Tuesday, August 3, 2010


In the wee hours of the morning, as Kelly and I were drifting in and out of a not-so-deep slumber, a spark flew from the sky. The sky of our ceiling fan, that is. Our other roommate shot out of bed, “Do you smell that?”

We all tried to go back to sleep, but the electricity had gone out at this point and not having any air circulation lays in the thick heat in a much too perceptible bodily glaze that makes it entirely hard to relax into a slumber – also MY FACE felt like it was going to peel off –
>>>Speaking of face issues, I attempted to see a dermatologist yesterday. It was about six in the evening when I walked up to the hospital whose parking lot looked like a valet stand at a mall. Cars were parked haphazardly and constantly being herded in and around the cement lot. Papers flew around at desks inside the hospital. I was told by two different receptionists that the dermatologist was not in at the moment and I would need to return today. The first man I spoke with told me to come in at 11:30, and that he would be available for one hour only. The next lady I spoke with told me to come in at 12:00 exactly, and that he would be available until 1:00. These people were in reception desks probably 15 feet apart from one another.


So lying awake in bed for a bit lead us to be conscious and mobile for the sunrise. Our first noted sunrise in India. The rise of the sun is really only perceptible once it gets up past the mass of dense smog lining the low part of the city. Today we saw gashes of pink light illuminated around the edges of clouds in splotchy patterns as the cradled hot orange sun became visible among the blue milky clouds/smog/pollution. A dream, I tell you. Masses of the misty clouds/smog/pollution rolled over and in front of the sun, sometimes obstructing the view of its exact shape – but leaving the wildly electric imprints of orange rose that it shed onto the sky around it.
A fitting comment for the morning: “This is an Indian sunrise. When would you ever see this back at home?”
And it’s true; of course there are plenty of things to see here that one wouldn’t see back at home – but something as simple and universal as the powerful imprint of a shockingly pink sunrise seems as though it would have notes of home. Instead, this sun rises like a different species of sun. It doesn’t awaken into a yellow yolk, but smears its presence…

That was beautiful.

So power out, but beautiful sunrise, and then that smell that my roommate spoke of? My phone charger, which had been plugged into the wall, literally exploded. Only half of it dangled from the outlet, and the rest lay in a charred black pile on the marble floor.
Awesome, India.

Everything else in our apartment, save the internet, is wonderful, though. Huge open spaces big enough to do yoga and handstands, to sleep, to read, to feast – throughout the day, but especially in the early morning and at night, vegetable vendors roll their carts through the narrow streets up and yell up to the residents with booming resonating voices. All you must do is peek down off of your balcony and motion for them to stop! Hold on! I will come down and purchase a kilo of tomatoes for a dollar!

Again, shall I be off to the hospital? Fix my FAAAAAAAAAAAACE. I am a bit nervous to put my face in the hands of India… but… alas, what else to do? I can only apply calamine lotion and Vaseline so many times…
It isn’t nearly as bad as yesterday or the day before – but it still feels as though someone has poured a vat of elmer’s all over my lips and then let it sit and crack in the sun. And I no longer look quite like a pomegranate. More just like a girl with puffy cheeks.

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