an itinerant observer

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free. -Rumi “Dhum-dhum-dhum…” The drumbeat started plaintively at dusk. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. As I turned around, the sights were to behold; orange, purple, yellow, green and blue fairy lights adorned the tomb creating a riot of colors. The chadors being handed out for draping around our necks were lal – red – the color attributed to the Saint. It wasn’t just the sights and sounds that were captivating. Incense sticks generated a pleasant aroma. Typically, I would’ve been irritated by the cloying Metro Milan  agarbati  – but not this time. The nasal senses were heightened as much as the others, if not more. As if the sights, sounds and scents weren’t enough, a tingling sensation made itself felt all the way from my fingers and toes to my center. It felt like a warm embrace.

“Tell you where I’d go. Ziahuatanejo…a little place right on the Pacific. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory….”   So, the protagonist, Andy (played by Tim Robbins), tells the narrator, Red (played by Morgan Freeman), in the movie Shawshank Redemption . Although I have seen the movie countless times since it came out in the 90s, it was while I was a teenager in medical school, that it charmed me completely. Perhaps it was the concept of freedom and justice that connected with the younger socially driven individual within? Later in life, as an adult, the above conversation between Andy and Red as well as the ending of the movie remained with me. The last scene in particular was etched in my mind; where Red walks across the sand on a pristine beach along the Pacific towards his friend Andy, who is fixing a boat. For years on end I wondered how an ocean could have no memory. Fast forward to today and the reason for writing this essay: I ma