My Dream to Be Free

by Juergen Stollin

  Almost a fatal night trip to Bombay for 25 young people

  We stayed n Agra for a whole afternoon to see the Taj Mahal and then I made a night trip.

  When I first had the impression that the Turkish truck drivers were kamikaze pilots, the Indians were much better in this!

  Since the street was only as wide as a truck in some places, one had to deviate to a lower level from the road to a lower, not tarred field track, which was reserved for water buffalos and their carts. No one wanted to give in and remained until the last minute on the tarred road, which meant that we saw many accidents, where the drivers had collided with one another. Some of the overloaded Tata trucks overturned in a ditch. While driving in my Mercedes on my last visit to this route but in the reverse direction, I had not found it as dangerous as with the bus. These roads were the height of all the routes that I have already known. Made of asphalt over cobblestone, concrete and gravel, clay - everything was available.

  I wanted to look for a place to park but I didn’t find the right tea-house, to give my people the opportunity to drink tea and to go to a proper restroom.

  But I also wanted to go as quickly as possible to Goa, to calm down my strained nerves in the sun and by the Indian Ocean.

  The Monsoon with its torrential rains also didn’t make the driving any easier and the road was getting worse and worse. Even the Indians had parked their trucks at the roadside and waved to us. I also wanted to stop but it was a bridge and there was previously no way for me to park between the trucks. So I would find a place behind the bridge and sleep.

  The Indians who had parked, waved to us with all their might and I understood this as a friendly gesture to the European bus and the passengers.

  So we waved back to the friendly Indians.

  I was surprised that that there was no oncoming traffic and that no parked trucks could be seen. Of course you do not park on a bridge. A cold shiver ran me over the back and I applied the brakes for the bus so hard that some of my hippies on the front seat flew and scolded.

  Something in my brain triggered an alarm.

  My goblin on my right side, ordered me to stop the bus immediately. The Indians from earlier, whom I had driven past and who had waved so nicely, came. They wanted to pull me out of the bus, but then they saw a European and left. They actually wanted to beat me up. Now they spoke to me and gradually I understood that the bridge was gone.

  It had quite simply fallen and now a few meters of it were missing!

  I felt very sick. I had to first light a cigarette and take a deep gulp from my whiskey bottle, which was always ready at hand next to me in the door pocket.

  When reversing, at least twenty Indian drivers assisted me. With great difficulty, I used the reverse gear, because my knees still trembled. But my guardian angel - the Indians would call karma - was a good one. I would say it was my destiny, that 25 young passengers and I, who all wanted to Goa, were protected from falling into a wet, Indian tomb. On the second day of waiting, the Indian army had built pontoons over the river and we were able to cross over to the other side.

  From below, on the pontoon, you could clearly see that at least two hundred meters were missing between two bridge piers. The whole of the center piece was gone! If I had driven another hundred meters further down, you could have seen our bus now with the broken piece of road that had been on the bridge, in the river. My passengers would have definitely had something to tell at home after this trip, if they came back home!

  The trip was not interrupted by such events anymore and we arrived in Bombay unscathed. I parked the bus on the well secured parking place, which was lit at night, in front of the Taj Mahal Hotel and the Intercontinental Hotel. So I was sure that security men were always on duty.

  We moved into a small hotel directly behind the Taj Mahal Hotel.

  My passengers had to walk a few meters further, to a hostel or they could also go and stay in the Salvation Army.

  Two days later, at 6 in the morning, we were to meet again near the bus, and drive on to Goa.

  You could hardly believe it but only a few meters behind the 5-star hotel there were the beggars on the sidewalk. This is India!

  We had a common room on the first floor with a small balcony from which we could see the sidewalk of opposite side of the street. Directly opposite on the other side of the road, a male figure wrapped in a sarong was already sleeping the whole day in the shade of the trees. Since my room-mates were trained nurses, they were interested in the man on the street. They had heard a lot about the poverty in India but now they had poverty directly in front of their bedroom window and that made them very sad. They wanted to help but they didn’t know how they could do it.

  Mary has ordered lamb curry with rice and two bananas from our room service. They went down and gave the scrawny old man the food on a banana leaf and to place bananas along with the food. He noticed the girls and folded his hands like the Indians do if they were saying thank you or

  "Namaste", this is a form of greeting. It was only a brief gesture because he was probably too weak, but it was made as a thank you.

  The next morning we saw to our horror, that the man still there was something different in the position, but this time he was naked.

  The sarong was missing.

  Now you could see that it was only a bony skeleton. There were normally the buttocks should be, there were only sunken hollow spaces, holes, instead of the butt cheeks. The three of us went there and Mary placed an old skirt over the lifeless body. A dead man would not need a sarong or any curry or bananas any more, probably another suffering person thought so and took everything from him.

  Half an hour later, a police van came and the lifeless body was thrown over the others.

  Hare Krishna, Hare Rama.

  It was probably the first time for the two girls that they saw the reality and the cruelty, which life had in store for them and they cried for half of the day. For the next day I had invited them both to for a stroll in Bombay to get them to think of something else.

