Indian mesmer too (2009)

In the sweet balminess of an English summer, sky blue, air clear and sun gentle, condescendingly English bees sought to weave their pollen laden ways in and out of the Bajaj’s turmeric and kohl structure, oblivious to its stark anomaly.

Tiny hunter spiders, unaware of the surreality of their situation, spun their delicate webs hoping to catch peculiarly English flies in the Indian-ess of the rickshaw’s interior. 

On a nearby wooden post a solo majestic magpie preened itself, one crow eye on its onyx and ivory feathers, the other mesmerised by a small shaft of light sparkling off the Bajaj’s exterior chromium.

 

As if it was a dream’s residue the essence of the Indian Bajaj seeped into my consciousness, stirring memories of India, begging me to recall past journeying and eccentric sojourns.

Recollections of Goa and labyrinthine excursions from Candolim to Panaji came unbidden as did memories of dusty Chennai with its crowded streets between Anna Nagar and the Thyagaraja Nagar (T Nagar) - where the tailors stitch for their livelihoods. 

A soporific flood of reminiscences sought to overwhelm my senses as dream and reality became blurred - I imagined rasping hawkers calling and the lowing of emaciated Brahma bulls.  I saw the disturbed street dust, sensed the acrid essence of borneol camphor and the ever sweet smell of jasmine flowers.

Kipling, Gandhi and my own dear father spun as symbolic wraiths drifting in and out of focus, blending into the exotica of my imaginings, subsumed into the beckoning daydream and lost to the world of reason. 

An enchantment bewitched me, an oriental glamour sought to unseat my understanding as my mind danced a crazed dance among temples and rivers, statues and hazy coromandel beaches with cooling maritime breezes.  Transposed and transported I became at one with my imaginings, subsumed into the opiate dream of conjured recollection.

In those giddy days I was too much in lust to notice mosquito bites amongst the tumbling and fondling, sometimes helplessly lost in Chennai watching Bollywood VCDs on the Sony Vaio, pretending to be in the melon seed carpeted cinema, air-con whirring too loud for the laptop’s feeble speakers.

Outside, on the heat pounded streets, silken saris gracefully floated, maidens in fine cloth/cottons smiled beguiling smiles, third eye marks punctuating foreheads as a fitting accolade to sublime beauty. 

Enraptured, my senses floated to tunes of sitar, veena, flute and tabla, my ears straining to catch the delicacy of lilt and profundity of melody.  Classical ragas caught and transcended my soul with each new melody/rhythm, uplifting me to ever newer heights.

It was a bright burning flame of lust, to bright and too hot to last, for it dimmed, flickered and went out amidst the floods and storms coming after the long parched city days, drenching the ancient buildings, temples, washing over the brilliance of that city’s colours.

What colours there were - bright, dazzling hues - golden yellows, vibrant pinks, stunning blues, oranges and a veritable kaleidoscope of colours clamouring in the sultry sun.  It shone, reflected, refracted, ricocheting from chromium, golden bangles bringing a feast of hues/shades.

Snapped from my reverie, a sound began to assert itself into my labouring mind - tap, tap, tapping, rapping itself into my consciousness.  I was loath to emerge from my dream and reluctant to re-engage with the world. 

The sound grew louder - tap, tap, tapping on the bonnet of the Bajaj.  There stood the stupendous magpie, coat resplendent with blacks/blues of his sensuous feathers, a snail in it’s cruel beak.  Tap, the magpie’s head darted to the bonnet, tap again, as he struck the still moving prey against the paintwork.

Tap, India was lost, tap, I was found.  Tap, the displaced Bajaj remained but a poignant reminder of my reverie, of those half remembered dreams and half lived fantasies.  Tap, all I recall of her is her name and her shoulder length hair, crinkled, obsidian and how she rose in the morning smelling of love and jasmine.