Reiki Protection 

 

 There Bethany and I were, squished together side-by-side, intimately sharing a “double sleeper” compartment (1/2 the size of a twin bed), on the upper deck of an unsteady, jam packed bus creaking down the switchbacks of the Himalayas. The mountains were biding farewell; disappearing with our decent. Slowly but surely, development skewed our views. The sun set and darkness filled the bus. A moment of  punctuated fear as the road beneath our bus disappeared, opening up to the vast mountainside, followed by a quick decision to utilize my newly retrained Reiki skills to protect ourselves, the jolting bus and all who waved goodbye to the peace of the Himalayas.

 

 

Impress Me Taj

 

After our first trip everyone always asked “Did you see the Taj Mahal..!?” to which I answered, “Well, no. But we did get to…” and proceeded forth with the monologue explaining the great work we were able to witness via our NGO visits, the families with whom we connected, the bond of our group of 13. But to be honest, it stung a bit that we had missed it. Ok, maybe it actually throbbed. And thus, Bethany and I dug our heels in and made Agra, the site of the one, the only, Taj Mahal-one of the 8 Wonders of the World and undying architecturally embodied devotion of love, designed by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan for his wife- a priority stop. For better, or worse. And so, I stubbornly thought, bring it on Taj; impress me already.

 

Discoveries:

 

            Agra is known for its schemes to poison tourists and thus, scam them out of insurance money and any sense of health/safety/wellbeing.

 

            The Taj trail has stripped the area around its grand gates of life; earthly, economic, social, spiritual. This discrepancy hung heavy and sick in the air.

 

            Heat certainly can shut a body, psyche and spirit down. I hadn’t ever experienced such a fear of this reality, until our first night in the 150Rs ($3.50) room we found. Power outages stopped our fan. Toxins visibly soaked from our head and skin into our sheets.

 

             The Taj Mahal is utterly magnificent. It just is. (I hate to be proven wrong.)

 

To step upon its grounds and become sucked into a sea of smartly financed tourists with articulate guides, grungy, sleep deprived backpackers, Indian families on holiday, barefoot hunched Indian men and women covered with sun protecting saris and turbans, small pitter-pattering children and more….was immense. An immense wave of life, history, grandeur and human ambition; surrounded by the cruelty of having not. And thus is India.

 

 

The Delhi Vortex: Take Two, Take Three

 

“Sir…we’re looking for train…”

 

“Canceled.”

 

“What?”

 

“Canceled. Next.”

 

Three cancelled tickets, due to rioting and protests from local tribal population fighting to gain scheduled caste status and thus, welfare rights along the eastern portion of Rajasthan. Long lines. Unanswered questions. Hopes to be let back into the Indian Social Institute for the night without reservations.

 

Perhaps, we’ll never get out of Delhi.

 

A morning race across the city to secure the last seats on the Rajasthani Express straight to Mumbai (close to 32 hours). 2^nd Class AC Sleeper, hello. This time, we’re

taking care of ourselves. No if, ands or butts. We shall succumb and say a prayer for Rajasthan, the rioting, the lives of all involved and for Justice. But we shall also sleep.

 

How immensely different the India we had come to know and travel alongside—heavily heated, body soaked air, hands grabbing into the windows, while sweat rolls and the world churns— now looked, from inside our thickly sealed 2^nd class AC train

windows. Inside this train we are handed a shiny, clean pillow and sheet, complimentary bottled water, and free newspapers, and also find ourselves quite engaged with a polite, respectful man who is interested in talking politics, life philosophy, and family in a reciprocal way. Interesting how quickly and drastically our vantage point could change…

 

 

 

And then came the Monsoons…

 

It didn’t matter that our decrepit accommodations were falling apart around us (quite literally) and we had to share a bathroom with the entire floor. It didn’t matter that I lost my rain jacket on the streets and we were without umbrellas during the daily, down-pouring monsoons. It also didn’t matter one bit to me that we had to pass up the possibility of staring in Bollywood film dance scenes because of our short timeline.

 

By god, we had made it to Mumbai. The last leg of our journey. The cosmopolitan, westernized, liberal, world city that pumps out Bollywood films, Bollywood star gossip and Bollywood style drama and fashion. Its lush greenery, diverse crowds and grand remnants of British rule scooped our weary, heat worn bodies into the palm of its sashaying hand.

 

Yet, as we sliced through circling traffic, sardine packed crowds and sheets of monsoon; we were certainly still in India.  Our withering Salvation Army was slumped just across the street from the grand Taj Regency hotel, one of the top 5 star hotels in the world, sporting Louis Vuitton, a private pool and a seaside view lounge with prices that made my body hurt. North of the city, the largest slum in the area, covered in blue tarps to pretend to shield the rain, encircled the Mumbai International Airport, nestled side-by-side, their discrepancy unabashed.

In this way, Mumbai swirled up India, it’s bold, beautiful, broken and wildly brave (along with a Chatty-Cathy taxi driver at the wee hours of our last Indian morning, full of Ganesha stories), and bid us a timely farewell.