i’m on my way to phase two on the bus on a tuesday afternoon. here at kaanivaa, queues for the buses are non-existent. people just crowd outside the door and board however they can. no rules about who gets on first. but after that disorderly start, i am relaxing on the upper deck with my headphones on, enjoying the sight of the city passing by.

today, i’m listening to sam harris, the great meditator, who is telling me that you shouldn’t meditate because it’s GOOD for you. he compares it to reading – is reading a book good for one? well, who’s to say, but reading is doubtlessly an enriching ‘practice’. and so too with meditation. among other things, it allows you to make conscious choices that you wouldn’t have been aware of otherwise. something like that. anyhow, it makes me feel very conscious of my place at the fore of the bus. everyone can see me. goddamn. i move four rows down.

the clouds break, sending a beam of soft sunlight that falls on a tree, lighting up the leaves. it’s such a beautiful sight it disarms me completely, and dislodges something from within. it rises to the surface, and i sense a hot tear about to fall. dear lord! it’s one of THOSE moments!

soon, i meet hasanbe by the closest food stall to the bus stop.

‘how’s everything?’ he says.

‘good, you wanna grab something?’

‘sure.’

we check the wares – there’s hedhikaa: masroshi, bajiyaa, bis, kavaab, two kinds of gulha.

he gets a masroshi and a kavaab and a bajiyaa. i am sceptical.

‘tell me if the masroshi tastes good,’ i say.

‘you’re so RUDE, husenfulhu!’ cries hasanbe. the woman behind the counter giggles.

‘our hedhikaa is very good, people say,’ she tells me.

‘well, is it?’ i ask hasanbe who clicks his tongue.

‘it is good, man. but you don’t think i have taste anyway,’ he says.

i buy some masroshi and gulha and take a bite. the masroshi isn’t bad at all cos the mas inside isn’t mixed with spices. good. that’s how i like them.

‘thank you,’ says hasanbe to the woman and we walk away.

‘you really had an unconscious moment there didn’t you?’ hasanbe asks.

‘maybe cos i was listening to sam harris about living more consciously,’ i tell him. hasanbe sniggers.

we stare at the colours of the setting sun on the clouds, finishing off the last of our hedhikaa.

‘you know, a good sunset makes me weepy these days,’ says hasanbe. ‘think i’m pretty cringe don’t you?’

‘well,’ i begin. ‘i got teary looking at some leaves in the sun earlier.’

‘that’s it. we’re BOTH cringe.’

we put our paper plates in the garbage bin.

‘that’s the satori state, what you experienced,’ says hasanbe. ‘when there are no words or labels – you see reality for what it is.’

‘i don’t know about that,’ i tell him. ‘it just brought up some stuff. i felt like a kid, almost.’

‘wow, a TRUE zen monk,’ laughs hasanbe. ‘now, can you stand next to the bin while i take a pic?’

i oblige.

and then it hits me.

‘so, i’m garbage, huh?’

hasanbe chuckles.

‘i refuse to be refuse,’ i cry.

‘all right,’ says hasanbe. ‘calm down.’