Heaven and hell

On the overnight, 14+ hour bus ride from Mumbai to Goa, I asked myself why I'm taking this time to see another part of India.  It's not that I don't absolutely adore this hunk of a nation. It's just the crappy feeling I sometimes get about being a tourist on "holiday".  What's the purpose of it, really?  I end up feeling like a jackass, walking around some strange town, occasionally taking photos in the attempt to capture a snippet of a moment I perceive to be beautiful.  I'm not contributing much to these strange places, maybe some good energy through smiles and light conversation, and dollars besides.  On the flip side, I've selfishly realized the benefits that I reap as my heart gently leaps through the mazes of waves from darkness to light.  Here in India and a few other places I've been through, travelling becomes a twisted game of 'heaven and hell'.  


Hell is the hour it takes to get out of the hot, grimy, loud, thick city of Mumbai by bus.  Stagnant air meeting my face at the window that longs for the breeze brought only by greater speed. Heaven is the infinite number of amazing scenes that pass through that window: colorful markets, holiday lights, interesting buildings, traffic jams, goats, cows, families in poverty living on sidewalks among vendors and dirty happy children.  


Hell is trying to stay light and fun with the travel partner I don't really know, the travel partner who didn't seem to be as easy as I think I am... while walking on eggshells around her mood swings.  Heaven is when she gives thanks to me for being a great companion, when I see her smile with childlike wonder at animals and all things cute (fondly reminding me of a dear girlfriend), when I know she's well-fed and content, and she ends up emerging a strong, fun, wise, helpful, delightful travel buddy! 


Hell is trying to sleep during the overnight bus ride, full of potholes and hairpin turns, not able to stretch my long-ass legs, and wondering why the passengers had to shut all the windows, enclosing us in this grimy interior.  Oh, I never felt so filthy.  Heaven is the midnight pit-stops for toilets, chai, and a strrrrrrreeeeeeetchhhhh.  Heaven is waking up to see the lush, palm tree hills of Incredible India covered in layers of fog as the sun lazily emerges from behind low lying clouds.  


Hell is wandering around, bags in tow, in search of a suitable hotel.  Heaven is when we always seem to find a larger than expected room with a clean bathroom at a reasonable price.  There's nothing even remotely hellish about the food here.  Even unsure of what we order, every meal seems like the best EVER.  Here, the food, sweets, and chai are heavenly.  


Hell is where my mind goes when children follow me down the street, begging for food or money.  Heaven is in the smiles that come from those kids after simply taking their photo or slicing up a guava to share with them.  


Hell is feeling like a tourist.  Heaven?  Being invited into the home of a couple, around my parents age, for a special Diwali dinner.  Their two daughters are settled in the States, they were especially delighted to have us, and the food and stories were outstanding.  Life is a blessing, the beginning of heaven.  


Hell is a twisted, dark, imagined place that lies in pockets within the perception of my privileged, fortunate mind.  I don't think I've ever experienced hell.  Even the bout of traveler's diarrhea, which left me feeling as though I'd been hit by a truck, feverish, nauseated, and ready to die... was rapidly alleviated by neighbors and the ever-surprising travel buddy. This wandering that seems so silly at times will eventually lead me home, which still remains to be that undetermined physical location... where my heart is, where my sea-bag is.  

If your friends jumped…

I have some sweet photos, but for some reason they're not showing up... I'll get them online in two weeks or so... 

Before the official start of class, we had a half-day to go out and about.  A group of us shared a taxi to the nearby village of Trimbakeshwar.  Just a few kilometers away; its edges and lights are visible from the ashram.  We were dropped off on a main road in the center of town and walked toward the temple that contains one of only 12 Shiva lingams (a special stone monument for Shiva, the God of destruction, the god of the Yogis). 

Street merchants offer grass to feed the cows, flowers and sweets for the temple, and Om bindis (markings placed between the eyes that offer protection and bring awareness to the inner strength that lies in that Ajna chakra area).  We decline the vendors, instead heading around the temple to a chai stand.  As we wait at the street side counter, we watch the man make the sweet drink- boiling the milk, adding spices that include plenty of fresh grated ginger, and sweetening with sugar.  Yum. 

 After a nearly glorious glass of gingery chai (because the only truly Glorious glass of anything comes from Marlboro ;) off we went towards the green, rolling hills.  We circled around a large pond and heard a man ask, “Which country”?  As we paused to answer, he informed us that we were in front of the President’s house, the President of Trimbakeshwar, Mrs. Sujita Sanjay Shikhare.  I asked if we could take a photo, and he invited us in for a view from the balcony. 

 The house was nice, seemingly new, and he led us up to the second floor.  Out on the balcony, there were a few men preparing for a puja (the blessed Hindu ceremony that involves a small fire and colorful flowers as offerings). 

 After photos, the man invited us inside and led us to a room.  There were nearly 50 or 60 people inside who were finishing up what appeared to be the first part of the puja. 

After a moment, they proceeded out to the balcony.  We were then taken up to the roof where we walked around admiring the solar panels and the view, peeking down to watch the people out on the balcony. 

 As we headed out and thanked the man for graciously welcoming us into the house, we asked how to get to the ghats (steps along the bank where people tend to congregate for washing away sins from the soul and dirt from bodies & clothes) of the holy Godavari River.  The man pointed, and we headed again towards the hills.  The path took us to a gorgeous body of water that was probably part of the river, but seemed like a lake.   

Across the way, we saw a group of boys jumping into the water.   I had to check it out.   We carefully walked across the cement-pillared wall that seemed to be a dam, meeting up with the boys.  The water looked relatively clean, the platform wasn’t too high, and there was one taker in the group to join me.  Rather than jumping from the highest point, where the boys were diving from, we opted to jump into the same area, but from the top of the railing.  Panty & camisole clad, in we went.  Best jump ever.