Kenopsia

Kenopsia is a “painful joy “sometimes, and other times a desirable element, a longing even, to be part of..

can kenopsia be an ask on my travels ?

.. yes totally !

After being “ a happen to be there guest “ in a grand wedding at Taj aravalis - where i had to relinquish my grunge denims for my sunday best from my suitcase- after all, to keep up with joanses and to keep up with the vibe of the wedding grandeur and grandiosity , even though we were neither from ladekwwale,or ladkewale or hotelwale or the organiser team .. or anyone at all

But Intruders? No

We were sepctators who happened to be staying there at the same time

But we loved the energy and blended ..

I want to experience kenopsia .. the way it teaches me mortality and the expanse of human capacity and proclivity and passion to immortalise the mortality ,it makes me want to call it the best way to put our existence in perspective.

It is the real “ witnessing the past without any personal connect but a national or regional or historical connect.”

There, i dont seek quiet of a yoga session I want the quiet of a fort, i want to walk barefoot not on water of spa, but on the sand peppered corridors of forts, i want to get lost in those cul de sacs , want to see those rusted gates, and colour accentuated turbans, the

Butlers in poshaks , where poshaks are carrying them and not they wearing them.

At my recent stay at

Rohet Garh, fort, bikaner palace at mount abu , I felt,nay, realised, or may be felt viscerally , that it is kenopsia that our palaces welcome their guests to.

It is the quiet that is pregnant with the sounds of gallops that they once reverbrated with, the darbans stand as figures whose pride comes from the knowledge that they know the manners of the Royals , and in that moment when they serve us, we feel less than them. They have power of history , we of lucre ..

and clearly power of history comes from the advantage of veing part of vintage, As if they are carrying the secrets, the glories, the stories which we dont have access to, we dont know them intimately. They live in the awareness that they know the people of the stories and that we as audience will only know the story - if at all ..

they know the backstage they are from the crew

Their eyes glint with the acquired valour and they get their valence and valiance from the acute truth that they indeed are the ones who will give us the royal experience during our short stay. when i asked them what is “ghewar dal” his explanation was effortless, confidence natural and his elusiveness even more , for then i thought heknows somuch more about this culture than no amount of reading will being to me, as if ghewar dal is theirs as much as chana gehun ghughri .

And their repertoire made me want to not ask because this knowlwdge will increase my sense of ignorance

After that i did not ask

reason I want to go .. the empty,dark, forlorn, royal corridors remind of royalty that lived and did life .. i was scared of knowing what all i dont know

I came running back to my fool’s paradise

but this kenopsia is not sepulchural, it is cultural, terrirorial, situational this is intercepted, interluded by gorgeous, booming, gloriously thriving peonies, periwinkles , by yellow, sallow, saffroned, smiles of orderlies wearing red turbans of the marwar and mewat,giving the guests provisional feeling of being the royal families when they say ,” ji hukam saa.”

The eeriness is diffused, the bygone era peeps from Jharokhas, making it more distant as you go closer, as you touch the brick and mortar . Yet you feel ease .. you are now a witness.. neither part of “in “nor part of “out “ but in transitional, provisional, illusional space ..

The guards, the darbans, the chefs, the orderlies hold the fort.. in true sense. They create euphoria from kenopsia. We are just witnesses. But not privy !!!

The kenopsia which makes me rooted.. where I walk barefoot to touch the soil of royal suited booted