Biting the Dust

A poem, after a long while.

It was the flavor of earth
Mixed in wind, rain and some mirth
That in faint breaths I first ate
Even before vanilla or chocolate

That haunting taste
Would Gush in through doors
Glide in through open windows
Sneak in through wire mesh
Permeate even wall
At the hint of a drizzle
Or loud gusty rainfall

My deepest breaths I would then take
With eyes closed, and lungs wide awake
Fill in my chest, it's every cell,
That evading, eluding smell

Appetized now and wanting more
I would step out the door
And go on a smelling spree
Using up, at once, as if,
All the breaths in my life's tree

Wishing,
It was a thing I could taste
Make of it, a juicy paste
Roll it on my tongue
More alive than my lung

Cloudless sky, Summer dry
Sweat and sigh, Life's cry.
Whence came that?
Wet mud in a whiff!
Faint as a memory,
From another life...
Was it delusion,...?
I went out to sniff.

Oh it was a neighbour
Giving her pots a little water
Another washing his car
As water flowed down the tar

I bent over the balconys edge,
Let my nostrils flair
Raking the air
Groping for, but not finding
Just some more
Of that smell of yore

Wishing,
It was a thing I could taste
Make of it, a juicy paste...

Yesterday, in that corner shop
On the shelf at the very top
Was a little clay pot of brick red
Marked thirty and two hundred
It was a moment of serendipity
In this treasure filled city.
The perfect pot I could ever find
Made of clay, of a finer kind
It had survived the voyage
From a faraway coastal village,
While other shards told the tale
Of the journey's ravage

I put down the thing fragile
On my kitchen's black tile
In just an hour, it had turned the water so cold
In seconds, there appeared
On my steel cup, a thin white mold

I gulped a little,
But caught it mid throat
For I felt a dusty aftertaste
I pressed it to the roof of my mouth
Indeed, it had the hint of earth
The pot had passed on it's nature
Infused the water with it's flavour

I rolled it on my tongue
Gulped, and rolled it again
In a recursive rolling and gulping
Of the slowest motion ever of water drinking

In the summer dry
Under a Cloudless sky
At long long last
Was fulfilled a wish of the past
In a cup of water
From the hands of a potter
I had the delight
Of biting the dust

Ladhak & Kashmir 2010 - Day 13 - Srinagar - Shankaracharya

We approached the middle aged man, a bearded Muslim at the reception if we could venture out, if it was safe. He was offended. Have you heard of any harm being done to any tourist? Tourism is our bread and butter. It is absolutely safe. Media reports nonsense. You don’t worry.

It was settled that an auto driver known to the hotel, would take us to Shankaracharya that noon, at about 4. it would cost a mere 100 or 200.

We rested in our room for a while and then started.

Soon as the climb started, right at the foothills of the Shankaracharya hill, there was security checking. Needless to say, this lone but important Hindu religious seat surrounded by an Islamic state was under threat and was heavily guarded. It was a wonder that through centuries of political power struggle, and through the almost complete genocide and exodus of Hindus and Hinduism from the state, this had survived unscathed.

Yes they had changed the name of the hill to Takht-e-Suleimann. But it wasn’t in use. The hill was known to all as Shankaracharya hill.

The uphill climb was a very pleasant tour. The road was well maintained, smooth; there were trees on both sides and a canopy above. Through many an opening in the thicket, you had beautiful views of Srinagar below, of its picturesque dwellings, of the Dal lake,, of the thousands of shikaras and houseboats floating on it. All you needed was a good camera and a patient driver who would stop whenever you wished.

We reached a landing close to the top of the hill. There were a dozen security guards, men and women. They were housed in a little building to the side with all their paraphernalia - metal detectors, scanners, lockers and all. Women were taken to the inside of the building and checked. We were stripped of our cameras, belts, mobile phones.

Next to the security building, the climb to the temple began. The path was laid with uniform stone steps, well maintained.

There were parapets on both sides of the steps so you could rest as often as you needed to. It was just a few hundred steps and the climb was easy. The temple was quite simple, humble. What was overwhelming about it was its age. It had been standing there for close to 1400 years. There was a little shaded garden around it, some benches to sit on, and a few small buildings that looked like the dwelling places of the priests. The sanctum was reached through rather steep stairways, two of them, to be sure. The visit to the sanctum was a quick one. I purchased a post card having the picture of the sanctum on it.

We ambled around the garden for sometime and climbed down. The tall red and white telecom tower behind the temple reminded you of the movie Mission Kashmir, in which the bad guys blew it up.

During the auto ride downhill, there was no hurry and we had many stops. As we came close to the foothills, the views of dal lake and the shikaras on it were inviting, though we had initially kept the shikara ride for the following day, we decided to go for it the same evening, since the sun was a long way fro setting and the sky was a clear blue...