as my Aunt Ruth used to say. Thunder & lightning each night at the hill stations. Lightning in the mountains over Dharamsala, originating (I like to imagine) in Tibet. At a rest stop on the night bus to Manali, over a constant roar of thunder, my mother & I watch lightningbolts split the sky, like white veins of a god.
Yesterday, pouring rain in Manali. Cold. Today, hot springs! In the open-air grey-walled pool for gents, Ganesh the elephant god of prophesy presides from within a white stone, all of us in underpants, wading the grey steaming water, sulphurous-smelling, a slight stink of matches, so hot my skin goes pink soon as I get in, & I am stoned from the heat of it. About twenty-five of us in total, bathing, feet-washing, in yoga postures, chatting, or just breathing. The father of a family from Mumbai owns a neat mustache, eyes me from the centre of the pool, & exclaims, throwing up his hands, “India climate!” We look up at the ominous El Greco clouds. A sadhu with black beard & long hair drifts past in the water like an otter, then vanishes underwater for a long time. He climbs out slow onto the edge tiles & holds a tricky yoga pose, his hairy brown skin steaming. His eyes are dark & powerful & give away nothing. They are beautiful.
Two children, girl & boy, appear at the top of the wall beside us & peer down with brown cherubim faces. They drop white rose petals on us, from a bush up there, which float down like snow onto the sadhu & the Mumbai family & the water. They also let fall an orange mask, by mistake, which hovers in the water face-up for a minute. The Mumbai father puts it on and takes the fierce bow-&-arrow position of a god, & the children laugh. He tries to throw the mask back up to them but it’s too light, & after two tries gives up, waving his hand in dismissal.
Off to Banff in a few days—another odd mountain town, other side of the world—for a third cool springtime. Goodbye to my lovely friend, Tiina! Hello Canada, first time this year. I have no idea what to think of this. I plug my nose, shut my eyes, & submerge myself in the murky holy water beside the sadhu.
Where are you now? Still writing, I hope, even if it doesn’t make it to the blog.