Taken at Fatehpur Sikri
Poor little rodent, run up a door.
Chattering and chattering, frantic, he swore.
Babel Fish Rodentia translated his words:
“It’s not bad enough, the cats and the birds,
hectic humans and their frantic pace,
always running about like they’re in a race.
Stuck on this peg for nigh half a day.
‘A break in the traffic’, I fervently pray.
Pfff! Bipedal humans with their gigantic feet
designed to crush chipmunks right in the street.”
Taken November 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta
Elephants are paradoxes. They seem like gentle giants–making an end-run around tiny mice. Then you realize that humans are the only animal idiotic enough to screw with one in its natural habitat. OK, if an entire pride of lions can separate one injured elephant from its herd, they might go for it. But, generally, the most fearsome predators in the world look at an elephant and say, “Oh, that would not end well for me.” And, of course, one has to consider that they never forget. If you do piss one off, you have to worry about it coming at you all Tony Soprano-style a decade later.
I’ve ridden an elephant in Thailand near the Mae Wang River. It was pleasant. It’s a little terrifying when it goes up or down a steep grade. You have a moment where you think, if this thing topples over, I’m a goner. (You’d have a moment where you hit the ground and said, “I’m alive, I made it.” And then you’d be like, “I didn’t know there was a solar eclipse today” and then” SPLAT!”) At one point, our driver jetted, but–it didn’t matter–the elephant knew where it was going and how to get there. As long as you don’t run out of bananas, the elephant will get you where you’re going. Of course, you will run out of bananas. Fun fact: a person can’t carry enough bananas to satiate an elephant. Then your elephant will get all morose and brooding.
Bat black skies above
Jinking, rolling, and dipping
Dog-fighting for food
The Morning Glory
After dark is monotone
But remains shapely
A pack of street dogs
Bursts into barking, relief
Their mark? Lunchbox man,
Shadow silliness
Man flails his arms overhead
Walking behind me
Taken November 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta.
White Tiger drinking
Bannerghatta has several tigers, two of which are white tigers, that can be seen on the “safari.” It’s not a safari in the usual sense, as the cats are in fenced off containment zones and segregated from their food. One rides in buses or jeeps in through a double-fenced gate, and then through the area.
At some point it occurs to you that they are in the larger area, with greater freedom of movement, and so in some sense one is on exhibit for the animals. The vehicle even has steel mesh over the windows to make the caging experience complete. There are periodical camera portals to give one the illusion that it’s all for the humans’ entertainment.
There are several enclosures to keep lions, tigers, and bears separated.
I saw tigers looking, drinking, walking, stalking, and sniffing–but not crouching. I didn’t see a dragon, and so I must assume that it was hidden.
Taken November 3, 2013 at Hampi.
These trees, raising like hands out of fresh, graveyard soil in front of this tiny temple really captured my imagination. It would probably be a better picture in low light, when the creepiness of the scene could really root around in your brain–but I took what I could get. There were a couple of places around Hampi that I thought would make the perfect setting for horror, and this was one. Another was the banyan tree that had many-colored satchets of rock tied to hang from the tree’s drooping roots.
This picture is taken on top of the hill that overlooks Virupaksha temple, not far from the Ganesh temple.
Taken Nov 3, 2013 at Hampi
Gazing into the distance
he renders his assistance
to the mischievous monkeys–
making him a monkey flunky
A watchman of the langur pranks
yet not a part of their prankish ranks
He screeches warnings now and then
on sight of broom-wielding women
He neither seeks nor needs praise
just the occasional banana raise
He does it not for power or glory
just the occasional funny story
The Book of Tea by Kakuzō Okakura
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book is neither about tea the drink nor tea the plant; it’s about tea the experience. It’s about what the author refers to as “Teaism,” which is akin to Taoism and Zen and which extols the virtues of simplicity, purity, and humility. Teaism is a philosophy that exists around–and in conjunction with–so many familiar philosophies, but is not subsumed by any of them.
The book is divided into seven parts: I.) The Cup of Humanity; II.) Schools of Tea; III.) Taoism and Zennism; IV.) The Tea Room; V.) The Art of Appreciation; VI.) Flowers; and VII.) Tea Masters.
