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apexart-journal · 6 years

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Radha Gomaty in NYC Day 16

Washington

Schedule meant finding my way to the National Mall and looking for all kinds of monuments &memorials that had been listed out to me to visit. As things stood I was already quite late finding my way to my hotel , settling in and getting out again finding my way in the Washington Metro .

What hit most in Washington are the interminable distances ,not quite friendly for a walker. It’s not even actually just the issue of distances but the fact that the scale is not human scale as in NYC.

You could ask me who am I kidding !

“NYC with its skyscrapers … human scale ,huh?we sure have heard that Love is blind ,baby …but this one hits a new high!”

No, Not that really .What i meant is this - down there on the road things are placed closer together .Even the skyscrapers that are all infinitely vertical than horizontal take up less space on the ground and are all closely set together at a fair level of the eye.

Our (“Our ,eh?!this woman who is ‘inbound from South Eroor’ in all her hash tagged posts on the apexart journal on Tumblr says ‘our ‘ for NYC’s roads now? Wow!”) roads are narrower too ,and so yes,infinitely and comfortingly ,more crowded.

It is also a question of layout-No friendly corner pharmacies, No small eateries spread out over the place but only in specialized pockets almost .One can walk blocks and blocks without catching sight of even one.

The overwhelming feeling was that one was staying in an overly manicured ,scaled up picture postcard park.

That feeling was certainly heightened on reaching the National Mall, a huge sprawling over sized lawn spread over several football fields.

I haven’t really worn shoes & socks since was in school a few decades ago and I always hated socks because my feet perspire.

Already having tasted the pleasures of kicking off my shoes the previous evening with the feisty Elizabeth Larison, who was assigned to guide me on a walking tour over the old Brooklyn Foot Bridge that being really old was still actually paved with timber , I decided to do an encore.

So peeling off and rolling up my socks together in one grey woolly smelly ball stuffed into the innards of my bag and my walking shoes , tied firmly by their laces hanging to either side from the handle of my grossly overstuffed shoulder tote that was already weighing me down enough, I set off .

Sole and Soul sang a sweet duet.

Ah bliss! to walk with soles bared on the cool lawns , the gritty gravel , the textured earth …

It was like going back to my nine month barefoot existence when i was 17 year old undergrad Design student in NID, Ahmedabad when I gave up the use of footwear for nine months for some abstruse reasons related to Gandhi ,Thoreau, altering the feel of being or some such thing and also to cut the sheer bother to have to take off my footwear each time I chose to walk the grass and not the foot walks!

So the walk turned some other way .It was no longer about dragging myself across Memorials .

Memorials and the insight that physical Memory too is essentially a construct came with the passing of a much loved One.

The whole process of Memory has been a personal journey as well for me over the past some months and days.

Being an artist is also about inhabiting that State of Being that glows up in rare moments of incandescence that total self absorbed engagement evokes .

Inhabiting such a Form of Being in itself is the first and most primal Form of Art .It is infinitely easier for a creative spirit to understand that History, and every other story for that matter even our own autobiographical ones, is just one thread amongst a hundred odd possible others by which these glowing beads are sought to be strung together ,’made sense of ‘. We have this inner compulsion to arrange and order things into Time and duration .We are conditioned to simply not be content with the moments in themselves .We cannot leave these moments be in their singular ,pristine ,self born glory and have to compulsively tinker with their glorious This -ness …

The notion of Time was invented in this itch -like tinkering .

Is it not the notion of Time that births the illusion of Gap between a thought and its fruition,an action and its reaction?The inventor of Postponement?I n fact ,isn’t Time the Serpent in the Garden of Now that invented Desire because in the very notion of Desire is inbuilt the notion of Postponement?

NOW is raw .

It wears no clothes and in the upsurge of its sheer incandescence it scalds all masks &clothes away.

That is why in the aftermath of the serpent’s visit ,Adam & Eve.teh notion of clothes entered the picture alongside the notion of shame &guilt & fear & sin.

But in the aftermath of the serpent’s visit, the notion Labor too was born and brows that knew not what sweat was or hands the need for the intermediary of a tool became callused and worn because Hunger was born too as a postponement between the need for Nourishment and its fulfillment .In the cool white intensity of Satya yuga(or the Eon of Truth ,the first of the four described in Indian scriptures Light can assume a life form with just the meeting of the intensities of intentions bypassing the messier commingling of physical bodies.

