Happiness - The stories of Rishikesh II

At noon, I waited on the concrete ledge of the flowerbed, under one of the big trees of the ashram. I did not know if I was more nervous for him to show up or not to show up. Yet he did not make me dwell on that uncomforting thought, as he punctually appeared through the gates. He was wearing his big red jacket and the cap he had designed, with the rock-climber logo. Wearing that, and being so blond, with eyes so piercingly blue, he looked like an American. We sat for a few minutes in the sun and he soothed me with his authentic cheerfulness. Then we went inside and had lunch that we served for ourselves on the metallic trays.

I was surprised he had accepted my invitation t0 come far from the touristic area to have lunch with me at the Indian equivalent to a monastery. The previous day, when we met, he had asked me to see me again and that had been the invitation I had come up with. I thought that if he really wanted to see me, he would come. And I was not too sure he would, and I did not realize how much I wanted him to do so until I had been waiting under the tree.

The day before had been one of the best of my life. I had finished the yoga training and I was wandering around Rishikesh with a rudraksha mala around my neck, a kumkuma mark on my forehead, and a huge smile. While my classmates did some shopping I was just trying to take in the beautiful town before I had to leave in a couple of days. Everything was so beautiful: the crafts, the jewels, the animals strolling on the narrow roads, the little kids wearing eyeliner, the happy sadhus who owned nothing… And then I heard “Would you like a free massage?” I walked towards him and his lovely smile. He told me he was Spanish, so we switched to our most comfortable language. He had just finished his massage course and was looking for people to practice on. We chatted for a while and I kept on walking. Later in the afternoon, while I was having lemon tea with Krystle at the German Bakery, which was up a hill, I saw him down the rocky stairs, just by the Laxman Bridge. I called him and he came to sit with us for just a few minutes, because he had to meet someone. We exchanged only a few life views and he told me “Me gusta como piensas”. Then he gave me a big smile and went back down the big steps and I shouted “What is your name?”

“Nico”

There is no need of phones in Rishikesh. When you want to meet someone you just start walking and, sooner or later, you bump into him. In the evening, Nico found me at a jeweler store and I asked him to join me and my classmates for dinner. We crossed the road and climbed the slender metal ladder to Krishna. Krishna was a covered rooftop in front of the Ganges that served one of the most delicious foods I have ever had. Despite his basic English skills, Nico talked to everyone in the group. He was lovely and everyone liked him. As the sun fell the air turned very cold and I surrendered more and more to Nico’s charm. He sat by my side, on the pillows on the floor, and occasionally touched my leg or arm as he talked to me. He had such a healthy spirit, the company of which I had been craving for the last months. Being there, it was difficult to remember why I had been so unhappy before my trip to India.

When we said goodbye that night, Nico asked me to see me again. And I came up with the invitation to have lunch at the Dayananda Ashram, which was far, difficult to find, and it was an ashram, not a beautiful restaurant… It was a challenge. And Nico took it.

After lunch, on that second day with him, we walked along the Ganges, on the concrete promenade, towards the more touristic area. A few kids came to sell carnations for the Ganges puja to us and Nico talked to them, and gave them little foam hearts and smiley faces he carried with him. They loved him and stopped their begging.

We crossed Rama Bridge and walked among tourists, sadhus, cows, kids and motorcycles. We went back to the German Bakery and had tea there. Our conversation would never stop. Nico told me about his town, near Barcelona, his flat, his plants that some lady was taking care of while he traveled for three months in India, the corporate job he had been laid off from, his former partner, his rock-climbing passion, his dreams. I loved his life and everything he talked about because his passion was palpable and contagious. I liked his Catalonian accent. I felt at ease with him. I was happy we were sharing that special and very brief time. We walked again to the main road of little stores and stopped by a vendor that I already knew. Nico and I observed all his wonderful items and tried his singing bowls. The sun started to fall and it was time to say goodbye. I wanted to have my last dinner in Rishikesh with Krystle in the ashram. We were leaving in the afternoon towards Jaipur the following day. Nico was going to climb in Hampi. He asked me if I wanted to have his phone number but the truth was that I had lost my phone at the Phuket airport and his phone had been stolen in New Delhi. He was planning on going to Krabi next, which was at only a two hour boat ride from my home in Phuket, but I did not want to make plans then. I just walked away, fast before it became dark, along the river.

