What am I doing here

'That will not bring back the things we loved: the high, clear days and the blue icecaps on the mountains; the lines of white poplars fluttering in the wind, and the long white prayer flags; the fields of asphodels that followed the tulips; or the fat tailed sheep brindling the hills above Chagcharan, and the ram with a tail so big they had to tie it to a cart. We shall not lie on our backs on the Red Castle and watch the vultures wheeling over the valley where they killed the grandson of Genghiz. We shall not read Babur’s memoirs in his garden at Istalif and see the blind man smelling his way round the rose bushes. Or sit in the peace of Islam with the beggars of Gazar Gagh.

We will not stand on the Buddha’s head at Bamiyan, upright in his niche like a whale in a dry dock. We will not sleep in the nomad tent, or scale the Minaret of Jam. And we shall lose the tastes-the hot, coarse, bitter bread; the green tea flavoured with cardamoms; the grapes we cooled in the snow melt; and the nuts and dried mulberries we munched for altitude sickness. Nor shall we get back the smell of the beanfields; the sweet resinous smell of deodar wood burning, or a whiff of a snow leopard at 14,000 feet.’

---Chatwin.

This was from my favourite Chatwin book, though I'm drawn to 'Black Hill' for sentimental reasons (aye,the black sun has a heart). 'Heavenly Horses' and the chapter on the delightful Li Po are wonderful. Nice to trace how one reading led to another. Started with the dougal's copy of songlines...

Hard to know what fired Mr Chatwin. Probably not nostalgia, but an insatiable curiosity and restlessness instead. Who knows! Won't be turning to his biography anyway. Options:

Celan,
Tolstoy,
Keats,
Hardy, or
Hannah.

But yeah, "peace of Islam"..felt it at Imam Bukhari's maqbara.

Another blast. Sohaib, if you're reading this drop me a line to tell me you're okay.

Two tablighis on my back yesterday. Former students: hands over eyes now, please.

Bhen chord!!..why don't you leave me alone. One got refused a visa to Brazil. Man, the thought of preaching to those decadent women in Rio...err..ahem..it's enough to make one almost wish one was a god-damned tablighi, so much so that one could, like Chatwin, forget the '?' in 'what am i doing here'!