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goa / India / monthly photos

December’s Contender

'Twas the month of December when it suddenly dawned, That insidious notion: another year gone. And thus to the interweb we scurried all a bumble, To post many pics (have a bit of a mumble). And yet, as years go, it treated us well. Consider: only in balmiest beauty did we dwell. We met lots of people, too many to remember, And that was just in the month of December. So here are the photos, in time-honoured dollop; Proof that life is too short to be lived as polyp.

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January 18, 2011
goa / India

The Quality Curse

I seem to just want to write new stuff. It’s an extension of ‘do’, and in my world, ‘do’ has always been better than ‘not-do’. I guess I just like the unbridled possibility of the next sentence far more than the harsh constraints of the last one.   This bodes well for volume, but not brilliantly for quality. And, unfortunately for me, it is this last which everyone is seeking. It's rare stuff, after all; like some sort of elixir for eternal youth. Perhaps, that is why everyone is chasing it. Eternal youth speaks to you of timelessness, durability. Rarity. I’m aware that I tread close to the same quality ruminations that Robert Pirsig gave voice to in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. At least that's what I can still recall from my last reading, circa 1993. I suspect that there were good reasons for his quality fixation -- especially if you take into account the poor man's diagnosis for schizophrenia and subsequent shock therapy treatment.    But quality can a worthwhile obsession, since it is a concept which cuts to the quick of humanity. We always carry with us a notion of how good something is in relation to something else, and that something else is usually aligned with an abstract ideal which has the capacity to say more about us as people than a signature or a fingerprint. Take India for example. Like me, it has little trouble with volume, but quality continues to be elusive.   I’m currently on my second set of bicycle tyres, fifth pair of inner tubes (and those are patched to within an inch of their lives) and second rear axel. The handlebar tape has gone, and the headset is already notched. That's after a thousand kilometers. The cycle of purchase, fix, fix again, and replace is so short here it makes your head spin. A mania for quality in the practical world…

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January 12, 2011
India / Indian Road Trip

Day 8 – Outro

If nothing else, this exercise has taught me not to leave my computer open with a button that says 'Publish' hovering tantalisingly on the screen under an empty post. What self-respecting and curious six year-old is going to pass up the opportunity to click on it? The empty email you may have just received should go some way towards answering that question. It was strange that the final leg - Gokarna to Goa - was almost an afterthought, when once (only two months ago) it was an epic journey all its own. I climbed on the bike just as the first rays of sun hit Om Beach, only getting off to put on my rain poncho just after crossing the border into Goa. Rain poncho? I was also incredulous. It's not supposed to rain until April. But I was actually happy to do the last twenty kilometres under a gentle drizzle, if for no other reason than to rinse the last layer of grime off of me and the bike. It also gave me an excuse to drive slowly on the few spokes remaining in my rear wheel. From a trip that was supposed to carve a new perspective, I'm a little pressed to put my finger on the earth-shattering revelations. The usual paradoxes arise whenever we compare one thing in our life with another: I have/haven't learned a lot since we first made the trip in 1994, India is vastly different/very much the same, a thousand kilometres on Indian roads is substantial / I would happily do the whole thing over again. Tomorrow. Perhaps the search for wisdom is a journey without an obvious ending. Either that, or true wisdom only descends when your mind opens wide enough to contain both ends of the paradox. I guess I'm still a few rounds of mental yoga away from being that flexible. I'm incredibly grateful to Tash, who suffered genuine tribulations…

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December 23, 2010
goa / India / Indian Road Trip

Day 7 – Toast on the Coast

Thursday, 9th DecemberBikeShuffle: Desmonk Dekker - 007 (Shanty Town) [audio:http://shambolic.com/blog/files/2010/12/09-007-Shanty-Town.mp3|titles=007 (Shanty Town)] Trasi – 08:35Actually, I’m not quite sure where I am. Been pegging it north on the NH17 since seven this morning, passing through towns and crossing rivers like stages in a video game. I make it another 240k’s to Chaudi from here, by all accounts a sizable day. So it’s going to be less about places and more about endurance. That, and where to take a shit. Although I’m loathe to dwell on these things, it’s a simple fact. And the prospects aren’t brilliant. At least back on the coast, I’m seen as less of a freak show. The truckers that are sat in this humble hotel paid me barely a second glance. And for once, there is no crowd of guys standing around my bike, gazing at it or asking ‘how much you pay?’It's always the guys who take an interest in ‘the tourist’. Never the women. Why is that? Even in the road, where the gender imbalance is a little more redressed (as compared with places you might stop to eat – where women are always accompanied and would never initiate a conversation). But in the road, with people walking, carrying loads, goading oxen or generally going about their business, it’s always the men who look up at the sound of a different engine, or if they catch sight of the gangly freak and make eye contact, then you can be assured of a full head pivot at the very least, if not the shout or the jaw-drop that tends to happen in more remote areas.   But the ladies, even if they do make eye contact, will quickly look away, either from a sense of propriety or a complete disinterest in whatever foreign thing has passed through their space. Ok, so I can test the theory now. A lady has just entered the shop with her…

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December 21, 2010
India / Indian Road Trip

Day 6 – Extreme Yoga

Wednesday, December 8th BikeShuffle: The Clash - Train in Vain Shivamoga - 06:22 I was deliberating whether to turn the television on when it became apparent that the cock outside wasn’t about to stop crowing. I’m glad I did.   For the past ten minutes I’ve been riveted by some sort of mass yoga show that seems more like a cross between a Hitler youth rally and a gathering of the Branch Davidians. The guy leading it is a young bearded yogi in a tiny red dhoti, doing the moves so quickly it actually looks like he’s on fast forward. Then the camera cuts to a hall of at least a thousand poor, confused people, all dressed in white, hopelessly flapping about trying to follow him. The slow pan reveals that not a single person has a clue about what to do, or how to do it, and most people end up stopping to make adjustments to their clothing or look just around embarrassed. Some people save their energy for when the camera falls on them, and then start up with some half hearted routine based on how much of them is in shot. As most of the ‘class’ are elderly, and a little on the corpulent side, they’ve got about as much chance of doing some of these moves as I have of being clean after today's drive. Our energetic yogi has just done a roundhouse kick move that I’ve never seen attempted except in martial arts movies and break dancing videos. His class of a thousand grannies has started applauding! The next generation of aerobics has arrived, everyone. Its Yoga Fu. A quick survey of remaining channels reveals: four featuring various cricket matches, three Hindi dance routines, and three religious channels with shots of various idols having liquids poured over them. Lastly, there seems to be some sort of religious sermon in hindi from a greasy-haired Brahmin who is…

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December 19, 2010