I knew one thing today, I am leaving Santosh Puri Ashram. The contents of my bag were all over the floor near the corner of the room. For once I looked at them again all at once. “how ridiculous am I, look at this stuff: huge bottle of aloe, huge bottle of sanitizer to refill my little bottle of sanitizer, huge bottle of Bepto Bismol, huge container of Tums, anti-diarrhea pills, anti-acid pills, anti-Malaria pills, and the usual toiletries, three packs of baby wipes, face wash, face scrub…” all this stuff, for a moment I am inclined to throw half of it out. You know, renunciation man, get rid of that stuff, you don’t need all that bepto bismol! But I manage to pack it all so neatly into my bag. Room empty again. I eat some lunch before I leave. there is only myself and an Indian girl that arrived the night before. She Identifies as Dutch. She lives in Holland. There was also a cute little boy who eargerly serves us food almost everyday, today he was sitting waiting to be served. He smiles and giggles. I was smiling back. I said, "he is so cute!" "yes he is, very playful, do you want your own kids one day?" she asked. I responded quickly and swiftly, "NO!." She pulled back a bit and seemed surprised or disappointed with my response, she couldn't understand why I would be so sure. "why not?" I told her that I think people are so selfish to eagerly reproduce themselves and try to give their life purpose by creating another one to take care of. I went on, "plus there are so many kids out there who need a home, maybe people should stop having babies for a few months and only adopt those already born." All this came out of my mouth very fast as I was really eager to eat my lunch. She seemed almost disgusted. I failed to realize that her asking the question probably comes from her own desire to have a child. It was quiet and we both started eating our bland under-salted barley lunch.
I approach Mataji, sitting in her chair in the shade with the newspaper. I have to give my donation in a way that doesn’t seem too patronizing. It is then that I have my first and only real one on one conversation with her. Like her class it was very soft yet very rich. No distractions this time, but my mental capacity fails me to remember enough quotes to capture the conversation, I should say her monologue since I was mostly a listener interrupting her speech only occasionally with “yes, yes” or “exactly.” it was wonderful but like all good things momentary and difficult to capture. I snapped out of my day dream when she said “people should go back to their countries, like in Germany there are so many Turkish, they should learn from the west and go home to develop their countries.” I wanted to respond and bring her attention to the fact that she came from Germany fifty years ago and made India her home, she never went back to spread what she learned. But I thought it would be rude to even say anything. I nodded my head and faintly smiled as if I am I agreeing but I don’t think my hesitant nod of approval was convincing. I thought to myself “shame, no one is perfect.”
There are two gates to the Ashram. As I exited from the inner gate, I see the boy "in the pink shirt" shirtless, sitting by the outer gate by the guard house. He turned around waved his hand and smiled. He just kept smiling with his big white teeth as it to let me know that he's seen me look at him and that he approves. He winked and said "bye." I was holding the outer gate, I smiled back and said "bye." I was wishing I had stayed longer, It was too late.
It was so nice to be out of the walls of the ashram, to have a Pepsi and a bottle of cold water. I was still feeling very positive. Nothing seemed to bother me as they did before. Go on beep your fucking horns, I don’t care! After a long detour I ended up in Dehra Dun and took the bus to Mussoorie dubbed “the queen of hill stations.”
The ride up was a little horrifying, this huge behemoth of a bus swings left and right as it tries to wrap around tight turns on the twisted road to the top, 2000 meter above sea level. Along the way are remnants of accidents, a bus crashed into the side of the hill, the exact same spot as the one I am sitting in is smashed into the rock side. A motorcycle accident. An SUV with the side smashed. Trying to focus on my book and not give way to those nightmares of falling off a cliff.
We arrive. I take a steep flight of stairs to the main street. It is a very hazy day, difficult to see. What is the use of being so high up if you can’t see down. I take a rickshaw to the other side of town, where the Hotel Broadway, a small budget hotel “in a quiet part” is located. I have to walk part of the way still as the rickshaw is not allowed any further. The streets are so steep they make you wish you never had a cigarette in your life. I finally find the place and get my little room with a view of a valley and hills. Nice.
The town, despite being bigger and busier than Mcleodganj, was more relaxed. This was a true Indian holiday town, it had that feel. It was like the jersey shore boardwalk strung on top of a hill and full of Indians instead of guidos. It was refreshing that the main stretch of road “the mall” was mainly pedestrian as well as bike rickshaws which have the much gentler sound of bike rings rather than the intrusive and polluting horns of motorbikes and cars. There is a carnival feel with rides and shops selling kids toys and other unnecessary things. No one is from here, everyone is a tourist. The women are fatter, exposing their full bellies between the sari partially covering their bodies. Their husbands are well fed too, big bellies hang over their tight belts. Each couple is holding two, three and four children, all pulling and screaming and demanding toys. This is a different India that I haven’t seem much of yet. As a tourist you always get to see how the lower half lives but here you can see both. The other half is still there, on the sides of the road grilling corn and selling things to the rich visitors from below. I enjoyed walking the street and watching the people.
It felt particularly lonely here since everyone was with their family or lover. I began to rethink things, the false sense of security that I created for myself the night before was already dying out, fast. I went to a call center and dialed that number that I now know by heart. No answer. Again and again. I walk a bit and every time I see a phone I stare at it like it will ring and it will be for me. I try again but no answer. I search and find the one internet place in town. I have decided that I must take things into my own hands and make the decision that must be made. I sent a message that was meant to make things better. To end a relationship without ending a friendship.
On my walk back to my hotel I see another phone and try again. Answer. After five minutes we had decided that it was the right thing to do. As I was in the phone booth a fight broke out outside the store. I didn’t know what was happening but one man was slapped across the face by another. A small group gathered. The man that was slapped didn’t retaliate, he just stood there. Another man slapped him again, this time on the other side. It was so tense, on the phone and outside. Tears came to my eyes. It was as if the happenings outside were an visual illustration of the phone conversation. I was now single. I walked quickly to my hotel failing to control tears, unlocked my room, lights off still, fell to my bed and cried. It was only for a moment then I realized everything will be OK. In a way, everything was the same.
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