Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

After Delhi what was outside the window started to
look a bit more like my idea of the India of the yogis.
Green hills, women in colorful saris, men in white robes
with knotted pieces of cloth around their head. The driver
twitched and bumped his bus through the scenery in his
own world of incense, shriveled African marigolds and a
blue Krishna with eyes half closed in a golden frame. As
soon as he saw a chai 3 and hash cafe somewhere along the
road, he slammed on the breaks, threw the door of his
little driver’s temple open and walked with stiff legs to
the cabin. After a bowl of hot chai and a big chillum 4 he
stumbled back into the bus with blood stained eyes and
crooked legs, looked around for where the hell the steering
wheel might be and swayed back onto the road in a
big cloud of dust.
Whatever happened on that road, seemed after every
chai and chillum stop to have less to do with him. He
did watch it, but as if looking at fish in an aquarium.
Fascinating, but not your world. Especially when it grew
dark. Avoiding the man walking on the road with his ox
wagon, was just not an issue anymore.
3 Indian tea with lots of milk, spices and sugar.
4 Short, funnel-shaped pipe to smoke hashish with a direct and impressive
impact.
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