Driven through

While 'the most powerful man in the world' was in India, I went for a drive. Was it the cynical non-response of a global netizen bombarded by all that self-righteous anti-Bush propaganda or was it the remnants of a idealistic teenager who had congregated in an Woodstock-ian protest turned picnic all those eons ago at the Narora Atomic Power Plant? Whatever the reason be, I gave the visit a go bye.

I went on a long drive. Away from city sensibilities and positions, I just was. There were miles on miles of ribbony roads which meandered much like a young stream- loopy and long. And then it was night. No stars, low moon. No one by my side as I blankly stared out- absorbing the sights, smells and the road rush as a dry clean sponge.

Journeys end in lovers meeting- or so they say. Mine, it took me to a neck in the woods where my arrival was anxiously but officially awaited. Where were you held up, Madam? Well, I just had to stop at a few places, met a few people, tried a few things and have got here too. Tired already of the reception party, I wanted to be done with dinner. The window with me was brief and their petitions very persistent. Over payasam and poppadom I presided, tackling the issues with all my waning appetite. Satisfied at last at with my interventions, small audience bid adieu.

Finally in a room alone. A clean loo and all the mod-cons too, there was even cell phone coverage. But typically for me the cell phone could not be charged- a flat plug pin does not fit into the round plug point- what an electric metaphor for me!

A call home gave me the rather ambiguous reassurance of being a redundant mum- well, at least for short stretches. The night promised to stretch long. There was the wretched document to be gone through- no disturbances either, should be spending the night at the laptop. Page 39 of the 113 page document engrosses me with its challenging charm and voila, life switches off. There is absolute pitch darkness.

The heart of my darkness - it is something I can try and remedy, surely? There is somewhere close to me a large box of safety matches, which even my fumbling fingers shouldn't really miss. And the big white candles in the burnished brass candelabra. Do I light up and let the flickering flame assist me to finish at least a part of my work till the battery of the laptop lasts? But the darkness like death is very inviting. I choose to lie back and surrender myself to the mosquitoes and assorted bugs which come into their own in their darkness.

Morning is not heralded by any crack of dawn. It is the communal chirp of the feathered jewels of Coorg which announces morning and the fact that I chose death but am alive. I pad around carefully to avoid any giveaway snap or crunch under my foot in the abundant broad deciduous leaf litter. I needn't bother as the birds high above are too lost in their morning madness to bother about lowly things afoot. They flutter from branch to branch even as the leaves keep flying down. I lose myself as the magical morning hours pass in the well orchestrated symphony of the birds- the tree pies sawing away the bee-eaters, the robins, the insistent babblers, the parakeets, the steady beat of the woodpeckers, it was great birding.

Another long call home, about 20 minutes of carefully saved battery and I feel good about being away from the frantic early morning chaos at home. Amidst the cacophonous birds, the buzzing insects, listening to Tahira Syed singing Lo Phir Basant Ayi. Hope springs...?

The morning reverie ends as the mazdoors start their trek towards the morning muster. They lead a train of toddlers. One very young man is curiouser than the others. We keep turning back to look at each other. And smile.

Namaskara. Chennagidira?