  Directly in front of the Taj Mahal Hotel, I showed the girls the Gateway of India, which was built for the visit of the English King George V in 1911 near the water. From there we continued to Bori Bunder or the Victoria Station, Bombay's main railway station, which is an imposing building. After that we went to the Crawford Market with the vegetable and fruit market.

  It was found beside the Jhaveri Bazaar, with its gold and silver craft jewelry items, which was a highlight for the girls. If you are in Bombay, you should also see the "Chor bazaar", which means the Thief Market, in the Mutton Street. Car parts, ivory, antique pieces, Chinese vases, furniture and everything that had been stolen in the metropolis was was available for purchase here again.

  If you were lucky and know what you are doing, you could get some original expensive things for little money. But you could also fall into a trap if you had bought something thinking it is genuine and find out later that object is totally worthless. You should remember that it was from the Thief Market!

  The Marine Drive is probably Bombay's nicest street, always along the sea up to the Chowpatty Beach.

  Then there is the Malabar Hill, which is not a high mountain but the best residential area in Bombay.

  Some steep stone steps lead down to the sea, there is probably the world's largest open-air laundry, Dhobi Ghat. We saw hundreds of women and also men who beat the clothes on the stones and then wrung them out and spread them out to dry.

  I had to also show them the Hanging Gardens and the Tower of Silence.

  But then we had enough of the Kamala Nehru Park and I suggested that we could go for a bit of a swim. I rejected the argument that no one had bathing clothes, by pointing out that we would not need such things where we were driving to. It was quite a long walk to the Juhu beach, but then we found a place directly under some palm trees that grew low up to the water and offered shade and protection from view of others. I sent our taxi driver back to the Holiday Inn Hotel to get
us a delicious lunch package and some drinks. I told him he should not forget us here in the desert but he should also not come back before one hour. I could calmly give him money because he drove a taxi belonging to the Taj Mahal Hotel.

  In India there is hardly a place where there are no Indians but I remembered this corner of the earth shown to me from a local person from the time at sea. At that time it was with her that I had driven here to be alone and it had worked. We had made love here without an audience. Also today there was no audience to see us and so I encouraged the ladies to jump into the waves of course in clothes like in paradise, which was the most natural thing to do!

  It was a splendid refreshment after a day of walking around in the heat and in the markets crowded with people.

  Also Mary and Chris were so impressed that they did not come out of the well-tempered water, which is after all the Indian Ocean. I could not avoid comparing both the girls, concluding that both had beautiful bodies. It was not even half an hour and the fool of driver came back already with our food.

  So we had to get out of the water and put on our clothes, at least our underwear. All three of us were very hungry and enjoyed our Tandoori Chicken with the wonderful pulao and the Chapathis. The driver had managed to bring a few beers. Bombay was partly without alcohol and for Indians it was almost impossible to get a beer. Our driver was a treasure.

  Back in our small hotel there was nothing much going on and we had a quiet night. Apart from the fact that Chris and I wanted to sleep in a bed, because we were of the view that after such a beautiful day, it had to be also a beautiful night! Taking into consideration of Mary, we tried to make love very quietly and carefully but it failed because we both crashed down together from the bed and had to laugh. With that, the lovemaking was over and I wandered off to my bed. The next time I had to make sure that the bed in a room was a double bed and that we did not get three single beds. Or even better: two rooms! Our departure was very early the next day and my passengers, who had slept in the surrounding area overnight, were ready for the journey near the bus. All were glad that the journey continued and that she would be in Goa soon. But it was still going to take 17 hours, someone told me.

  The nudes of Goa

  I did not imagine that I would need such a long time to drive just slightly more than 400 km long distance.

  But I did not know the route yet and wondered how the way would stretch out.

  Just the mountains around Poona were not as enormous as the Khyber Pass, but steep enough for the Indian, overloaded trucks, which I could not overtake. My driving time was good, despite not having overtaken. In just 14 hours, I was in Panjim but what could I do there at midnight? So I parked at a tea house and waited. I got some sleep and at 6 o'clock in the morning I continued to drive.

  My trip was "finished" at Panjim and all were allowed to get off. On May 20, 1498, as Vasco da Gama discovered the paradise, he knew very quickly, what a blessed country he had entered. And for that reason, already a few years later, in 1512, a certain Portuguese Alfonso de Albuquerque, seized the land. In 1961 when the Indians took back Goa from the Portuguese, they knew on the other hand why. And from now on, I know it too.

  I too would have preferred to stay there!

  Although I had not seen a lot, I was thrilled. White beaches, blue water and green palm trees which grew up to the Indian Ocean, pardon, the Arabian Sea. The perfect piece of Earth! And a clean fresh water-river, the Mandovi in Panjim, the capital, was there as well. Added to this, there were these friendly Indians who were descendants of the Portuguese, with a delicious cuisine, which I had been missing for a long time.

  Fish, so fresh that it was still so that it was still wriggling around on the banana leaf. Or the somewhat spicy hot Vindaloo curry with the wonderful Basmati rice, which had made its way here all the way from Punjab at the Himalayas and a bowl of dahl, the lentils, which I loved so much.

