美食祈祷与恋爱在线观看 《美食祈祷和恋爱》Chapter 37 (79):来到印度

《美食祈祷和恋爱》Chapter 37 (79):来到印度  

When I was growing up
my family kept chickens. We always had about a dozen of them at any given time and whenever one died off—taken away by hawk or fox or by some obscure chicken illness—my father would replace the lost hen. He'd drive to a nearby poultry farm and return with a new chicken in a sack. The thing is
you must be very careful when introducing a new chicken to the general flock. You can't just toss it in there with the old chickens
or they will see it as an invader. What you must do instead is to slip the new bird into the chicken coop in the middle of the night while the others are asleep. Place her on a roost beside the flock and tiptoe away. In the morning
when the chickens wake up
they don't notice the newer
thinking only
"She must have been here all the time since I didn't see her arrive." The clincher of it is
awaking within this flock
the newer herself doesn't even remember that she's a newer
thinking only
"I must have been here the whole time . . ."
This is exactly how I arrive in India.
My plane lands in Mumbai around 1:30 AM. It is December 30. I find my luggage
then find the taxi that will take me hours and hours out of the city to the Ashram
located in a remote rural village. I doze on the drive through nighttime India
sometimes waking to look out the window
where I can see strange haunted shapes of thin women in saris walking alongside the road with bundles of firewood on their heads. At this hour? Buses with no headlights pass us
and we pass oxcarts. The banyan trees spread their elegant roots throughout the ditches.
我的班机大约在凌晨一点半降落于孟买。那天是12月31日。我领了行李，而后找计程车出城，前往数个钟头车程外、位于某偏远乡村的静修道场。我一路打盹儿，穿越夜间的印度，时而醒来望向窗外，看见身穿莎丽服装的瘦小女人们诡异神祕的身影，她们走在路上，头上顶着柴火。“这么早？”不亮前灯的公车超越我们，我们超越牛车。榕树伸展着优雅的树根，遍及沟渠。
We pull up to the front gate of the Ashram at 3:30 AM
right in front of the temple. As I'm getting out of the taxi
a young man in Western clothes and a wool hat steps out of the shadows and introduces himself—he is Arturo
a enty-four-year-old journalist from Mexico and a devotee of my Guru
and he's here to wele me. As we're exchanging whispered introductions
I can hear the first familiar bars of my favorite Sanskrit hymn ing from inside. It's the morning arati
the first morning prayer
sung every day at 3:30 AM as the Ashram wakes. I point to the temple
asking Arturo
"May I . . .?" and he makes a be-my-guest gesture. So I pay my taxi driver
tuck my backpack behind a tree
slip off my shoes
kneel and touch my forehead to the temple step and then ease myself inside
joining the small gathering of mostly Indian women who are singing this beautiful hymn.