Второй день. Махараштра: Мумбаи; Гоа: Мапса - Арамболь.
About language.
It takes less than two days to start thinking in english. Although it is a strange mix of english words, even english in-your-head-pronunciation, and russian grammar. Back to non-conditional mind.
I will be your guard and guide, your lord and light, your silence at half and science of love. I will give you everything, take everything from me.
Only here art of love could take birth, where there are no eschatological theories and constant shortage of time. I looked at Mumbai roofs for the last time and closed my eyes, reiterating "my love, I love you so much, my only love" until it was over. Tantra is for those who are not in hurry. Stop running and make love, says the air.
This ground still remembers graceful walk of white-haired english Aybolits, who touched their mustaches, adjusted thin frame of glasses and rocked heads, lecturing poor indian children not to play alongside railways to keep their fingers on their hands.
An unforgettable feeling of brotherhood, when pissouars in w/c does not have canalization tubes so your urine falls from one meter height to tiles, splashing and sprinkling, mixing with tens, hundreds indian urines to the accompaniment of laughter and lazy spits.
Moon is cut on the top, thoughts are cut by dreams until there is no difference between closed and opened eyes, and we are sleeping on this brave new road.
Falling asleep, I thought about these people, never drunk but always high, smiling even in hard times, free not by law, not by thoughts but by nature. From the very heart of Asia, they themselves poured in our blood once, and will never vanish. With my browns intensely knitted, with my jaws squeezed and my fists reflectively clenched, with all my flimsy skepticism and silly pride of being civilized, I am ashamed of being who I am, of being naughty, naught European.
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