The next day, I woke up thinking of Nico. I asked Krystle to walk to the downtown and, surely enough, we bumped into him as he was going to a big market close to the ashram with his friend, who wanted to buy something there. We talked for a little moment and Krystle amusedly whispered to me “He likes you!”  We continued walking in opposite ways, while I only wished that there was more time with Nico.

Krystle and I returned to the ashram and, full of sadness said goodbye to the swamis and to the jade-colored holy river. The old man at the Gayatri store, which we called Starbucks, called a rickshaw for us. We managed to fit our bags and yoga mats in the rickety vehicle and started our journey to the bus stop. On our way there, I saw Nico and his friend, walking towards the ashram on the dusty road. I screamed so much that the rickshaw driver stopped in bewilderment. Nico was coming to say goodbye and we would have missed him if we had left a few minutes earlier. I managed to grab a card with my email address on it and handed it to him. I said to him “Find me in Thailand” and he said he would write. He blew a kiss and the rickshaw stared again, bouncing on the uneven road and I saw Nico through the dust, getting farther and farther from my life.

Dayananda Ashram

Sacred - The stories of Rishikesh

After lunch, Anish and I met outside of the dining hall. There had not been any discussion about it. It was an implicit invitation: we would go for a walk together.

It was the warmest time of the day, even when the sun was not all the way up –it never is in Rishikesh; there, the sun inexplicably rises and settles on one side of the sky, thus not traveling a whole semi-sphere. Nevertheless, following a frigid morning, the short time of warmth felt delicious. As every day, Anish was wearing a white cotton kurta and white pajama pants. I, of course, all in black.

Crossing the gates of the ashram was another world of wonder. The street dogs came to meet us, looking for love and cookies, while the huge bull, heavy on the pavement, remained unbothered. The old man at the Gayatri store, who served us dozens of teas and coffees, waived at us. We stepped on the dusty roads full of garbage and animal wastes, which did not smell. I peeked inside of the burning park and saw a couple of piles of burned logs, where they had cremated someone perhaps the previous evening. People of all ages wandered and the children that usually came to say “hello” and shake my hand watched us shyly.

As we approached the main road, the streets became busier with motorcyclists, candy stores, massage parlors and fruit carts. On the main road, which led to the Rama and Laxman walking bridges, stood a big and white Sikh temple. Anish invited me to explore it.

We had to take our shoes off –as when entering any building in India, really- and I, for being a woman, had to cover my head. For that purpose, a man at the door gave me a handkerchief. Anish helped me flatten it on my hair, as if I was his bride and he was helping me with my veil. Then we entered the cool sacred place and, for a few minutes, marveled at the immaculate interiors of alabaster and gold.

At the atrium, as we exited, two men gifted us with the temple offerings: yogurt drops and cake. They joyfully placed them on our bare hands, making them greasy with the ghee. I gave my cake crumbles to Anish, who accepted them happily and we walked down the steps of the temple on our bare feet, feeling the cold marble tiles.

Ghosts – The story of El Mago, chapter 8

We got off the metro at Petchaburi Station and started walking on Asok Montri road towards The Eugenia. It was a road of heavy traffic and dense smog, yet when we passed by a small open-air market the air filled with the distinct smell of grilled chicken and decaying food.

“It smells like Thailand!” El Mago said excitedly.

“Yes, like rotten food,” I responded without a quote of cynicism.

El Mago found this very amusing. “That is the way you talk about this land, which has hosted you with so much affection!” he joked.

The truth is that there are many markets around Thailand where one can buy raw and cooked food and the smells mix. And, where fresh meats are sold without the use of refrigeration at a constant summer temperature, it stinks. The juices of chicken, pork and fish drain from the tables onto the ground and rot throughout the day. The smell is somewhat covered by the succulent aroma of grilled meats, mainly chicken. Even as a vegetarian, I liked the smell of roasted flesh and burning charcoal, which briefly brought me back to my childhood.

We walked passed a university campus and sought in vain for a street to turn left. We were almost at the next metro station when we finally found it. We became disoriented. El Mago used the GPS in his phone and after a long time of walking and retracing our steps at a quiet neighborhood we found The Eugenia. It was an unusual building in that part of the world, as if it should have been in some British colonial city. They received us warmly and had us sit on a couch, then handed us chilled coconuts. Our eyes danced on everything at that magical place. Each item looked old yet really well kept, and we felt as if we had traveled back in time. They guided us to our room, which was enchanting. The floors were covered by thick rustic wooden boards and there was a box bed with delicate white curtains. In the bathroom there was an iron bathtub with separate faucets for the cold and hot water.

