The mango trees are all laden - the oval fruit, which range in size, from small to large, dark green, through mottled to yellow, hang heavily, like ornaments on a Christmas Tree and the sound of cuckoos is everywhere, especially in the morning before the clammy heat of the day has really set in. The cuckoo call is unmistakable - it's more of a shriek, than a call and seems to rise in intensity and velocity, as a vocal protest against the hot air which radiates off everything. The panic stricken sound seems to expresses my own feelings, as I am overwhelmed by the inescapable heat.
Returning to India, after a month away, sharpens one's perception of things, eliminating unnecessary detail, like a quick graphite drawing. It intrudes in an uncompromising way - like the cotton mattresses, which are as hard as a slab of marble - you know you can't win and you must go with the flow, because, it is the only solution. Woe betide you if you try and eat apples, when mangoes are in season. India reminds me of a very wise, very old woman, whose motto is.......... 'anything which makes life easy, is bound to be bad for you'.
Returning to India, after a month away, sharpens one's perception of things, eliminating unnecessary detail, like a quick graphite drawing. It intrudes in an uncompromising way - like the cotton mattresses, which are as hard as a slab of marble - you know you can't win and you must go with the flow, because, it is the only solution. Woe betide you if you try and eat apples, when mangoes are in season. India reminds me of a very wise, very old woman, whose motto is.......... 'anything which makes life easy, is bound to be bad for you'.
No comments:
Post a Comment