Part I gives us an overview of what Teaism is. One may get a better feel for the author’s view of Teaism through a few choice quotes than from my rambling description. (I’ll take advantage of the book’s 1906 birth date–and, hence, public domain status–to quote heavily from it.)
“Those who cannot feel the littleness of great things in themselves are apt to overlook the greatness of little things in others.”
“It’s [The Tea cult’s] very spirit of politeness exacts that you say what you are expected to say, and no more.”
“For Teaism is the art of concealing beauty that you may discover it, of suggesting what you dare not reveal.”
“Let us dream evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things.”
The first part also devotes considerable space to contrasting East and West. The author defends the Eastern ways, which include an exacting and meticulous approach to tea, as not being backwards–as suggested by some in the West.
It should be noted that her commentary, while sometimes sharp in tone, isn’t an attack on the West so much as a defense of the East. It’s interesting to me that there was such conflict as Teaism sprang from Taoism, which is the individualistic strain of Southern China. There is much in common between the values of Taoism and Western liberal thinking. Both share irreverence for tyranny and authoritarianism, and a dislike of that which is forced on one by dictate.
The second part gives a mini-history of the development of tea, but soon sows more of the philosophy of tea in what becomes a lead-in to the following chapter. A couple more choice quotes:
“Perhaps we reveal ourselves too much in small things because we have so little of the great to conceal.”
“Teaism was Taoism in disguise.”
The third part is the core chapter. It discusses the like mind of Taoism and Zen, and how these systems made fertile soil for the growth of Teaism. It is the heart of the book, as it reveals most vividly what Teaism is by explaining the concepts of nothingness and duality.
“One who could make himself a vacuum into which others might freely enter would become a master of all situations.”
“In jujutsu one seeks to draw out and exhaust the enemy’s strength by non-resistance, while conserving one’s own strength for victory in the final struggle.”
“Truth can be revealed only through the comprehension of opposites.”
“The followers of Zen aimed at direct communion with the inner nature of things, regarding their outward accessories only as impediments to a clear perception of truth.”
Part IV describes the place in which the tea ceremony takes place. The key points are: The tea room should be small and simple, and emulate a Zen monastery. The entryway should be less than three feet high, so that all–Shogun or shepherd alike–can be reminded of the need for humility. The first requisite of being a tea master is the ability to sweep and clean. Earlier, Okakura mentions how the most senior monks in a Zen monastery do the most arduous tasks, rather than the novices. This point translates to Teaism. By becoming a master, one doesn’t escape the requisites of modest tasks, but must carry them out all the more skillfully.
Part V, on the art of appreciation, was summed up for me by the quote, “We classify too much and enjoy too little.”
Part VI is where the author goes a little astray in my opinion. She seeks to address the co-development of flower arranging with tea ceremony. She begins by bemoaning the waste of so many flowers–even more-so in the West than the East. “Why were the flowers born so beautiful and yet so hapless.”
Interestingly, she never bemoans the plucking of tea. She anthropomorphizes flowers–not, apparently, because they are living–but because they are beautiful. She imagines that they must feel the excruciating pain of being wrenched from a stem in a way that a rather lackluster looking tea-bud cannot. It’s her deference to the consensus of beauty as represented by the flower as opposed to the simple tea-bud in which she performs the greatest sin against her own philosophy.
Furthermore, she says, “The man of the pot is far more humane than the man of the scissors.” Failing to recognize that the flower planter and the flower harvester are, in most cases, one in the same person.
She eventually explains how those whose philosophy so despised the destruction of life and beauty came to engage in flower arranging. “We shall atone for the deed by consecrating ourselves to purity and simplicity.”
The final part tells us about the nature of the tea master–a monk of leaf and beverage, if you will.
“The tea-masters held that real appreciation of art is only possible to those who make of it a living influence.”
“He only who has lived with the beautiful can die beautifully.”
I recommend giving this thin book a read. I packs a lot of food for thought into a small package. The language is excellent. (The book was originally written in English, and directed toward a Western audience. Hence the extensive defense of Eastern thinking up front.Therefore, there is no worry about getting a particular translation.)
