inner Maharashtra in the winter….i write only what i see) and regurgitate me out as a sturdy emerald of inner strength? (Forgive me for the vomit metaphor i am still suffereing from the after effects of my stomach bug both physiologically and creatively) Again i am searching for the answer but my inner voice for years bound, blindfolded and gagged to a rather rickety old chair says push on and throw yourself out there……so with that thought and three hours till midnight i will begin my Indian new year… amidst the vow of uncomfortability. Maybe i’ll give her a call and tell her how i feel, maybe i’ll catch a train to Srinagar and run the risk of arrest, maybe i’ll do that helicopter ride of the Sunderbans i’ve always wanted to do, maybe i’ll go home and re-think the documentary and focus on rural Aboriginal communities instead? I really can’t say what i’ll do, India hasn’t given me the answers i’ve wanted, maybe i should just straight up ask myself instead and address the real problem? It’s obvious i go into 2009 rather confused, hopefully i will come out of it a little wiser…..anyway Happy New Year from sunny Ahmednagar guys, hope to see you all soon.

-n-