I finished reading ‘On the Road’ by Kerouac today. It had a character named Dean. This is how somebody in the novel told him what he was:
You have absolutely no regard for anybody but yourself and your damned kicks. All you think about is what’s hanging between your legs and how much money or fun you can get out of people and then you just throw them aside. Not only that but you’re silly about it. It never occurs to you that life is serious and there are people trying to make something decent out of it instead of just goofing all the time.
As far as the last line is concerned, I think I am like Dean. Also, Dean was crazy. And in retrospect, the real spirit that the book had, belonged to Dean. Dean Moriarty.
Bali and I rode to Ahmedabad to see some of the Indian Idol contestants who were here for a short and free performance. In the Himalaya mall.
Above: Sriram
Above: Bhumi
I posted just two pics but there also was Swaroop – the pagdi vaala, Jerry mouse – baal vaala, and Anu Malik (or however else he spells his surname) – badaa vaala.
And now back to the book. Here are some of the interesting lines from it:
I suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural-born thief.
LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; New York gets go-awful cold in the winter but there’s a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.
I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.
…the whorey smell of a big city.
Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live.
The American police are involved in psychological warfare against those Americans who don’t frighten them with imposing papers and threats.
‘I like it because it’s ugly.’ All his life was in that line.
The ideal bar doesn’t exist in America.
People change, they eat meals year after year and change with every meal.
…anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what’s heaven? what’s earth? All in the mind.
…the whole world opened up before me because I had no dreams.
The waves are Chinese but the earth is an Indian thing (note: in the book’s context, Indian meant Red Indian)
For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me.
We agreed to love each other madly.
More later.