Memories #1
This weekend (30/31 of January), it was 9 years ago that my father died. Time flies, but memories don't. At the end of 2012 I decided to leave for India. At first "just another trip" to a country of which I had been dreaming for forever. It turned out to be a journey where my father accompanied me in my mind almost every step of the way.
One of the places I really wanted to go was Varanasi. A place where they say goodbye to the dead, with beautiful rituals and a serene spirituality. For days on end I sat by the Ganga river. Mornings and in evenings. At the very Gath that Hindus use to say farewell to their loved-ones. It gave me peace and offered me reflection; sitting, silently staring at my own memories about life and those I have of my father. A cigarette in one hand and one a cup of chai in the other, accompanying me in my meditative moments, gazing over the water.
Baba was a man who turned out to be working here, at the holy Manikarnika Gath. The holy place where the dead find their last sanctuary before they are burned to move on to a next life. Strangely enough, I don't remember what exactly his job was. But one thing is for sure; he did something of great importance for me. He was just sitting next to me. Also drinking chai and ritually mixing his tobacco in his hand before gracefully throwing it into his mouth. And we talked. We could talk for hours. Maybe I can even call it philosophising. Life, reasons for being, the world, love and the almighty universe.
I wouldn’t be able to reproduce all of his stories and wisdom, nor can I remember any of mine. But the feeling his presence gave me while we sat there, the peace and balance that he radiated and conveyed to me, I recall those clear and vividly.
I returned to Varanasi several times. Time and again I visited the Gath and looked for Baba. However, what we shared in those first weeks was unparalleled. A moment in time that I can only relive in memory.
