In epic tales of yore, entire worlds were created by the spoken word; in spiritual cultures, words are the carrier of the grace and power and will of God; in the times of the Mahabharata, words carried weapons of mass destruction. Yet never in history has the world experienced the effect of the written word in the same way as we do in this 21st century.
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Social network sites have created a culture of people armed with words in their lifelong efforts to desperately sell their living-the-dream scenarios: 120-character ether-bites to prove their happiness, success, achievements, humor, wit, beauty, their own selves…all impossible in such a medium, where the very idea of “self” is built on a platform of arbitrary artificiality.

As Eric Fromme wrote in Sane Society, "The fact that millions of people share the same vices does not make these vices virtues, the fact that they share so many errors does not make the errors to be truths, and the fact that millions of people share the same mental pathology does not make these people sane."

So what are we feeding our minds? Not “they”– the other half, the lower forms of human life. What are we feeding our minds? We’re all on this shame carriage – admit it. I confess I watched an episode of the Kardashians on the plane once but I swear I simply couldn’t get past 10 minutes, and that included the horrifying fascination and irresistibility factor already having happened and been dispensed with. But the effect it had on me was…mind-rape. How is it we can “wonder” at what happens in the world when this is the fodder being poured from the never-ending numbers of massive silos of uselessness into the millions of minds parked in neutral — doors to the consciousness wide open, senses on overdrive, and brains locked on uncontrolled?​

It makes me want to pull my own plug.

Words are my craft, my life, my only resource for intellect and heart and mind, my go-to, my shelter, my love…their misuse disgusts and repels me, destroys my social resolve, makes the fire of renunciation and simplicity start to burn within me…the contemplation of a life lived on the banks of the sacred Ganges (about 150 m down the road…ohhh so close, can I do it?) seems an increasingly attractive option.

I am intrigued, romanced by the dynamics of thought, speech, action, and the written word. The random use of any of these elements of communication can create disturbance to those around us, to relationships, to knowledge, education, morals, ethics, spirituality ultimately to ourselves. Like the master of the poetic word Wallace Stevens said, “Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.” Or, yes, a wander along the riverbank. Both are certainly far more potent soil in which to plant our thoughts, carefully sow our creepers of phrase and speech, and from which pluck the fruits of gently-blooming words…

Imagine if we were all conscious of every word we spoke or wrote, of our thoughts before they formed into words, of our words before they tore into the ether, of our actions before they inflicted harm…if we only heard or read words constructed with infinite care that produced genuine acts of kindness, words rich with thought and meaning, edited with a soft yet controlled mind, and shared with love. If only we were conscious always of the ability we have to produce such art with words…whose ultimate fruit would be truth.

This month is the 10 year mark of when I began to pen my first published book, “Lost & Found in India,” and the 20 year anniversary of when I first moved to India. Consequently, I’ve got some things to share about the realities and unseens of India…

India is a nation of dichotomies and controversies, ludicrous claims and harsh realities, bold-faced lying politicians and genuine holy-men—or is that bold-faced lying holy men and genuine politicians? Its jaw-dropping landscapes and breathtaking architectural art forms lay deep and long in my veins, they are part of my being and nature and history and life and future and breath and love and heart and mind and soul…

But it burns. Oh, does it burn: the savagery, hypocrisy, brutal ignorance and harsh idiocy; the poverty and pain and heartbreaking daily agony that is seen by all and touched by none who can fix with one sprinkle of their inordinately unfair wealth and influence. An Indian’s ability to care is zero, an Indian’s ability to care stuns me and is there when I need it, when I expect it the least.

OK, so I lied: I have only 15 reasons. Why 15? It's right smack in the middle of the 10 year anniversary of Lost & Found in India, and the 20 year anniversary of living here. And I'm beginning to be more Indian than Aussie, so a lot of things I do don't make sense...so there's that. OK, so let's go:

1.    People often assume that because I'm a foreigner living in India that I'm a travel writer. I'm not. When I arrived in India in the early 90s, I don’t think there was anyone but William Dalrymple and Mark Tully writing books about the real Indian experience. People travelled to India, but it wasn’t a trend—it just was. We were here, and that was it. The proliferation of websites and FB pages and people who write about travelling in India is wonderful. It’s a massive place with an even more massive and complex truth to it: you’ll find your own.

