TRAVELS TO THE HIMALAYAS : Arrive in India - Day One :

Travels to The Himalayas : Arrive in India - Day One :

the first 10 surprising hours

In 1998, as a single white Western woman, aged 43,

I set out alone to travel & trek The Himalayas.

My mom had died on Valentine’s Day and had left me $5000.

I decided to pay homage to her by performing the extraordinary,

discover the most meaningful,

and see the most beautiful with her benefaction. 

Go way beyond belief and travel to a faraway distant destination.

Create the most memorable experience I could. For her. Through me.

In herTribute. In her Honor. In her Memory.

As she walk next to me every Step of the way.

Snow Lion Expeditions organized hikes in The Himalayas.

Many incorporated visiting ancient Buddhist monasteries.

Found my answer. A pilgrimage that would be out of this world.

Signed up for a 3 week hike with 4 other Americans that began in Ladakh, India.

Chose to room & board with one of the other hikers to save money.

Also, decided to leave a week early and travel beforehand by myself to see The Taj Mahal.

I flew 24 hours with a 4 hour stop-over in Seoul.

The closer I got to India, the more foreign my surroundings became

and the more foreign I became to my surroundings.

Eastern culture exploded before my wide open eyes.

Fellow travelers from Korea wore super chunk high platformed sneaker shoes looking much like R. Crumb cartoon characters.

Girls wore bright wild magentas. Little mirrors decorated their super flashy footwear.

Flower daisy decal designs donned vinyl plastic bags. Bright saris bloomed up.

In the long corridor of the New Delhi airport as I excited my plane,

I was first welcomed by the auspicious Hindu deity, Ganesh, the elephant-headed god and The Remover of Obstacles.

I was only just now beginning : The Trip of a Life Time.

Expectantly, excitedly, exiting the airport to the dark outside world at midnight,

I was slam dunked, overwhelmed, and greeted by the humidity, the aromas,

and a large unruly, in-crazy-commotion, mob of loudly yelling Indians,

all compressed and pushing each other up against a tall chain link fence

that they were on the other side of.

I was wildly shocked. What’s going on ? What was the reason for all the tension ?

Many arrivals landed around the same time. Everybody was looking for everyone.

Hello India.

Someone from Snow Lion was to meet me but no one was to be found.

Not knowing what to do and feeling deserted, I kept stepping forward in trepidation,

one foot placed in front of the other,

as I walked trance-like and frightened out into the black of night amongst all these agitated shouting-out-loud peoples. Should I get a cab ? I don’t know.

Keep walking Kris. Stay poised, and remain calm, and, remember to swallow.

My beating thumping heart resided way high up in my throat.

Far ahead in the distance, people were holding up signs.

One sign had my name on it.

The man said Snow Lion and was I relieved.

Quickly whooshed away in a yellow taxi,

I noticed the driver sat on the right side of the vehicle.

Out in traffic, there were no lane designations on the pavement and drivers and cars swerved zipping back and forth dangerously dashing interweaving around and through and on all sides of each other all the while constantly beeping their horns non-stop, and all the while driving way too a fast speed in this massive free-for-all no driving rules overly confusing congested commotion. And this was in the middle of midnight.

I was checked into this fancy yet austere Claridges Hotel.

It was constructed of polished marble.

Three hours of sleep later, I awoke, ate breakfast, and then,

was quite determined to view my outside surroundings.

I decided to take a walk around outside.

*

A tall doorman wearing a giant white turban and long white coat

held the front door of the hotel open for me.

I felt instantly and unexpectedly like I had been just then transported

to : Being Inside of :

A Dream.

Was the doorman Real ?

Was I Real ?

Were my feet touching the ground ?

I don’t know.

I walked through that hand held opened door for me

and out into the otherworldly esoteric mystical landscape of India.

I had no clue what await me on the other side of the door.

I distinctly remember saying to myself at that very moment ;

“Kris, you are definitely not in Kansas anymore, nor anywhere near Kansas.”

Still, even still, continually wondering further to myself,

am I even on the same planet as Kansas ?

I don’t know.

Once outside the hotel grounds, a busy city street with traffic buzzing by was near.

I turn to my left to walk around the block.

No sidewalks, only dirt and men squatting near the street,

this was the metropolis of a large city.

There was a white canvas cot by the edge of the street

that relaxed men were sitting on and meeting around.

I walked for a short bit and came upon a large white building

with a high stonewall around it. A sign read : “Art Show.”

Interested, I turn and headed down the building’s side walkway,

as many folks were walking out towards me.

A group of orange robed monks. Families, together.

All coming out from way behind the building.

I decided to check it out.

There was a large open park area behind the building.

A half-dozen or so steps to climb to enter the backyard open grassy area park.

Everybody had taken their shoes off by the steps to step into this grassy park.

It was rather puzzling ? yet I did, likewise.

Shoes shoes shoes scattered all over.

Murals surrounding the perimeter for backdrops.

I recognized Gandhi on one of them.

