A morning in the village

If I say, waking up at 4:30 in the morning was tough, it would be an understatement. Allowing myself that extra minute of sleep after switching the alarm off felt like heaven. Our ride today would take us to the outskirts of the city, deep into the villages. This is just the kind of ride I like. Places where there are no roads and one must make one's way.

A lot of very interesting conversation ensued as we pedalled. A fellow cyclist is a big Ayn Rand fan. Usually I spare no opportunity to berate her despite a lot of what she says makes sense. The inherent ironies in her work, which in the case of most other authors make them human, are almost laughable. Seeing the world as black and white, and the subsequent intolerance towards all that does not fit into an oversimplified theory which repetitively fills up large volumes make a reader evaluate the content on the same values the author professes. Anyway, today was not about Ayn Rand. It was about the beautiful nature of our debate. Far too often, I meet people who are very defensive when there is a difference of opinion. It is of paramount importance for them to win the debate no matter what the cost. In them, is absent that honest spirit of questioning. It disappoints me. But today wasn't that way. We gave each other much fodder to broaden existing thought, reevaluate ideas, and give shape to what was hitherto shapeless in our minds. When the desire to know is alive, winning and losing arguments, and perhaps even making points with great vehemence aren't relevant.

Otherwise, the ride itself was tough as it was enjoyable. We rode through mud and enough sand, on narrow ridges, leaving waving children, barking dogs, buffalo herds, farmers tilling land and cries of peacocks behind. Opportunities for photography are plenty as we move towards the rural areas. Given how much I have been shooting indoors lately, I couldn't help but rue the opportunities missed when there wasn't sufficient time to get off the saddle. I told myself in the way of consolation that it is the photographer's fate. How I long to go out to some random place with only photography in mind.

In the end we covered about 70 km and returned home caked in mud and dirt. Now, as I type this, the music playing into my ears feels alive, leaves tremble in a rain-scented wind and I feel I have left yesterday far away.