myth & dreams in Cochin India

Prelude
The sky wept as Alice traveled further away from the city and into the desolate lands that eventually led to her departure. Several hours later, she will be pleasantly surprised to learn that the weeping was necessary in order to fashion a grand illusion.

The Departure
The plane flew clumsily in what appeared to be a mini thunderstorm. The seat belt sign blinked madly like failed attempts of a wink. Passengers were forbidden to go to the restroom.

Suddenly, the sky cleared and fluffy blue clouds appeared. Alice looked out of the window and a perfect rainbow arched gracefully across the sky. It was magnificent and she thanked the Universe for its creative effect. Alice paid attention and truly enjoyed just that, it is pure. And when it is, the Universe reciprocated and she began to connect with not everything, but anything.

True enough, Alice met the most wonderful people on the trip, and to think for a moment that these were all mere fragments of a grander illusion is somewhat unfathomable.

First Night in a DREAM
There she was in Cochin India. Sharing a cab with two other fabulous writers, they cruised in the still night of Cochin, temporary cooled from the morning heat, it was trance like.
The driver pointed to the front and a slim DREAM hotel revealed itself.
…
Pretty flower garland around her neck, Alice entered her room.
Alone, the smoke rings from Alice’s first cigarette in India paired with the blue luminosity in the room caused her to feel strangely happy. However, on the first night and for the rest of her trip, Alice couldn’t sleep. How can you sleep when you are already trapped in a dream?
So corny but true.

Call to Adventure
The next morning at the hotel’s lobby, Alice met her new friends from around the world and they earnestly introduced themselves; together, they were transported in a white vehicle; with cameras around their necks and fashionable shades, they journeyed through the city and into the backwaters.

The Indian summer was intense. Inside looking out, their vehicle’s windows became a gateway, its outer surface covered with a thin film of dust like a haunting veil. The small streets crowded with sardined buses, old school bicycles, motorbikes and people like assorted weird shaped candies of all sizes.

Many have said that India beats to a certain rhythm, one that is frantic chaotic beautiful.
They were right.
But there is also another trip above such rhythm, one for the surrealists.
Come on, run with it, go into it. It’s the first out-of-body experience and everything IS AS IT IS.
“Feels like I’m here but not”, thought Alice.

Outside, fine lines on the dark faces were practical. Each carved as the results of life’s predictable requirements: food on the table, children to raise. There was no room for unnecessary world-weariness.

Don’t mistake it as sadness because it isn’t. Life is suffering.
Don’t judge it as pessimism because we deserve more freedom.
Tragic beautiful.
Alice reminded herself.

They made a stop at Fort Kochi and entered a church by the name St. Francis. The sun was high.
Once the burial ground for Vasco da Gama, the church’s aged interior was simple but made interesting through the union of Christianity and India. Few devotees dressed in colorful saris were praying. The humidity in the air invited tiny winged creatures and they circled above the visitors’ sweaty heads.

Alice thought about creation; how all is connected from the planets in outer space to quantum theory elements. Alice desires to be included as one of the few who connected the most unlikely, the creators who were successful at bringing together two seemingly different rudiments, and recommending something surprisingly familiar yet fresh.

Outside of the church, Alice met the sweet Austrian Opera Critic, and he forgot her name.
“I’m sorry …” he said.
“I’m walking away now.” Alice replied with a poker face. Of course, she wasn’t really offended. The beautiful French woman called her someone else several times; a name is just a name. Alice was practicing her off-beat humor.
The two walked a block or two together, and talked about writing. It was nice. They strolled past the ancient tree and dreamy faces resting beneath it, faded walls with political agendas and a man with turban cycled by.

The rest caught up and they ventured to the seaside. They saw the Chinese fishing nets (said to be passed down by Kublai Khan) and the men who depended on it. There were corpses of sea creatures on the beach, their tentacles motionless on pieces of newspaper with yesterday’s news.
They stopped only for lunch and gave time for their sweat-soaked shirts to dry. In the restaurant and seated next to the young man from Hong Kong, Alice was extremely thirsty. She was missing the sensation of chilled drinks travelling down her throat and was disappointed to notice the absence of ice in her refreshment. The juice she ordered looked very pretty but was served at room temperature. A careful sip and Alice felt the warmth. She soon discovered that this was not uncommon; perhaps Kochiites gave up on ice since they tend to melt too fast...so impermanent.

Then there was Jew Town. A movie set for enthusiastic photographers to go wild. Here, Alice bought six smoking pipes, a small golden box and a golden key the size of an Oxford pocket dictionary. Jew Town is in actual fact a tourist spot lined with souvenir shops, a cliché some travelers are keen to avoid. Still a victim of sub-conscious predictability, Alice did feel let down for a slight moment but soon embraced her surroundings. In return, Jew Town showed her great expressions and tender wind for the temple.

Later, the Queen of the Arabian Sea decided it was time for them to meet the backwaters.
On a speedboat, they zoom past families living by the waters. Children waved at them and lone fisherman was nonchalant.

Seated at the front with her back against the gushing wind, Alice took pictures of her travel companions: interesting characters she hardly knew but it didn’t matter, it was this moment in time that they crossed path, and the moment was priceless.

The speedboat delivered them to a larger boat; delightfully weaved with the earth’s fibers, the boat glided quietly and slowly through the backwaters. However hushed, it still interrupted the calmness and left behind a white lathered trail. On the boat, Alice was adjusting to the warm coconut juice; she read in one fairy tale that mermaids live up to 3000 years only to die and become the drifting white foam.

Nightfall, at Dream Hotel, the group endured a mind-numbing dinner and spent their evening dancing to Indian music matched with a lot of alcohol.

For Alice, Cochin was a good trip.
For the Universe, it was but myth and dreams.

The Return
It was raining again.

The expected poignancy of separation became stronger.
Alice knew the missing will be overwhelming upon her return and resistance was futile. So instead, she looked forward to it; after all, it showed closeness.

She thought about the beautiful man who derived so much joy from her by simply being herself, and vice versa.
She thought about the three of them loving each other just because.
She thought about the girl who donated four funky plasters for her injured toes.
She thought about the gentle quietness of the man who was always ready with her cocktails.
She thought about the sweet words she learned in a foreign language.
She thought about that point in time when she mentioned Hadron Colliders. How he intrigued her.
…
Because words are just sounds; because some things in life are more intangible, Alice tried her best to remember every moment so she may conjure them again when they are most needed.
...

Delusional, melodramatic and aloof. she is all that and not.

How she misses…
xxx