A bunch of people surrounded a spot up ahead, so I walked over.

On the ground there were many raised stone Foot Steps, one after another,

that led up to the spot.

The Foot Steps stopped

at a waist-high stone monolith,

which was bedecked in marigold flower necklaces.

Instantly a lightning bolt

ka-pow !!

flash realization

zap

my consciousness.

Followed by the booming sound

of loud internal thunder.

ElectricaI neuron impulses coursed through my body.

 I put it together.

I put the whole scene together and all at once.

I understood now.

This. Is. The Exact Spot. Where. Gandhi.

Had Been Shot.

Immediately after the internal lightning bolt strike,

I was flooded with emotion.

I choked up

and was not near ready to experience the overwhelming Totality of it All.

Not fully able yet to absorb the meaning of the spot

in which I now found myself :

so casually,

so nonchalantly,

so unexpectedly,

and completely unprepared for,

and now standing

in.

I closed up and went inside myself to gather my senses.

Held on to myself, gasping for air.

Had no idea that this is what it was.

Shookened up.

I was unprepared.

I had innocently naively stumbled upon a very holy shrine

of one of the most incredibly saintly humans to have walked the earth.

Here were, right before my eyes, Gandhi’s very last Foot Steps.

And here I was, by mere oblivious happenstance standing in that same sacred space.

I had to collect myself all by myself.

Pull it together Kris.

I had to pull it together.

All I wanted to do at that moment was cry my eyes out and sob.

Not an appropriate thing to do at the time, as all around me was hush.

All was Respect. All was Holy. All was Sacred. All were in Prayer.

This was Gandhi’s shroud time.

Not your uncontrollably emotional wanting to burst out weepy time Kris.

Zip it up. Hush now. Don’t you cry.

There were no signs in front of the building designating

that This. Is. The actual for real “Birla House” -

the place Gandhi had lived out his last days.

I recognized the window (door) that Gandhi excited as he walk with his granddaughters

on each arm, as they escorted him to his speechmaking place in this park

on that very last day.

I had seen the movie Gandhi with Ben Kingsley,

in which they portrayed this very Birla House.

I recognized it from the film. It was exact. This is really real.

I pulled it together. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I walked forward towards the house.

A man met me and started explaining what was what

inside this now museum devoted to Gandhi’s life.

A room inside was darkened and filled with these deep shadow box dioramas

of little scenes. They were Gandhi’s life portrayed with little dressed up dolls and scene props inside the displays, which were supported by tall eye level viewing legs.

Each box a different chapter in his life. Yes, there he was a lawyer in South Africa.

Suddenly,

I realized

I was going

to faint.

The shock of all I had just experienced took hold.

I told the man I had to sit down.

Ok, he led me to some steps, and I sat for a bit, then tried getting back up.

The man was there, again, explaining.

I could only stand for a little bit and then needed to sit again.

I told him, and then he hurriedly rushed me to the very end of the exhibit

and brought me to the part which show Gandhi being shot.

I believe it was important to him to be sure that I saw this before leaving.

Well, that only made matters worse, the gun, the blood, the death, all there.

I remember letting out a cry, and turned to leave.

A woman all of a sudden from nowhere from somewhere

surrounded me in her arms and took me to a room, sat me down at a table,

and gave me a glass of murky water. I politely took the tiniest sip.

I lay my head down on the table gasping quietly for air and try resting.

I vividly remember talking to myself, holy shit Kris, you are in a real fix now !!

How are you going to get back to your hotel.

You are all alone here with nobody really here to help you.

Get it together. I sat for a longer while.

I felt better after my personal pep talk

and check-in with the real reality of the situation.

I had a plan.

Lifting my head up,

I view the room.

It was a kitchen.

Are you kidding me ?

I am sitting in Gandhi’s very own kitchen now ??

I tried not to get overwhelmed again.

Trying really hard to be calm cool collected and maintain composure.

I realized a-ha at that point, I needed to start getting used to the idea

of being blown away at every single turn in the road of this entire journey

I have embarked upon.

Better get used to it Kris,

without a doubt

you are in store for much much more of the major Overwhelm

with all the astonishing, astounding, historical, and ancient wonders that you will encounter. Take a breath girl.

This trip is going to change you forever.

There is no going back.

One Foot in front of the other.

And most importantly, remember this : breathe. Just breathe. You got this.

 I pulled myself together and followed my plan of action.

I had decided to just make a quick mad dash to get back to my hotel room.

Only, first, and quickly, I was bound & determined to see Gandhi’s very own room

as I had known it from the film Gandhi.

Just take a quick peep Kris. You can do this. 

I got up from the table, walked out into the hallway and found Gandhiji’s room.

Looked in the doorway.

The room was filled with peace.

A plain & simple sparse white bare room.

His five beloved worldly possessions were all there.

Each one had a real single orchid placed atop each one of these holy of holy of holys.

His wire-rimmed spectacles, his sandals, his bowl, his plate, and his pocket watch.

