My memories of the past had been messed up by my constant attempts to be culturally appropriate in my appearance, my behavior and my remarks along with thousands of moments so crazy that I'm still working on understanding them properly.
A scene of me running with a 28-pound backpack on my back to grasp a friend's hand as he pulled me onto the moving train.
A scene of an Indian man screaming, "You scum! You go out of India! No respect for us Indians!" and pushing me after I rejected his request to be photographed with me.
A scene of an old lady furiously gesturing and grabbing my breast just before I moved away to allow the crowd fall off of the train along with her.
A scene of me happily drinking Kingfisher and jesting away in a bizarre mix of American Sign Language, Indian Sign Language and International Sign with friends.
A scene of Violet and me giggling as our laughing yoga instructor sticking out his tongue and screaming at the top of his lungs at a tiny park in Mumbai.
So many scenes. So many memories. They all happened so fast, so deeply, and so naturally that I am still inhaling them in and exhaling their influences out.
The future also holds no meaning for me. Violet and I are literally surviving from a day to the other day, focusing on understanding what is right in the front of us.
Even when we are trying to plan tomorrow, events often lead us to change our plans.
In Ahmedadad, I was supposed to stay one more night with my good friend's family. However, hours later, I found myself instead panting as I held my friend's hand as we watched the station disappearing into the darkness of the night.
After visiting the Ajanta Caves, Violet and I were supposed to take a bus to a friend's house in Pune. Fate instead took us back on the train to Mumbai for one more day, forcing us to prepare for the total of three long nights in a row sleeping on the train.
In Palomem, we had every intention to start the day with yoga, to continue the day with kayaking and drinking feni and to end the day with train tickets in our hands for the next day's new destination.
Once again, life surprised us.
After our yoga lesson, the yoga master asked us to come in for tea with him. Our conversation during teatime had been so inspirational that Violet and I found ourselves becoming his informal students at the Aranya Yoga Ashram, committing to the project personally designed by Baba, our master. We are to practice reiki, mudra, meditation, and yoga for the next four or five days.
Nearly two weeks in India. So many moments yet to fully comprehend. So many emotions to sort through. So many thoughts to marvel at. The past is crumbling behind me and the future is forever eluding me while I am constantly finding myself understanding only what is before my eyes at this very moment.
Yet I do know one thing: when it comes to traveling, you never stop learning how to live.
Or as Baba told us during teatime, "Learning is the friend of a traveller."
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