Towards the Within

by Reece Willis

  ‘Do you have any cooking oil, please?’ I asked, hoping he would understand, but he didn’t. His wife, who wore woollen garments and silver jewellery, waggled her head and went to the kitchen area to prepare chai. Had she thought I asked for tea maybe? I couldn’t be sure, but they were both so nice and offered a comfy cushion for me to sit on, making me feel incredibly welcome. I didn’t have the heart to decline.

  Looking around the basic space, there was very little, but it seemed they had everything they needed: a mattress on the ground where they slept, a small kitchen area and a tin bath. They appeared content, happy to be with each other and thankful for what they had rather than wishing for things they didn't.

  I pictured Kurt working himself into a frenzy in the kitchen and thought I should make a move. Spotting a frying pan hanging from the low ceiling, I pointed to it and mimed, holding my clasped hand out and making the sound of sizzling. They cocked their heads and then the gentleman realised my request. He pulled the pan from its hook and offered it to me. I took it from him and poured an invisible bottle of oil and circled my finger around. He laughed, re-hung the pan and picked up a rectangular bottle half full of oil from a shelf. I offered him some money, but he shook his head and pushed the bottle into my hands. I thanked him and in return he placed his hands together and smiled. I was about to leave when I saw the face of a small boy appear from the top of the wooden stairs. He stared in awe at the stranger in his home. I smiled and waved. He giggled and then disappeared into the comfort of the shadows. Thanking the couple again, I motioned with my camera for a photo. They happily obliged and then I left them at the doorway as they waved goodbye.

  When I entered the kitchen, bottle in hand, Kurt laughed, 'I am impressed. Thank you. We have been preparing as much as we can, so we will eat soon.'

  We sat down to our meal; a simple vegetable stir fry with noodles. It was not something I would have chosen to eat in England where my diet shamefully relied too heavily on convenience food, including regular visits to McDonald’s and Pizza Hut. It had taken me a while to adjust, but now I was enjoying the home cooked meal made fresh by my friends.

  As the evening swept by, we sat on the wooden floorboards playing Blackjack, the only card game I knew, and one we had to teach Neria how to play. I took a moment to observe the people around me and wondered how much of my personality had been crafted by those I had encountered in my past. Layers of paranoia and fear, melancholy and distrust building up over time affecting how I interacted with each new person I met. Already I felt the warmth and kindness of this new unit unburdening me from the dark coat upon my soul, allowing a brighter and happier me to break through. Little could they have known how much they had already changed my life. Oblivious to my thoughts, they laid their cards down one by one.

  Life in Manali was panning out well. It very quickly felt like home and it was hard to believe that only a short time ago I was so desperate and alone that I was ready to give up on India. If it hadn't been for Kurt, there's no doubt in my mind that I would be back in England. Instead I was here, sharing a house with four new acquaintances with whom I had never felt more accepted. We didn't necessarily do very much, it was a small town and there were limited things to do, but that was part of the charm. Some days we would simply hang out as a group, while other times we would break off and explore the surroundings either individually or in pairs. It was amazing to feel so free, to wake each morning and spontaneously decide on the day's agenda. For the first time in my life I had no restrictions, no one telling me what to do. I was master of my own destiny and that applied to my four new friends as well.

  Early one morning I was woken by the sound of local people talking outside. Looking out to the orchard I saw three ladies and a man picking apples and collecting them in coned wicker baskets strapped to their backs. They were dressed very similarly to the family who had given me the cooking oil. When they’d finished, they separated, walking down the hill via a maze of pathways I hadn’t noticed before. The others were still asleep so I ventured out on my own to explore these trails, starting with the nearest to my bedroom window.

  After a while I came out to an area that was full of tents and small shacks. From a distance, I observed the community of men dressed in colourful turbans and lungis and women wearing red and gold saris washing their clothes, looking after infants or watching small television sets from inside their makeshift homes. They didn’t appear to be from this area, looking more as if they had come from a more southerly state. Close to the camp was a single storey building with an open doorway and as I passed by, I noticed shelves stacked with books and an elderly gentleman sitting behind a counter lost in a novel. I poked my head around the doorway and asked if the books were for sale.

