The Lighthouse overlooking the Welsh Countryside.

23 March 2021 // 6:19 am | Part #1

Hi, hope all of you are doing well. Thanks for staying with me even when I take some time off from writing and attend to some issues that are urgent. The walk has brought in a lot of attention and that means that I have be meeting people, organising and figuring out ways to turn it into something tangible. Until then, I will be posting these stories that I wrote in the past year. These are my first hand experiences in England. Looking back, I see that I was quite opinionated. I don’t mean to hurt anyone but this is how I felt and this is what I experienced during that time. Hope you guys keep supporting me in the meanwhile..

I woke up quite early that day. I had been reading Jean-Paul Sartre's “Being and Nothingness”. A few lines had hit me to my core, and I was wondering, how would it feel to live it out in real life. The lines read, 

‘But in this case, I have reconstructed the world on the ground of pure rationality, by abstracting myself from the world through thought. I fly over the world without attaching myself to it; I place myself in an attitude of absolute objectivity, and each sense becomes one object among objects, a center of relative reference, and one which itself supposes co-ordinates.’ 

It was nothing like what I had read before. The sun was out and my body was asking for an adventure, to live that thought out. Hitherto, I had been used to having such sudden thoughts and leaving my house, to fulfill these experiences. 

I rushed down to have a coffee, and I contemplated whether this decision was right. A few sips of that caffeine entered my blood streams, and I made a quick decision. I had to leave. I had to leave in order to bring this thought to a cessation. I made a quick breakfast, packed sandwiches to go alongside on the trip. The destination was yet undecided. I did not want to be roaming around in Cheltenham. I had grown accustom to the roads, to the gardens, to the people. I needed a change in the scenery, something that felt real, something that felt alive. Nature, nature has the quality to bring you out of the society, out of the land of the living, and into the land of the unknown. Rivers, trees and starry skies make you think that you are tiny. A small dot in this immense connection of dots that inhabit our universe. I suddenly remembered an experience I had in the Himalayan foothills, where I took a dip in the cold river, and instead of shivering to death, felt like I was more alive than before. So it had to be one of the elements, I thought. But, there isn’t a big river in Cheltenham. There is a stream which is man-made, whose directions are patterns manipulated on every curve it takes. I wanted something more natural, which felt like there was no separation between me, and the element; where there was no man standing between me and nature. I was still sitting on the dining table, finishing the eggs that I had cooked in haste. Least I can say is, they were edible. 

I heard stomping and squeaking of the wood that made the foundation of this poorly-built English house as my roommate walked down the staircase. She opened the door, walked into the living room and asked me the same question that she had been asking me for months.

“So, Ash! How does your day look like today?”

“Exciting”, I replied, with a slight smile on my face.

By now, I had gotten used to this English behavior. It wasn't even a real question. I knew, that if anyone asked you about the weather or if you are alright or what are you doing today-- all of those questions were rhetorical in their nature, and not a detailed answer was expected from you. All you had to say was;

It is quite beautiful out there/ it is raining. 

Yes, thankyou and you? 

Nothing much. How about you?___ all in that exact order.

After this brief encounter, which was always brief, I cleaned my plate and put it on the rack to dry. My brain was working overtime to think of a place that was accessible yet distant. I had unconsciously reached the kettle and put the water to boil. I needed another coffee to think. My brain was scanning all the places on the west coast of England. I had to find the cheapest way to get there. It was only the previous day that my bank statement had come in. The email under Barclays Bank read, ‘you have £72 left in your account’. Money is something I never cared about. Money like most other things is a thought, an imagined currency. When you really need it, you will kick and scream to get it.

It was invented by our ancestors as a substitute to the barter system, as it became difficult to barter off a chicken for an apple, and the value ratio just wasn’t right. We started thinking creatively to find a solution to this problem, in doing so, we made a substitute material that would play a middle man for almost anything. I knew this. I knew from my past experiences that, when I had to have it, I would bring it out of my magic hat. Perhaps it was time to apply for a grant somewhere. It did not bother me as much.

