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Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness. - Haruki Murakami

The sky was pink, well pink-ish and the fields were green. I was walking but somehow, I was still, it felt like as if my legs were moving but I was not the part of the same body as were my legs. It was an uncomfortable feeling and I kept wondering what was happening to me and with a gradual increase in the momentum of my wondering, and before reaching the boiling point, I woke up!

It was a Thursday, 5:30 in the morning and exceptionally chilly in Banaras. Usually I’d go back to sleep if I woke up this early but today I felt like going for a walk. I prepared myself for a walk to witness the morning sun. Brushed my teeth freezing the insides of my mouth, wore a jumper and woollen pants, wrote a sticky note for my roommate and left with a book that I had been was reading last night. It was a collection of Chekhov’s short stories.

I never wear enough winter clothes maybe because I have this bizarre idea that only the cold can keep me warm. Perhaps it is the only time when my cold bloodedness resonates with the cold air outside. It was still somewhat dark outside. I had never seen the Lanka Chauraha so empty. Usually, it takes me five minutes to cross the roads here at the Lanka Chauraha without having to quarrel with an auto driver. So, I decided to walk seeping in the emptiness of one of the busiest streets in town. I decided to go Assi. I usually walk fast when I know where I have to go but this morning was different because I knew Assi Chauraha was not my destination. On my way I stopped to click photographs of a sleeping dog. The dog looked as peaceful as the winter sun.

It was around 6:30ish, I sat on the stairs of Tulsi Ghat and began reading. I had been reading the short story Ward no. 6 and decided to continue with it. Reading at the Ghats distract me because of the people walking, the colours, the music of the chaos all of these call out to me to read them instead. If not these, then staring at the emptiness of the river is loud enough to distract me. Although at that time in the morning there is hardly anything to pay attention to except the beautiful and loud silence. Chekhov’s short story had two characters, a madman and his doctor who talk about madness and the binaries of madness and sanity. I stopped at a line that read -

Once the prison and the lunatic asylum exist, someone has to live in them.

After completing the story, I looked around, and the few people that I could see looked like madmen. The world we live in feels like an asylum at times, doesn’t it? I did not want to be here! At least not voluntarily.

After sitting there for a while, I walked towards Shivala Ghat. Shivala Ghat has always made me envious. There is a huge space between the river and the stairs that go towards the temple. Somehow, I craved for that cognitive space in my head.

Reaching there, I felt like having tea. The tea stalls had opened up by now. I got myself a cup of masala chai and next to me sat a young man who was sketching in his book. Curiously, I stared at him for a while but I realized he did not like being stared at. Apparently, this might be a rule of this asylum.

NO GAZING AT HUMANS! ONLY WATERBODIES!

I thought about what I had studied last night. Soren Kierkegaard in his journal AA 1835 wrote about Madness-

How near is man to madness in any case despite all his knowledge? What is Truth other than living for an idea? Everything must in the final analysis be based on a postulate. But the moment when it no longer stands outside him but he lives in it, only then, for him, does it cease to be a postulate.

Around 10, I thought of heading back to my room and get ready for classes. I did not want to walk through the Ghats and instead took the narrow lanes from the Shivala. These lanes reverberate with music. The houses are so close to each other, you can hear everybody talk but cannot comprehend anything. The music of chaos! These half -lit lanes are full of stories. I walked and walked. I had a habit of taking pictures of random sights and sending them to S who could exactly smell the story that I was living. I don’t know how S did that but I never asked maybe because I knew the answer. Or I didn’t, who cares? I can make peace in between binaries.

After reaching Assi Chauraha, I gave up the idea of classes and instead felt like having coffee and cake. I went to Mark Café. Had it not been for this place, I would have quit studying in Banaras, and gone back home. Although that’s a story for another day. Let’s just say, this café is the first friend I made in the city.

They knew what I wanted so without my asking them, I was served my latte and a muffin. I always took the last seat at the balcony, the farthest from the door. Sitting there with my coffee, I saw a man outside, on the road. Wearing torn and dusty clothes with a funny wall, this man was definitely a mad man. A Mad Man to be put in an asylum inside this macrocosmic asylum. I watched him for quite a while. He walked and kept walking to and fro on the road in front of me. With no shoes on, he kept walking. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Surprisingly, my stare didn’t bother him. Two mad men had separate rules.

After a while, I gave up the hypnotizing walk and decided to go to Harmony, the book shop. . Harmony had a super power; it could fix your bad day and could also make your regular day an extraordinary one simply through its existence. I think Harmony is an abyss. A beautiful one, it’s lit with books and poetry, adorned with jazz. You fall and float in this abyss.

As usual, Rakesh ji, the owner of Harmony, greeted me with a big smile. The greetings of familiar strangers are like good coffee!

I wish I could explain this reference.

He brought me a pile of new philosophy books that had just arrived.

I live in two worlds, one where I have to make sure I don’t run out of groceries and stick files for all the assignments that I have to submit in the coming week, while the other one is where there are philosophers and poets always engaged in conversations. Harmony is my door to Narnia!

I chose a book that was shelved at the hyphen between poetry and philosophy. I stayed at the bookstore for a while, moved my eyes and soul across the shelves and then left.

It was around 1:30 and by now, I was hungry but I did not want to go back to my room and blame myself for missing classes. Yet. Guilt is one of the primary emotions in this asylum. Without much thinking I took an auto and left for Godowlia. Two of my favourite eateries were at Gadowlia but I never ate there without my roommate, and I did not want to break the pattern so I found a new place to gorge on. I roamed around Dasaswamedh, aimlessly for a while, amidst the big crowd, alone.

A familiar voice called out my name! It was Saraswati didi. She owns a small shop near the Ghat and keeps a variety of colourful stones. We talked for a while, while she discussed about the lessening number of customers these days, and I told her about the lessening number of listeners these days. I shared with her the story of my day and realized that she was becoming a part of my story as well.

In the evening, I witnessed the Ganga Aarti at Dasaswamedh. Watching the Aarti alone elevated my sense of nothingness or maybe I was just sleepy.

I decided to walk all the way back to Lanka.

It was a long walk but it ate up all my tiredness.

It was 11:30pm and after dinner I sat with my journal in the balcony and wrote-

A Mad Man walked to and fro
From Ghats to the Chauraha,
Melting down on my desire to Love
Weaving the stories with the fabric of the mist,
The cloth- Another prison cell!
In time to come, all the dying shall cease and the Ghats might turn arid…
But the Death of Sameness?
Who will live to address the death at the interval of my asylum and his?
Every night’s half sleep begins with Me assuring my Self-
Birds go Home to come back to the Sky!

The weather was cold and lonely with unfilled gaps of warmth and I was overwhelmed by the day that I had spent; but there was no one who would listen to my randomness. I had a feeling of contentment mixed with loneliness.

I took my phone and sent all the random pictures I had clicked that day, to S. S and I had never talked over the phone but that night for the very first time, he asked me if we could talk over the phone.

The more the void gets filled, the more I realize how hollow it was.

This city and S fill up the hollow space within me.