  ‘Yes, come in, my friend,’ he said. ‘These books are second hand, mostly sold or donated by travellers like yourself, though we do have a selection of new items too.’

  I browsed the shelves and my eye caught sight of a book about Phoolan Devi, the Bandit Queen – a modern day Robin Hood. From a life of poverty, cruelty and hardship, she delivered justice to rape victims, robbed the rich to give to the poor and was later imprisoned for her actions. Due to continuous popular support and media controversy she was released and elected to the Indian Parliament.

  I picked it up and at the counter I spotted a brand-new Bartholomew fold-away map of the Indian Sub-Continent. Thinking it would be a nice idea to mark my trip so far, I added it to my purchase along with a fine nib black pen. I asked the gentleman about the people in the tents. He said it was a Rajasthani refugee camp, growing by the day.

  I had a quiet breakfast in the Moondance Café reading my book and enjoying a cup of hot chocolate. I missed coffee so much and was yet to find that perfect cup in India. Tyler had told me about Manu Temple supposedly a short walk from the café. I packed away my things and recommenced my walkabout. In Old Manali it looked as if nothing had changed for hundreds of years; old wooden and mud built properties with cattle grazing in the yards, men sat smoking pipes and ladies in hand woven clothing gossiping the day away. Life here, as for most of Manali, was so laid back. There was none of the hostility of people back home rushing to work and not caring who they bumped into to get there. People here moved at a snail's pace, smiled and laughed, and seemed to go about their business with happiness in their hearts.

  The temple came into sight after a short walk along a muddy path. According to Hindu philosophy, Manu was said to be the first king of the earth and the building was the only temple in India dedicated to the sage. Timber framed, it had two layers of roofing with a tower at the centre ascending to a smaller roof. Swept with pine to their snowy summits, the view of the mountains from the temple was spectacular. I was lucky to arrive on such a beautiful day with a rich blue sky and eiderdown clouds passing overhead. It didn’t take long to look around and after a while I returned the way I came.

  I decided not to go home just yet, but rather discover more of the town centre. Where Kurt and I first met Neria and Sophie in the Mall I stopped to observe all the different kinds of people. There were western backpackers, Kashmiris and Tibetans, nomad shepherds and Kullu folk; the men in woollen jumpers with pillbox caps, the women in home spun garments with silver jewellery and conical baskets upon their backs. There were Indian holiday makers; men in kurtas or light cotton shirts and trousers, women in colourful saris or salwar kameez.

  A little way along from the post office, I stopped outside a Tibetan Monastery and was approached immediately by a smiling teenaged monk in scarlet robes, ‘Please come in,’ he said, and I followed him through the gates. ‘This Gadhan Thekchhokling Gompa. Built in 1969 and all good peoples are welcome to come and look around. Where you from?’

  ‘England,’ I replied.

  ‘Ah England, you are very long way from home. Please, spin prayer wheel for wisdom and thoughts of peoples you miss.’ He took me along a row of cylindrical golden prayer wheels set into a wall and span the first, gesturing me to do th
e same. ‘You say mantra: Om Mani Padme Hum, it mean, Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus.’ I followed his actions, spinning the wheels and reciting the words in unison. At the end, with a wooden beaded mala wrapped around his fingers, he placed both his hands together and bowed slightly, to which I mirrored his actions.

  ‘Please also see Himalayan Nyingmapa Gompa near bazaar,’ he said. ‘I go now, but please you stay and enjoy peace of gompa.’ I thanked him for his time and he bowed again and disappeared through an ornate wooden doorway.

  This had been my favourite temple in Manali. The white square building with a bright yellow corrugated-iron pagoda roof was decorated with blue fascias above the yellow windows. There was an impressive entrance painted with dragons and elaborate swirling patterns. Inside was a towering golden statue of a seated Buddha with finely painted features. Walking through the courtyard to leave I passed a tall stupa and large oval stones engraved with colourful Tibetan scripture piled against a wall. I found the Himalayan Nyingmapa Gompa nearby which was very much like the previous gompa, but on a smaller scale.