I took the coffee and walked up as the squeaking continued. My door was half-open, as always. There is something welcoming when you can keep your door opened and you do not think that you have anything to hide. I walked in and sat down on the refurbished wooden chair in my tiny room. The room was smaller than the average-sized room in a standard community housing project. Of course, I knew this because I had been to Scotland earlier that year and visited the community houses there. I think it was George Orwell who wrote a lot about community housing and their living situations. I thought it was jokes, and well it was way back in the 60’s maybe. To my amazement, it’s still a real thing in the United Kingdom. 

Come to think of it, how weird does it sound to almost anyone who is from the ASEAN countries, that the living standards in the English cities are more horrible than many people who live in the third world, but it’s true. I kept thinking to myself what went in my head when I decided to come to England. I pushed this thought aside. It wasn’t the first time that this thought had become a parasite and taken over my brain.

Right. A couple places on the map, a reminder on my screen that covid restrictions are still imposed and you are not allowed to travel unless it’s absolutely necessary and it was absolutely necessary for my mental health that I travelled that day. My bag was already packed. Hmm.. I should call a friend on this adventure, said a voice in my head. 

Phone. 

Unlock. 

Contacts. 

Gabriel.

“ Sorry man, I am busy today. How about tomorrow?”, he said. 

“No. It’s fine. I am leaving alone then”, I replied.

After the Rain, Bath Street, Cheltenham.

It didn't make any sense to actually tell my roommate about my plans to travel so far. Some people were paranoid of the pandemic more so than others. I walked down the stairs as the squeaking continued and silently closed the door so that no one heard. Walking past the deadened streets was as if  I had entered some apocalyptic movie. Every single person I saw on the street was a bit scared of showing their face to others or even sharing a smile as if that would incriminate them. I kept walking from the High Street to the Grove Street and then down towards the train station on the Honeybourne line. Humanly planted trees at specific distances as if man hated chaos! Trees as orderly and obedient as the people living in that very city. A gravel path in the middle through which my footsteps were the only sound that entered my eardrums. No bird made any noises that day. I seriously started believing as if I was doing a crime here. Walking was a crime and yet my gut feeling was going against this idea. It was asking me to question, to enquire what is right for yourself? Will you believe every word you read in a newspaper or every word handed down by the king of the state? Okay, most certainly this was 2022 and there were no kings of the state, but have we not projected leaders of today as kings in our malleable brains? I kept walking past the Winston Churchill memorial garden. There, on that bench I had smoked weed one evening with a friend while listening to Paul McCartney’s single ‘Back in Brazil’. Life was just too groovy before covid hit the world. A world where nights were actually for dancing and the days were actually for the sun!! 

If you have reached this far then I hope it means you like what I’m doing and if so you might consider supporting me by ‘buying me a coffee’ ( Substack does not let me monetize my articles because I am based in India) which is a one off payment rather than a continuous subscription. Payments, however small, encourage me in my writing and mean that I can spend more time honing my skills.

My thoughts actually keep shifting so much that I feel like a psychopath on some occasions, but creatives are somewhat psychopathic in their nature and that's a well known fact.

SHIT! T minus 10 mins for the next train to Bristol. I left the gardeny memories in the well-designed garden. Actually it was one of the best evenings of my life, that joint was perfect and that’s definitely what made things interesting. The thing is your mind sometimes creates this spotlight effect where you start feeling that everything and everyone revolves around you and is constantly judging you for what you do and covid multiplies it x1000. Weed, on the other hand, sometimes takes off this excess burden that your mind has successfully created to keep you busy. At the time I wasn’t as aware of this, but today it is a well-researched subject as a matter of fact. I wish a scientist appeared out of random every time when someone caught me smoking a tiny amount of weed and actually went on to explain the workings of weed and how it relaxes certain parts of the brain and how good of an anxiety and stress- reliever it is if taken in small amounts. Of Course that would never happen. I mean, it hasn’t happened so far..

I was walking upon the Millenium Bridge, not a single car drove in any direction, only a girl was walking with a pack of toilet papers and a plastic bag filled to its brim with tin food. WaitRose was most certainly open then, it was “essential service” atm.

What is actually essential and what isn’t? Who gets to decide if one company or one’s life is more “essential” than others? I kept telling my brain, shut up and stop thinking thoughts that could end you up in jail. I was moral policing my random thoughts and I could not do otherwise. 

T -5 mins. Run. 

