From my journal:
"As I sit here in a colorful room packed full of avid listeners, I debate the complexities of this morning. Stomach pains. Bird crap on my shoulder. And, the ridiculous honking that would give any normal pedestrian a headache. The tint of everyones' skin has a yellow glow reflecting off the bright shining walls. People grin when the speakers laugh, but are they truly listening? Why are all these people here? Is it to learn about the British and Indian relationships? How James Bond's promiscuous women were developed? To have a brief five minutes of fame as they catch a glimpse of themselves on the big screen while askin g a confusing and irrelevant question to the speaker? Is it find an assumed intellectually stimulating mate? Was it to see the DAli Lama with 1,000 other people crammed under a single tent? The best one could hope for would be to see his cloak as he was quickly ushered off the stage. I really want to know why all of these folks from around the world have come to this literature festival in "the pink city".
As you can tell, that was not the best morning for me. That's what happens when your stomach can't get used to the Indian food and the idea of a toilet is a far off dream. (Sorry, that was way too graphic.) However, the day turned around for the better. I hid in a cool lecture hall for a few hours, needing time to clear my head. I happened to catch Tess walking across the garden and followed her into another lecture. The next two talks I attended were fantastic. One was in Char Bahr, a brightly colored tent that lit up the entire festival. It was surprisingly cool as the sun beat down through the strands of colored fabric. The talk was titled "Laughing, Weeping, and Writing". Three hilarious speakers wittingly interacted with the audience and moderator. My belly ached with all the gut wrenching laughing, which was definitely a turn around from this morning's pains. A part of each individual novel was read by the corresponding author. (If I had had tons of extra money and room in my suitcase, I would have bought all their books.) The one female speaker, Deborah Moggach, was the author of These Foolish Things, also known as The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Although I didn't care for the movie, the book is now on my must read list.
I finished up the afternoon lectures alone at the Google Mughal tent (yes, it does rhyme) listening to "The Elephant Paradigm, the Dragon Paradox". This was more a debate on who would be the next world power, China or India. It was quite interesting, opening my mind to the advances made by those not in the US. Sometimes we we get stuck in our small towns and forget that there are others all over the world making changes, advancing in technology, and helping society as a whole.
We called it in early for the day and headed back to the hotel to rest. We had a nice dinner at the restaurant Russians with our friend Eugene, and then it was bed time.
"As I sit here in a colorful room packed full of avid listeners, I debate the complexities of this morning. Stomach pains. Bird crap on my shoulder. And, the ridiculous honking that would give any normal pedestrian a headache. The tint of everyones' skin has a yellow glow reflecting off the bright shining walls. People grin when the speakers laugh, but are they truly listening? Why are all these people here? Is it to learn about the British and Indian relationships? How James Bond's promiscuous women were developed? To have a brief five minutes of fame as they catch a glimpse of themselves on the big screen while askin g a confusing and irrelevant question to the speaker? Is it find an assumed intellectually stimulating mate? Was it to see the DAli Lama with 1,000 other people crammed under a single tent? The best one could hope for would be to see his cloak as he was quickly ushered off the stage. I really want to know why all of these folks from around the world have come to this literature festival in "the pink city".
As you can tell, that was not the best morning for me. That's what happens when your stomach can't get used to the Indian food and the idea of a toilet is a far off dream. (Sorry, that was way too graphic.) However, the day turned around for the better. I hid in a cool lecture hall for a few hours, needing time to clear my head. I happened to catch Tess walking across the garden and followed her into another lecture. The next two talks I attended were fantastic. One was in Char Bahr, a brightly colored tent that lit up the entire festival. It was surprisingly cool as the sun beat down through the strands of colored fabric. The talk was titled "Laughing, Weeping, and Writing". Three hilarious speakers wittingly interacted with the audience and moderator. My belly ached with all the gut wrenching laughing, which was definitely a turn around from this morning's pains. A part of each individual novel was read by the corresponding author. (If I had had tons of extra money and room in my suitcase, I would have bought all their books.) The one female speaker, Deborah Moggach, was the author of These Foolish Things, also known as The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Although I didn't care for the movie, the book is now on my must read list.
I finished up the afternoon lectures alone at the Google Mughal tent (yes, it does rhyme) listening to "The Elephant Paradigm, the Dragon Paradox". This was more a debate on who would be the next world power, China or India. It was quite interesting, opening my mind to the advances made by those not in the US. Sometimes we we get stuck in our small towns and forget that there are others all over the world making changes, advancing in technology, and helping society as a whole.
We called it in early for the day and headed back to the hotel to rest. We had a nice dinner at the restaurant Russians with our friend Eugene, and then it was bed time.
I really love this blog...
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