Rambly man with tea

Today began with a phonecall to friends back home. Big props to Han, Clare, Sas and Tom for managing to maintain a conversation with a time delay despite being shitted up on booze and having just been subjected to some ‘Face Melting Bum Core’ courtesy of DJ Semi-Rob.

Props indeed.

It was lovely to hear some familiar voices. I have been crap at phoning people. I’m too stingy and besides I spend enough time and money writing this crap.

So in a couple of days will be Varanasi. I will be confronted with death, I hear. Not my own, but plenty of Indians. It’s probably worth me thinking about this stuff. Otherwise I could just rock up to Varanasi with the usual curious enthusiasm:

”Woo! I’m in Vara-na-si! Alright! So, where’s the party? Gulp. Is that a dead guy. What are you doing! That match looks a little close to his – wait, he’s on fire. Does anyone have any water! And now he’s in the Ganga. Phew. I think I need to lie down for a couple of weeks.”

Etc.

So, should be fun. But Varanasi will provide an opportunity to get involved with music again. It’s a central seat of culture, music and learning in India (I’m told). But like most Indian cities, something tells me it will take a few days to get used to the hassle, dodgy roads and hectic way of life.

Just read the Sunday Times of India. Always a treat. But the newspapers confuse me here. I enjoy their playful, sesquipedalian use language but the values they promote seem discordant with what I observe here – and I’ve been mostly in cities too. I’ve barely even seen the ‘real’ rural India of which people bang on about.

These papers still discuss celebrity branding on page 2, as if it is of primary importance. Amitabh Bachchan’s (63 year old Bollywood hero and national treasure) recent stomach operation is front page news.

The paper oozes stories of economic growth in India; contraception is encouraged, sex openly discussed. It might as well be written in London.

It is confusing. I don’t understand who it is written for. I saw an advert in Haridwar for the Times of India and it read “For successful people.” Hmm.

Columnists criticise Bachchan’s family for wanting him to ease off his punishing workload of films and commercials. “Why?” they say, “let him earn his money while he can.” It is a ruthless attitude – not the empathetic India I see. And as if the dude needs another penny.

There is a patronizing article discussing ‘evolutionary enlightenment’ as if spirituality is some new idea here (like it might seem in the UK). Perhaps making it seem new suggests it is shiny, exciting, expensive, so therefore more valuable and important. This seems to fly in the face of Indian thinking and wisdom.

I hate to say it but it seems like cultural colonialism is tearing this place apart. Tradition and way of life is replaced by shininess. I can understand it wanting to tackle the huge problem of poverty and standards of living, but India doesn’t seem suitable for Western ideology. It kinda jars. I’m clearly not some traditionalist conservative, but there is something a bit sad about West-obsession here. Can they not see the flaws of the West? Many do see this, I’m sure, but ‘The Economy’ demands this direction.

The West is a bit fucked is it not? England is confused, paranoid and miserable and America is a child. India, perhaps, is the old man who is being shown a sparkler but actually getting excited about it.

I realised, as I was reading an article about child labour, that surely to every Indian child labour is not a problem but a normality – a fact of life. I encounter children in a work environment many times a day. Every cup of chai is delivered by some stunted youth. Many cafes are successfully run by boys! And that will be their life from start to finish: sandwiches and chai. Fair enough we don’t worry about this kind of child labour because at least they can earn a decent living, though be honest the Westerner in you wants to scream out: “but what kind of life is that? He has no freedom, no choice!”

Choice, freedom. Hmm. I guess it is the abundance of freedom and choice that leaves a longhair like me traipsing around the world trying to figure out ‘what to do with myself.’ My brain can’t make decisions like this. How do I make this choice? Clearly drifting is fun as you don’t even need to make many choices. You can always allow external factors and other people’s whims to guide your life.

However, spending a lot of time with Josh I find that he is worse than me. I am forced into the role of decision maker, official speaker and motivator. I am starting to follow my own nose a bit more. It’s fun.

So how does one as a privileged and educated person make decisions about occupation? Honesty writes that I have little interest in getting a ‘job’. I don’t feel like selling my skills for a wage – to the man. And this isn’t teenage rebellion or a childish wish to avoid responsibility. It’s a desire to travel, to move, to meet people, to play music, to live cheap, retain some freedom. And yet the Westerner in me worries about pensions. For fuck’s sake! When will I be free of these fears? Huh? Muthfukka! Huh?

Anyway, I have to cello. Varanasi tomorrow. I’ll keep you updated. Oh, and a monkey jumped on me today and tried to steal my bag. I told you, chavs the lot of em.