If you’re reading this right now, you are so lucky. You may not always think so, but think so!

Did you drink clean, parasite-free water today? Is your electricity wired in a way that doesn’t threaten to blow up in flames at any given moment? Do you have your freedom of speech? Do you have access to this place called the internet where you can teach yourself anything?

Don’t feel under assault. I’ve just been walking by dusty roadwork sites where women in saris balance plastic tubs of gravel on their heads and walk over to a loading truck for a living.

What a damn privilege the ability to quarantine is.

Along with being lucky, I’m safe and healthy. All eyes are on India as Covid-19 has become disastrous. The internet states 400,000 new cases and 4,000 deaths per day. As someone who’s here, I am sure those figures are heavy underestimates as myself and those around me believe that we have gotten and recovered from the virus, without ever being tested.

When I ask myself what I can do, oxygen is the obvious answer. Medical devices are a concrete form of help and offer direct results. I have been happy with the Oxygen for India – Let’s do this together! Go Fund Me, organized by American Indian doctors working directly with Indian doctors to express ship oxygen concentrators (devices which convert ambient air into oxygen, not a deplete-able cylinder of gas) from the U.S. to hospitals in six major Indian cities.

This diverse compilation of Covid-19 donation drives and relief resources is a great tool.

Let me be clear that all the donations in the universe cannot measure up to simple social distancing precautions. Washing our hands and staying indoors will save exponentially more lives. Not being able to breathe acts much quicker than an electronic transaction reaching the bank account of a charity.

Our minds tend to focus on the burden of giving if we can give, yet it is the burden of prevention that will free up hospital space.

While the state of Himachal Pradesh has implemented a “10-day lockdown,” I continue to walk by dressed up wedding-goers and social gatherings every day. People cough in public without covering their mouths, as they have for the last year. Tourist cafes outside of the main police patrol areas remain open. Yoga studios continue class. Travelers from all over India, and the world, organize New Age activities on the daily.

Many are traumatized from India’s initial lockdown. It was so restrictive that people have horror stories—getting locked in from the inside, quarantined with drug addicts, broken fans and water filtration systems in a sweltering summer. By July 2020 the public became more rebellious to rules and overconfident about the virus itself, while some simply cannot afford to stop working.

As long as this goes on, the numbers won’t go down. Math works like that. Loved ones will continue to perish in the car, driving from full hospital to full hospital, from reject to reject.

Relevant Read: Covid-19: Less Privileged and More Centered in the Universe

Monthly Mood: We Are All So Lucky

“Having the opportunity to sit with our family and friends and enjoy wonderful food is something precious, something not everyone has. Many people in the world are hungry. When I hold a bowl of warm, nutritious food, I know that I’m fortunate, and I feel compassion for all those who don’t have enough to eat and who are without friends or family. Right at the dinner table, we can cultivate the seeds of compassion that will strengthen our determination to help hungry and lonely people be nourished.”

—Thich Nhat Hanh, How To Eat

Day 1186

7 May 2021

Himachal Pradesh

I’ve been ~finding my feet~ in Dharamshala in a variety of ways.

In the last three weeks…

Lots of energy was put into finding the cheapest, vegetable-dense food that I could rely on. This of course is a thali but the way I like it is hot, fresh, and in a cramped dhaba at a table of strewn with salt and raw green chilis and fiery chutneys in the company of construction worker dudes and their slurps and burps.

This means I have to walk half an hour downhill to town and half an hour back up to my village in order to have the simple, privileged feeling of having eaten a real meal. I can spend two hours walking up and down a road for two meals every day, or do it once and eat all the plants for the day in one sitting and walk back up, like a hamster who’s stored his daily dietary needs in his cheek pouches. Only I have one pouch and it’s called a stomach.

The third method is to walk down at 7:30, dodge the wedding procession if there is one, breakfast at my parantha guy’s stall, go to a cafe and order a tea or espresso and stare at a cake display full of pies, cheesecakes, muffins, and brownies until I’m hungry enough to return to the street stall for lunch.

Each of the above pleases me more than staying up in the villages where the tourism is palpable in the ambient air, and paying triple the price for half the flavor.

Seriously, my guy makes his aloo paranthas with much love and deserves his own post soon. My entire eating, and therefore sleeping, schedule has been flipped on its ass thanks to him.