I sighed out loud.

I was given the special treat of utter complete self-indulgence to have the time and space

to be able to view his room all to myself without any other visitors.

His room a Church an Altar a place of Worship,

and it was filled with Reverence, Admiration, Honor, Glory.

And a whole lotta Love & Bravery.

I stay there standing on my own two feet,

quietly, appreciatively,

basking in the residual atoms and molecules of

The Mahatma Gandhi.

I turned away from his doorway filled up

with newly discovered internal convictions about goodness and peace.

I was recharged with an inner calm.

My heart had witnessed the space once occupied by a being like none other.

I was able to take the time to spend some time near his Once Flaming Hearth.

Walking towards the exit slowly, I view the man across the front room

who initially explained to me each stop and Step in Gandhi’s life.

He looked up at me as I placed both palms together

and slowly bowed my head down to him. He did likewise to me.

I walked out into the New Delhi sunlight knowing :

I had just had my feet swept out from under me,

my breath had been taken away,

speechless, and mute with a loss for words,

blown away,

emotionally shaken to the core,

struck by lightning,

the rug pulled out from under me, besides,

and was physically struck,

taken down to my knees.

All in a matter of

One second.

Only to be soothed, comforted, hushed, regain composure, and become completely serene

.... in the Moments that follow.

Ok Kris you asked for this. You signed up for this. This is India.

I made my way back to the hotel room.

Took off all my damp clothes,

stretched out flat on my back on the bed,

arms outstretched in supplication surrendering to the gods.

I let loose with every cell in my body into a full-bore core sob.

After a bit, feeling much better, I showered, put on fresh clothing,

drank about a gallon of water,

and headed back out, refreshed, alive, renewed, and ready for more.

More !!

I proclaimed !!

I  felt much more prepared for India now.

Ready.

Get set.

Go.

Let me have it.

All that surrounded me was a culture that was all strange and new and foreign to me, as I pass thru there strangely adopting to my situation.

The thing is, tho, I get it there.

I rejoice in their rituals their different ways of doing things.

I feel somewhat at home there in an unordinary way

because I like how they do certain things.

Not all things, tho, I must add.

Yet, seeing a large city with dirt sidewalks was new for me,

yet it made me question the ways I am used to.

Why all the cement America ? Why all the curbs ? Why all the landscaping ?

And. Why ? all those noisy deafening leaf blowers ?

Why do Westerners do things the way they do them ?

I don’t know. You don’t know. We don’t know.

That’s just the way it is.

In America.

That’s how they roll.

Tidy. So prim so proper. Neat. Uptight.

I see my own country differently because I saw a country that does things differently

and I think, that’s a cool way to operate.

Never thought about this kind of stuff before.

In certain ways I unexplainably relate to India more than my own country.

I welcome the spirituality on every street corner, altars in vehicles,

all the decorative decorations,

and especially especially ....

especially all the vivid vibrant color.

Everything is : color : color : color.

All the music.

The voice singsongs out their language as they speak

not in guttural staccato spits it out as Westerners harshly do.

Many differences.

All good.

Each their own.

I had only just landed the night before at midnight and been here for barely ten hours.

Or 600 baby grande tick tocking minutes.

Or, yet again, 360,000 short nano it seemed seconds.

Enough time to only just dip my big toe in the water.

Acclimate to the culture slower ??

There is no slower.

Free fall into the unkown.

Transformations do not wait around ho hum la tee dah to happen.

They leap out at you from nowhere and grab you unbeknownest

pluck

and ker-plunk

you head first

away from all

that you once knew

when you least expect it.

I intuitively understood right away that the entire trip was going to be like this.

More of the same.

Earth shattering.

Mind exploding.

The world as I knew it was no longer within reach.

My cranium will be opened up like a split watermelon

letting all the light in,

full blast illuminated lighthouse beams,

no messing around here,

see how much you can handle.

There’s no time-out for help or to be rescued coddled or pampered.

You are all in.

And yes,

you will be fine

because the journey you chose

is the one that you need to take to completion.

This I do know.

All you have to do is :

remain present,

absorb your surroundings,

learn, digest, drink it in, grasp, remember, & recall.

And, most importantly : Hold on.

Get ready get set go.

Graduation day around the corner when you fly back home.

This. Is.

The Best of Life

compressed into days

filled with miraculous marvels

and the vast flabbergast.

This I do know.

********************************************************************************************

Good luck on your coming journeys.

We’ve only just begun.

The best is yet to come.

So, now !!

… now ??

You say you wish to experience The Himalayas ?

The Goddess of the Sky.

Ok.

Then hang on tight to your western wig hat girl with all your Might.

You think on Day One

that the great big modern metropolis Indian city

of New Delhi

was too much to take-in so suddenly ?? 

wait..

Next stop, a side trip,

tho : The Taj Mahal.

There’s a really good reason

WHY it Won the honor of the title One of The Wonders of the World.

There is only One Taj Mahal.

Only One.

Hello India.

Day One.