Sin and Zen, #1

by S. W. Stribling

  Then there were the professional flyers with their suits and computer purses and perfectly sized roller overnight bags. There were the young couples with their hip clothes and smiles and holding the hands of each other down the aisle. And as always, a few obese ladies rubbed every arm that didn’t move in time with their oversized love handles.

  We all strapped in on this flying piece of metal watching the others, playing the lottery of transitory companion. Please, we say, let me get somebody attractive or funny or quiet. Looking up at them as they pass, are they looking at the seat number over my head?

  For the first time in a long time, someone greeted me with a ‘good evening’ in English. I got a middle-aged guy who would sleep for most of the flight and read his book. On my other side, a girlfriend of some guy who was sitting behind her. His hand would be in my face this whole flight caressing her face. Don’t worry, buddy, I have no interest in your lady, and I’m sure she loves you.

  I felt relieved to be away from my love. I felt happy that Claudia never looked that ridiculous with me. I felt sad that I felt relief and knew she did too. Were we lovers or strangers? Was it possible to be both? I felt pity for myself. I still wanted her to love me. I was her slave, and she knew it. I felt like the stupid boy she always said I was.

  The plane took off, and I could see the lights of Paris fade away behind us just before we bumped through the clouds and out of sight of Earth. I was leaving my world behind. Not for good in the idiomatic sense, but for good in the most basic sense. My good. A voluntary and self-surgical lobotomy with fear, isolation, and reflection as the tools.

  I was a fool, a damn fool, but there was no turning back.

  I was about to wake up in a new world.

  14

  I did not sleep on the plane. Which including the next-to-nothing sleep in Marseille, I was tired. Arriving in India raised my spirits, however. Upon leaving the plane, I went for a smoke. I intended to quit when getting here, but I was glad I still had a few left from France. Mostly because while I was smoking I met a French woman who got me into town, showed me around, gave me a few pointers, and got me to a hotel. She also introduced me to a company cheaper than most to buy a bus ticket to Agra. So I hung out with her until the early afternoon. We walked around the bazaar, had lunch, and then grabbed a tea.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘If there’s one thing I should know about traveling in India, what would it be?’

  ’Don’t be a tourist.’ She said.

  I laughed.

  ‘You will get harassed a lot here.’ She said. ‘Whenever they start, just tell them you come here every year for three months.’

  It would prove to be the best advice one could get while in India.

  She eventually left the same day to go north to her yoga class. I went to my new home to shower and take a nap. I intended to go back out for the night, but I ended up forcing myself to sleep through until four AM the next morning. I was okay with this to be well rested fully rested and have a full day to explore Delhi.

  Delhi proved to be just like the movies: busy, loud, colorful, dirty, but charming in its own unique way. I feared I would get hit by a bus or car or rickshaw or ox before I left, but luckily I had the energy to dance my way through the chaos. The nonstop of these people was exciting, overwhelming, and exhausting even as a spectator sport. I had no specific place in mind to visit in Delhi, but I was not too concerned about it either. India was a place for exploration.

  Self-exploration and time alone. That trip really started in Marseille, where I found this scared little boy feeling inside of me scratching at the walls of my outer shell that were becoming thinner and thinner. It came and went in waves, but I realized I would get something out of this trip, to face whatever these creatures were inside of me: face them, talk to them, and hopefully befriend them.

  The city still slept between five and six in the morning. There were people working in the streets, but most places were closed... including my hotel. I thought to go to see some temples, but then thought best to stick around until eight for the hotel to open so I could pay for another night. I could have just kicked the guys awake, the hotel staff was sleeping on the floor in the ‘lobby’ as I left. But I decided to wait and whenever they got up, I would ask for a map and some breakfast before I started my day.

  I walked around for the next couple of hours, drinking my tea and getting acquainted with the nearby area. No drunks were walking home or girls getting in their last customers. Just tea and spiritual men handing out blessings like Halloween candy. I had my tea and realized I had never been a tea drinker before, but this tea was something incredible. Coming from a big pot on the side of the street that probably hadn’t seen a sponge too often, I can only guess what the secret ingredients were.

  Not much else going on, I sat down with one of Gandhi’s people. He had a few bowls and incense sticks burning before him. He kept smiling. He was a beautiful old man. Smaller than myself with red war paint on his face and a white robe. He didn’t speak English, but we still had a conversation. I asked him about my gods, lust and toxins. I assumed he told me about his. He gave me a blessing and touched my forehead. I gave a few rupees to the guy; I wasn’t sure if money was part of his god equation as it is for most peoples, but a man still has to eat. He didn’t look down at the money, just kept smiling and stared at my eyes until I started to walk away.

  I found out later he painted a red dot on my forehead. My spiritual journey had begun.

  BEING A REGULAR OF public transportation now as a big city resident, I headed off to find the metro. I was the only white guy on there. Not many tourists here. Not any personal space either and staring seemed to be written off their social etiquette contract.