2.     One of the first chapters in Lost & Found is entitled “Don’t Ask Why.” Because the words have no impact in India. Learning not to ask why opens the universal doors of truth and knowledge, welcomes you into a realm of possibility that doesn’t exist while answers are demanded by minds forced to function by the rules of material delineation. There are no answers that you will understand, and since you can’t change it, there’s no point asking.

3.    You can’t change it. See? Whether or not you are a believer in the varying levels of energy that exist in the world, one truth is as clear as day: the material energy functions in a totally different manner in India than it does anywhere else in the world. Let it go, roll with it, and learn a new way of not being who you were…you might even like what you find…

4.    Don’t bring yourself to India, find yourself here. Too many times I’ve seen those who come here and intend, plan, determine, or vow. It’s a waste of time (see #2).  Let your Indian self be found here, and let your western self highlight it: don’t try and westernise everything. Just flow.

5.      When in Rome…it works its way into the blood (or is already there) and makes living in India more simple. Again, see #2, and just do it: life is easier when you’re one of them.

6.     I’ll never be one of them. Despite the fact that this is my home, that this is a place I’ve lived in longer than anywhere else in the world, despite that I have no other home, still I am asked every time I’m out in public, “which country are you from,” and myriad other questions that plonk me squarely back in the “tourist” box. I live in no woman’s land: neither here nor there, I have no claim to this land, nor my own, I am lost between borders, and hereby claim the cause of my ongoing and increasing psychologically questionable condition….

7.    Sounds. Without a doubt, sound defines all the reasons I continue to live in and love India. From boats crossing the river at the end of our track, to bus horns, train horns, the call of the chai wallah—I even love the sound of the insanity of Calcutta (possibly because I only visit there). But it is the somehow indolent yet reliable dong, dong of the bell at the gate of our nearby temple that is my guiding sound as it announces the time all through the day and night. Twenty-four hours a day, the temple guards rise on the hour and perform their duty. Sometimes raucous and sharp tolls on a loud and colorful festival day; sometimes solemn and slow, in the small hours of a misty, dark, and long night: a solo dongggg that resounds across the village, and is the beat of my heart.

8.    Food. Well, you didn’t think an article on living almost 20 years in India wouldn’t cover food?! It’s a vegetarian’s dream come true—street food and train food is mostly vegetarian, produce is prolific, cooks a dime a dozen, and restaurants and eateries everywhere. I love Indian food, all of it, and all you need to know is to ask for no chillies. You’ll be fine. No really.

9.    Hospitals. Where’s your sense of humour? :) Don’t believe everything you hear about Indian hospitals. Go and see it, then you’ll believe it, and then go to a real one. My husband and I spent weeks in one after a head on collision with a truck. We loved it there. No really. I know a good plastic surgeon if you need one….

10.    When we were little, didn’t we dream of life being an adventure? Something new and exciting and different every day? Outrageous plots, unbelievable storylines, colourful characters, and magic endings? Welcome to India.

11.     I hate this place. (I did mention dichotomies, didn’t I?). I can’t list the things I hate, but could never write an article that long. Trust me it’s long. But why bother? It just is. 

12.    I love this place (dichotomies). Nor could I list all the things I love about it, either, as it would be equally long. I wouldn’t live anywhere else in the world. But I do return to the beaches of Australia from time to time, seeking my sanity in the squillionty-nine grains of sand that have blown across it since I dropped it there….

13.    Truth. Everything you see and hear and feel in India is the truth. Nothing is sugar coated, cleaned up, swept under the rug, or hidden. Death, disease, poverty, wealth, happiness, celebration—the works. All of it is on display. Not hidden in embarrassment. Just there. Because it is.

14.    Mr. Modi. Sorry, we love Mr. Modi. There. I said it.

15.     My cat, my cow, and the occasional semi-titled goat in Delhi who lives in Mehrauli and roams the grounds of a famed writer and his beautiful artist wife and talks with other neighbourhood animals about what’s wrong with all these ridiculous humans. And he’s possibly right. Well done, Gilbert….



Stay tuned for  the upcoming Pune, Bangalore, and Adelaide Jaipur Litfest visits, where I'll be peddling my latest, Of Noble Blood. Hope to see you there.

And now, if you’ve made it all the way to the end of this, scoot over to Amazon and buy ten copies of each and give one to everyone for Christmas….thank you and goodnight. Or Inshallahah. Or Hare Krishna, Namaste, and all that….