Welcome to Yatra

It is strange how, in less than twelve hours, a person can pass through so many states of mind. I do not mean the chitta bhumis. I mean simple human emotions.

I arrived at the airport smiling. Messages were coming in—goodbyes from many people. They brought back good memories. I answered them, posted on Instagram about the last day, where we went, what we did. I replied to direct messages.

I went to the airport without my visa ready, and no one asked for it. I thought: what foolish luck.

I went to the business lounge and ate too much—food, sweets, all of it. I knew it was late and not good for me, but I thought, what the hell. Tomorrow will be a new day. I know myself. I fall off and I return. I always return.

I called home and spoke for almost an hour. I had not done that during my whole time in India. I left the campus after an open conversation with a friend about continuing together in the future. Many good things.

Then I boarded the first flight.

The plane began to take off, and suddenly panic rose inside me. Fear. It happens to me sometimes. I folded my fingers into Pranava mudra and did three rounds of Anuloma Viloma breathing. It helped. Of course it helped.

I had left the campus gates. Now I was on my own with yoga. My path had started. So I practiced what I knew. Little by little. Since the course ended I have done asanas, pranayama, meditation each day. I pray in the morning. I pray before meals.

I write this only to share what I do. To document it. I do what I can today, without exaggeration.

Then I landed in Delhi. That airport made me sweat. First, because it is enormous. Changing terminals took a long time. The air was humid, polluted, warm. I began moving faster. At immigration an officer told me to print my ticket. I did that and returned. Then the visa problem appeared. Because of the Iran situation I had missed two flights that were canceled. During that time my visa expired. I had already applied for an extension and paid eighty-five euros, but I had not yet received the official confirmation.

At the border the officer told me it was fake. That someone had cheated me. He said I had to pay a penalty—19,600 rupees, about 190 euros.

It felt unfair. They kept repeating that I would miss my flight if I did not pay quickly. The pressure grew. It felt like everyone was trying to rip me off. At that moment you cannot tell what is real and what is not.

In my mind I knew I would pay. I had to catch the flight. But I also raised my voice a little. I did not care that it was the Indian police. I had done everything I could, and no one showed the smallest empathy.

I paid. I went to security.

When I took off my jacket I saw sweat everywhere on my clothes. I must have looked strange—panicked and exhausted. I was late. I knew it.

On the way a man with a small airport cart stopped and asked which gate I needed. I said twelve. He told me to get in. It was about a kilometer away.

Before he picked me up I was close to crying. Not from panic. From exhaustion. I was doing my best and still felt it would not be enough.

As we drove he said I should pay whatever I thought was fair. I told him I only had forty rupees.

He shouted, “Rude. Get out.”

I was shocked. I did not understand what had happened. In the city, forty rupees can take you three kilometers in a rickshaw. Here one kilometer was not enough. Again I felt someone was trying to cheat me. At first I thought he wanted to help.

Still, he had already brought me most of the way.

I reached the plane—sweaty, tired. I sat down in the quiet box of business class. There was a screen, service, all the small comforts.

Quickly I opened my phone and laptop to buy a ticket from Frankfurt to Riga. My plan was simple: land in Frankfurt, take the next flight home, and make it to Shabbat dinner.

The website blocked me several times, but finally it worked.

Done. I succeeded.

Then I touched the screen in front of me and saw the arrival time. I would land in Frankfurt at 12 p.m.

My flight to Riga was at 11 a.m.

In a few minutes I had thrown 333 euros into the garbage.

I write all this so you understand the emotions behind it.

First the visa—190 euros. Then the ticket—another 333. More than 500 euros gone in a hour.

At first I thought, what a stupid situation.

Then I took myself by the hand and stepped back. I tried to see it from farther away.

Practice detachment.

Money belongs to the material world. Money comes. Money goes. Do not let it control the movement of your mind.

If I had not had that money with me, I might not have crossed the border at all. Does losing 190 euros make me poorer? No.

Does losing 333 euros change my life? Also no.

But those 333 euros were strong enough to make me stop and think.

Was I unfortunate in this mess?

No. I was fortunate.

The driver, whether he wanted to cheat me or not, saved my time and energy. He got me close enough to the gate. In that moment that was the only thing that mattered. He appeared from nowhere and helped.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was some force moving through him.

It is also a coincidence—though I do not believe in coincidences—that I am flying business class this time. The flight is comfortable. I sit here with coffee, the door closed, mountains outside the window, Africa passing beneath my feet as I write these words.

I have an Ayurvedic mist from Forest Essentials beside me. I can order whatever I want. The seat and table are wide and quiet.

This is not comparison. It is prasharta—a calm mind that changes the angle of how you see things.

I have not changed dramatically in this month. Not at all.

But one thing my favorite teacher at the institute said stays with me.

Wisdom does not come and go. It already lives inside you. You only need the tools to unlock it.

I like to learn. During this month I learned many new terms for things that were already inside me. I simply did not know how to structure them before. I did not know they had names in Sanskrit. I did not know how those tools could be used.

Now I do.

I exposed myself to new ideas. I spoke honestly with myself. I tried new practices. I put my ego aside. I experimented and observed.

There are many ways to describe the process, but the idea is simple.

Something inside opens.

And when I look at everything that happened today, I find I have nothing to complain about.

Life is good.