Taken Nov 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta National Park
The lion is a kingly beast
Whose eyes no lies can abide
If you don’t wish to be his feast
Please act with tact and don’t chide
He doesn’t take to teasing well
He’s still but to kill is in his blood
His placid face may look swell
But a strong heart pounds THUD-THUD…
THUD-THUD
&
another thing
He may look like a big plush toy
But he’s no fun for a girl or boy
Don’t get your kid a big feline
Unless your exit is a swift beeline
Taken November 2, 2013 at Hampi.
These little lizards were one of the most common animal lifeforms at Hampi. They blend into the rock quite well despite the broken white or yellow line of dots on their backs, which itself blends into the splotched pattern of the creature.
I believe they are called Psammaphilus Dorsalis, Peninsular Rock Agamas, or South Indian Rock Agamas. [However, I know nothing about lizards and am open to correction by a herpetologist.]
Walking by Henry David Thoreau
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Thoreau paints a portrait of walking in such grandiose terms that one will cease to think of putting one foot in front of the other as one of life’s mundane tasks. He’s not talking about just any walking, however. He’s not talking about the mall walkers who briskly exercise in temples of consumerism. He’s not talking about those who walk through the park with top 40 hits blaring from their iPod ear buds.
Thoreau is talking about those individuals he calls saunterers. To saunter, as to stroll, is to walk in a leisurely and aimless fashion. Thoreau’s walking is that which:
-takes place in nature.
-leaves worldly worries behind.
-is not a trivial time commitment.
-is more an exercise of the mind and spirit than of the body.
To the mall walker, Thoreau would point out the error of a missed opportunity to get away from mankind’s chaos and enjoy nature. As he puts it, “The most alive is the wildest.” and “…all good things are wild and free.” He’s also clear in that walking for exercise misses the point by injecting hurriedness into a time that should be about slowing down.
On those with iPods, cellphones, or other contrivances that distract one from the environs, Thoreau is equally clear, “What business have I in the woods if I am thinking of something outside the woods?”
Thoreau’s essay broadens as it progresses. From a commentary on the virtues of sauntering, the essay turns to the glories of nature, the character of America, and the state of thought in his contemporary society. These may seem like unrelated concepts, but there is a string of logic that connects them.
The connection to nature and the virtue of wildness should be clear. It’s nature that is the optimal backdrop of sauntering. It’s in nature that one can be set free from the troubles of the world of man and obtain a glimpse of god. It’s in nature where creativity breeds with chaos turned down and native brilliance turned up.
Thoreau’s discussion of America is tied to the theme of walking in a couple of ways. The first is as a land made for walkers. For example, he points out that a man could pitch a tent almost anywhere in North America without great risk of becoming a meal. The same couldn’t be said of India or Africa or Siberia, where man isn’t the sole predatory creature. The second is America as a place with room to venture out into uncharted territory. Thoreau points out that we may look to the East for the lessons of our predecessors, but a person should look West for opportunities to grow in one’s own right. Of course, Thoreau’s America was different from today’s America.
The end of the essay broadens out even further. Thoreau comments upon mankind and the state of ideas and thought. He echoes Socrates when he talks about that age-old question of whether it’s better to be ignorant (to know one knows little) or deluded (to think one knows a lot, but be drowning in false knowledge.) A reader may suggest that this is a false dichotomy. Why can’t one know most everything and not have a one’s body of knowledge rife with false knowledge? I can’t say, but all of the evidence suggests that if such a state exists, it’s the domain of God or gods (if such entities exist.)
Thoreau also bemoans what he sees as the decline of thinking man. What does this have to do with walking? I think Thoreau answers in the following quote:
“So it would seem few and fewer thoughts visit each growing man from year to year, for the grove in our minds is laid waste—sold to feed unnecessary fires of ambition, or sent to mill—and there is scarcely a twig left for them to perch on.”
I think that everyone should read this thin book–really an essay and not a full-scale book. The problems Thoreau notes have only gotten worse in our modern age. Far too few take the time to walk, and to acquire the benefits of sauntering.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 