Thursday, 30th August, 10:30pm
A re-reading of introspective entries may reveal maudlin tendencies. But I’m satisfied that my sense of isolation, as written a couple of days ago,does not portray that deep sense of depression, of absolute lonloness which is pure homesickness. And what is home anyway other than a familiar sense of security? I don’t feel that alone.
For the past two weeks a congenial companion in Andreas has given each activity a focal point, even though all we’ve done is travel by bus and camel and share the idleness that is Pushkar.
I cannot lightly dismiss the colours and noise. The gaudiness of the pilgrims, all lime green, pink and orange, bedecked in the garish plastics and trinkets which are their devotional decorations. The Shiva temple outshines Blackpool, all fairy lights and fairground music, with balloon and sweetmeats vendors outside.
The tackiness is offset by the richness of the wildlife. The hefty bovine varieties meandering down the crowded alleys, to the background caterwauling of peacocks and the screeching of the lakeside birds and the temple monkeys being fed to the tinkling of hand cymbals and solo bells.