Country Roads Take Me Home To The Place I Belong

It took six hours to drive 203 kilometers from Haridwar to Indira Gandhi Airport in Dehli. I didn't even mind, as the car we were in had AC and it was sweet, sweet, bliss. Kiki and I had made the decision to head home, feeling that three weeks of an Indian summer, dysentery and a myriad of small awakenings were enough for this particular trip. I was relieved, happy, full, sad, and hot when we finally climbed into the taxi outside of the ashram and bid adieu to those that had become like family to us; waving out the back window of the car, smiles on our faces and tears in our eyes.

Through the horse carts, rickshaws, pot holes, buses, trucks, cows and pedestrians we sped down the country roads at a fast paced, lurching 40 kilometers per hour; horns ablazing.

We are dropped at off at the upper level of the airport sans our guide who picked us up and as we were to soon discover, sans his knowledge of the inner workings of Indian airports.

With our overloaded backpacks on a cart we head for Gate 2. We are told that we need a ticket to get into the gate; meaning into the AC and out of the chaos of summers dusty streets. My Western mind does not compute this information, don't we go into the airport to get a ticket??

"No ma'am, get ticket, then go in, then gate, isn't it?" We ask where to go. Upstairs, downstairs, across the street, down a hallway to a locked door, back upstairs, in the lift, out of the lift, back and forth with our heavy cargo and our heavy hearts.

We ask again, "Where is the American Airlines office?"

"Back that way ma'am," says one, "No back that way ma'am," says another. "Sorry ma'am, up the lift," says yet another.

I look at Kiki, with red flaring in my eyes, WE JUST CAME FROM THE F'ING LIFT! She heads in the direction of the elevator, I proceed to ask her if she is aware that it is polite in this culture to always say yes. I DON'T WANNA go back in the elevator. I want a beer. I want my mommy.

We finally find the airline office back in the direction of where we had already been down a dark hallway. My patience has worn thin and all yogic principles are fast disappearing even though I know intellectually that this type of experience is par for the course for traveling abroad. I just want to go home.

I stayed outside with the bags and Kiki went inside. She comes out and says that they can't find her name. I sigh and say, "IMPOSSIBLE." She goes back in. She comes back out and says that they are saying that we missed our flight. I say, "WHAT?!" She tells me to come in but I can't leave our bags, pregnant with trinkets and gifts on the cart.

A deep feeling of dread begins to settle into the pit of my stomach. She comes out, flustered, with four or five AA employess chattering in Indian Enlgish. They begin to talk about "stand by" and no guarantees and another 250 dollar fee. My head is spinning and we both have tears in our eyes. Oh fuck, I whisper, as I realize that our flight was for 12:15am on June 25th. It is June 25th and its 7pm. Our flight left while we were sleeping the night before! It never occurred to us that we would have to leave the ashram on the 24th!!

How could we be so dumb? We look at each other, the agent is still talking. Monkey shit! Robotically I hand over my passport, Keeks is on the verge of losing her marbles. They hand us a piece of paper. I hear the words, "Counter...reroute...may not get on tonight..flights leave every 24 hours."

They direct us back to Gate 2 only we can't enter the airport until 8pm. Dejected, forlorn, and angry we head back to the concrete shelter across from the airport terminal. Here you can sit outside in the sweltering heat and try to jockey for position for one of the 10 seats with the rest of the crowd or you can pay 80 rupees to enter the air conditioned guest lounge. I had no more rupees after paying our driver, I had only imagined getting on the flight and had not prepared for any other outcome. Foolish!

Its hot. We snap at each other. We accidentally go the wrong way back to the waiting area and Kiki rolls over her flip flop with our prego cart. Implosion is imminent. We decide to try the gate just for shits, feeling we have nothing left to lose. The guard is less than enthused by our presence and tells us that we now cannot enter the gate until 9pm! Its no use arguing, all is lost in translation. The guard directs us back across the street just as a hired mosquito killer walks down both sides of the streets spraying toxic rancid white smoke out something that I can only compare to a weed wacker. This is the seventh circle of hell and we stand, bristling, clutching Kiki's scarf to our ragged faces.

So we sit and we wait and we make a video about our plight, our despondency and the cosmic giggle of it all as we sip a coke and sweat in the heat. We still can't believe that we missed our flight and we crack up over and over again. It is all that we have left, our wilted senses of humor.

At 8pm we make a run for the gate running on pure adrenaline and gut busting laughter. We hit up the second guard, he frowns but lets us in. We go to the AA desk and the same man from the dark hallway office is there. He says this phrase and this phrase only, "The flight is full and overbooked. Come back at 10:30."

