Battleship Psychonautica

As a race, we have historically been building upon what our fore fathers gave us. Knowledge, science, technology - we have slowly added layer by layer - from fire to lasers - from sundials to atomic clocks - from the wheel to the Saturn V. Especially in the last few decades. We walked, we ran, and we are about to sprout wings.

But with all that's going around us, how have we, as a race grown inwards? Have we found ways to synthesize new thought? Experience new feelings? How have we bettered the way we soak in the world around us? How have we made a difference to the way we sense everything? Have we discovered new realms in our minds?

What have we been feeding our heads?

Four decades back a man took a bike ride over the moon. He brought back little drops of enlightenment. They told the man that his drops were too dangerous. No wonder. Who wants an enlightened populace? They took the drops, ran tests on unknowing people to see if the drops were good for mind control. Large-scale mind control. The tests proved futile. The drops were individualistic. They responded differently to people. People responded differently to them. They grew bored of the drops. Slowly they were forgotten. Self-discovery, could wait.

But now, we are looking at a world where we need to rethink thinking. We need to refeel feelings. We need to start looking for gaps - in our thoughts, in our language, in our behavior, in our emotions. We need to define these gaps, give them names, delve into them, and fill them. 'New' sensory stimulations, emotions and thoughts. The 'old' ones felt deeper, or through different lenses. It's time to pack our bags. We are the new age Psychonauts, and we're out on a cross-cognition 'trip'.

The drops, are waiting to give us a ride.

Mcleod I

The bus leaves in the evening. En-route, I realise I can't sleep in buses. Numerous subsequent bus rides echo that. Kalsung guest house. The view from the top: top left - snow clad peak, low center - Dharamsala valley, right below us - Mcleod. Oh. Rewind. We see Yakshi as we reach (of all the people, of all the places!), she recommends Kalsung. She is here to save Tibet. Day shows us random treks - to Bhaksu through Dharamkut, to the river through nowhere. Breakfast is usually at Peace Cafe (vegetarian - maida paranthas, crispy pancakes, and large ginger milk teas). Lunch is at German Bakery (hot loaded thin pizzas) and Jimmy's (Big Chill - only one-third the prices). Dinner varies. We watch Jackass 2 at a makeshift picture hall - it is just a huge TV screen with (torn) sofas. Doesn't matter though, we're stoned. Oh. Rewind. We've been stoned all along. The night is a partay at Kalsung. Swedish, French, Israeli, Polish and various Indian (including TS's daughter) - share the same chillum. The same rum. The same submarine. The same stone. The same music. The Swede, playing the harmonica, stops abruptly. He's not very happy. He looks around. To the left. To the right. A movement plucked out of a ballet performance. He exclaims, "My 'honeybee'! Where is my 'honeybee'? I want my 'honeybee'!". We placate him. He proceeds to look for his honeybee, proclaiming his loss loud enough to wake up a slumbering 2 a.m. hill town. We are stoned. We are in splits. He suggests we look in the town. We agree. A search party of 15 goes out to look for his honeybee in an eerie empty town. We ask the dogs, the empty streets, the closed shops. 'Oi Jimmy! Where's the honeybee?!' Nobody responds. The Swede slumps, 'There's no honeybee here', and walks back. Under his breadth, he's asking us to stop laughing. We cannot comply. We mourn his loss with laughs and giggles. But then. One of us is sombre.

'Why?'
'We didn't find the honeybee. I would've liked some.'
'Some of his (dead?) wife?'
'Honeybee's the rum we were drinking.'

We go back and puke.