Why do contradictions make so much sense?
Where I expected poverty, I found riches and when expecting local music, I was blown away with thick bass-heavy speakers. My mind wanders with the road that begins to do the same and I seek to somehow connect the dots – make sense of it all – using a left to right notepad that has a top and a bottom – But India. INDIA app development or LIFE knows no such linear organization or progression. Maybe it is more of a cycle of birth and re-birth, rise and fall – rather than western notions of progression and ascension to heavenly products or death.
Seeking to understand the business framework in India, I ponder in the back seat of this vehicle, sticking to the vinyl. I wonder and wander on the road that no longer goes straight. What does this do with accounting or making technology products? “Not even apps last forever” hmmm... deep stuff. And perhaps an ancient culture knows this best. Pursuit of technology or accounting perfection that is, but another stage in such a cycle – well, maybe could be a waste of time. Even the best code becomes deprecated and superseded, OLD and DEAD. Accounting recognizes this cycle, during the accounting cycle where depreciation is recorded – representing the eroding of asset value over the passage of time. We use numbers and concepts to capture the very notion of business birth, growth, and death. Financial statements capture the cycle, pursuit of possible numeric perfection – a balancing innate in the double entry system - a balance that I was perhaps looking for.
A musical horn blast from a juggernaut of a truck jars me into the present. Where do these trucks come from? From the front they look animated and smiling, decorated and displaying various symbolism – the most recognizable of which is Om… Ommmmm… Ommmmmmmmm….
I am in the back seat cross legged, with only my sticking skin to the seat holding me down. When there is a bounce in the road, I levitate slightly, unstick then re-adhere. I relish in the feeling of being stuck and unstuck as it relieves some itchiness earned by strange, kinda-healing, bug bites earned in New Delhi. The driver casually turns on the radio with a surprisingly interesting beat in the background.
My Indian homeostasis is generally one of dehydration, itchiness, tummy rumblings, mental exhaustion, and INSPIRATION. I don’t write here, the place writes for me. As the little car consumes the road and fuel and the dusty air consumes me – words flow into the car and onto the phone. Through the dirty windows pours in light that comes into me, registering deep inside – like a camera captures and transmits digital code into a machine – so do my eyes consume and transmit and words spill out.
The car makes a melodic sway and background music inspires a most random flow:
"We Made It" ... On the edge - India risk reward til' up with the pres' – Modi - when and where in it, Hittin' it in the back seat, my turn wan’ meet, Livin' rich N' we made it
The flow was fraught with nonsensical contradictions, perhaps a product of it’s own environment. Living rich while passing by countryside poverty? Maybe at TWO dollars a day “they” are rich. I was not “Hittin’” anything these days, or even “Huggin’” for that matter. How I “made it” while in the process of driving to a destination is physically impossible. Beads of sweat form on my brow as we sail on, in a melodic bounce of the small vehicle, accomplished by worn shocks and tire connection with the road.
The driver selected music starts to grind in my head and my internal dialogue broads on this annoyance and all the other little things that drove me bat’ shiz crazy on this journey… I wonder. “I am paying for this ride, he should turn it off or – ahhh, I need to get over this sort of thing, ummmmm, no I need to stand up for what I want. Dang.” I tell the driver to please turn off the music so I can say my goodbyes over WhatsApp to my wonderful hosts in Chandigarh. Now the car quiet, I fear that the driver might turn on the “music” again… fearing something that should not be feared and could, maybe, happen? That for me is a crazy and unpleasant, thought, I THINK – dang – I am in my head too deep again – trapped with no one to communicate with. All I have to calm myself is my technology. I write. I snap pictures of what inspires me – PILES OF BRICKS.