The Challenge of returning Home

 

Day three. Of the last. Slowly it’s becoming real. The reality of having to leave again. It’s becoming harder to hold my tears back…

I’m becoming restless. Wanna make the most of my time. Soak everything in as much as I can. Little sleep, a continuous level of exhaustion and yet I’m fully here. Waking up today it’s hard for me to stay in bed for long. Maa Ganga is calling. I need to be outside to walk. 

First stop Chai. Moktan. A must. Haven’t been in some time. The kindest man in Tapovan. The most popular and loved tiny cafe. It’s still quiet. He even starts talking to me which is rare when he’s working. He’s so calm. Asking me about my two years before when I used to come with my friend all the time. And while my Chai is ready to go and I’m joking around about why he has cameras in his tiny shop, I’m so much in my own mind that I leave without paying.

Some moments later down the alley I realize and while I feel ashamed despite my rational mind knowing that it’s no big deal. I laugh because I know my Nepali cafe owner will too. Especially in the irony of the moment. This is why he has the cameras so people like me don’t walk out without paying. It’s really comical and yet my mood is not.

I’m lucky again this morning that I have my favorite Ganga spot for myself. No one there. It’s quiet still. Just in time for the sun to rise behind the mountains. I love this spot in this time. The wind is strong this morning and yet I cannot resist to dip into the water. Every time. So refreshing. So much energy. The sand between my toes. The cold water on my skin. 

A beautiful start into the morning. An Indian baba hiding between the rocks literally disappearing wearing the same colors comes to speak to me, admiring me for my courage to dip into the cold. I’m indeed cooled down to the bones by now. Putting everything on that I brought slowly walking back to pay my dues. 

With a smile I squeeze myself between the other people in the little room and hand him the bill into the kitchen, laughing. They’re the sweetest.

I decide to take a quick pit stop to shop some incense. The shop owner is extremely nice and friendly, gifting me a sesame bar when I leave. It might be that time now that I perceive everything and everyone as extremely special and warm and right and good. And it keeps continuing when I decide to have a hot chocolate at Moktan II. I also know Moktan II. The boy is sweet, we’re chatting while he’s preparing the chocolate. 

One minute later my French friend with an M shows up. I’m glad I kept the little Ganesha for him in my bag since we met the last time. I hand it to him. In his humbleness he’s looking at it, deeply happy and truly touched. Oh this is so beautiful. Thank you so much. It’s my second gift today. And so it goes around today because I will receive my next gift only minutes later as well.

My beautiful A is showing up. I hug her. She sits down while M offers that we could meet before I leave for a massage. That would be indeed a well needed gift for me. 

They leave and A is sitting with me, also having a chocolate. We talk. I can feel how I’m barely capable of holding my emotions inside my physical body. As we’re talking and I tell her that’s already my last days and that this here just feels like the reality, she says that I’ll make her cry which is when she makes me cry. I cannot hold my tears anymore. She’s holding my hand and for the first time I can feel it all with her. She knows. She knows it all too well, having moved here herself. A precious moment for my realizations and it feels again like worlds are opening for me.

This is no vacation, no holiday, no Christmas break, no trip to just go and enjoy myself for a few days. This is so much more. It’s my life. I cannot deny it. There’s so much inside of me that’s tied to this place. I’m not ready to say goodbye. At all. 

Every move here feels like divine. Even getting my signature bottle of soda water in the shop, the old guy opening the door for me seeing my hands full… everyone I know. 

I head back, get rid of my wet clothes and the bags and pack for my lunch place. 

No I’m not getting tired of it. This most definitely is my home. Some places remind you of how to love. This is one of them. 

When I head out my new Suisse friend from yesterday is running down the street obviously in a hurry. I wave at her. Simultaneously the French Ashram guy from Christmas night at Jo’s tattoo is approaching. We hold a little chat and I hear enjoy your day for the fifth time today. The little things. They do it all. Make me feel happy, alive, grounded, connected. 

Then it’s time for food, juice, chai. As always.

Back down. I’m in my head. Strange feelings. I see my tattoo guy. We sit in the sun on his balcony with a chai. I put my face in the sun. He’s asking me how I’m feeling. Your eyes look different today. It’s the sun I say. He says they look like they’re very full with emotions. Something wrong? It’s like he’s looking right through me. Maybe I’m easier to read than I think.

I go back to my room to get slowly towards class. On my way I stop by my physio girl for a chat. It’s just exactly what I need today. Her story. Like A. How she got here. Why she couldn’t live in the west anymore. How everything triggered her. How she started closing up when she used to be so smily. How depressed, what a nightmare it felt going back. As if this wasn’t the real world. Like torture. 

How she’s still triggered by certain things but with a friend by her side everything is as it should be. She knows all the feelings. No need to explain. She has been through it all herself. And then when I tell people back home they cannot understand when they haven’t been to India, they get offended. But they can’t understand. My words. As if they were coming straight out of my heart. My own experience.

Even our physical pain at the moment brings us into the same headspace. The helplessness, the frustration of not knowing what to do about it, how long the path it will be and when it will become better. I’ll find out only minutes later. My communicative Russian classmate is walking by. Asking if I’m coming to class. Let’s go he says. And I get up to go. 

This class will be my last one for this time. As my pain has managed by now move further, I realize with any movement that I’m reaching my limits as my body will reward me with new pain in every position. Torture Master sees my struggles and hands me his assistant position to push the other students and do the counting instead. 

Half broken, sad, melancholic and tired I sit in Namastē. I text with him. It’s too early that I’m leaving he says. I tell him I’m sad. 

This is part of life. I’m sad too because too short this time. Don’t be sad, these situations come and go. Just relax, calm yourself. 

I eat without exactly being hungry, on the way to my tattoo appointment finally.

When I enter the space I find him with his friend. We are jumping into Guru Ji topics.

Master M is coming up. You know him? What you think of him? Diplomatic and kind J is not saying anything, no judgement, waiting for my reply. I say that I had quite my share of my story with him. That I’ve changed how I see him over the years. I wonder how he’s come into our presence. But this will not have been the last time indeed. It’s becoming a guessing game what we think of him, moving into laughter, knowing without words that no one has a high opinion of him, sharing the same stories of ourselves and others how he’s ignoring people, how he’s messing with people who don’t look through show, his performance, performing control and authority, using the good heartedness of the ones coming idealistic, open to learn like I once did. 

The hilarious mess we create through the stories about him is becoming more and more funny. Guru Ji. The women hugger. 

I’m not so sure anymore if I should laugh or cry. His behavior is actually a scream for help and sad and desperate in the end, living such huge manipulation game or even dangerous as my new Suisse friend will shout out the next day when we’re eating. It’s like a cosmic release through others for me, mirroring my journey also through him. French M is joining us again into the yogic talk expanding the circle until it’s time to get the tattoo. 

When I undress myself the boys leave and J is preparing me for the session. With his softness and empathy he’s soothing me. Especially today where I feel so emotional. Over and over he’s repeating mantralike affirmations about how we deserve love and can not always only give our energy to others. How deserving we are of care and love. How precious and beautiful life is just because we’re able to feel. Anything we feel. The essence of life. He’s the sweetest even trying to tattoo gently.

He tells me the story of the King who wanted to become immortal. A moral story about life and how to be grateful for all that we experience, feel and live through. He wants to distract me from my hurt. Any hurt, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Repeating how lucky we are about our lives.

At 10pm the piece of art is finished and I am drained, ready for bed. Finally. Ready for an early morning sunrise.