The Kumbh Bug
18th February 2025, turn of the hour, 4 hours to take off for me to descend onto the religious & cultural hub, the city of religiosity, now known as Prayagraj.
Do I have a tendency for self torment?
How on earth did I think of this?
I have decided to take a snan in the Kumbh, be witness to the grand mela… the Kumbh Mela.
As I dress up to catch my flight at 4 in the morning, I ask myself these questions. I remind myself when I come back, for sure, I’ll give it some thought, because I’m experiencing extremes. Sometimes, there’s so much langour, I almost feel I’m in a dream, sometimes, there’s so much happening, I miss myself and just have enough time to say a hello when I look at myself in the mirror in the morning.
Where does this bravado come from? Why do I have to jump into the unknown, the uncertainty again and again and again.
I’m already tired with the day’s work. I’m already tired with running the itinerary through my mind a dozen times.
I’m thinking am I fooling myself into believing it’s a calling? That I’ll take a dip and wash all my sins away, if at all there’s one ;) Or, it’s something I have pledged and to gather strength for that, I’m going to take this holy dip?
O wait a minute, I don’t know how to swim!
What if my foot slips? What if I die in a stampede? What if I never return?
I know what it is. Foolhardiness! That’s what it is but I’ll see it through.
I have to keep going don’t you understand?
Ernest Hemingway once wrote: The hardest lesson I have had to learn as an adult is the relentless need to keep going, no matter how broken I feel inside.
It’s the most useless skill. Writing.
Who am I explaining to? Writing down all of this will ease my troubles, I think, I think.
What if my back starts acting up in the longest hopping flight I have ever taken? What if I get a vertigo?
It’s a ruthless world out there. 😏
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Sitting here at the lounge of Gate no. 86 next to an oriental looking woman who looked friendly and isolated both at the same time. I think I’m perfectly comfortable with that vibe. So, I choose a seat next to her. And begin jotting my reflections.
The lounge is housefull.It was difficult to find a seat. It is still a good 45 minutes to go before we board. I’m getting a bit of tizziness up my spine and the back of my head. This time I’m travelling so light that I want to give up using my laptop and the paraphernalia thereof. Then I thought of my work and the importance of modern day gadgets. How inextricably linked we have become to these smart gadgets which make us modern & smart , so smart that we are never peaceful, relaxed and unhurried.
While I was walking down the long walk from the security checkin to the Gate which will take me to the Grand Sabbath literally, I was contemplating giving up my ‘Hybrid’ job which demands that the laptop be used. And if truly one does, then, what does one do actually, if one doesn’t want to vegetate all the way to her death bed? Well, for one, one could give up believing it’s 21st century and stagnate under the delusion that the world is still its sweet self how it was in 70s, 80s, and the 90s. Right now, the smart phone is indeed making me smart by helping me decide on writing all this down and not waste my time.
What I will do, is a point to ponder, toggled for later.
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I don't intend to age gracefully. I am going to use my body to fully experience this roller coaster called life and wear out myself by the time the curtains fall.I don't believe in "preserving' myself! Hopefully I would have helped a soul or two, lifted someone's spirit, given someone hope to live another day while on this ride. “ - Anonymous
This truth is raw, unfiltered, and painfully universal. Life doesn’t stop when we are exhausted, when our hearts are shattered, or when our spirits feel threadbare. It keeps moving—unyielding, indifferent—demanding that we keep pace. There is no pause button for grief, no intermission for healing, no moment where the world gently steps aside and allows us to mend. Life expects us to carry our burdens in silence, to push forward despite the weight of all we carry inside.
The cruelest part? No one really prepares us for this. As children, we are fed stories of resilience wrapped in neat, hopeful endings—tales where pain has purpose and every storm clears to reveal a bright horizon. But adulthood strips away those comforting illusions. It teaches us that survival is rarely poetic. More often than not, it’s about showing up when you’d rather disappear, smiling through pain no one sees, and carrying on despite feeling like you're unraveling from the inside out.
And yet, somehow, we persevere. That’s the quiet miracle of being human. Even when life is relentless, even when hope feels distant, we keep moving. We stumble, we break, we fall to our knees—but we get up. And in doing so, we uncover a strength we never knew we had. We learn to comfort ourselves in the ways we wish others would. We become the voice of reassurance we once searched for. Slowly, we realize that resilience isn’t always about grand acts of bravery; sometimes, it’s just a whisper—
“Keep going.”
Ernest Hemingway
Yes, it’s exhausting. Yes, it’s unfair. And yes, there are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable. But every small step forward is proof that we haven’t given up. That we are still fighting, still holding on, still refusing to let the darkness consume us. That quiet defiance—choosing to exist, to try, to hope—is the bravest thing we can do. (Hemingway)
With all of these thoughts, I board the plane to Prayagraj to witness the theatricsl saga the Gods have played out for us to partake in! With much trepidation and excitement if all goes well, I’ll soon be a part of this grand show!
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