Leaving behind slave hood

The Unexpected train journey through Inverness. Part #1

Hi everyone, I feel totally shut off from the world to know what is even happening. Yet, I am happy that I don’t know.

I would like to know about all of you though - who are reading this substack. How are you? How is life treating you? How is the weather out there - wherever you are. Do let me know in the comments. I’d like to connect.

Here’s the deal, I have been working on a new book and this one is about my travels through the UK. This particular story is from the time when I was in Scotland. Maybe I want to write this as a third person someday. Turn myself into a character much like Paulo Coelho does in one of his books. Its a long way to go. Anyway, I am sharing this chapter in two parts - to get your views.

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Part 1

3. August. 2020

Okay. Why the hell am I in Huntly? And what am I doing in the middle of nowhere? How come I got stuck in this feeling of Stockholm syndrome? Is this really what the One Direction song was about?

I can hear One Direction screaming in my ears, “I feel I’m getting used to being held by you”, and no, there is nothing romantic about this situation. I literally feel as if I am a captive. And yes, for some reason my 18 year old self was obsessed with One Direction to even know this song. Things have changed.

That’s a story for another time. Those two months of my stay, in Huntly, is enough material for another book. For now, let’s see how I got out of there. To give a short summary, I was stuck in Huntly for almost two months, in a garden-house, with a couple, spending time weeding, clearing up a dirt path, that too absolutely free of cost. That’s where the story begins.

Let me paint a picture of Huntly before I move on to the getting out part.

Huntly, a village steeped in enchantment, beckons with a touch of magic. Living here, time slows, revealing the true you. It's a place that makes meditation unnecessary, where you find yourself without effort, no fancy techniques required. Forget the big philosophers, you won't need them in Huntly. No need for the wisdom of distant sages or the tomes of literary giants, for Huntly's essence itself is the guide. Dostoyevsky and Coelho, revered though they are, find their echoes in the whispers of the wind and the murmurs of the flowing Deveron. This is a theater of authenticity, where life itself takes center stage, unscripted and untouched by the pens of mere mortals. It's as real as it gets, like stepping into a novel where you're the main character.

I, a simple gardener, couldn't resist its beauty and ended up staying longer than planned. Surrounded by hills and kissed by the Deveron River, it's just like those paintings I did as a kid. Not many folks live here. It's a retiree's paradise with its own storied history before the British came along. Battle Hill, Kye Hill, and Corse of Kinnoir embrace this cozy Scottish village, each with their own tales to tell. There is even a mini castle which is now turned into a 4-star hotel. Funny how everything is turning into these elite travel destinations... Not just here in Scotland but even in the so-called ‘third world’. No wonder this is a new world... a parallel reality.

Waves. It rained yesterday. More water through the river, more lush golf-courses on the other side. But here, on my side, only the ones who like to enjoy nature; and maybe a few dog-walkers, well they had to take the dog for a shit. It has been around two months since I started working here. My necessity to live in the UK has turned into a nightmare! I thought to myself, ‘you should have rather paid extra for that last flight back to India, you idiot’.

The Indian government wanted Indians to pay extra to be flown back to India, that too during a pandemic-like situation. Good time to mint money, I guess. Where on earth the government extorts money only to fly back its own citizens, that too on a publicly owned airline, I might add, but that’s the new India for you.

An old lady said hi and my drifting thoughts became still like the rock that sat on the river bed. It took in all the current of that flowing river but was undisturbed by it. I waved back.

People are so kind here. Scottish people in general, or maybe I should add the ones who live alongside nature have a touch of wisdom with them; it comes to them naturally. It's nature's way in the ten directions. It’s even legal to walk through farms, it’s good to hear that I am not a trespasser like I am in England. I don’t hate English people, but some have a colonial mindset which comes with years and years of conditioning. It might be that people aren’t trying hard enough to leave it behind or maybe it's just too hard to let go of, I don’t know if it’s the former or the latter. Here, this is mine and that yours. This is my space, and that is your space. These seats are for whites, those seats are for browns… you see where I am going? Nothing changes and yet change is the only way forward. Don’t get me wrong, this was actually a thing for a long time. That is how the British built their society. Even the English haven’t really fought back since the Peasant’s revolt. The British overlords had mastered behavior modification, which proved helpful to instill a slave mentality in many countries which had a native population; starting with the English.