  Around the corner, I returned to the post office, past the Moc Restaurant and stopped at a shop selling cassette tapes. I took a chance and bought, The Elements – Earth by Vanraj Bhatia. Giving some change to a couple of beggars – a middle-aged lady with a mild form of leprosy and an elderly man with a short white beard whose right hand was missing – I continued my way home.

  I put in my earphones and listened to the atmospheric sounds of sitars and tabla drums all the way back to the house. Outside Tyler greeted me at the door. He stood smoking a joint, ‘When in Rome,’ he said, coughing and squinting as the breeze blew smoke into his face.

  He passed the spliff to me. ‘You’re a bit of dark horse, Tyler, I had no idea you smoked charas,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ he laughed. ‘I don’t usually smoke it, but I fancied some and asked Sophie to pick it up for me.’

  ‘Sophie smokes it too?’ I passed it back to him just as Sophie arrived at the doorway, joint in mouth and lighter in hand. ‘Busted,’ I laughed. She laughed too and tilted her head to one side to avoid setting her hair on fire as she lit the spliff.

  ‘We better head out soon if we're gonna get what we need for dinner,’ she said, from behind a cloud of smoke. It was mine and Sophie's turn to cook.

  'What we having then?' asked Tyler.

  'You'll have to wait and see,' Sophie replied and then turned to flash me a smile.

  At the top of the Mall there was a street to the left with stalls filled with fruits and vegetables, which is where we picked up our daily supplies. Sophie found a cardboard box in the garage and brought it with her to carry our shopping. She said that the Indian government was trying to enforce a strict ban on plastic bags for the sake of the environment. With our box filled with vegetables from the market, we went in search of somewhere that sold a jar of the chocolate malted drink Bournvita. We stopped at every place on route that sold clothing or jewellery and whilst I waited outside with the groceries, Sophie indulged herself with the many items that caught her eye. She smiled guiltily each time she came out with her hands filled.

  Next door to the shop that sold the Bournvita was a butchery, but unlike any I’d seen in England. The butcher sat in an open wooden framed window hacking away at a carcass while flies settled and buzzed around the meat. It was the mountain of rotting goat's heads below the window that left me quite stunned. Aside from the crawling flies, the skulls were quite enough to keep me from the thought of eating meat. Sophie however seemed quite unfazed by it all. I think travelling around for so long had hardened her to such sights.

  Neria and Rutger were leaving the house in search of another party as we returned. They assured us they would be back in time for dinner with the location of the venue so that we could all go together. Six hours later, there was still no sign of them and we were becoming worried that something bad might have happened. Rain spattered against the house, heavy and unrelenting while the wind howled and danced through the orchard. I suggested they may have taken shelter at Rutger’s hotel, which didn’t seem to go down too well with Tyler. By midnight we retired to our rooms, still none the wiser as to their whereabouts.

  I heard a knock at my door. It was Sophie. She was smiling sweetly and said, ‘Do you fancy coming into my room for a chat? We could have some Bournvita.’

  I wasn't that tired and saw no reason to refuse the invitation, especially when the alternative was staring at the enormous insects that were accumulating at my windows, hypnotised by the light. She went off to make the hot chocolate and brought back two steaming cups, which we nursed for ages as we talked about our lives prior to India. I told her about my ex-girlfriend, Saskia, and how at times I still missed her. I also told her about a course we attended together studying aromatherapy, reflexology and massage. Realising I had been rambling on a bit, I paused to ask her, 'And you? Was there anybody special before you came out here?'

  Her expression changed from a relaxed, carefree look to one of surprise. She stumbled before she answered, 'There was someone.' She looked down at the hem of her trouser leg and fiddled with a frayed thread, 'But like you and Saskia, it didn't quite work out between us.'