  Now I could understand why some of the Hansa seafarers, who were detained here during the war did not want leave. The end of the war also meant the end of stay in the paradise.

  My passengers had definitely looked for accommodation already, which I was looking for as well. I parked the bus on a church square and went to the only rest house directly near the water.

  My ladies were already there and had taken a double room for themselves.

  It was alright with me, because I knew that the love trip together was over for me and Chris here. From here, Chris and Mary wanted to travel back to Poona to go in a few days back to an ashram there. We had spoken of when and how our goodbye would be, ever since Tehran. But somehow I had imagined it would be different. But what will be, will be, and you should not stop travelers. I got that saying from Father, who always said that to me, when I came back from a journey again. My room was overlooking the Indian Ocean - sorry again, the Arabian Sea - I do not like the name Arabian Sea. For me it was the Indian Ocean.

  I had heard that the food was excellent, so what I did I want more?

  The relationship with Chris was only temporary, I knew from the beginning, so I didn't talk much about it but had to think of the how nice the hours, days and weeks had been with her. Hopefully she would think positively about this but I was sure that Mary would help her to forget me as soon as possible.

  There was a stream from the rest house in the direction of the palm forest, which showed a boundary.

  It was the land of the nudists behind this river!

  A local community life or commune life was practiced there. Not only free from the civilization, but also free of clothing - and they practiced free love. They had built some of their huts in the palm forest, some of them even grew plants in gardens for their own use. An entire village had been developed. There was not much, but the people wanted to live like that and up to that point, they were content and even said they were happy. The Goanese did not have a narrow outlook on this, since the hippies had to be dressed when they came from the river or stream. The Indian government was far away. So the hippies were allowed to be with their "Naked is beautiful” state - today they would probably allow the “Being horny is beautiful” state.

  I could not believe my ears when Mary and Chris told me that they had got to know a commune or a nice man from the commune behind the stream and that they would move in there to live there. Basically the ashram would not be anything else different and so they would rather stay there. Oh God, how should I respond to that?

  The two of them were responsible for themselves and needed to know what they wanted.

  I wondered if that decision didn't come from Mary and if I should deter Chris from it. But then I decided to keep my mouth shut in this regard.

  Walking round naked the whole day would certainly put some into the mood, but then with a guy who is just horny and has the urge to have to shag someone, whether that would suit her concept, I doubted that. The very next day they left the rest house and hiked in accompaniment of two young men, who were clothed, with their rucksacks in the direction of the stream and to the palm grove. I also went on the next day wearing just my swimming trunks over to the river and then removed it as well, while a guard asked me to do so.

  They wanted to make me a nudist-fan for a few days.

  The invitation extended to me was for getting to know their life, and possibly that I get the feeling that I belong to them and bring many followers there by bus. They were not satisfied in me bringing them the best "Afghani"- hashish. From Afghanistan to the east it was not a problem and there were no checks except in Amritsar. The guy who had invited me, to get to know the commune better, was a kind of a mayor. I noticed that this is not the right thing for me was and wanted to say goodbye after a few days but I was requested not to go just yet. So I stayed a few days longer than I wanted. Cooking, eating and walking around the whole day was all done in naked state. But I had to leave since I had not yet understood what it meant for these nice people to be naked. Perhaps they saw this as a sort of test for a new religious teaching.r />
  Perhaps they were on the point of founding a new religion. But they could not make a disciple out of me or I had to get used to it. Among those many coochies, which were walking around, standing or sitting, I was the only one who got an erection. For all the other men nothing was going on and either they were so sated that nothing helped them anymore or you have to get used to the fact that a naked woman is ignored. After a week with the naked people, I had enough, also my sexual appetite was sated.

  With the excuse that I still had something to fix on the bus, I said goodbye to these nice people and also to Mary and Chris, who already had got used to the new life.

  I left the paradise!

  I drove back to Bombay with a few Indians and some hippies. I didn't wait for long there.

  I collected a few passengers in a number of different hotels and was on my way to New Delhi. The Goa trip had not been exactly successful. I had left my girlfriend in a nude commune and there had been nothing but expenses! Nevertheless I gained a lot again: namely, experience. Every day you get to know people and you learn to cope with them.

  I also had learned something again: not to demand too much from a person, whom you know closely!

  Don’t give yourself too much, otherwise it is possible that you has to give more, when the right person goes into your inner self, to your soul. Avoid heart pain, as long as you can. Alleluia! Amen!

  Student travel-agent, Mr. Goya, made bookings of passengers for me. But only to Istanbul, not to Amsterdam, because I could not enter into Germany any more with my customs number. I would get hippies again for India and Nepal, I knew that. With 32 hippies, I drove from Delhi and was lucky because there was a German with a truck driving license, whom I took with me immediately in the front and made him to drive. After a short driving test, I found him suitable, to relieve me a bit. When I had to write the stupid lists, he could drive. There was no females whom I could use as office staff.