Slave! Yes, that’s exactly what I felt when I am in that house. I am a house-slave and I work for free. The exchange here is food and a bed to sleep in. I have even given an interview to be a slave.

I continued walking. This wasn’t my first time walking along this river, but I had a feeling that it could very well be my last. I spent more time watching the trees drift with the air. And this bounty, of endless nature is what had sucked me into Huntly in the first place. I had soaked the fuck out of Huntly, there was nothing more to take in. And this time, I knew I had to move on. I was trapped in a mind-game. ‘It’s all good’, that voice said. ‘No one gets free food’, the house owner had reminded me, and yet in my experience food and bed were secondary, it was the gratitude to be, just be, that’s what was missing here. A sort of, ‘you are below us’ attitude, almost like ‘we are doing you a favor by keeping you here’. I had no idea what I had got myself into. Workaway experiences in India were fun, an exchange of culture, language and ideas, but here you were just a house-slave for a filthy rich couple who lived on an island and sailed their yacht through the seven seas. Even to this day, I have no animosity for them but it was really a shocker for me. I might add that they were kind to me on most parts. But, if this is how the society worked during the colonial era, plus the whips and lashes, it was seriously fucked up dude! All primitive life on this planet was just a matter of anthropological study for the colonialists. Shooting photographs with the native people who sat on the ground, helplessly playing a part in this colonial dead game. Colonials were in the image of that boy who rags shy and poor students at college.

Two days back, I went to Edinburgh for a short stay. I had a weekend off, graciously granted only after doing extra work. I couch surfed at Julian’s where he made me realize how fucked up my situation actually was. It was this Stockholm syndrome that had stuck with me for ages. Julian treated me with love, generosity; he made me food, he showed me around. We even engaged in deep philosophical talks, and it felt as if I was back home, sparring thoughts with my brother. I might be naïve, but it was such a simple gesture; to respect the person in front of you, that’s it. I hadn’t had this feeling of being home for the past two months. And this might be the reason why I went on long walks; to get as far away from this slave-like feel.

Julian made an offer, ‘you can stay here until your university restarts, you won’t have to pay me, but I’d instead request a few of your prints’, I thanked him for the offer and urged him to wait till I have a word with the owners. I think of it now, it was a no-brainer, ‘I’m leaving’, that’s all I had to say, but it took me almost two months to come to this conclusion.

I knew I was going to say it today. It was my last day in Huntly. Might as well watch the river for a bit longer, and that exotic sheep, and the cows who sat across the fields. It was a long walk back to the house. I contemplated every moment I had spent in this place. I recalled every Doner kebab I had eaten from that lone Turkish restaurant in an otherwise Scottish place.

You are not obliged in any way to be in a place that treats you in this way, but, what happens when you feel like it is your duty to be kind, to be nice, regardless of how people treat you?

I remember this story from India, where a young yogi was practicing with his master. One day his master said, “God is in everyone and everything”. The young yogi rejoiced and went walking into the jungle. He encountered villagers who warned him about a mad elephant, but he was ecstatic after what he had heard from his guru. He took strides towards the elephant, chanting, “My master has said thus, ‘God is in everyone and everything’”. Villagers were perplexed, they tried to change his mind, but he wouldn’t agree. Finally, the mad elephant got a hold of that young yogi, and threw him around like a rocking ball. Crying and weeping, the yogi went to his master and asked him, ‘you say God is in everything. Then why would that elephant smash me around like that?’ The master said, ‘you did not hear me properly then, I said God is in everyone and everything. Did someone come to warn you?’ The yogi realized his mistake in an instance, there was God in those people too.

…and just like that, I had overlooked all the signals that had come my way. I wanted to be in this pain body, I had started feeling comfortable in narrating my problems and my situations to others. I liked being weak.

