It’s Saturday morning and I decide to visit a temple. A beautiful little temple, filled with vivid colors and distinct spaces. The Hindu religion has an incredible number of things they worship, and whenever I enter a temple, I always try to do so with as much respect and humility as possible.
At many temples you’re not allowed to wear shorts, so I head out prepared with a towel to wrap around my waist. I walk around and see devout women reciting verses at the entrance, and once I reach the top of the stairs, the atmosphere is peaceful but also serious. I stroll around with my little bag, cap, T-shirt, and of course my towel wrapped around me.
After admiring the people here, I realize how many moments I’ve had on this journey where I truly felt present in the now. Strangely enough, that sense of presence often comes through praying ss well, especially when you close your eyes for even half a minute. You’re just there, in the moment. That’s the thought running through my head as I watch these people doing their prayers. In other words, religion can serve as a kind of anchor to be fully in the present.
In the middle of the temple grounds there’s a space I enter from the side. People are waiting for something, and I’m fascinated by how everyone walks in circles, each performing their own ritual. Men and women are separated, each praying in their own way. What stands out even more is that many of the men have their shirts half on — tanned rice bellies, big and small, walking around with shirts over their shoulders.
I’m addressed: “Shirt off, cap off sir.” Oops… I quickly follow the orders and continue walking around bare-chested inside the temple. I know many dress codes for churches and temples but this one is new. There’s a first time for everything.
At the exit, a man asks if I went inside. “Yes,” I say, unsuspectingly. “Oh, that’s special,” he replies. “Usually, non-believers aren’t allowed in.” I don’t take it as racist — after all, I’m on their ground, and I respect their rules.
I finish my morning walk toward the village, where I’m meeting Kasia for lunch. As I wander through the streets and shops, I feel a stronger urge to buy things than usual. That’s rare for me, I rarely buy trinkets, statues, or necklaces. I decide not to give in to that feeling. Time will tell.
Kasia and I enjoy a nice lunch and have a great chat with another guy sitting next to us, he lives in New York and works for EY. He knows Workiva, and we end up talking about life and the corporate rat race that I’ve escaped and that he’s trying to find a way out of. It’s brave of him to join in on our conversation about something that’s clearly on his mind too: “life.” We sit, enjoy the view, and practice and talk about the art of “being.” Kasia has a yoga class, and I later enjoy the beach and the setting sun by myself.
On the way back, I wander along the shops again, still feeling that buying urge. I decide to grab dinner and end up in an empty place where live music is just starting. I think, I’ll just eat something and go to bed — yoga tomorrow. But that plan quickly changes as the place fills up and the atmosphere turns lively. The music gets people off their seats. Still, I don’t see much alcohol on the tables, nor on the menu. Kerala is quite a religious state, and I’ve already noticed stricter customs here.
Yet, off the menu, they do have a beer on offer and since it’s Saturday, I think, cheers, I’ll have one. The place is soon packed, and before I know it, I’m dancing along to Bollywood music. Yes, I stand out — even when I join the fun. But being able to blend in with my energy and smile feels great. The party ends at midnight, and I walk away fulfilled, ready for a good night’s sleep. Maybe yoga will replace my urge to shop, is what I’m thinking right before my head hits the pillow.
I’m right on time for my class, waiting at 8:45. A Scottish couple walks in: the Smith family from Aberdeen. Worth remembering. They look fresh and happy, I think clearly enjoying their travels together the two of them. By 8:55, there’s still no sign of a yoga teacher, but I’ve already introduced myself to the Scots. When Kris asks, “What’s your favourite place so far in India?” my answer is: “I don’t have a favourite place — I had favourite people I spent good times with.” He and his wife Jules like that answer in a profound way.
When I ask about their story, we’re interrupted — the teacher isn’t coming, and the class is canceled. Still, there’s a reason I’m meeting this couple. We continue talking, and they tell me they’ve been traveling with their family since 2019. It’s sixth years ago since they visited India. They quit their jobs and started traveling the world with their son and daughter. Very brave.
That they’ve chosen to raise their children this way is admirable. The kids study online and sometimes spend a few weeks in a classroom during their travels. The school of life is, of course, their most important education. During one school period, Kris and Jules were approached about their son, someone asked if they’d be open to him playing a role in a Bollywood movie. Naturally, they hesitated — it went against their decision to escape a life of pressure and performance. But they went for it anyway, and in the end, Jacob Smith became a Bollywood star in the 2021 film Mimi, right after Covid.
Just when I think the story can’t get crazier, I ask if they were in Scotland during Covid. “No,” they say, “we were stuck in Nepal.” Ding-dong — there’s that Everest Base Camp thought again, and suddenly my meeting with them starts to make even more sense. I ask what they did there, and the conversation deepens further. They were stranded for over three months and eventually stayed with a local family in the mountains, who helped them with visas and other things.
When Nepal reopened, they completed Everest Base Camp — at a very slow pace, led by little Jacob, then three years old. At the time, he became the youngest person ever to complete EBC. I can’t help but feel there are strong signs pointing toward my next destination — my idea starts to take shape. It was one of their most beautiful experiences, and later Jacob ended up in that Bollywood movie. Life works in mysterious ways — a very special meeting with Kris and Jules Smith. The hour that was meant for yoga turned into a life lesson: to listen to these kinds of signs. It’s not time yet, but the seed planted by Harbinder is now more than just a seed.
The rest of the day, I decide to relax and book my flight from Thiruvananthapuram International Airport — yes, you read that right — to Varanasi.
The next morning, I’m on my train to that impossible-to-pronounce airport. As the train stops just before the station, I see people jumping out. I listen to that little voice on my shoulder: “Go on, just do it.” So I walk innocently for about 100 meters and grab a tuk-tuk to the airport. A long day ahead with two flights. Eventually, I arrive in Varanasi via Delhi — flying about 2,500 km and still in the same country.
Once in Varanasi, it’s a complete shift — almost a culture shock going from palm trees to utter chaos. It’s overwhelming; I need a moment to remember how to handle this madness. Extreme, dusty, and intense — that’s my first impression of Varanasi. My urge to buy things quickly disappears amid the endless shops and dopamine overload of the city.
I struggle to find a good hostel; everything feels old, dirty, and run-down. After wandering for over an hour, I end up in a quieter area and decide that this hotel will be my base in hectic Varanasi. This is an extraordinarily special place — more on that later.
Adjusting . That’s how I’ll end this blog. Stay tuned for Varanasi!
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