India 7 Ganges Blended Into A Muddy Pink Sunset

 Out of respect, we avoided them, casting our curious eyes away from the smoldering piles where Hindus made their transition from this life to the next.

A haze had settled over the river, the tired humidity catching the smoke and smell of recent fires.

As I passed funerals and dancing bathers, I decided that this river, this place of transformation, would be the final resting place for my marriage. I would release my engagement-cum-wedding ring into this sacred river with a ceremony of my own.

That evening as the sun faded into a haze, we filled a blue wooden boat big enough for a tour group, crew and sitar player. The river slurped the ghat stairs, sucking Durga Puja remains into her current. A campfire smell pervaded the sludgy damp of the riverside. The brown of the Ganges blended into a muddy pink sunset. The bathers had gone home.

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)

India 6 Varanasi

I took another sip of wine, swallowed, and breathed. I have to go to India, I inhaled. I’m going to India, I exhaled.

Five months later, my tour group arrived in the holy city of Varanasi. The day was jungle-hot and sticky, with dive-bombing insects. We found our way to the river’s side through the walled city, where sacred cows shared paths with lost tourists. Cafes and temples provided views of the expansive mud-brown river, but we traversed the famous ghats, the long, uneven stairways pilgrims took to enter the holy Ganges.

Revelers celebrated the Durga Puja holiday by dancing in the shallow waters. Men splashed and clapped their own music at the base of the stairs and between boats. A lone woman took part from a distance, covered completely in a wet sari. Large stacks of logs and sticks signaled the crematory ghats.

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)

 

India 5 Golden Taj Mahal

I spent most newly single nights on the bare floor of my apartment reading travel magazines and drinking red wine. The photos of far away comforted me more than any sympathetic therapist or cathartic girls’ night out could. I wanted to take these pictures of sunrise at Machu Picchu, the Acropolis’s stately grace, and the desperately blue French Polynesian waters and rub them over my body in a baptism of travel and desire—I wanted them in my veins.

My nights settled into this familiar routine of turn page, sip, and sigh; turn page, sip, and sigh—until one page turn resulted in a destination. An image of the golden Taj Mahal appeared at sunrise beneath bold text: INCREDIBLE INDIA. 

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)

India 4 - The Travel Never Happened

The travel never happened as promised. Instead, we used our sparse vacation days and bonuses to travel for ten days to China, two weeks to Europe, sixteen days to Thailand. But these trips were more a retreat from home life in a grand setting—not enough for me. I wanted deeper, more. After seven years, I had spoken the truth at last and breathed for the first time.

For three months we separated, each day removing a layer of our life together—the mattress we’d just purchased, the Noritake Colorwave Green china, and the joint DVD collection. Over time, he agreed that our separation was for the best. He dreamed of a house, a family, and a silver anniversary party. I dreamed of a camel ride to visit the Great Pyramids of Giza. When he eventually admitted that it was better to be fulfilled than be together, the cement block of guilt weighing down my newfound freedom began to ligh.

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)

India 3 My Ring Held The Promise Of Travel

 There was nothing wrong with him, nothing wrong with me. But I wore despair and denial like a heavy winter coat—my dream, to voyage out like Freya Stark and discover myself amidst the sands of Arabia. I denied myself study abroad in college and backpacking through Europe, shuffling from school to a “good job” and finally a big Catholic wedding to a really nice guy who I loved and couldn’t see beyond. 

My ring even held the promise of travel. A simple gold band with twelve small diamonds, it was both wedding and engagement ring. As the date of our wedding had approached, my then-fiance was in his second year of law school, and his money was going to tuition and car payments. He couldn’t see peeling out a few grand for a matching band, so instead of a wedding ring, he promised we’d put the money toward a future trip. “Wouldn’t that be better?” he offered.

By Kristin Zibell  (to be continued)