I start to get the feeling that we are about to spend this and subsequent nights in the airport. I desire access to a cell phone or a laptop. It is no use arguing or pleading with the staff as we are at their mercy. There is also no point in alerting the troops as we ourselves do not know our fate. Shitty shitty shit.

I begin to imagine the worst case scenario as Keeks wipes tears from her eyes, her and I waiting in the airport for days waiting for yes to really mean yes. After trying to go home early from our adventure, the final ironic cosmic joke at our expense.

I start to think about re-entering Delhi but the thought makes my stomach churn; the traffic, the chaos-then again a bed/shower/internet connection could be valuable. I smell like sweat, dust and urine; the stains on the bottom of my pants signifying my lack of adeptness at the squat toilets we had freqented during the day. I feel sad and despondent. I am tired and I am hungry; a human animal on the verge of collapse.

I watch the clock tick, 90 minutes remain for the Gods to decide our destiny. There is nothing to do but sit. There is nothing to do but be, and suddenly the lessons of ashram life come to fruition, self reliance and illusion all make sense and from somewhere inside, I recognize that I am the captain of this ship called life.

I take off my mala from around my neck and close my eyes. I surrender to the unseen. I begin the mantra. I feel a breeze, a child cries, there is a voice on the loudspeaker. I hear a squeaky wheel on a cart wind past, I sense the brush of a leg, Kiki shifts in her seat. I chant. All of this happens simultaneously. I let go. I am completely present. I am not angry. I am not thirsty. I am not there.

Suddenly I know in the deepest realm of my being that we are getting on the plane, tonight. I quiet myself further, listen more intently, feel the sensations up and down my body and I am convinced, all signs point to yes. We are getting on the plane.

I know Kiki is fretting next to me. I want to reassure her. I do a few more rounds with the beads and open my eyes. I turn to her and say, "We are getting on the plane." She says, "We are?" I repeat myself, "We are getting on the plane." I tell her that I can feel it. She says ok and begins to pray.

I am tired and weary but calm. I am at peace. All stress has evaporated. 10:30 arrives and we head back to the counter. The attendant from the office walks by and says, "Ah, you are here. There have been some missed connections, it is looking good. I will let you know." Its now almost 11pm and our flight leaves at 12:15 and we have no tickets and have not cleared customs. I still know we are getting on the plane.

We commence waiting. I smile and tell Kiki that when the time comes I need her to hold it together because we are going to have to run. I tell her that they are already going to be boarding the plane by the time we get through. She nods.

11:45pm rolls around and we have tickets and are being interrogated before we leave. We are grinning and high fiving and dancing little jigs and the customs officer asks us if we are so happy to leave his India. We say oh no, India is beautiful we are just happy to be going home, and then we run.

And we run down the corridor to the waiting plane and I bring my palm to my lips as we pass a window and blow India a big wet smacking kiss goodbye right before I break into a feeble rendition of "Proud to be an American.." and ya'll know how desperate I must have been to do THAT.

And then we are seated and up in the air and the wine is delivered and I am sobbing. I am sobbing for the experience, I am sobbing in gratitude, I am sobbing in relief, I am sobbing in happiness for what awaits at home and I am sobbing, sobbing, sobbing.

I wake up over the North Pole and Kiki says, "Hey, its going to be Saturday when we arrive." I am still tipsy and confused, thinking to myself..no, we get home Friday. I have plans. I have a date. People are expecting me. She says again, "No really we get home Saturday. We left a day late since missed our flight." And it is then that we realize that are a day late and have had no contact with home..which means that Kiki's husband had already drive to the airport in MSP to pick us up once and find us not there. We laugh and cry and beller..yelling, REALLY? Nobody even knows where are! And we are above the frozen snow covered North Pole and their isn't anything we can do except surrender.

"Ha ha Universe," I whisper, bring it on but PLEASE BE GENTLE WITH ME FOR AWHILE as I drift back into unconsciousness; head to airline pillow to window.

*********

Mother India,

I love you, I hate you. You pulled me thin, stretched me taut. You filled me and extinguished me. You sucked the marrow from my limbs and drowned me in the rivers of your love. You caressed the grief from my muscles and cleaned me out with your violent bacteria. You taught me to give, you taught me to trust my intution, you have catapulted me into living unabashedly and without shame. I know I can only sense and see a fraction of your gifts..I will never forget the water, the heat, the flow from stagnation to stillness to surrender. You are in my blood, you are in my flesh and you are in my bones. Thank you from the bottom of the well where the little seed of me resides reaching for the light. Namaste, Hari Om, Dhanyawad.