Unfortunately, there was not time to enjoy this wonderful place. The Phantom of the Opera was starting in a couple of hours and we still had to eat lunch and get ready. Quickly we walked downstairs and were stopped by a vision: in the next floor, a window let the white sunlight of the late afternoon fill in the space. It was beyond beautiful.

We had Indian food (one of the pleasures of being in Bangkok) around the corner from The Eugenia and came back to sit by the pool, which was green and surrounded by plants and looked like a pond. El Mago smoked and I impatiently waited.

I was so excited to wear my new beautiful dress. I showered in the charming and uncomfortable bathtub and quickly got ready. El Mago took his time. When he was almost ready he noticed that he had forgotten his socks, so he resolved to wear his flip-flops. 

Contrary to couples that have been together for enough time to dress alike, we did not match at all. While I wore my lace black dress and heals, he wore brown jeans and an open shirt over an under shirt –with the flip flops. I guessed that dressing down for a special evening like that was one of his ways of pushing me away. He had been more careful about his clothes the time we had gone to the movies, the night of his confession.

We rode the luxurious tuk tuk from The Eugenia to the MRT station. In our way there a strong wind from an imminent storm blew dirt around and when it calmed down it started to pour. We ran the few meters from the tuk tuk to the station but still got drenched.

After months of living in a semi-developed island where the biggest entertainment was a visit to the shopping mall, coming in a theater hall full of people was extremely exciting. It was an uncommon event, even for Bangkok. The famous musical, The Phantom of the Opera, made it from the Western World and so many people had wanted to see it that additional functions had to be offered.

The plot was allegoric to our own story. A phantom fell in love with a young woman but she would not love him back, despite all his efforts. He felt sorry for himself, then angry, and finally resigned. All the songs touched my heart. I wondered if El Mago felt identified with any part of the drama.

When we left the theater it was not raining any longer. We took the metro back to the area of the hotel and walked around to find a place to eat dinner. It was not easy for either of us to find food we would eat. We compromised to sit at a bar and order salads. The bar was on the corner of one of the roads to perdition in the Sukkhumvit area.  I was not too hungry. Right before sitting El Mago had brought up again the implicit non-exclusivity clause of our relationship. I felt exhausted. However, dinner ended on a good note and we went for a walk on this street to experience a different kind of cultural activity. Lovely creatures wearing very little; men selling apparently useless items (oversized teddy bears and fruit baskets); moms begging with their babies; foreigners filled with excitement; music, smoke, alcohol, lights, voices, laughs, everything entangled along one short block.

We sat at an outdoor table of one of the bars and El Mago ordered shots of a licorice flavored drink that felt like fire going through the throat. At one point, El Mago had to use the toilet inside. He came back with his eyes wide open and the funniest expression. The vision of about a dozen naked women dancing on the bar had shocked him. He had seen more exposed vaginas at once than he had probably seen in his whole life.

We changed bars and had more shots. A creature of the night in small clothing and big fake eyelashes came to talk to us. We both flirted with her. The lights, the music and our words blurred together into a haze of nonsense. Only one thing was true: being with him.

Then we stumbled a few blocks and found The Eugenia. And the iron bathtub. And the canopy bed of soft linen.

On Sunday, after a night of bad sleep and a good coffee we paid a second visit together to Jatujak Market. It was hotter than the previous time and the hangover did not make it any easier… Still, we managed to walk around and buy a couple of things. An hour before I had to go to the airport we sat at the Jatujak Park, right by the lake. We were not returning to the island together because El Mago had decided to stay a couple more days. I did not want to go.

Staying at beautiful The Eugenia inspired him and he told me, “We both have similar ideas about what we want to do; someday we should do something together. Maybe a hotel. But it will be strict business. Do not create false ideas in your mind”.

I asked him to hug me and he quickly acceded, but it was like hugging an armored man. He was sand filtering through my fingers.

People lounged in the sun by the lake, chatting with friends, buying food for the pigeons and enjoying the passing Sunday afternoon. We were ten thousand miles away from our native land, and yet the picture was so familiar.