So, after more than five months in India, I'm still not used to the cows.
In Varanasi's Old City the lanes are often only four feet wide; getting anywhere requires carefully squeezing past a massive, heaving, swaying and potentially lethal bullock. Dayna seems to enjoy finding the most mountainous bull possible, sneaking past it, and whippings its ass in an attempt to cause a stampede that crushes Dylan and I.
I've decided that cows are the epitome of Hindu spiritual aspiration: unfazed by heat, stench, noise and all of teeming India screaming by in a rush of mad buying and selling. Their glassy eyes, often mistaken for idiocy, are really examples of profound bovine spiritual detachment. They are the enlightened sadhus of the animal world: beyond physical illusion, at peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment