The Idea of You Died on the Ganges
Stifled summer plans, a Prism & Pen writing prompt.
I pushed out the rowboat into the Ganges and got in with the help of my guide. We made our way up the river toward the shore glowing under the setting sun.
By dumb luck, or maybe just dumb planning, I found myself in India at the top of March. The pandemic still a seemingly distant reality of other countries, I sat and skimmed the pads of my fingertips on the surface of the water. Careful to press only just enough to dimple the water without breaking its tension, as if it would ripple and break the moment too.
We tied the boat to nearby boats, which were tied to other boats floating along the water. Anchored by collective association, Aman tells me about the ritual of cremation, the creation of the world, and the cycle of rebirth. We watch men with freshly shaved heads bringing down silhouettes wrapped in white, laid on bamboo wood.
As the bodies burned, I thought about the exteriors we wear, the ideas of people we wrap around others. And I thought about a girl I’ve been seeing. I thought I liked her for her, but much of what that entailed in my mind was just exterior projections. I focused on her, I thought of her, and suddenly the idea of her died. In the ashes, I finally saw her. And I liked what I saw.
As we rowed back to dock later that night, lightning and thunder flared over the river. In the cacophony of ensuing raindrops and roars, I emboldened myself to speak my mind when I returned home. I saw myself through a glass darkly, speaking sincerely and direct.
Then I came home to lockdown, and my plans to lock it down vanished. Suddenly, the idea of making myself vulnerable seemed foolish and inconsequential. But, like most people, I’ve had endless time to introspect.
One thing illuminates over the river of doubts: physical proximity is not the bridge to honest conversations. It’s the emotional proximity, the mortifying ordeal of letting oneself be known, and the even scarier prospect of being understood.
This story is a response to Prism & Pen’s writing prompt Stifled Summer Travels.
