Wagha border

im feeling subdued.
yet again im writing days later.
and wondering if that is perhaps not the best of options.
though, at present, it is the only.
on yet another train - this time to varanasi (aka banares aka kashi aka 'forest of bliss').
and the last ride for 2-3 days at least.
a pleasant break.
the mini-realm that is my personal space has been roughened up a bit much these past 8 days and i aim to take full advantage of the money i have on hand (and available after a quick trip to the atm).
im aware of the good fortune to have decent money at all.
and that i am only a tourist in the end.
i want a massage. ayurvedic.
i want my fortune told.
i want to sleep in a quiet space.
and i want a aura emanating at least 1 foot from my body at all points that reeks of
energy.
pure and thick and vibrant.
all of it screaming 'stay the fuck away'.
one foot is all i ask.
this may be demanding (oh i did say ask, didn't i?) too much.
a girl can dream.

im sitting on the bench that is to become my bed across from a man in a fuzzy, puffy, glittering orange sweater.
please note that all unwanted tinsel following christmas ought to be sent to india.
i assure you they will make use of it.
he has a beard.
i note this because old men with beards that reach their collar bone make me jealous.
i want a beard of my own, you see.
and i dont suppose i will ever have one.
i just to try it out one day.
but i fear hormone pills would only complicate things.
and i hate shaving enough as it is.
fuzzy puffy orange sweater man glittering in the dark is asleep and i want to braid his beard.
but i shall not.
he might kick me.
or curse me.
or something equally un-auspicious.
and i believe i will wait at least until my fortune is told.

sigh.
the pleasures i must deny myself.

on with the main event then.
pretending to be in the moment.
------------------------------

the vehicle that is to take me to the wagha border is a relatively comfortable looking SUV.
the very back aka trunk area is also equipped with benches to maximize seating.
and it is white.
because color matters.
considering it while empty, you would imagine perhaps 10 people could fit into it comfortably.
but of course.
in the end.
15 people are stuffed into this vehicle.
and one child.
who sat on her mothers lap.
or rather her butt was on her mothers lap, who happened to be my neighbor, and in falling asleep, the rest of her collapsed onto me.
all i could see was the back of her head and feared she might suffocate lost somewhere in the folds of my scarf.
i poked her. no response.
i looked helplessly at her mother, thinking surely she would collect her child.
but mother had also gone to sleep.

the problem is that i have a serious issue with touching other peoples children.
strangers' children.
regardless of how affectionate they may be with me.
and as i sat there debating on whether or not i ought to just adjust her myself and attempting to recall whatever pediatric development facts still lingered in my brain -
her head tilted slightly. and her mouth apppeared.
(along with a fair amount of drool along my forearm)
bless the lord!
i will not kill a child today.

a side note.
never doubt the widespread appeal of american music.
i have heard beyonce in the dead of night, floating up the the niger river where even electricity dared not reach the mud villages of the river bank.
and i have now enjoyed eminem and celine dion en route to the pakinstan/india border in a stuffed SUV (how about that for an advertising idea?).
what disturbed me was not the sudden appearance of them -
but rather the combination.
really now.
"Stan" and "My Heart wil go on"?
imagine that duet.
id pay hundreds.

ive never seen the beatles.
i wasnt even alive then.
but you know those old tv snippets where you see how insane girls were? the noise? the shoving? the climbing all over each other?
getting through the line, past the guards and the (so-called) security (another side note for another day) was something like that.
only. add barbed wire.
and that was the madness that took place.
and this event (which i still do not know the name of, i'm merely calling it 'the event')
takes place every day.
EVERY DAMNED DAY.
people get excited around here it seems.
i see now how folks are killed in major sporting events.
i cant even imagine what its like in a pakistan vs india cricket game.
(though im awfully tempted)
whatever.
i gloried in shoving and kicking and snarling!
i growled and clawed my way through the wave of bodies!
i could not be stopped!
i was invincible!
and then there was that barbed wire.
my shirt will never forgive me.

now.
as i understand it.
'the event' takes place every day at 5pm.
primarily ceremonial in nature.
lovely indian and pakistani men in their army garb (which i think is also primarily ceremonial in nature because it doesnt look terribly practical - unless those giant peacock headgear things are stealthy)
and really.
its all good fun.
i didnt understand any of it.
some marching. stomping. kick.
kick. kick. stomp. some guns involved.
(though no shooting)
lots of loud inspirational talking.

MC: "HINDUSTAN!"
people: -jdoisdgfsggrhiudnverg- !
MC: "HINDUSTAN!!"
people: -jergnedfgedriunvuenrgo- !

and on the other side of the fence there was the faint
"PAKISTAN!"
-jheriugnesdgsdgiunvinr- !

i felt the comprehension of these two words was enough.
you get the gist.
more kick. more stomp. and some arm swinging.
the indian side pulled out a greater crowd than the pakistanis but that i could hear them at all over the indian screaming was impressive in itself.
another kick.
theyre really great at this kicking thing.
more like a fling than a kick.
just whip it out.
HACHAAAAH!
and the pakinstani side in a somewhat mirror action.
PACHAAAAH!
i wondered if they practice this.
at some point in time both sides open their respective gates and do more kicking and stomping directly in front of one another.
from my distance it wasnt clear if the opposing soldiers actually touch one another.
but id like to think they did.
if for no other reason but to perform some swinging arm movement.
in sync.
this ought to be an olympic sport.
in fact.
that was the feel of it all.
the crowds screaming. the cheering. the flag waving.
a major gaming event.
if marching is your thing.

soon enough the flags are descending, the lines held in "X" fashion and they pass one another as they return to the waiting arms of their respective countrymen.
in peacock headresses.
the gates close with an audible clang.
firm. secure.
and the crowd goes wild.

im still not sure if all that flinging, marching, and stomping was a show of might
-or a show of brotherhood.
or maybe.. just maybe - it was something in the middle.
depending on the day.
i think the pakistan/hindustan relationship is just that way.

and on the road back, the sound of 98 Degrees filled the darkening skies.
and the kid fell asleep on me again.