Relevant read: The World’s Best Parantha

A rhythm was at last achieved and all the men and Tibetan monks (rarely is there a woman) loitering with their chais on the green benches (an iconic hang-out spot, even back in the ’80s) by the MacLeod Ganj Taxi Stand know me and my hat.

Then the Kangra district issued a 10-day lockdown and whilst my guy told me yesterday that he will 99% be poppin’ out paranthas today, he wasn’t, so that’s cool.

This made me find Bishnu. It is around 10:00 and he serves my parantha (metal, not plastic plate upon my request) and I am surprised to find sides of stewed chickpeas, yogurt, and a fiery green chutney, all of which can only be described as the finest quality and presentation. I sit cross-legged on a stained cushion. The sun gently hits my tiny yellow table. I kill it.

I didn’t mean to write eight paragraphs on breakky but there it went.

My mood updates will be published on the 11th of each month from now on. Ever since lockdown and going bald on April 11th 2020 (and May 11th and 11/11…) I’ve taken on quite the predilection for the number 11. This means I have to start writing on the 7th. I like the 7th because I began this world trip on February 7th, 2018.

This 7th catches me on a morning where breakfast just happens to merit eight paragraphs.

Relevant read: Photo Journey: The Two-Week Chronicle Of A Hungry Girl And Her Vietnamese Street Food

Moving on.

I made a goat friend. I have to say that he or she—so far I’m feeling he—is my best friend in this valley. He’s got healthy black curls perfectly clumped on his forehead.His earlobes are slit and I don’t know why. I’m even less keen on knowing why he’s being raised.

Let’s call him Clump. I see Clump on my way down to food today. He won’t come to me holding half a beet so I ungracefully clamber up some dirt to chuck the damned crimson root at him, along with the slices of cuke and tom that had accompanied yesterday’s tofu momos.

By the time he gobbles down his rawveganglutenfree snack, his relatives in the vicinity begin to encroach. Their hairstyles are equally crimped in nature. I escape while my friend very cutely makes two small head butts in the direction of the first goat who reaches him. The motion is innocent and almost undetectable.

On the way back uphill I see Clump again.

Day 1180

1 May 2021

Bhagsu Nag, Himachal Pradesh → Bhagsu Waterfall → Triund → Dharamkot → Bhagsu Nag

Hiking to Triund is the ultimate bucket list activity around here. One glance at the panoramic title image at the top of this page will tell you why.

The walk is neither easy nor short, but stoned bros from the cities love to exaggerate as you try to tune out their conversation and focus on your dinner in a cafe. Triund’s hype and my passivity bothered me but I simply didn’t have the strength for a one-kilometer elevation gain in those initial weeks.

Last Saturday, unable to sleep by dawn, I leap out of bed and hit the lesser-known trail by 7:00.

This route passes by the Bhagsu Waterfall, where I identify my 122nd Indian bird species, the little forktail. I don’t identify it in the moment. I gawk through my binoculars and later message my Marathi birder friend who replies with a few possibilities. He makes my life easier in the way that adds years to my lifespan.

I highly recommend this trail because I have it to myself. I take my time to discover where the griffons like to sunbathe. I copy these magnificent birds of prey and lie down under the voluminous sunshine. The grass is a soft carpet cushioning my back. Mountain faces stare me down for the second half of the hike. My binoculars magnify their creased skin and wrinkled glaciers. This panoramic view of the Moon Peak and crew was much fuller than what you find at Triund itself. The trail was humble and easy to stray off of but also straightforward to find your way back to—use Maps.me.

After a banana and
*pauses typing this sentence to grab a banana*
a chat with young Tibetan refugees at the top, the weather turns and I descend along the main trail. The views feature rhododendrons trees and hills that are green, rather than frosted like in the morning. The path is wide, well-built, and at times fenced in. I pass by dozens who are on their way up and a hollowed out tree filled with empty plastic water bottles.

The main way is not bad. I always prefer loop-hikes. I admire a verditer flycatcher in peace. I strain my neck to find my first common hawk-cuckoo.

With that said the main path lacks the magic of the morning route. I would recommend anyone to do a loop as I did. Another benefit of ascending via the Bhagsu Waterfall is that I was in the shade until 8:30, whereas the potent Himachali sunlight hits my bed by 7:45.

