days

ust a moment remembered from each day....

Day 1: Rickshaw Rush

We were taken for a ride by an insidious tacky jewelry man. The idea was for my mom to do business with him. Turned out he did business with us. His business was of dishonesty. Once he realised were disinterested in his very tacky over exaggerated jewelry, I'm not sure even the Williams sisters would wear dangling round there necks. But yes he promised a ride back to the hotel, 3 minutes in he received "a phone call" stopped on the side of the road and told us he had a meeting, "get out "

Here we were in the middle of no where in a part of town we knew not very far from our hotel . (wait,we didn't know any part of town) You would think one would be scared but I was not, as I watched him drive off, I chuckled and thought, "adventure!!!!!"

The excitement had kicked me in the gut before my foot reached the curb of the sidewalk, before I realise we were in a rather dark side of town, before My brain connected to my heart and said , "OK, fuck,what now?" well what does any woman do when with there mother when in a predicament, walk into the closest bazaar and shop. that's when I noticed my mom didn't seem to be too perturbed either.

After a bit of shop-lets pretend this is not happen-ing , we realised no cabs and to my utmost satisfaction we had no choice but to climb into one of the local tuck tucs with the help of the merchant we had just bought from.

Oh how pretty this ride was, zooming in and out of the traffic at the back of a bike with over bearing beautiful hooting in my ears, the beat of the traffic in sync to the the beat of my finger on the trigger of my camera, the trigger connected to the true view of my eye, freeee. my mom laughing every time she hit her head with every bump, then cursing,then laughing.

Until we reached the hotel, where they were not used to there clients taking joyrides in rickshaws,tuck tucs or any local means. Was the rush the ride or the expression of the concierge as i got out, the rush was being dropped in the middle of nowhere but knowing I was safe,believing I was true and seeing I was saved by a journey , journeys so few.

Day2: Good luck express to Taj Mahal

5am wake up call not always my strong point unless it has a purpose and today my purpose was to have the whole India train experience. Well including the train station this experience lasted all of 10.5minutes. To my surprise mom was actually quite excited, mom who I had to coax to get on my bloody train. We arrived at the station and me being half asleep couldn't really care less how we got to how platform, left mom to do all the work. Found myself climbing over people asleep spread out all over the floor, the stations smell best described as one huge male urinal. I followed my mom who took charge, she collected a couple of English back backpackers and we all made our way to the platform.

As the train approached I could sense my moms dis ease, I became excited until I slowly realised the concierge at the hotel had ripped us off. We were under the impression we were booked on second class , only to find ourselves in a dingy carriage of sleeper class. We climbed in, my excitement dropped at the pace of a small stone been thrown off a high cliff. we walked up and down, lost, confused. My mom was trying to humour me and sat on the bed next to a sadistically sleeping man with a stench as bad as the dirty station. I could not see out the window as it was black. we were in a moving slum. I could see tears swell up in her eyes, he voice broke as she spoke, " nooooo no no Carey, can you really see yourself doing this for 8 hours? , you cant even take pictures, no no no." I smiled, knowing I was defeated by a romantic Idea that was not romantic at all, I stood up and grabbed he, " no, I cant see this, lets go" we jumped out the train as it started moving.

It turned out to be a blessing, outside the station we met Sameer, "husband 2" who became our driver. We learnt much from Sameer as he drove us 4 hours to Agra. 4 hours though vacant lands. He told stories about his life, which I believe were just that:stories, but they were so mystically made up,I could not help but wait for the next word.

We had our own fictional magic carpet ride , filled with mystic potions(being the speed he seemed to be hooked on), stories about villages and sharing fires in huts,omens and cultures,we were led finally 12 toll gates later. a monkey taunted by a red haired wizard led by black magic, a pack of fags i smoked out the back window, mesmerising learning's of another, we arrived at the magical Taj Mahal.

I was overwhelmed by all these people,had a bi polar moment where i just wanted out,wanted to disappear, I sometimes couldn't handle my mother,nor myself, I wanted to evaporate.

Interesting enough I found solace in "fame"

I was stalked at first by young boys, who wanted my picture,then to shake my hand and before you knew it my mom and I were having family portraits with other family's. This to me is something more then just fascinating. Its unreality makes me disappear, into another realm, more than here or there, just less then me and more then I.

The Taj Mahal which is of course magical in splendor and rhymes to a place kept close, but the journey to this place of "love" the journey is the gift.

Check(me)out

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