The last three days – or was it four? – have been a flurry of heat, sand and Brownian motion. There have been no words at my fingertips. Only stone, chalk, rope and bamboo. And bhuruts.
This was not the plan.
I’m Back.
I’m a writer.
When Batman invited me to stay in Jaisalmer for six weeks and create content for the Ragasthan Facebook page, I had my reservations. They needed only a few posts per day; that’s a couple of hours work at most. I didn’t want to be on holiday. Besides, I dread being a drag on resources.
I told him so. And he mailed me some images of the venue.
I kicked myself and booked the earliest train out. I met Stage at Bikaner (he drove down from Delhi) and we were off to Jaisalmer in the Rabbit.
The first two weeks were placid. Touristy. We put on our shades and roamed this little desert city. We met the people, read the lay of the land and its legends. We went looking for honey pancakes, lemon soda and stories in every serpentine gully. We wrote. We relaxed.
And then Unit One arrived.
That night, they blew the lid off the room. There was so much energy buzzing around that I was zapped long into the night. I told Stage maybe we should write a blog. Just to keep an account of how the team pulled off a desert Woodstock – or not. Either way, it would be a good story.
We would keep it honest. We would keep it unofficial. And we would keep it up every day.
I figured it would be easy. It’s not been.
How do you maintain perspective when you’re writing about an idea you’re in love with? How do you keep yourself in and out of the story at the same time? How do you detail all the little waves that push this boat along?
Besides, how do you write? Electricity is rare. The internet is fussy. And hours go by in the blink of an eye.
Still, this story must be told.
So I left for Jaisalmer this morning. Once there, I pottered around with a pen for an hour, all the while wondering if the barricade has been marked, if the registration counters are up, if the pathway to the BYOT has been fixed, if the backdrops for the stages have arrived, and so on.
There are only four days to the festival now. Every minute spent away from the venue is fraught with concern.
I hopped into the next vehicle back.
It is now night. Almost midnight. Half the team is still on-site. As I write sitting on my dorm bed in the crew tent, my mind wanders and goes out to them. My feet will soon follow.
For now, I’m part of the crew. I’m labour, I’m supervisor, I’m a small cog in a mountain moving machine. For now, as Kaptaan calls it, I’m the Pathfinder. I’m anything Ragasthan needs me to be.
Tomorrow, I’ll be Back again.
For a while.
This was not the plan.
I’m Back.
I’m a writer.
When Batman invited me to stay in Jaisalmer for six weeks and create content for the Ragasthan Facebook page, I had my reservations. They needed only a few posts per day; that’s a couple of hours work at most. I didn’t want to be on holiday. Besides, I dread being a drag on resources.
I told him so. And he mailed me some images of the venue.
I kicked myself and booked the earliest train out. I met Stage at Bikaner (he drove down from Delhi) and we were off to Jaisalmer in the Rabbit.
The first two weeks were placid. Touristy. We put on our shades and roamed this little desert city. We met the people, read the lay of the land and its legends. We went looking for honey pancakes, lemon soda and stories in every serpentine gully. We wrote. We relaxed.
And then Unit One arrived.
That night, they blew the lid off the room. There was so much energy buzzing around that I was zapped long into the night. I told Stage maybe we should write a blog. Just to keep an account of how the team pulled off a desert Woodstock – or not. Either way, it would be a good story.
We would keep it honest. We would keep it unofficial. And we would keep it up every day.
I figured it would be easy. It’s not been.
How do you maintain perspective when you’re writing about an idea you’re in love with? How do you keep yourself in and out of the story at the same time? How do you detail all the little waves that push this boat along?
Besides, how do you write? Electricity is rare. The internet is fussy. And hours go by in the blink of an eye.
Still, this story must be told.
So I left for Jaisalmer this morning. Once there, I pottered around with a pen for an hour, all the while wondering if the barricade has been marked, if the registration counters are up, if the pathway to the BYOT has been fixed, if the backdrops for the stages have arrived, and so on.
There are only four days to the festival now. Every minute spent away from the venue is fraught with concern.
I hopped into the next vehicle back.
It is now night. Almost midnight. Half the team is still on-site. As I write sitting on my dorm bed in the crew tent, my mind wanders and goes out to them. My feet will soon follow.
For now, I’m part of the crew. I’m labour, I’m supervisor, I’m a small cog in a mountain moving machine. For now, as Kaptaan calls it, I’m the Pathfinder. I’m anything Ragasthan needs me to be.
Tomorrow, I’ll be Back again.
For a while.
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