  I found myself at the Baha’i temple. Shaped like a lotus, it seemed like a religion of all religions. That was the scariest thing I could think of, or the most inspiring. Inside was just a huge empty room with benches and mats. No shoes allowed. Must wear long sleeves. And silence. These seemed to be the only rules of this temple. What the world could learn. I had to go buy a long-sleeved shirt, most holy sites it would seem avoided overexposed skin.

  There were people of all sizes and colors inside, praying and meditating. I sat in the middle and just absorbed the environment. I wasn’t sure how this spiritual enlightenment journey was supposed to happen. I sat there for a while. I thought I felt something. God perhaps. Calmness. Anxiety. I wasn’t sure, but I stayed a little while longer until I saw a tourist taking pictures. Then I remembered who I was and left.

  AFTER THE TEMPLE, I visited a few more sites; the Lodi Garden, Parliament, and an Indian Arc de Triomphe. I even ran across some temples with swastikas. I knew the swastika was an ancient symbol from this area, but being a Westerner, I still thought of Hitler and his band at first sight of one.

  I was also a Westerner and wanted to see all they had in the market areas. I bought a rug. One of those nice handwoven rugs that really catch the eye in a room. The guy was overselling it. Giving me the details I didn’t ask for and even told me they run over it with a truck a few times to demonstrate its quality. Apparently, there are classes of rugs and being run over a thousand times by a truck puts you up near the top.

  I bought a sari for Claudia. I wasn’t sure where we were at the moment. The whole year so far had been pretty off and on, and she almost seemed happy to see me go. The first time she seemed happy in months. Well, it was probably over, but I still thought she would look good in a sari, if not for me, then for the next guy.

  I also grabbed some tea, spices, and four marble candle holders. It was all ridiculously cheap, and I sent it all home by mail. Gifts were done. One less thing for me to worry about during my trip. I also bought some sandals, which were needed here. It is not hot but warm - and much too warm for boots. Plus, I was already tired of taking off my boots every time I walked inside a place. That and holey socks at holy sites was a bad joke.

  Being back in Bahar Ganj - the bazaar area, I could see the hu
ge difference in tourists. I found it a shame that they are more attracted to cheap shopping rather than temples and modern Indian culture such as experiencing the metro.

  Delhi is a huge city. It would take too long to see it all and my tolerance for cities and crowded areas is low. After the initial excitement of a new area, it becomes animalistic and I can feel the heat and nervousness run through my chest, to my feet, to my fingertips. I had my fill as a silly tourist and I looked forward to moving on.

  The kindness of some people was absurd. The man for my bus ride to Agra was beyond anything I had ever experienced with humanity before. Others I still questioned despite their polite, friendly way, I knew they wanted something. That could explain why I spent five hundred euros on gifts and gave five hundred rupees to a widow.

  I got back to the hotel in the early afternoon and had lunch.

  15

  Once again, I started my day with no sleep.

  What kept me from my slumber though was an encounter with a beautiful and young, but older than me, Spanish woman. I had met her briefly at the hotel while having my lunch. She was at a table beside mine and we got to talking. Later that night, I came back up to have a drink for my last night in Delhi. She was with an Austrian girl who also stayed in the hotel. We had our dinners and then I proposed going for a walk to find a bar. They agreed, and we found ourselves in a place not too far from the hotel.

  The streets were quiet and nothing like what you would expect from a city. There weren’t streets and signs, just buildings with nothing in between. We saw the word ‘bar’ on a building and given the environment we figured it would be the only place to find something like that nearby. We found out it was just another hotel. But they had a bar with actual tables and booths. They also had some music. I think it was one of those top 40 hits CDs because it sounded awful and after two hours the first song played again. We didn’t stay long because guys kept coming over to hit up the girls, or me, they talked to me a lot, maybe they saw me as a rich man with these two girls and wanted me to share.

  I felt like I was connecting with both of them and at one point both were playing footsie with me. I liked them both so I played it cool. The Austrian girl was blonde and seemed more of the book type. We had some great conversation about books and science. The senorita was just as stimulating in a different way. Dark-skinned, dark hair, and dark eyes, she was the spiritual one. She was in India to head south and volunteer teach for six months. We all held the conversation between us fairly well. They seemed friendly and not too competitive with each other. I felt special that either was even interested.

  After the third group of guys made their attempts, and the CD had made its full cycle, we grabbed five forties and headed back to the hotel. We went to the rooftop terrace where the kitchen and tables were to have our drinks.

  The kitchen was closed, but the guy was still up there cleaning and he saw us sitting down and pulling out our cold ones from the plastic bags. He watched us for a minute and came over.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but you can’t drink here.’

  I told him to grab a cup.

  He did, and he sat for a few minutes with us and had a few drinks. He was quiet and mostly just listened and laughed. He left in good spirits and told us not to worry about any mess, that he would take care of it in the morning.

  It was a small round table made of curved metal rods and had chairs to match. It was nice out, not hot and not cold. I must have drunk three forties and the girls barely drank one each.

