Skip to main content

Orgonized

 


  “Are you a devotee of Lord Krishna?” I was taken aback by the unexpected question and didn’t know how to respond immediately. I looked at the inquirer, my co-passenger in the Rajdhani coupe, and tried to assess if he was one of those self-righteous types who will extol the virtues of vegetarianism all the way to Delhi.
“I asked because you are wearing a Tulsi mala,” he clarified. “Tulsi is sacred to us Vaishnavas; it is a holy plant. I also have one, but I feel shy to wear it. Do you use it for chanting?”
“Well actually… I wear them for health reasons. I suffer from respiratory trouble, and someone recommended Tulsi. These beads are a gift from a friend,” I replied not untruthfully, leaving out the details about how they came from Nimtala Ghat crematorium — one of Calcutta’s more morbid corners — where we once went to smoke for Shiva, talk of life, and stare at death. Besides, which born-again hippie can be without a string of beads?

We made a contrasting pair. He was a middle-aged Bengali bureaucrat, neat and composed. Me — long hair, beard, the beads, a chakra shirt stitched out of a batik-print bedsheet, and dark glasses hiding bloodshot eyes from the previous night’s party. The ice broke when I mentioned I had lived and worked in Calcutta and spoke some Bengali. We exchanged the usual compliments about each other’s states and people before moving to personal topics. He said he was posted in Guwahati, heading to Delhi for a meeting, and would use the chance to visit his family.

When he asked my business in Delhi, I gave him no intelligible answer. Telling him I was joining a group of foreigners I’ve never met, as a voluntary bike mechanic for a six-month “All India Pilgrimage on Motorcycles” — pretentiously dubbed "Bullets for Peace" — might have sent him running out with his luggage.
We talked for an hour or two before falling silent and retreating to our berths. He climbed to his top bunk, pulled out the beads he was too shy to wear, and began chanting Hare Krishna. I opened Wilhelm Reich’s “The Function of the Orgasm”, immersing myself into the world of Orgone energy and human sexuality.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Enlightenment

  The voice on the phone delivered a phrase most men dread hearing from a woman, “Ravi, I have something important to tell you!”    In this case though, despite being completely smitten with her during that period and even entertaining the rose-tinted fantasy that she was the one who got away, I had nothing to worry about. My strict code of not getting involved with married women kept me safe.    I was, however, totally unprepared for what followed and even less how to visualise it.    “My third eye has opened,” she announced with absolute seriousness, then launched into a ramble about Shiva Lingams, visions, stream of consciousness and pre-Columbian Hinduism as evidenced by how a US state, made famous by fried chicken, was actually named after the Sanskrit word for thorns "Kanthaka". It is usually not very easy to unsettle or surprise me with things spiritual, bottled or otherwise, and her cosmic revelations too barely moved the needle. Well, except f...

SHAME

  I first tasted deep shame in 10th standard, delivered personally by a girl’s mother, who kicked me out of their house like some neighbourhood pervert. The irony - I had never touched the girl. We were just friends. Soon afterwards, my friends in her school, some gleefully to cause hurt, others as a word of caution, filled my ears about she was caught with some boy in the school toilet. They faced disciplinary action.  While, I inherited the silent disgrace.   The second blow came when I confessed to a friend’s girlfriend, who thought I was a Casanova, that I never had a girlfriend, or touched a girl, and that I was completely inexperienced. In contrast, she had been sleeping with her coach since school, followed by a relay race of men, eventually devirginized my friend, then when he left for higher studies, helped his best friend become a man. A few more years and bodies later, she married a gold digger from the back end of nowhere - that's decades before Soci...

Holy Diver

At an age when most rockers had burned out, overdosed, or taken permanent residency in rehab, the undisputed King of Heavy Metal burst in with his first solo mega-hit, “Holy Diver,” well into his mid-40s. I had been yelling along, with the starting demonic howl and all, since my teens without the faintest idea what Ronnie James Dio was singing about. Recently, I looked it up. Apparently, it’s about some transdimensional, chain swinging Batmanesque masked messianic figure taking a dive to save an ungrateful humanity. Sounds familiar. Now on a personal level, “Holy Diver” has lately come to mean something else. One, call her the manifestation of my Jungian Anima , the female archetype lurking in a man’s psyche, or simply the temptress, a Sky Dakini in the flesh luring me to take the plunge. This Diver, a Skydiver actually, is no fantasy. She is the latest YouTube demigoddess I stumbled upon. A striking, brown-haired, yet a decidedly unglamorous young woman who sits on a chai...

The Twin Plug Enfield Bullet

When Royal Enfield motorcycle’s designers in Redditch blueprinted the Bullet, their intent was to create a workhorse and so emphasis was placed on mechanical reliability and not performance. As a result, the traditional Bullet engine packs a solid construction, one that can endure colossal mechanical fatigue and stress. Thus it doesn’t take much to garner appreciably higher power output from the motorcycle and one doesn’t have to be either Fritz Egli or have a state-of-the-art workshop to do it. For starters just knock in an additional Spark Plug and you already have something worthwhile. And no, you don’t have to go for the Royal Enfield’s new unit engine, of the Thunderbird TBTS to have the Twin Spark Plug advantage. As I have been riding one for the past eight years. A second Spark stands for cleaner and faster rate of combustion translating both into higher RPMs, better power and leaner burning. In fact far leaner and Fuel efficient then the Enfield’s AVL engine. Coming...

Happy Endings…

After more than a decade around boats, and for earlier  living in Goa, whose only relevance here is that it happens to have a seashore, I am routinely treated as a know-all repository for anything remotely connected to ships and vessels. Of all the questions I get, the one I detest most, and about which I know virtually nothing except having seen a few lined up for scrapping at Alang, concern cruise liners. To be fair, I did predict the commercial failure of India’s first homegrown cruise ship even before its maiden voyage. Like most of my negative prognoses, that too came true. But my dislike for cruise liners has nothing to do with ships. It has everything to do with the people asking the questions. The questions are never about ships, routes, costs or even seasickness. The most common one is - whether it is true that one can avail of intimate services on board, in massage parlours and saunas, the “happy ending” kind, while their families lounge on deck and pose for photos. Why g...