A call of the heart

by Bárbara Esther Bedwell Bustamante (Chile)

I didn't expect to find New Zealand

When I decided to cross the Pacific Ocean to live 9.131 km away from home, in a two-island country, I arranged to stay with two ex-classmates for the first couple of days. They used to party hard back in Chile, but when they started a relationship and moved to New Zealand, they suddenly switched their lives around and became yogis, vegetarians, and converted to Vaishnavism. They kindly welcomed me into their little austere house, and shared a creaky sofa in a corner of their living room for the weekend. My first night, I rested my jet-lagged body on top of a scratchy hand-knitted blanket and stayed starring at the pictures of Hindu deities hanging from the walls, unable to fall asleep. The next morning at dawn, I saw the couple leaving the house very quietly. I wondered where they could be going so early on a Sunday. The answer would wake me up a couple of hours later with a phone call. -Hey, you. We will be working all day in a yoga center, in case you want to come for lunch. There will be a talk, music, dance, and vegetarian food. You just need to bring 5 dollars to join in. Thank God in Auckland it is pleasantly easy to obtain maps of the city anywhere, so it wasn’t difficult for me to find the place. A discreet black sign displaying a large face-like sun, with round wide open eyes, a subtle smile, and rays emulating lotus leaves, was the only indication that the narrow ascending staircase next door was The Loft. All kinds of shoes were piled up on the steps, making tricky to climb up to the entrance on the second floor. When I finally made it, a strong aroma of incense seeping from under the door, welcomed me, hinting an intriguing mystic experience. -Hare Krishna! - was the greeting from the only person who was in the large hall, which was generously adorned with fresh flowers of bright colors and with pictures of Krishna’s life all over. The young redhead woman in glasses, dressed in a light blue saree that matched her eyes, looked at me with a dash of sadness. - If you are coming to the talk, you are late, they are all inside. -Oh, I´m sorry, I replied kind of ashamed, I didn't know. -Don’t worry, she responded with a generous smile and German accent, -you can enter if you want. -No, no, I don’t want to interrupt. -Ok, she concluded, gently shrugging her shoulders, -and what is your name? I gave her my name, without imagining that that would be the beginning of an unlikely, heartfelt friendship. The Loft grew into my refuge to practice yoga and to escape from the world by times. The chanting sessions, where prayers to Krishna were repeated countless times to the cheerful sound of harmoniums, manjeeras and khol drums, were a novel experience, as fascinating as bewildering. I didn’t become a devotee or convert to Vaishnava religion. But I did turn vegetarian, though. Yet, my reasons were quite different from those of my German friend’s. I simply didn’t want to continue being complicit of animal suffering, while she was afraid of karma and didn’t desire to reincarnate as a cow in her next life. We shared lots of great moments during my first lousy, unemployed months living in a hostel in Auckland. Despite the fact that she was from a European culture completely different from my own, and that she worshiped a blue-skinned God with peacock feathers in his hair, she was the closest friend I had during that time. Until one day she told me she was getting married. I was happy for her, but I realized that it would be the end of our friendship as we knew it. Her whole life would be utterly devoted to Krishna, her husband, and her home. After the wedding, I moved to the South for a job opportunity, and although we stayed in touch for a while by email, inevitably soon she stopped writing. I never heard from her again. Just as her home country, family, career and former western lifestyle, I had been left behind too.