The Place

A journey of nine hours through the ups and downs of mountain roads can be quite winding and arduous. For the passengers, the journey was therefore made better by the occasional stops for sweet chai, stuffed parathas and shared cigarettes. These were pit stops, unplanned but necessary. Necessary as much to rest the eyes (for the view around was breathtaking), as to rest the mind (for the mind tends to meander at a higher speed, as if to compensate for the slow driving in the hills, and this journey of the mind is usually inward, towards an elusive deeper meaning, and can be more exhausting than it seems to the unobserving eye!). These stop overs were the points in the journey where conversations would happen, ranging from how boring work was and how callous the bosses were, to the latest in the world of sports and politics. Then the driver would wordlessly signal departure and all would get ready for the way ahead.

In journeys such as these, music plays quite an important role, in setting up the mood or in starting conversations, but sometimes, the best part is the pause between the changing of the songs for it is in the brief silence that they could hear the sound of the wind in the trees, of the water flowing a couple of hundred feet below or of the occasional pitter patter of the rain beating down on the road. The air smelled clean and pure, a much needed change from the smoky city air, and the passersby seemed less worried and more happy. They smiled an easy smile, almost as if smiling at us, pitying the lives we lead far away in the cities and saying to us, "Welcome to our side of the world. We might not have the latest gizmos and gadgets, but we certainly have happiness in our hearts. Can you say the same about yourself?”. This last question was in reality more a figment of the imagination, a guilt ridden in our own hearts, imagining our lives to be more difficult than those of others with a different way of life. Our intelligence, the others' wealth and the others' peace of mind always appear more than they actually are, or so the saying goes. Nonetheless, by the look of it, these souls did seem more content and simple.

What defines happiness? The answer would, of course vary from one individual to another, but would a common definition include the prospect of doing what seems normal to oneself without the beings around pouncing and snatching what they claim is their share of your bliss?

It was a dark place, literally, with a cloud cover blotting out the sun. It was as close to nature as one would get but it was as if the sun wasn't allowed there, banished to the cities and thereall. The darkness was very apt and suited the place. Part of the human mind is still scared of the light and is more comfortable in the dark because light shows things the way they are where as darkness leaves some things to the imagination. In a place like this, imagination is of great importance, partly because it gives the freedom to view life in a different, if darker light and makes you see things as you haven't seen them before, and partly because of the cover of anonymity it provides allowing you to be closer to who you are without the fear of others noticing it. 

There were numerous cafés to visit, and not one had anyone asking you to come in. You were welcome in any and all of them and no one would stop you or welcome you with an open door. You would have to find yourself a place and though it might seem strange in the beginning, it adds to the beauty of the place. Once inside, you could sit anywhere on the many rugs laid out in a rectangular pattern with pillows to support your back and arms. Good music added to the ambience of the dark lights setting up the mind on a journey that would take you away from all worries and allow you to be yourself, in the most primal and pure form. You could laugh, cry, or just be who you are and no one would ask you anything. Everyone around had an understanding, even accepting expression in their eyes. It was as if they were saying, “We have been on a similar journey as you, and we know it has been difficult. Why don’t you rest your tired mind for a little while? It is ok and all for the good. You need it.” The waiters would come and have a happy smile on their faces, and you would wonder if you would get the drinks and dishes you wanted or something entirely different. But slowly, you would relax and start to go with the flow, trusting the surroundings and those in it. Trusting that it will all be good. And it does turn out to be good. The food and drinks do arrive, albeit in their own sweet time, but the food is good and the wait is worth it.

It is as if you had crossed one of the many bridges enroute the place and inadvertently, you had crossed over to an entirely new world, a better world, above and away from the raging waters below. Where you could be who you are, do what you like, at your own sweet pace and you would not be bothered. A place where you were welcome to share and no one would judge you. A place where the rich and poor would sit on the floor together. Perhaps you could do the same at a temple, and maybe a sort of temple it was, only better, for in any place of religion, there are imprints of superiority, of arrogance, of bigotry, of a higher power if nothing else. This was, instead, a place where you learn more about yourself, where you are the higher power that you need to understand. Where a place of religion is about the community and surrendering to a higher power, this was about individualism and understanding the self, being closer to the self that can be known rather than the unknown superpower.

The place was a stark reminder of the strife within, the self trying to ascertain the truth, seek and hold on to the little light available and fighting the different contradicting versions of reality depending on the state of the self itself. The transition of the self from black and white to grey is a journey not easy but makes more sense once you reach the destination. The reason grey becomes more acceptable is that while it is still darker than the white, it is also more forgiving than the black.

Then there was Motu, the black dog who set out with us on the journey of the wild, a two kilometer walk into the forest to sit with us by the riverside for an hour and whose ears picked up the scent of a wolf on the other side of the river and who warned us to head back. Not content with that, he showed us the entire way back and was there with us till the next morning when we headed back to the wilderness called the city.

This was a place that would be visited again, not for the darkness, but for the journey within, not for the food, but for the impersonal nature of the place, for the loyal Motu, for the intoxicating freedom the place offers, for the seeds of the dreams it plants in the mind…