By Emily Boolsen
I remember a feeling of elation coursing through my veins the moment I finally booked a plane ticket to my life-long dream destination: India. I dissolved into chuckles of rejoice and embraced my boyfriend at the time whom I had managed to convince, somehow, to book a plane ticket alongside me towards the escapade of a lifetime. I remember too, the wrenching shock I felt eight days later when he spontaneously dumped me over the phone and announced that in light of this new decision, he would be cancelling his flight ticket.
My ecstasy quickly transformed into dread as I sat on the edge of my bed alone, now clutching a solo ticket to a country that suddenly felt immensely daunting to travel to. Little did I know that in the weeks to follow, my best friend Clementine would impulsively decide to plunge into this adventure with me and we would spend the next four months traversing a bustling and chaotic India which ended up being, in the most unexpected of ways, the ultimate cure to my heartbreak.
It may be common knowledge that people from all corners of the globe flock to India to engage in its renowned and ancient spiritual practices of yoga and meditation. Many people, I believe, come to India with their aching hearts in their hands, hoping that solace will be found in rigorous ashram programs and in the revered wisdom of those such as Kerala’s “hugging guru” whom people spend days in sardine-packed queues to touch for merely a moment. I have no doubt that such quests have the power to gift the healing revelations and spiritual truths that people come searching for.
My own experience of self-healing in India, however, offered a vastly different journey to that of mantras, silent meditation halls, famous gurus and ancient asanas. Rather, my healing journey took place in the confines of dingy Delhi alleyways, severed building rooftops and upon scooter seats which carried me through the gut-dropping whizz of the masses. My ‘gurus’ took the form of resilient street children, my ‘zen’ emerged from the constant chorus of cantankerous hooters and my most profound interactions took place on dishevelled street benches. The phenomenon of ‘healing in India’ I came to find, can take place in a myriad of ways, the most touching of which comes in the form of the ‘mundane’ day-to-day life that India can offer.
In the Northern town of Rishikesh, we opted to stay in a crumbling, yet charming building on the banks of the holy Ganga River. My vagabonding tendencies urged me, as they always do, to pick a place that caters towards local travellers and residents rather than elaborate abodes which offer touristic experiences. A perk of this choice (the cons being several large cockroaches as roommates and sparking electrical plugs) was the cement rooftops of the building where one could wander or sit and watch the vibrancy of life on the streets below.
During those first few lonely nights when the heartache sat fresh and my jet lag still lingered, I would engage in the act of simply sitting on the rooftop and observing life in India. There, through gazing at the singing crowds, roaming cows and the maze of scooters, a magnified realisation that every heartbroken person has at one point or another dawned on me: life goes on. Although the breakup had lulled me into a slump of stillness, slowly but surely, witnessing India’s fierce life force brought me back anew.
It wasn’t long before the streets I so fondly gazed upon took the lesson further. Day after day I watched as a limbless local, a child, navigated his way through the crowded streets through the means of a rusted skateboard. Swivelling through the crowd with determination, accuracy, one arm and a smile, the boy would persist through the masses with emanating joy. This quickly taught me how possible it is to live with pain and discomfort and still relish every second of it. The more I watched, the more I realised how beautifully the people of India were able to find comfort within the discomfort. Old men would rest, after a scorching day’s work, in their empty wooden wagons wearing smiles of serenity. Taxi drivers would slump down in their seats and dangle their bare feet out of the window whilst waiting for clients, whistling contented tunes. The more I witnessed, the more I learnt that life persists even when one’s circumstances are uncomfortably unideal.
As the days continued to unfold in incongruent glory, I became immersed in daily life in India. Instead of engaging in formal meditation programs or visiting world-famous temples, I spent my time taking casual plunges in the holy river, dancing over cow dung in the street and allowing the bursting flavours of street food to remind me of life’s vibrant sensations. I quickly learnt that in India, nothing goes according to plan. Busses are unapologetically late, scooter rides are terrifying, new sheets carry stains, monkeys steal your last banana, and the concept of “silence” is relentlessly pierced with calls of celebration, wails of grief and ceaseless scooter-hooting. Through these elements of everyday life, which one simply cannot control, India pushed me to step into surrender and to flow with the chaotic tides of life. What better way to resuscitate a broken heart than to learn the act of letting go? What better way to carry on, despite the heartache, than to exist in a place that celebrates life in the midst of suffering?
When the time came to finally leave India, I felt lucky to be transformed as a person. Witnessing a distinctly different way of life than what I had been used to radically shifted my perspectives on all the things that matter. Joy, through the magic of India’s ‘mundane’, had crept into my broken heart persistently and unexpectedly, piecing it back together in a whole new way. I cannot promise you, the reader, that your journey in India will be a smooth unfolding of an escapade. In fact, I am certain that it will be the opposite. What I can assure you of is that if you open your heart up to India, it will be filled in all the surprising ways.
Emily Boolsen is a 23-year-old traveller, writer and student with an affection for quirky adventures, wild escapades and good books. She is currently living on the Wild Coast of South Africa whilst working on her passion project, A Vagabond’s Guide, a travel tips and stories podcast. Emily’s current life goal is to ‘live the stories’ she wishes to write.
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