Back from Orchha. To 12 degrees C in Dilli, which is par for the course. I don't know quite what to make of the trip. There was no obvious joy, except certain moments, no feeling the weight fall away, feeling rejuvenated. The mind felt like a solid, stationary block. There were the moments of remembering F, the other tangible feeling apart from the joy, when I doggedly set myself to read Ian Rankin. Oho, how can I not mention the high notes of the trip: annoyance, irritation and occasional anxiety about my travel companion and disappointment that Orchha turned out to be this little piss of a place without any buzz and that I had completely missed the mark in choosing the right place for a 5-day getaway.

The joys:
The panels at Laxminarayan temple and Raja Mahal: the rich colours, the details, the dark-skinned people in many of them, the Indian dogs, the plethora of animals, both real and mythological, the birds: parrots and peacocks, for the most part. The physical energy and the discipline with which I went through them, also that the extended number of days meant not having to rush through them and feeling compulsive and resentful.
Sighting the colony of long-billed vultures at the cenotaph on the first day, showing them to G and counting them down together, both of us rushing to take their photos, being egged on by G to photograph them mid-flight.
Eating the shahi thali at Bamboo Hut, with tomato soup and french fries
The walk in the 'Orchha nature reserve' on the last day: the mechanical-ness of putting one foot in front of another and eating up distance.
Sitting on a stone with G on another, my feet in the water, lying down on the stone with the sun on my face and no one around, standing in the water and staring for long moments, knowing that for once, it was okay to do this, relief that G was not in a fug for a change.
Discovering still green lips of the Betwa along our walk, like something out of another country.
Spotting my first darter here.
Drinking in the mustard fields which rushed past (crawled past, rather) us on the train journey back: spotting 1-2-3! peacocks in one field.
Spotting the lone peacock during the walk.
Finding a Huge eagle/ kite feather during the walk, which I've brought back.
Cows, another thing introduced to by G.
Crunchy aloo parantha with amla aachar at the shack.
Watching bits of Where Annie Gave Them Those Ones with G at the fag end of the long train journey back and laughing uproariously.

There was F too, most often at nights. I woke up in the mornings with disturbing dreams, and read Ian Rankin. Rebus, like House in an earlier year, gives me strength, hope, spirit.
About the opaque block that is my mind when I try to think what I am feeling, I think this travel has to be done with some discipline. I would like to think that this trip, with a very good balance of laidback-ness and disciplined old-stuff watching and photographing, the many birds I saw, did unwind me the way I was hoping it would, though I don't feel any of that textbook breeziness I would like to.

And a word about Orchha. It's dirty as hell, with cow dung and gutkha-laden spit littering every available surface of the road, and complete apathy about it. The architecture is massive and grand, and those panels are some of the richest I have seen, and they are all all going to ruins.
At Laxminarayan, there are several series of waist-level panels, beautifully-detailed, of etchings. At many of these, the faces have been methodically defaced. At others, the whole thing has been cleared out and replaced by, say, 'Pinki and Sonu'. The murals are falling apart, you can see remains of what would have been entire painted ceilings. The repairwork often falls far short of the delicate symmetry of the original, as we saw with the replacement latticework at Laxminarayan. The engineer in charge apparently visits once in a while. 

Have you ever had a flavour of thought that was distinctly sweet? I remember writing an answer on Waiting for Godot for Amlan da, and I am glad he liked it. In it, I wrote that despite the shit, of which there is no end, Vladimir and Estragon wait, with infinite love and sadness, and belief in the goodness of life. It amazes me how true it remains, and that I knew this then.
I was watching Community, a series I have come to love and which makes me laugh harder than TV has in a long time, and in it, Jeff Winger yells at Abed to take his cutesy, I can't tell life from TV gimmick with him. To which, he replies, 'I can tell life from TV, Jeff. And TV makes sense, it has structure, logic, rules and likeable leading men. In life, we have this, we have you.' (Jeff had just gone and undone unbelievable kinds of shit.)

It seems like we're reaching a point when it will all come to a head. It feels unbearable. I want to run out and not come back into my environment till it all gets better. But maybe this is because I haven't slept enough? But I thought I did: five and a half hours last night, after watching Community, no less, and not particular episodes of QaF I am fixated on. Before that, I'd slept for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Now I feel tired as shit and I feel like shit. This panic when I see F's old collar is not good, panic to see old photos of her is not good. This longing to the point where you don't know how to come back isn't either. I can't be arsed to spend an extra day in Lucknow anymore. I want to come back to my hole and sleep and not wake up for a while. I have decided that F's passing will be my mental preoccupation for the coming days, because, I suppose, there's nothing else to fill the void. And also that all this is really happening.
Work seems tiresome, though I know it's interesting. It's mechanical, dragging yourself through the days. A's marriage is happening. I won't be attending it. It feels like I am doing this terribly wrong thing, like this mistake that will remain at the back of my head. O and S are there. Ma seems sort of fine. I'll have to book a doctor's appointment for next week for her.
What am I looking forward to? G visiting Delhi towards the end of the month, oddly enough. He will be weird and unbearable, of course, but then, maybe we could also have a few relaxing days. O leaves in Jan, something to adjust to, which also severs my contact with B, haha. Beyond that, 2014 is the unknown beyond, and what do you do but brace yourself and take it how you can, as long as you can.

It's difficult to sleep these days. It's hard to keep awake during the day. The cycle's totalement fucked.

I bought a fridge today. In my mind, that firmly establishes my householder status. My cousin, who seems to become dour by the years (months!) at an astonishing rate, surprisingly echoed my feeling when I said that I try to resist baggage as much as I can, saying that it's pointless trying to resist it. It disturbs me a little, but not so much. I hope the fridge lasts.

Dearest Floppy, I miss you all the time. You were the one I was in love with when I was in a relationship with my boyfriend. I was such a bad guardian to you. Please forgive me. I hope you are happy where you are. I find it hard to believe that you are anywhere. I more than know you are gone, that nothing of your existence remains. You gave me so much, you gave ma so much. You were her love too. We both live in the Dilli house now, and the feeling of being bereft of that which we desire so much lives with us all the time. Can't you please come back? Somehow, in a life-defying way? Could we not have someone who would be exactly like you, who would love us like you did? We were so terrible, my darling, my dearest love, I was so terrible, for not having taken care of you the way I should have. I took it easy, and the punishment is only deserved, but please please, will you forgive me? For the love and care that I did give you, for the love we shared? I love you, I love you so much. It would be a lie to say I can't live without you. I can, and I am happy too, but well. You know the rest.
I go to the white dog and the black dog every day, and they are good to me, and kind. I hold him close and whisper affections, and he touches his body to my leg and listens. He lets me pull his tail, and he comes running to me every day. He is so dusty, and often terribly dirty. I am always afraid of having the dust and his hair stick to my work clothes, and they do, little bits of them. I wish I could take him home at night to sleep with us, like Katiyal aunty asked me to, so he wouldn't have to spend cold nights out. I am thinking about it. Just that he is so very dusty that the whole house would be covered with it, and my mattress too, were he to sleep in the room. But maybe I will bring him in. He is a biter, some people say, but he is only been kind to me.

Ma has come alive, a fair bit, to my great relief. May it continue.