Letting go in Varanasi

by Erin Boyer (Russia)

Making a local connection India

Varanasi, the city of life and death. Where the dogs learn to fight or die trying. Crowded streets that smell of incense, chanting rings in the distance. Transported into another dimension, you can no longer hide from what lies buried deep inside. Here I saw myself from up above, observing who I had become. Understanding that I could be anyone, anything. And who was that? Who should I be, who could I be? The possibilities became endless as I began to embrace the Indian “be here now” attitude in Varanasi. My ex boyfriend and I were traveling in India and to keep things short and sweet, we were moving in different directions. As I was playing hopscotch in the clouds discovering who I was, he was digging a hole in the ground consumed by his demons as I released mine. It was no secret that something had shifted between us. I began searching for some way out of the relationship and yet could not admit things were coming to an end. It was in Varanasi, or Benares as some locals still call it, that things began to change. Wandering in and out of the small, winding passages that connect the city, the old bow and I found ourselves regularly visiting a small chai stand where an Indian woman, Atheeva Aida, sat. I remember the first time I saw her; time stood still as our eyes met. There was an understanding between us, we had met before. Where I cannot say, but there is something timeless about existence and in the eyes of this woman I understood the potential of my own destiny. Words cannot explain the magnetism of her presence, the healing quality of her energy. I often sat quietly listening to her words, observing her interactions with others. She was the Queen of Swords, the humble chai stand her throne. There she sat speaking truth, showering wisdom and love throughout the land. “It is time to stand up, free the sword from the stone and take control of your life!” Through Atheeva and our time at the chai stand we began to run in a circle of local people, a mixture of intellectually inclined renunciants, hip young people and silly old men. Everyday we sat beneath a tree along the Ganga. People were free to come and go as they pleased as many ideas, stories and songs were exchanged. Words began to float away as I coveted this laughter and love for life that impregnated my soul. I immersed myself in the language and culture through observation, embracing the peaceful silence growing inside me. The old boyfriend began to find his way, but his uphill battle had only just begun. No longer interested in our interactions I began pushing him away, wanting to be alone. During this time, one particular Indian man entered our acquaintance. He knew little English and remained very quiet. He watched me fearlessly. Finally someone was giving me the attention I deserved! I began a sort of love affair with this man. Together we explored the city, going to places I had never been before, spending our days in mimed communication and scattered words “Hindi, English, Hindi”. Conflicted within my mind and soul I chose to ignore the strangeness of the relationship. The more time we spent together the more things became clear. I had projected this concept of true, pure love onto him. But I could not hide from reality for long. Yes, without words there was something magical, inspiring about this connection. But my Hindi was improving and I knew that this man was nothing more than a fantasy, false love. Is love just a story we tell ourselves to distract us from loneliness, fear, the truth? My whole life I have been wanting, searching for “true love”, holding on to the idea that I need someone else to complete me. Standing still in the karmic vortex of Varanasi I started to question this need for love outside of myself. I let go of this man, leaving Varanasi behind as I embraced the next adventure. One phase of life complete, I entered a period of transformation, grossly unprepared for what was to come.