Hanging out in cozy Bangalore, I find that too much time has gone by to fully dive into my recent memories. So many thoughts are lost, but that's par for the course. I certainly imposed high expectations on myself in terms of documenting this trip, but admittedly I'm feeling a sense of diminishing return. Naturally being immersed in a new place makes it quite difficult to divorce your thoughts from the environment, but after some time I find it easier to sink into my own mind and float there for a while. I've enjoyed all the stimulation, but now seems to be a time for rest and taking care of my brain. I'll run through a few of our stops and see if anything pops up again.
After Munnar, we spent a night in yet another tiger reserve. Fortunately this one was far more remote, meaning fewer people and a bit more freedom. The lush greenery of tea plants for days gave way to dry forests, waiting for the impending monsoon season to give some color back to the landscape. Well that's a silly projection. Forests don't wait for anything. As we drive along I fantasize about climbing every mountain I see.
Jagadeesh has been a fantastic companion, and he finally partakes in a lot of the outings with us for the last stop on our mini tour. Our endlessly inane and childish sense of humor (which I love) doesn't seem to cross the language barrier, but a discussion on marriage allows us to relate a bit more. It's rare to see Jagadeesh smile, but we exchange a few laughs when he asks us about our opinions and preferences. He tells us that he is committing a sin by not wanting to have any more children after his 4 year old daughter, but his logic regarding overpopulation trumps religious doctrine. He says that this is not a grave sin, but I imagine he might experience some social backlash from deviating from the norm. Although it could simply be a generational transition as these larger issues seem to have a more immediate impact on society. Who knows what sorts of ideals that are progressive and revolutionary now will become irrelevant or even maladaptive in the future. (I've ended the previous sentence with a period because who really wants an answer when they ask something rhetorically?)
After a short time in Parambikulam, we head to Pallakad and stay with Varun's uncle for three nights. Upon our arrival we are stuffed with amazing meals prepared by Dharana's wife Vasinthi. They are very welcoming but it borders on uncomfortable as I start to feel like an encumbrance on their daily routine. Vasinthi prepares almost all of our meals and constantly offers refreshments. It seems rude to decline, and as much as I love the food I am starting to feel like the kid who drinks the blueberry soda in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
Even so, I can't contain my glee around mealtimes. After those three days of having my inner glut drowning in pleasure, Vasinthi still said that she wasn't sure if we even enjoyed the food. Evidently I wasn't drooling or moaning with delight emphatically enough, but I did my best to reassure her that we've been pampered to the extreme and will part ways with some very fond memories. As enormous as their kindness was, I still think I'd be happy pulling my own (now alarmingly enormous) weight around the house.
But I suppose I treat my guests in a similar fashion. Food is a comfort and treating people to the good stuff builds some sort of rapport. When I have people over my concern for their enjoyment is heightened. I make sure to ask them about their tastes and try to find a suitable beer for them. I'll make an epic smoothie or try to find some other treats to bring out. In those moments we seem to really care about the impression of our home life, extending that comfort by accommodating to different preferences. But in these times I think of my mother and how she is so restrictive of own diet but infinitely giving to others. I sense that Vasinthi gets that same vicarious pleasure out of it, but I wonder why she felt like it wasn't good enough. This troubles me, but I don't know how to insist on doing the dishes or reciprocating in some small way. Sometimes going into somebody else's kitchen can violate their space, especially if they have a specific way of doing things. I feel like the most I can do as a vagabond is accept sparingly and try to express my gratitude as best as possible.
More moans of pleasure, perhaps.
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