This was my favorite part of Cheltenham, other than the Pittville Park, of course. Here was the underground road under St. George’s way where I would usually go to watch some cool spray paintings on the wall. As always this place didn’t disappoint me, even when my pace was faster than usual. 

T -3 mins and I started running. 

The thing is, I am from India and I am always late. They say about Indians, that Indians are always in a hurry but never on time. I am no different. I am always a few minutes late. My friends keep a leeway of 5-10 mins when they travel on public transport, but not me. I reach when the train is pulling up on the station. I am usually running down the stairs when the doors open. For me that’s a sense of thrill I get out of the otherwise usual and mundane British lifestyle. 

The train was standing on the platform when I ran down the stairs. Two men in suits, and me, that was it. That was the entire rush I found on the train. I sat near the window seat. No one was to sit next to me anyway. Big posters read “Maintain 2 m distance”. No one checked my ticket. I was already on my way to Bristol. 

The thing is, I have traveled three countries during the first and the start of the second lockdown and hence my experience is uniquely different than the ones who sat in their homes and never went out. For me nothing was scary at this point. I feared the institution and what people thought of me, but I never really feared the virus and I don’t to this day. ‘One day you gotta die’, I kept telling myself. Actually this was the second lockdown and people had started to ease up a bit, but not in Cheltenham. Environments create and destroy people's will to live and they maintain the kind of life they will live. I kept telling myself “No one’s watching. Don’t be stupid.” I was right for the most part. No one was really watching me. Everyone was scared, so the thought of others doing something legal/illegal would not have even entered their conscience. In half an hour I was already at Bristol Temple Meads. I walked out without any hustle. You do have certain rights when you are in England and certainly no one can take it away from you, unless you are a certain Julian Assange who has the entire FBI after him. 

Streets were suddenly filled with people. An air of defiance filled Bristol. I was only half an hour from this open-environment! Cheltenham was undoubtedly stricter or should I say, more obedient. I kept a smile on my face and kept walking towards Colston Avenue. Stagecoach buses were running at half a capacity. I was still thinking of where I wanted to be, and there were two options by now: Portishead Lighthouse or Charlcombe Bay. I knew that buses were running, because the schools had reopened, and some students travelled to Bristol for school and college. Some news channels made a big fuss about it. I stood at the bus stop watching the bus table. Another 20 mins, I was well on time to board. 

People were sitting quietly at the bus stop. These people looked non-Bristolian. You know how you act when you are home? You throw yourself on the sofa, stretch your legs out, and scratch your crotch if you feel like it, that’s exactly the difference between a native Bristolian and a non-Bristolian. I should move to Bristol, maybe I would have some sanity after all. 

“PORTISHEAD” a sign read.

to be continued….

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I will post the part 2 and 3 of this story coming Tuesday and the week after.

I see that I have lost some subscribers due to inactivity and my commitments to other things. Unfortunately, these things are literally a do or die situation for many villages here in my part of the world. I wish I could say good bye to the ones who have left but for all of you who are still here. I thank you for staying from the bottom of my heart. If you would like to support me, please consider buying me a coffee, every nudge on paypal gives me more strength to write and work further.

Have a wonderful week ahead.

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You can buy my book which is a memoir about my 1800 km walk through India through my website. Thankyou, really!

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There is one more thing by the way.

Most of you joined this Substack after reading stories from Saving a Village. In that series, I spoke about the urgency of taking action against the looming threats of deforestation, coastal highway projects, and the chemical and oil factories set to rise in this eco-sensitive zone. These developments could devastate many villages, including mine. That’s why I’ve decided to embark on a 500-kilometer journey across this stretch of land.

My purpose isn’t political, nor am I here to point fingers at specific companies or factories. Instead, I want to visit each village, sharing the message that while change is inevitable, it’s vital that we steer it in the right direction. I have no desire to cast myself as a hero; my goal is simply to witness this land and its fading culture before it's too late. However, if I can raise awareness and ignite even a small spark of understanding, I’ll be content knowing I did what I could.

But I can't do this alone. To plan the walk and cover necessary supplies, I need your support. Unfortunately, platforms like Kickstarter and other crowdfunding sites aren't available to me here in India, so I’m relying on your donations. You can contribute through PayPal—here’s the link. For donations over $30, I’d love to send you a personalized postcard as a token of gratitude.

-Ashutosh