But in the aftermath of the serpent’s visit,instead of the bliss of a play like fluidity of boundaries that can shift and change at will,Sex, now reduced to a specific act between two kinds of bodies designed for the purpose entered the scene .Birth now entailed the processuality of a prolonged Pregnancy & Labor…

As the Buddha observed succinctly-Things compounded tend to fall apart . So it is with History as well which is a composing or threading by the string of a chosen strand of whatever narrative that serves best the pre defined purpose at hand ,the many moments of a collective existence together .In administrative interest it is important to keep certain narratives stronger and more compelling than others are .

This can be created through frequent repetition one over the other like the devices of chorus in music or alliteration in poetry .Overlaying it with sentiment and other sensory cues that can be triggered then easily by the slightest suggestion later by which the needle correctly falls in ,running through and playing out what has been already etched in through repetition through the grooves as Habit.

Of course some moments are always there , the sort that poets swoop on with the alacrity of falcons ,that do not quite jell with the chosen main narrative .These are easily dealt with the oft used devices of omission usually by ignoring and passing over in silence .If that doesn’t work ,then by invoking processes of demonization that lead to the convenience of a Graveyard like silence once Taboo buries it under one of its its leaden headstones.

Some moments of the inaasimilable-as-they-are may lend themselves to some photoshopping (tweaking).Which also works to build the edifice of Memory& Memorials …

Oh Well.

Whatever .

Perhaps that is why whenever i encounter a proliferation of memorials in one place a pinch of salt immediately finds its place between my thumb and forefinger .Well and truly ,I dont know how it gets there .But that pinch of salt is what carries me safely through all the machines of history making without getting unduly caught in any of its busily grinding teeth.

The Washington Obelisk Tower has great light effects with the sun breaking out through the gathering clouds. A man from the Philippines and I helped each other snap the customary “I have arrived.Look at me!” portrait-before-famous-monument scrapbook memory shots.

I am supposed to cover an impossibly high number of memorials in this one evening walk -the Vietnam memorial ,the t World war 2 Memorial,the Martin Luther King Memorial, The Lincoln Memorial and if possible ,also the Thomas Jefferson Memorial across the River.On the way I notice plenty of museums as well .Two suddenly draw me to them with that light visceral tug that always is a right indication that there is something in there for me . They were the Museums of Asian Art in America and The Museum of African Art.

No time to enter and it is almost closing time anyway .

I’ve a schedule to cover,you see!

(the schedule !the schedule! oh… the schedule!)

It is already getting late into the evening.

I hear strains of music far away and somehow feel that following it will lead me to Martin Luther King’s memorial and decide to follow the sensations in my feet and in my ears.

On the way I see a sunken plaza of fountains,cascading streams with a pool in the centre and scores of people taking pictures around them .This is the World War Two memorial.

I walk through it skirting the crowds and continue my engagement with bare feet upon earth till I at last see the source of the music far away in what looks like a rather severe Greco-Roman looking structure.

A revelry is on on there in complete contrast with the mood of the building itself . I go closer and see the band playing .Playing is not the word .They are rocking ,belting out lively Latin American Music to which all kinds of human bodies-youngsters,hipsters, teenagers,school kids,senior citizens , folks in their middle years, all kinds of couples from various nationalities and sexual orientations are flowing together in a River of revelry.

Ol’ man Lincoln meanwhile looks on with his rather saturnine expression from atop his stone throne set high on the many tiered stone steps at the saturnalia there in uninhibited progress.

I choose not to climb up the steps and read speeches but weave my way through the infinitely more interesting human throng.

I have been walking nonstop so long I think it is wisdom to calculate the distance that I have to walk back now and turn to retrace my steps .

Half way through as i walk the cold breeze gathers strength ,the darkness deepens .Walking endlessly i find myself in line again with the Washington obelisk where I began my barefoot sojourn and the gathering rainclouds begin to pour .

A true New Yorker & and a true Keralite have one thing in common -a handy all season umbrella in the bag at all times to brandish against all inhospitable weather.

It looks like I am the only one on National Mall with an umbrella.

Well,I looked around and I realize ,with or without umbrella .I am perhaps the only one left in the National Mall!

I sing out loud in the rain splashing little puddles as I walk…Bob Marley,Louis armstrong ,the songs of Ella what have you in my best possible jazz imitation voice.

The Red brick Cathedral that I had passed earlier rises to view on my right .For a moment I have this urge to enter and kneel in silent prayer in one of the old wooden pews in the high domed interior I imagine hung over with paintings&chandeliers .

