Rainy Final Night in Khajuraho, India

FEBRUARY 4, 2013

Our little ghetto.

Final day in Kajuraho.  Over the next two days we will spend over twenty hours on a buses before the group disbands in Dehli and heads home.

Our campus shrine

Home.  Now there’s an interesting thought.  In the past fifteen nights I have shared a grass hut with the same two guys with essentially the same set up, though it was in two locations.  The last time I spent that long in the same bed was August.  It’s an odd thought.  I’ve been gone for five months now.  Still no return flight booked.  Tentative plans for Nepal in mid-March are being kicked around with a friend, though anything is possible.  The thought of moving around from guest house to guest house every other night going forward does not appeal to me.  Appealing to me even less is the thought of returning to the US where dirtbag travel is less exotic, less acceptable and much less affordable.

The day ends in a humorous scramble in our hut.  The culmination of our yoga practices and spiritual journey was marked by <pick one:  God/The Divine Mother/Mother Earth/Allah/Tom Cruise> deciding to dump a pile of rain on us.  Keep in mind that the average rainfall in this region this time of year is 0.0 centimeters (that converts to approximately 0.0 inches, by the way).  Brooke and Meg were outside dancing in the rain.  Steve and I stood in the doorway watching the electrical storm taking it in.  It was sublime.  Well, right up until the grass roof on our hut started to leak, water ran downhill and under our front door while simultaneously swelling up through the hay and astroturf floor.

In a mad scramble we moved beds, packed and elevated our gear and put buckets under the leaks.  It was functional, but our room looked like a post-Godzilla Tokyo.  By the next morning we couldn’t stop laughing about it and all was well as I left my roommates, who were staying on for another month of yoga, and boarded the bus.