Skip to main content

Finding Tao

We discovered one evening that there was Taoist temple not to far from our hotel and decided to visit there the following morning. The map had the temple up on the nearby hill that did not look too hard to climb so we set on our way. The winding road took us through small farms on both sides, a few rundown shacks and a number of shrines honoring the dead. Out of curiosity we stopped to read the inscription on one of them. It belonged to a concubine of some emperor. There was more detail on her lineage and progeny that we understood nothing about. As the road went uphill we found more such shrines big and small, many dedicated to concubines. There was an old man in a hut pulling nails out of a wooden board. It was unclear if he was salvaging the wood, nails or both. A stray dog lay curled up in sleep under a grapefruit tree laden with fruit one of which had dropped right next to where the dog lay. After the while the road ended abruptly. 

The map showed the temple to our right but what we saw was tiny patches of farmland where a variety of greens and vegetables were growing. We trusted the map more than the reality we saw in front of our eyes and wandered into the farms expecting to see some path to the temple emerge magically. A farmer coming down the hill observed us quizzically and correctly assumed that we were lost. We did not speak any common language and the translator app failed to pick up his dialect. We showed him the point of the map the temple was marked and assumed he was able to read the words. 

He kept pointing to the path left and repeating "there" - the only word we could understand. He steered us away from the farms and to the path that was going to get us to the temple (or so we thought). We ended up at a different place, away from the farms and the road but no temple anywhere. Retracing our steps back to where we first veered into the farms, a woman headed down to the village with her harvest stopped and smiled at us. We tried to explain to her the best we could about the temple which we had no idea if she understood or not. She gestured us to follow her and we did thinking the temple was on her way to wherever she was headed. 

Along the way we passed the old man toiling away on the wooden boards, extracting nails. The dog was still asleep by the fallen grapefruit. Nothing had changed in the scenery and nothing had changed in our state either. We were exactly where we began and only time had passed. The woman had brought us to where our journey had started at the bottom of the hill and gestured for us to go back to town. She thought we needed to find our way back having wandered into the farms on the hill. Did the temple exist as all in map or life we don't know.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...