Like anywhere on the
, the fumes from
exhaust emitted from any form of transport is unforgivable. The people? I love
them. They are warm-hearted, simple, and sociable. They like walking but
perhaps they don’t always have a choice. Money is hard to come by. Food is
rationed. People look good, as well-built creatures. Their clothes are tight;
not always what a monk cares to look at. Their hair and attire are up to the
mark of the latest fashion, from what I could tell. island
Are they swimmers? I don’t know. The group of devotees following us from town to town were divided in their willingness to join Hayagriva and myself into the salty waters. Perhaps it is because of the jellyfish. Yes, Hayagriva got stung by one. Umesh Patel, bold as he is, took it as a mission to capture and hold them in his palm and toss them away. He was also daring with urchins and did the same with them.
It was near the beach that an arranged indoor program, at a public venue, failed to materialize. The key to open the door was lost but we sufficed with the use of
across the street. It turned out in our favor. People had easier access to our
message and mantra. Some came with intent, others were park-browsers and
some heard our kirtan from their balconies. That’s what formed an
audience. I spoke. Hayagriva translated. I played the drum. Melia Park
May the source be with you!