173 worlds permanently silenced and all i could think about was the possible death of my upcoming journey. '26-11' shoved my desire for meaning into postponement. i am here now, in kolkata. i didn't see the runway until the wheels were beginning to glide against it. the air is so ridiculously polluted that the first gesture this city evoked from me was a throat pointed towards the baggage claim enterance. but nothing came out. i still have no words to describe the drive from the airport to our guesthouse (the sunflower). for some strange reason i haven't been able to reflect too much about what i'm encountering here. i think this is wondeful for now. i have been bombared with so many images, and words that seem to linger and then explode, like bubbles. car horns set the background for daily muslim prayers heard via loudspeaker throughout my whole neighborhood. the smells are as contradictory as the city itself. it is a city. "it's the newyork of india," we heard some foreigners say at the place where we've had breakfast the last couple of days. this morning we had breakfast at 'the motherhouse' with the other volunteers. bread, bananas and chai. and every night after volunteering i pass the same little yellow sweater on a vendors corner, stained and unloved. i look forward to passing by it every day. and while i will not buy this sweater, i am glad that no one else has.
