This travelogue is an exploration into myself through a sensitive appraisal of my experiences in America, the Middle East and in India. My unpleasant and pleasant experiences together helped me to rediscover myself, who is essentially an outsider in my own country, on account of my Parsi heritage and personal propensity. My exposure to the world poets in translation in London, widened and deepened my poetic consciousness and encouraged my poetic creativity. The death of my father and my subsequent visit to Dharmasala, is a journey inward and outward. To me travel is like a seed that germinates in me and opens up fascinating casements of realization.
I
never left my father's house until I was 20. At 20,
I bade goodby to my dying mother (she was to die within
the year) and went West. Los Angeles via Bangkok, Tokyo,
Honolulu even in 1968 was a shock. As it is often said:
`Nothing that is not broken first can be made whole
again.' I soon hit the gay bars and baths of West Hollywood.
But there was the Powell Library at UCLA, where I saw
Uday Shankar dance and the Los Angeles County Museum
with its huge Siva Nataraja from the Hiramanek collection,
since returned to India. Jane
Heider's family took me to Yosemite Valley that summer.
We roughed it out in Holiday Camps. I had tasted the
good life by then and asked to use my electric blanket
at night. `Where will you plug it in?Into the trees!'
asked Jane.
Indiana
was flat and boring after the sea and mountains of California.
Sea people look outwards, mountain people inwards. Indiana
was insular. A Parsi meant `Apache' to some. People
usually destroy what they don't understand. I was soon
beaten up and left for dead. I awoke to the poet Josephine
Jacobsen reading on the radio: `All need is dry / Rain
is a metaphor!' I've spent the last 30 years explaining
this phrase to myself and to my students. Jacobsen,
since dead, was born a cripple. Her father moved her
from bed to the window where she could see the passing
seasons and squirrels in the yard. |