The Tempo of My Life

I am starting to get more accustomed to my schedule, or rather to establish a more consistent schedule. For some reason in my mind the routine really begins after work. I have decided that while I am living alone it is inconceivable that I be out after dark. This has also been told to me by numerous of my coworkers. So I have to make sure that I have food, or procure it on my way home from work. I grew tired of Ramen last week, but have not had any for four days; I may be able to return to it soon. I am hoping to buy some vegetables actually and prepare a simple ratatouille or something-I have not had vegetables in almost 10 days. I did manage to get my first fruit other than bananas yesterday, a giant mango that I bought from the “Pandey Pan” store.
Once I get home, I lock myself in and conduct my affairs from the back rooms-the kitchen and my bedroom, which actually opens directly into a bathroom so I don't really have to leave my room if I don't want to. Although it seems counterintuitive, I actually find the dark slightly more comforting than the light - I am less afraid of people trying to break in to steal stuff and more worried that they will think that I am home and to try to bother me.
Despite the insecurity, dusk remains one of my favorite times of day. It is the one time of day right now that I feel somewhat poetic about.

Impression of evening
The sky deepens, falling rapidly through colors from pale blue to violet
like velvet behind the cacophonous stage of human activity.

in accordance with Hindu tradition
the Temple drums mark the juncture of day and night.
I too celebrate the occasion, silently,
invisible behind the cover of the balcony.

The drums and the bells
horns honking, peddlers peddling
the air in its heat and moisture palpable
touching, caressing, close -
purple velvet.

The Temple taking on a different vesture
now that alive, pulsating
and even more majestic with the prayer flags illuminated by single lights.

People come onto their balconies and roofs
to listen –
turn their heads to gaze upon the Temple.

I feel safe, unseen, hiding behind the cover of the balcony
within the cloak of darkness.

Above the balconies,
free of the congested maze of human habitation,
free as the birds that fly above Safdarjung Enclave
kites dart at the ends of little boys’ strings.
Gaily, they climb and plunge
Erratic in their flight like bats.
I have heard it is a Muslim custom, kite running –
And question that they fly
Suspended on the prayers of Hindu
worshippers
now chanting
their welcome of the night
their devotion to their gods.
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Once the drumming ends, the chanting continues for an hour or two. I usually take pictures during this time, though I am maybe getting a bit obsessed. I still owe Notre Dame a paper, so work on that some. Photo editing as well. Read a bit. Try to take care of my shoulder/elbow/back. Learn Hindi phrases. It is amazingly solitary, but I am used to being alone. In some ways it allows me to get more done, in terms of reflection and writing. Another reason I felt no desire to get sucked into spending all my time with Chima.
Go to bed about 10, sleep well. Arise at 6 or 6:30 – the temple comes alive again at 6:30, it is already quite light. In every place I have been but the US, my schedule has adapted to the hours of light. It gets dark here by 8 pm.
Though prone to procrastination especially with regard to showering and getting dressed, I try to be clothed by 7:30. Asho the “servant” “boy” or “kitchen boy” comes at 8:40. I am usually itching to leave the house by 8, but have to wait for Asho because he does not have a key. The first week he made me “chai” (really the generic term for tea) everyday, but I am already tired of it, so have denied it this week. We have a cappuccino machine at work (of all things!) so have switched to coffee for now. Or make my own yea without milk.
Obtaining breakfast is still a bit of a problem…