The Act of Being
I rode the third class mail trains in India.
No one rides the third class mail trains in India.
The mail goes second class.
Third class trains are for goats and the untouchables.
The goats sit on the seats.
The untouchables sit on the floor and hang off the sides.
The trains smelled like shit, curry and old stuffed chairs.
India smells like shit, curry and old stuffed chairs.
The travel brochures do not mention this.
I read Ayn Rand on the trains.
She is remembered as a greedy capitalist, anarchist and ethical egoist.
I believe in those values and treasured my time with her.
One night the third class mail train with no mail stopped.
Somewhere in central India.
No one knew why the train stopped.
It was pitch black and everyone got off as if on command.
I didn’t hear anything.
I often don’t listen to spoken commands.
The train became a lifeless, lightless black shape against the blacker night.
People slowly moved away from the train.
I could sense their movement around me.
Where were they going?
I hunched down with my backpack on the warm dirt.
I wondered if there were snakes.
I felt a dog panting close to my back.
I fear dogs. I fear snakes.
People padded by me speaking in soft pigeon voices.
The poor of India tend to be silent and muted like shadows at dusk.
The elites which are everyone else step over their starving children with practiced ease.
India wears you down until you realise you can leave.
I was afraid to fall asleep and held my sleeping bag to my chest to ward off dogs.
I fell asleep in the warm dirt on my sleeping bag.
Arms splayed open an invitation to dogs and snakes.
Gandhi described this type of shared anxiety as ‘people in the act of being’.
That was before his being was extinguished by an act of Nathuram Godse in January 1948.
Three bullets to the head, chest and stomach ended both his being and act.
Gandhi was carried into a house and died 30 minutes later.
No one thought to call a doctor.
”I think color is returning to his face…”
”He was shot in the face. “
”I am mistaken.”
It is the same healthcare as in New Zealand.
No one would go to the hospital if you can avoid it.
Give yourself a chance.
Gandhi was cremated in a huge ceremony.
Ayn Rand’s funeral included a 6 foot floral arrangement in the shape of a dollar sign.
Rand’s funeral smelled better and thoughtfully released less CO2e.
Gandhi’s death resulted in bloody riots in which thousands were killed.
Any Rand’s death resulted in cocktail parties by liberals on the Upper East Side of New York City.
The cocktail parties were only bloody if you were a follower of Milton Friedman.
But you were safe because you were not invited. You were working.
Miltie explained economics using a pencil as an example.
Liberals used crayons during their last serious academic attempt.
Like Gandhi Miltie’s ideas died and only remain vaguely spoken of.
Ayn Rand sold 37 million books and became rich.
Gandhi owned 10 items when he died.
He gave away everything but his Zenith pocket watch, which he was never without.
Do you trust an unemployed lawyer in a diaper? I don’t.
India had hope when the British ruled them.
India has no hope now that they rule themselves.
They are now their own enemy too entrenched and cunning to overcome.
India will never be China.
India will always be shit, curry and smell like old chairs.
I got distracted. Invest any way you want.
I was deep in sleep when the train made a noise like a silent fart.
I heard it in my sleep because farts are the most identifiable sound in India.
You learn to react immediately to danger in India.
I jumped up not wanting to be left in the middle of India in the dark.
I bloodied my knee running towards the train shape.
I found my original seat as the lights flickered to life.
Everyone got back on slowly.
I recognised them and now considered them family.
I felt sorry for them.
Not the goats. They would be fine.
The train eventually started to move and gained small speed.
The mail, which was on another train, had to be delivered.
We were in the act of being.