Its entrance up a flight of stairs was however cloaked with ink dark shadow. I put out only one tentative indecisive foot to the right in a step when something stirs in the dark and calls out in a low male voice .A glint of eyes: “Hello Ma’am…”

i immediately changed plans, withdraw that outstretched foot as gracefully and unobtrusively as I can (What if it was just a homeless man calling out for hope of some financial assistance that i am anyway unable to give now?why hurt his feelings?) and maintain my brisk pace.

There is not one person to whom I could ask directions to the closest metro station whose terrible signage is legion in Washington.

Amazing!

Not a soul on the road after just about 7.30 pm?!

Ugh! What a stick-inthe-mud respectable town , i say!

Give me my crazy swingin’ old NYC any day !

I finally spot a man and a woman from afar.

But as I approach to ask there is a sudden scene change. She on second thoughts turns to gaze into his eyes and soon in that deserted bus shelter,they are locked in a long lingering gentle kiss in a little pool of light with the rest of the roads looking like a neutron bomb had fallen on it exterminating all signs of Life.

Except me ,who stood there turned into the all-seeing -eye -of -God looking upon a wonderful moment when time stood still for two people.

Directions to the Metro station be damned! I walk on feeling very pleased .Overall ,in this country I love the fact that people express their intimacies without reserve-I recall my moments of Subway joy in NYC- an old couple twining and untwining palms with slowly caressing fingers at the metro station as they stand talking about perfectly ordinary things, A couple basking in the park calmly leaning on one another in the sun -she is dozing lightly with an open book across her belly and he is texting with one finger supporting her weight upon his chest.Two youngsters in love lingering over a kiss to say goodbye as they prepare to catch trains in opposite directions for the night.Two men , both in skirts sitting in each other’s laps chatting happily oblivious to the world.

It’s nice.

How uptight are we back home!How merciless are we in our censorship while hunger & desire claw our innards to the point of near manic violence that we do our best to keep declawed,defanged or at least chained and hidden in a cage in the cellar ,dark and redolent with droppings.

Meanwhile a Japanese man in a suit looking almost as lost as me zero in into one another asking directions and we decide to team up in a spot-the-metro station contest .

Though we fail first attempt , the distance covered becomes time for mutual self introduction .At last we find ourselves before a drab grey building and spotting a man in uniform decide to ask him where the Metro is .He pointed into the building with an equally grey drab expression.That anonymous hulk of a building happened to be just it!

Back home it would have immediately drawn out an indignant interjection -“ithenthaa!valla vellarikka pattanamo?!”

(Lit.Transln: “is this some kind of cucumber town or what?!”

Meaning :”is this some sort of ridiculous village or small town growing cucumbers?

(The smallness of the town is measured metaphorically in terms of a settlement that raises low value produce like cucumbers!!!)

Really ! is Washington an overgrown village where everyone is just supposed to know where things are ?(Actually ,that’s all I meant to say ,folks!)

My gentlemanly escort, though going opposite way ,graciously waits till I get the gate opening-with metro card -ritual straight and waves with that slight inflection of his spine that his culture has unmistakably ingrained in him as he moves on.

This is just like I do instinctively the first touch-on -forehead-and-then-the centre-of-chest routine every time my feet unintentionally touches someone on a train .It is an ‘I respect your sanctity’ gesture that we pick up as children because where we grew up to place one’s feet on anyone is construed a disrespectful act.

(In fact even crossing over any living being is seen as a no-no because the physical body also includes the invisible aura of energy around it that should not be desecrated by the touch of feet!)

I get off finally at Farragut North station with disrupted Late running trains due to repair work & dysfunctional elevators of which I counted at least five in my two and half days stay there .

That certainly made me feel very good indeed about our stuff back home. If this is the scene in Washington, the power capital of the world,you are excused ,little Kochi !

I am starving after ,I suppose, my ten kilometer circuit walk today .

Finally losing my way to the hotel ,I stumble into small shop where a man of Caribbean descent sells baked stuff he makes himself starting with what we call savory puffs back home for about 5 dollars each .

When i call the lobby a fourth time to please send someone to to teach me how to use the coffee maker , a slightly tired looking but attractive african origin woman walk in. Alice Walker ,66 ,is a generous soul who warms up to me and begins to chatting even fetching me extra satchets of coffee .We chat on about her decision to quit the US and go back to Sierre Leone where her husband waits for her leaving behind her three married daughters in Washington because “… no-one knows how to live or eat properly here and my knees are killing me with all this standing on the job and boy! dont I need some rest now! ”

I do too …

A large watery cup of coffee later , I chat with a friend and in one on the two large looking beds in a room far too big for one small lone me.

I fall into a deep untroubled sleep.

#radha gomaty #inbound from south eroor

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