72 Hours, 96 Hours, 124 Hours; I'm on Indian Time Nowadays......

     Okay okay so it's been longer than I had advertised.  So what.  Indian time is not the same as what you think.  The running bit that we have here with a number of us in Rishikesh about time is simply that when somebody says "Hey man, what time is it?" the reply is either "Daytime" or "Nighttime."  More often than not, that's all you really need to know anyhow.  Also, pictures as of now are an impossibility, and forget the radio clips I had planned, uploads simply do not work here.
     Enough of this garbage and on to the more pressing matter at hand: What's going on......

     Baba's run amok.  Well "run" may be an incorrect and bold overstatement.  I suppose saying that they slowly wander amok is a touch more accurate.  (A 'Baba' is someone who basically owns nothing, by choice.  They have a few belongings, usually a bag, shoes, blanket, robes, and perhaps some pen and paper).  I am in Rishikesh until tomorrow morning, at which point I will catch a bus out of here.  Not quite sure where to yet, I will either head to Gamuk to see the birthplace of the Holy Ganga River or head further North to Manali, Mcleod Ganj, and Dharamsala. 
     I woke up this morning to have some juice and chai for breakfast, as has become my custom at this point.  Then I gathered the spirit of Santiago (one of my new Argentinean friends whose existence in Rishikesh is explained later) to head down to a local school.  We arrived at the school gates, asked to see the principal, and were taken to his office and sat down to wait.  Deja Vu here, it's like any given week of my days in high school.  Mr. Mukesh Vashistha walks in, introduces himself.  We explain we just want to take some pictures, see the classrooms, and examine the educational system of this culture, that perhaps we may learn from the experience.  He says it is no problem but we have shown up for the last 25 minutes of school before the children are released into the void of their 45 day holiday, so unfortunately we cannot see the education in practice.  But, he walks us around and explains the recycling program that has begun in the school.  To give some context, there are no garbage cans in India.  Alright maybe there are a few, but believe me the street is the garbage can.  The only time I have seen a sort of refuse bin is in restaurants whose clientele are backpacker's, always the trash is living a fate aimed for public roads and walkways.  So, this project is fantastic.  Mr. Vashistha is full of smiles, sweat is beading and rolling down his face the entire time.  Same as Santiago. Same as myself.  He explains the lack of care that the general public and private corporations have adopted (private corporations polluting?  Get out here! Really! Yes, there are Rat Bastards here also) as commonplace ritualized habit.
     I grab a water and head in to write this blog.  My mind is stagnant in 3.30pm heat of India, so my apologies if this is not warranting an arrestable experience of captivation and can't-put-it-down-ness; it's a difficult time of day for anything but a muted reactionary daze.
     I have been spending my evenings listening to music, staring at the stars.  My days?  Usually I have a mango in my left hand, my right is grasping a blade.  There is either a hard rock (wait, why would there be a soft rock? Aren't all rocks hard by definition?  Leave it be.) or a shifting plot of sand under my ass.  I am wearing loose fitting cotton pants that are a close cousin to pajama bottoms.  I have all but tossed my shirts into the garbage.  I will put my trusty 89.9fm KBGA Missoula, College Radio (royalties on this mention?) over my head, but then just stretch it over my shoulders for a little sun protection; maybe.  The whole "wearing" of shirts is a silly and fruitless practice that I leave to cooler participants of travel. Many of us are hot, wearing only a necklace and pants.  I have a black and gray colored scarf that looks like the hipster scarves all the fashionista dudes who just have to shop at Betty's Divine have so properly laden around their necks that is a multi purpose tool.  (If any of you fashionistas are reading this, how much did you overpay for that scarf because I paid the equivalent of ONE DOLLAR AND TWENTY CENTS for this one.  It's okay to cry, just don't let anybody see you).  This scarf is a beach towel, head cover, sweat wiper, monkey-scarer (which you need.  One of the type of monkeys here come after you, wanting any fruit you have.  So, you wave something big and act tough while the flash crazy monkey fangs at you and hiss.  I've done it a number of times and I still shit myself when it happens.  Adrenaline pumps with speed when you are facing a ravenous and hungry monkey), and as of lately has also been my shirt, draped simply over my shoulders.
     For now, I will leave things be with what I've written.  I had claimed to be interested in writing something that was not base on "me me me."  In India though, without the time to digest and reflect, when I am attempting to keep this posting business at least semi-up-to-date, subjectivity is god. 

FUTURE DATES:

     Either of the aforementioned routes that I ultimately take will precede my entry into Nepal on onto the Annapurna Circuit Trek.  This trek is popular and I will not be the only westerner laying footwork the the marvelous route through the Himalayas.  There is talk all over the place that this route will be paved within the next 5 years (if they are running on anything akin to Indian Time, perhaps it will take 15) and that this will be both good and catastrophic.  Good for the villagers ease of access with transportation, but incredibly damaging as anyone with a car and a lack of adventure sense will then be able to drive this route.  For now, it is for those able of foot and/or willing to ride tractors or to make a bumpy and ass numbing auto journey.  Despite the turnoff of rough riding that currently prevails, they still manage a great number of tourists. 
     Imagine the pavement........
     Rishikesh - John, Paul, George, and Ringo paid their visit here for spiritual enlightenment in '68.
     Hippie propaganda though it may be, this place is truly magic.  Okay, okay perhaps magic is too much even for me, but, it is full of beautiful coincidence.  I have met a couple, Brock and Maris; Brock was a Music Director at a Tennessee college radio station who is traveling India before returning home to the states after a year long expat life of teaching English with his girlfriend in Thailand.  We met in the New Delhi Train Station (nice as they are, we are not on the same journey here in India.  We are on completely different chapters.  So, we meet up in between activities.  This morning I regaled them with once domestic memories of watching MST3K and going to town on numerous Totino pizzas, to which they are now going to recreate upon returning home.  Oh Totino's, your sweet Pepperoni Power grasps my gullet even while in India.  Be calm dear pizza of choice, I shall return to you soon enough.....).
     I had said goodbye to the Argentinean couple (Santiago and Delfina) I met right off the plane, over one week ago.  That same night at the train station, I met an Argentinean woman by name of Natalia.  We chatted and surprise surprise, she had met Santiago for maybe 15 minutes in the streets of Delhi.  We now had a common friend and our seats were right next to one another.  We have become good friends at this point, spending many hours together in Rishikesh. 
     In one day, we all by chance came together in Rishikesh.  I heard Delfina call out "Kyle! Kyle!" while I was getting some fruit juice at the Little Buddha Restaurant.  Later that afternoon, (BAM!), Brock is in town.  Perhaps magic is too brave a description, but wonderful coincidences do abound.
     I will leave this place tomorrow, in spite of my wanting to stay.  I have ground to cover and though I am in no real hurry, I do want to escape further into the Himalayas. 
     I want to blow my mind you know.