  Until this point, I didn’t think too much about what was happening. Even with Claudia and I parting ways in a ‘We need space’ sort of way, I didn’t plan on looking for romance on this trip. I was just enjoying the company, and it was good company. It’s always good company with a pretty girl that can hold a conversation. I got lucky and had two sitting in front of me.

  I played things out in my mind and figured having both of them here would prevent me from having either. It would eventually get to where everybody tried to hold out waiting for one to leave until nobody left and then we all just passed out with nothing happening. I figured it was for the best that way since I really didn’t want to betray Claudia despite her relationship rules and the space we were currently taking. I was feeling a good buzz at this point too and was sure I wouldn’t be able to resist if one of them really came onto me.

  Having broken the seal, I needed the little boy’s room. Both girls’ rooms were up on this top floor and Solé, la senorita, said I could use hers to save me walking downstairs to my room.

  I pissed. Washed my face. And was preparing my words for an awkward goodnight.

  When I came out of the bathroom, Solé was standing in the doorway. She looked beautiful and my body felt warm in a way opposite than earlier that day. Rather than feeling nervous, I felt at home.

  She was chewing a piece of gum. I walked up to her, not past her. I asked her if I could have a piece. She pulled out a piece from her pocket and stuck it in my mouth, then slowly pulled her finger out which I caressed with my tongue until it had made its full exit.

  This broke any control she had, and she pulled me in.

  We pulled back smiling and went back out to continue talking to our Austrian friend. I think Sandra knew something had happened because she felt more neutral in her way of talking and soon left to go to bed.

  Solé and I didn’t stay out much longer, and both went back to the same bed.

  She started by going down on me. I wanted to give her an award. She knew she was good, but still seemed insecure about it.

  ‘Te gusta?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s good.’

  She looked at me and gave me eyes that said ‘really? That’s it?’ She went back down and rose me to heaven.

  She came up after, took off the rest of her clothes. She had a body. She laid down beside me and I caressed her and ran my fingers up and down her. I particularly enjoyed the crease between her lower ass and thigh; it was enough to make you believe in God. I teased her, fingered her, and then her self-control went out the window again. She was waking my guy back up and strapping on his rain gear before she strapped on herself.

  We went at it for forty-five minutes.

  What a beautiful mess we were in a dank and musty and poorly lit room.

  I noticed a broken condom when I went to pull it off and it was one of those ‘ah shit’ moments that quickly turned into an ‘ah fuck it’ moment.

  We stayed up the rest of the night talking and fucking, naked and beautiful, warm and young, passionate and carefree.

  I had to leave then; she was upset and thought I was lying. I wasn’t. I had to pack and catch my early morning bus. She gave me her email, and I took off having one last glance at that Spanish goddess wrapped up in those dirty, white Delhi sheets.

  I GOT MY BUS BY SIX AM. The trip was rough at first. I mean both the roads and the fact of trying to sleep with no luck. I believe it took two to two-and-a-half hours just to get out of Delhi. Stopping here and there until the bus was full, and I was even more uncomfortable. Eight people on a four-person seat - I was glad to have a window. When I finally gave up on sleeping, I just stared out of it.

  It amazed me how poor and dirty India looked, and yet, such a natural-feeling habitat. I had seen all in one day: goats, sheep, cows, oxen, monkeys, elephants, and camels. The bus ride was long and annoying, and it didn’t help that I was tired and uncomfortable.

  I arrived at Agra by lunch and grabbed a tuk-tuk to a hotel. Unloaded and changed, I went back out for a bite, a terrible exchange rate for some spending money, and a train ticket I was not too happy with.

  I hired my tuk-tuk driver on as my go-to-guy for my stay in this big, small town. After first taking me to his friend’s hotel to get a room, we went to the Red Fort, although I found out later, the actual Red Fort was in Delhi. Agra Fort seemed just as red though.

  He stopped just in front of the fort and I told him to come back in two hours to pick me
up. He started to watch me walk away; I wasn’t sure if he was just going to wait or go find more clients and then come back.

  I finished a bottle of water I had been drinking. It was one of those plastic liter-and-half bottles with a blue sticker around the top of it. I crunched it up and started looking around for a trash can. My driver came up from behind me, took it from my hand, and threw it on the ground. I looked at him, probably in a funny way.

  ‘This is India!’ was his answer. Then he bobbed his head side to side as I noticed the Indians do when they give affirmation of something.

  ‘This is India, all right.’ I thought. I first came across this fascination in Delhi. Sitting on the side of the street, there is trash all over the ground, but then you have some old lady in rags come by and sweep it up. No government employee, but she takes tips if she sweeps something from under you. These sweepers eventually all meet in some central location, which becomes a big pile of trash. Not an official dump, just somewhere in the middle of town. Then you have the scavengers that stay in the pile of trash and take apart the clocks, the tires, and whatever else they find salvageable. Once there is nothing left to salvage, they burn it. It all seemed highly effective to me, and all without government aid.

  The Indian people didn’t seem materialistic at all, perhaps because of religion or just being poor. They had stuff, plenty of it, but they didn’t seem too attached to it. Use it, break it, throw it on the ground.