Although it quite cold in Rishikesh currently and I would like to constantly complain about that fact, it’s also become my home. I’ve hung a calendar on my wall. Radha and Krishna. I bought little moon Christmas ornaments in Rajasthan. They’re hand painted with lovely gold swirls and flowers. I put the ornaments in my window. I light candles each night (this helps with the cold). It’s kind of inviting in here… I walk down the road, I’m getting to know the shop keepers. I especially like the guy that says, “Everything is possible!! Fantastico!” when I walk past his shop. I have a routine here. I know the regulars who hang out at the Pyramid café and the Devraj Coffee House. There’s the beggar woman with the flaming red hair who no matter how many times I give her my change is shouting at me, “Excuse me. Madam. Madam!!” It’s such a small place, it would be hard to not get to know these faces. I watch the Westerners come and go. I get to know them, they stay a couple days and then they move on. It’s strange to think of myself as the weird Westerner hanging around Rishikesh for too long. The first time I came here I met an American guy who had been living in Rishikesh for the past 20 years. He had this far away, glazed over look in his eyes. He spoke about his guru. Am I that to the other Westerners that come here?? They ask me how long I’ve been here, “Whoa! Two weeks.” Ha, it makes me laugh.
What is it to know a place? What is it to call a place home?
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