Burning Fingerprints - Darjeeling


11-26-2011 – Darjeeling

Burning fingerprints



The hand-made paper with lots of spidery lines lit up with a vivid fiery frame, then blackened and turned to ashes. I watch the thermals from the fire flipping page after page, devouring each and sending it off to the wind. My diary is joining the heaps of year-old prayer flags that are being renewed today. Folds and folds of “Om-mani-padme-hums” turning to ashes in a giant fire. Then I throw in another one. This one is of fine leather with a carnelian on its cover. This one takes longer and its shape lingers in its ashen, blackened form for a few minutes before collapsing into nothing. 6 months worth of my life's fingerprints....




A spur of the moment act, really. Something told me to come up the hill to the serene Nepali-looking Hindu temple on top of the Observatory Hill. I've never been here this late. This was a clearing night, me thinks. Bonfires full of dry leaves and prayer flags. The same voice in my head whispered - throw them into the fire. The next day I was going to mail them to my friend for safekeeping, so that I don't drag around extra weight. 500 rupiah would get them across the Atlantic. Well, you are done with this past – why keep the dead weight? Two Gorkha men stood around the fire and fed it periodically. “Should I burn these?” - I smiled to them, showing two beautiful diaries. One smiled back and touched the embossed leather and its carnelian....”are these your writings?” - “yes” - with a smile, he nodded – “it's time.” And so it goes.....



It was the first time I've burned a diary of mine. I've always wondered what it would be like. It's a relief, I found. Years of meticulous record-keeping.....those oh-so-witty words that I'd never see again - dead leaves. They are just that, those writings. Old prayer flags. It was as if a chapter has been closed. Fire is universally cleansing – I watched the men feeding heaps of leaves to the bonfires and the thick smoke they gave off. A cycle completing. The sacred ground emptying for something new. I walked around the ancient temple and found myself amidst a monkey game. Surrounded by the profoundly large yoni-linga signs, monkeys apparently got inspired and a few couples were eagerly baby-making. Others were irreverently performing Cirque-du-Soleil-worthy acrobatics on some prayer flags waiting to be burned. One jumped onto my pants, mistaking me for a tree, I think.

I walked around the hill and found more fires – skinny Indian men were boiling asphalt for a new road. And so it goes.

Asphalt for a new road




Closing the market for the night

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