Day 1184

5 May 2021

Himachal Pradesh

It’s Wednesday and I have consumed my 30-rupee breakfast of the Gods (and all their reincarnations) at the historic green benches (while socially distanced from all the testosterone). I am staring down an espresso and a heated banana muffin on my cafe table top, wondering if these tourist luxuries are worth 50 rupees (68¢) each. After all, I have food and coffee beans at home.

But yes! Decidedly yes! From 9:00 to 10:30 words fly from my fingertips. Such seizure of my morning energy thus dials my entire day onto the right wavelength.

A brightness courses through my veins. I feel motivated. Creative. Unstoppable.

No more excuses. Over 16 months have passed since I pummeled through a grim airport exit and out into the cold dawn of this Greatest Country on Earth before realizing that Shiv was not waiting for me because I had overestimated how long customs would take.

Sixteen is enough months to learn any language. I always worked here and there on the phonetic sounds of Hindi phrases while deciding that an alien alphabet was not worth learning from scratch. Every few months I departed the Hindi-speaking regions. My short term memory would then juggle meager scraps of Kannada, Malayalam, Telugu, or Tamil.

It was a great time, but so much was missing. I want to know what people are saying around me. I want to read the menus and signs and children’s books and ancient scriptures. Honestly, I just want to have access to 500-600 million more human heartbeats.

It might be slightly more empowering than a brain full of excuses.

The sensation of having already had a writing session follows me into the afternoon, energizing me to clean my room and open Duolingo Hindi. Then I go all out and email my favorite Indian blogger about a collaboration. At night she responds with an idea. I love her idea.

All this. All this because I stopped, took a deep nine a.m. Wednesday breath, and started my day with writing anything that came to me, rather than beginning the day with scrolling, reading, or learning something.

Speaking of Wednesdays, I started taking off-Instagram days and find it healthy. Wednesdays and Sundays are quieter. I have more of my days so I have more of my life.

I do not deactivate my account because I value the ability to show my friends and followers a down-to-earth perspective of foreign countries in contrast to media depictions. Sharing obscure street foods and scenes of plastic litter and street animals matters to me. I re-share the positives and negatives that recur daily yet fall short of making headlines.

We could all list a dozen stereotypes of the Indian people, cuisine, culture, and religions. I personally cannot go far without getting questions about dog meat and martial arts, and being nicknamed “China.”

Wherever in the world I may be, you can be sure that I listen to Made In China jokes or tales of how locals got together and set fire to Chinese imports on the streets. Unless I’m in China. Then I’d hear the Chinese versions of racism and discrimination and political history.

No one ever says anything original. For thousands of years humans have used different languages and context to spread the same messages of division and fear. 

I believe a presence on Instagram can help break down xenophobia, as well as raise awareness for those in need and those without a voice in society.

Relevant read: 24 Hours in a Tibetan Tent

As I make final edits to this post, I cannot publish without saying that so far Hindi has been fucking fantastic. Doodling away at the letters. Writing and re-writing the most important words for me to first recognize from my surroundings: आलू पराठा and चाय (:

Also, on Fridays I eat pizza and views.

current obsessions:

early morning steamy paranthas
balasana
rhododendron blooms
rhododendron tea
cheeks of ruminating goats
slaty-headed parakeets
hemp
cashmere
raw silk
cotton washable pads
red sandalwood stick-less incense
solo hikes
kashmiri cranberries + karnatakan dark chocolate, melted
black coffee + a side of mango
dried ladahki apricots, re-hydrated
catherine cohen’s sexy little email
shantaram quotes
the ever-expanding duolingo spanish lessons (it’s actually galactic)
devanagari script

 

current revulsions:

starving yemenis
west african chocolate (yet to find a bakery here that uses indian cacao)
covid-19 in india
plastic packaging
plastic waste
wealthy countries shipping their plastic waste to Asia
palm oil in our toothpaste, body wash, soap bars
colombian police violence

Bird of the month: Slaty-headed parakeet

A remarkable high-elevation parakeet and the only psittacid species to display altitudinal migration. Dons a pencil of a head and a highlighter of a tail. This absolute charm feeds in flocks around my backyard.

Best of recent reads:

• Writing advice from On My Canvas blog
• How yoga teacher training is a MLM scheme
• Catherine Cohen’s Sexy Little Email
• A peachy poem

Current book: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Previous Monthly Mood: India Continues To Prove That I Don’t Know Shit About Life

One year ago today: