Over 21 hours of travel and the plane begins its descent. It’s late and the city is illuminated below by the bright vast expanse of the city lights of India’s bustling capital, New Delhi.
I make my way outside the airport and find a ride to the hotel where I will spend the night before another full day of travel, then make my way to Rishikesh. No one seems to be obeying the traffic. After Vietnam, I am aware there is an intuitive process at play amidst this chaos as the cars, tuk tuks and motorbikes with helmetless drivers weave in and out around me. Once at the hotel, we are stopped at the entrance where a man asks the driver to pop the hood to allow him to inspect both the hood and trunk of the car. The driver ushered me to go inside. It was all very quick, my handbag was put through hotel security and a woman guided me to a small area where she searched me. She closed the curtain, cutting off my gaze to my suitcase still outside looking helplessly abandoned. In no time I was checked in and off to a broken sleep.
Breakfast was a buffet of curries, dals, and mooli paratha with yogurt and pickles. I was too eager to gauge the spice level of each food I tasted and it was not until I realized my mouth was on fire that I slowed down in assessment. What seemed to be in unison 5 or 6 waiters made their way around my table asking if they could take a picture with me. It could have been my blonde hair or perhaps they wanted to capture my ridiculous panting in an attempt to relieve the forest fire of spices in my mouth. Silly girl.
I took a quick plane ride to Dehradun from Delhi and was met by a driver I had arranged before arrival. My driver was a small furry man with thick glasses and a missing front tooth. It took him minutes to begin his advances. “Are you married?” “no” “Why not?” It’s been a journey, I think to myself. I didn’t respond. “I like the way you look,” he says. I shut it down quickly by gesturing to him to keep his eyes on the road. When he realizes the futility of his advances, he proudly shows me a picture of his baby daughter. We are now connecting as civilized parents. His driving makes me nervous. He incessantly lays on the horn and shows no mercy to slow down even for women and children. That being said, every driver seems to follow the same protocol so no one is truly offended. Cows slowly cross unfazed by the horns and monkeys sit by the side of the road and atop the structures surveying the chaos. I covered my eyes and then slowly peek through my hands. He looks at me as though I should know better and says, “This… this is India”.
Finding the meditation school once in Rishikesh was equally as unnerving. Everyone is honking at one another and gesturing in annoyance while simultaneously offering assistance as my driver tries to turn around in a small alley. Stuck between a cow, a patient motorcycler and some pedestrians. A little to the front, a little to the back… crunch… a little more to the front a little to the back… crunch. Uhg. Finally, he gets frustrated and I call the facilitator and she sends someone to fetch me by foot. It was a dusty walk down a long ally to the school. We open the large iron gates and the young man, without effort, throws my suitcase over his arm and guides me up the stairs. There is an immediate softening as I am greeted by lovely people with beaming smiles who show me to my room.
The room. I am not going to pretend that I opened the door with complete abandonment of my expectations of Western comforts. Oh my. The bed is hard with a white thin sheet revealing the mattress and a child’s plush mickey mouse blanket folded at the bottom. The paint behind the bed was faded in patches. I sat on the bed feeling dirty and tired and sighed. I looked up at the ornate yellow ceiling molding that somehow had a look of opulence. “What exactly am I doing here?”
Then at 3:30am I woke and it hit me. I am knee-deep in a world of dualities and this is actually what I was meant to experience. The key is to not divide self in the duality.
The filth and beauty; the friendly and offensive gestures… even my heart. This is the first trip in the years of solo traveling that my heart is empty and free of limiting distractions. Empty and yet so very full.
My teacher outlined in our first class the first quality of a student:
Gruha Tyagi: Have an open mind, leave your comfort zone. Live with the minimum basic necessities. Ground your mind.
Something tells me, I will grow to love this room.
Namaste.
