Moscow Streets

And so I ventured into the icy Moscow streets in search of a lost toothbrush.

 I had flown in only last night, met by the happy crew of Muralishwara Prabhu and Prithu Das. But somewhere between the Ukrainian Banya and the snows of Moscow, I had lost my trusty toothbrush.

Intellectual, Poet, Translator and heavy duty baggage man, Muralishwara Prabhu 

The ever-helpful Prithu Das

Architectural College of Moscow.

 I walked on past the Architectural college across the street from the Indological Institute where Prabhupada once spoke, defeating scientists and defending the conclusions of Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Thakura against all comers.

Matroshkas bloomed on street-corners holding within the mysterious secrets of more matroshkas in an attempt to recreate the infinite espejismo of Jorge Luis Borges. 

Winston Churchill, I believe once said that Russia is a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, hidden in a mystery. The Matroshka holds within a number of dolls each enfolded in another. She is a metaphor for the illusory nature of this material world with illusions nestled in illusions.

Just as this glass snow-globe we inhabit our own little world of fantasies and illusions.

Russian History Museum in Red Square

I found my toothbrush in a little pharmacy off Red Square. I wanted a photo of the nice friendly babushka who, Matroshka-like stood guard over the treasures of the Pharmacy. I was surprised that she was not really the one in charge. A camera stood watch in a corner of the ceiling. We were being watched, she explained. If I took a photo, the camera would know and send out a report. Mysteries within enigmas.