After jumping over the wooden barricade that had led me to the fields, I kept walking through the high street up to the owner’s house. Memories were fading, and I felt a sudden rush to move out of this place. I had this strange feeling of determination, and confidence as I walked into the house. I brewed a coffee and kept thinking about what had just appeared in my conscience. Many different scenarios were running through my head. One where she takes out a stick and lashes me with it. I know, it was all just mind-games though. She was mowing the lawn when I made up the courage to walk up to her and tell her what I thought. The sun was setting in the distance, those beautiful hills had hundreds of trees wiggling about, just like my dreams. I would miss that sky, those hills, that sunny weather to this day. And to this day I haven’t found a better place where everything seemed like God had created it with immense love and devotion.

My lips were trembling to bring out the words, and I lost voice when I met her eyes. All that confidence had waned in a matter of seconds. ‘You cannot turn back now. It’s too late for that’, spoke an inner-voice. With care and finding some left-over strength, I spoke.

“Hi. Are you busy?”

“No. Go on”, said she.

“I have found a job as a photographer in Edinburgh. I would be documenting a local band there.”

My face was pale and yet I spoke with conviction, owing to the idea that I would be free. Every single word that came out of my mouth was a lie. There was no scenario where I would tell the truth.

“Actually, I am petrified of staying here. I feel like a house-slave each day. I wake up at a time that is decided by you and then I gulp down whatever milk and cereal I could before starting work. I hate that this is not a friendly work-relationship.” Nope. I was never going to say that to her face. I am too diplomatic to exert such a blatant statement to one’s face.

“Umm... Well…” her eyes fell to the ground, she was infuriated.

I could see it on her face; how much she hated me at that moment. I saw all the thoughts, like those clouds on iMessage, hanging over her head. Who would pick up all those strawberries? Who would weed the onions? Who would clean up the kitchen? Who would do the dishes? Who would refurbish all those plumbing pipes? Who would paint them? Who would dig and sift? There’s an entire room waiting to be painted and so on…

She replied, ‘Umm... yeah. Okay. Wow, I wasn’t expecting that anytime soon.

Have you cared to speak with my husband?’

‘No. I haven’t. I have booked a train for tomorrow and the gig starts the day after’, I said.

A sudden rush of confidence ran through my entire nervous system. I realized that I was free from my own mental conditioning, I had nothing to fear any longer. It was my mental trapping that had slaved me, not her. As for her, she was helpless; she had lost a slave.

I didn’t have to explain anything any longer. Seeing that she had immersed in her thoughts, I took an escape from the situation. I went in the room and locked myself. I wanted to scream out of happiness. It was the only moment in my life when joy itself was unbearable. I am free! I AM FREE!!

How is it that our mind portrays situations that are manageable, as abstract and unmanageable? We think that things cannot change, not trying out once to cross our limits. We behave like that elephant who is chained from a young age, who grows up to believe that its power is limited. We are not limited. Our minds make us think that we are limited. Only if we shift perspective, things change, for the better.

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Thanks for reading. If you are still here, I would take this moment to direct your attention to a book I have written. This book is almost 2 years in the making. In 2022 I left off on a walk across India and ended up walking 1800 km from Narvan on the west shore, to Visakhapatnam on the east shore. Initially to document the issues plaguing rural India, the project unfolded to become an unforgettable voyage of self-discovery; involving sleeping in unfamiliar places, venturing alone through the Naxalite insurgent jungles, and even being interrogated in a jail cell.

After contemplating on what is the right way forward, I have come to the conclusion that I will self-publish it- and I did. If you are interested in reading about my journey and supporting me to become a full-time writer, please consider buying “Journey to the East”- which is currently available through my website. www.ashutoshjoshi.in

If you would like to help me out in other ways, you can buy me a coffee via paypal, www.paypal.me/ashutoshjoshistudio. You would think that a couple of dollars/pounds won’t mean much, but it does, especially in India where it is difficult to make ends meet as an artist.

You can buy my first book “Journey to the East”, a memoir about an 1800 km walk through India, through my website .

If you would like to buy prints of my photographs, you can choose the photographs you like on my website and send me an email. I will send you custom quotes for the sizes you’d like.