mountain music

10.10.2012

A glorious cool sun filled morning, the six Czech bikers slowly rise, an Israeli foursome drink black coffee, two men with short Lasar-Wolf beards take off their shirts and soak the rays, the Chinese in room one have left with their guide, Suraksha has a touch of the flu.  Today is examination number four: English writing.  Yesterday she said the English reading examination was easy.  Writing very difficult Uncle.  What advice to give?  Write what you remember first and don’t stop until you are finished.

The rain stopped last night and so with it the electricity which has yet to return. The back up battery is spent, all six rooms plus seven and eight where locals have yet to stir and 27 dining room lights were too much.  What shall I do today?  “The Age of Kali” is still riveting reading 15 years after it was written.  Now we’re thinking a few days in Lucknow to visit what remains of the great rising of 1857 and the beginning, says Dalyrimple, of Indian independence. 

A low-grade headache persists.  Cleaning tables, the power has returned now that the bikers have left.  Rooms to be cleaned, an omelet with tomatoes and mushrooms is on order in thirty minutes or so.  The sun retreats behind clouds and the chill is immediate. 

The omelet is in a holding pattern for now.  Washed dishes, four huge pots full of everything from the kitchen is put away, I begin cleaning rooms until Didi frees herself and begins with room four, which a red-headed tourist waits for. 

The Lindell AC.  Detroit sports.  Wow, was I lucky or what to have grown up then?  Gordie Howe, Al Kaline,  some greats, wow.  I am proud to be from this grimy and depressing place but I cannot see myself living there again. I’d choose a flotilla of hungry leeches to a night of freezing rain in November in Detroit.  I think I long much more for the past than with the present.  And if I were to live there would these memories equal the ones I had as a child?  I don’t think so.  Then, sports were celebrated as a family for what I saw as family of Tigers and Red Wings and Lions.  That loyalty today feels contrived amongst those who boast so loud of their loyalty to get some of their own fake fame.  As for the players, I can’t be objective any more.  I’m sure if I were there I’d hold…who on the Tigers do I even know…Justin Verlander, in high esteem like I did Mickey Lolich or Denny McLain?  A ten year old and a forty nine year old just don’t think alike I think.  And of course, there’s no family. 

A mushroom and tomato omelet eaten an hour ago and all I feel is hungry for another bite of Walker’s Shortbread.  All is quiet in the valley except for an unhappy crow and a truck rumbling far far below. Crickets get started with three hours of light to go, music from below, so much artificial noise from below.  Last year at sunrise every morning for a month, Krishna the temple keeper played this upbeat Hindu song praising Krishna and Shiva but this year there was no music and when I heard there was a mechanical malfunction I offered to help repair it but the people who live at the top hear it a lot louder than we do at the Superview.  Negotiations are ongoing.  It would be nice to have music for this festival which begins in ten days or so.

And Laxman let me know trains and travel west are booked for some time, except for flying.  Flying to Delhi could be an option.  Maybe I should fly straight to Goa.  Birds of passion outside grow louder.  Stop thinking about India.  It is, I don’t know.  Two weeks is all I’ll have because I wait until the end of October to witness, not really participate, in the next holiday.  Oh well.