  She seemed reluctant to talk, but I pursued nonetheless, 'You didn't get along too well then?'

  'We got on very well,' she looked up and then back to the thread. 'Until I told him I was pregnant.'

  'You have a child?'

  'No. I lost it after three months.'

  'Oh, I'm really sorry. Do you still see him?'

  'No, he shot through the minute he found out I was expecting, left me a handwritten note saying he wasn't ready to be a father.' Her eyes weighed with sadness, but she raised a smile, false, but enough to tell me this part of the conversation was over. 'So, you're really good at massage?' She reached over to her backpack and withdrew a small bottle of massage oil. 'Would you mind?'

  Before I could say anything, she was removing her blouse and laying down on her front. I perched on the bed next to her and undid her bra, which she then completely removed while I was rubbing a small amount of oil between my palms. Gently I slid my hands along the contours of her back and shoulders for a few minutes and then began kneading the taught muscles. The stress and worry she had gone through had certainly taken its toll. I carried on for about half an hour and then stood up to look for something to wipe my hands on.

  ‘I think I should leave it there,’ I said. ‘It’s not good to do too much in the first session.’

  ‘Stay the night with me,’ she said softly, but assertively as she sat up and faced me.

  I was taken aback by her proposition and fumbled for an appropriate answer. She was undeniably very attractive and as I stood looking at her I couldn’t help but steal the odd glance at her half naked body. For a moment, she held my gaze, then lifted her arms and began untying her hair, which up until that point had been pulled back into a high ponytail. She took her time all the while showing off her perfectly proportioned curves. It would have been easy to stay and I’m sure many in the same situation wouldn’t have hesitated, but as we made eye contact again I realised this wasn’t what I wanted. I had been so touched by the friendships made in Manali and that meant more to me than anything. After tonight I knew nothing more would develop with Sophie and so it would be wrong to stay with her. Using the excuse, I had come over tired, I smiled meekly, said goodnight and left for my room.

  19

  Mid-morning Neria returned with Rutger, hand in hand. It appeared they were now an item. Tyler’s face was awash with disappointment, but he accepted the fact they were now together graciously. I was surprised by Neria; I hadn’t expected her to be so casual with her affections nor to show such a lack of consideration for Tyler’s feelings.

  The six of us had breakfast at the Dhungri German Bakery, which was awkward. Aside from the obvious tension around Tyler and Neria, Sophie and I were in a very different place with each other now. No matte
r how hard I tried to converse with her she wouldn't entertain any interaction with me. At best I was met with short, sharp answers, but where she could get away with it, she simply chose to ignore me. I hadn't meant to upset her. I had only tried to be decent, but she wasn't taking rejection well. I hoped it was a temporary set-back and that once the dust had settled we could return to normal again.

  Ahead of me in the corner of the restaurant, I noticed an old man, staring longingly into a glass of chai. I shivered at the sight of him. He looked remarkably like my grandfather. There were a few times when I was younger when I spotted him sitting outside a bar in Ostend, glass of wine or beer nestled in his hand. I never approached him. I just observed from a distance and carried on with my day. My friends' voices became muted and I looked at the stranger not saying a word. Suddenly feeling sick and insecure I made my excuses to the group and caught a rickshaw into town. I decided to phone my mum. It took a few rings before there was any answer and I nearly hung up. Just before doing so I heard a quiet, slightly confused response. 'Hello?'

  ‘Hi mum, it's me. Are you okay?

  ‘Huh, oh, Sam, it’s good to hear from you. What time is it?'

  Having forgotten about the time difference, I realised she must still be in bed. 'Sorry Mum, it's early, I'll call back later.'

  'No, no, don't do that. It's okay. Are you still in Nunny Till?’

  I smiled, ‘No, I’ve left Naini Tal now. I’ve met some really nice people and I'm sharing a house with them in a town called Manali, in the mountains.'

  ‘Oh, that’s nice dear. Your old boss called. The new manager isn't working out and you can have your job back if you return as soon as possible. You'll even get a pay rise.’