How did I get here?
I don't belong here
I first heard this song while waiting for the metro in Istanbul. I was on my way to pick up my cycle from a local mechanic. As the music reached a crescendo, I felt tears forming around my eyes. How had I ended up here, on this railway platform in Turkey? I didn't belong here.
Of course, I knew how I had got there. I had cycled for four glorious months through Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and Iran. I had seen what wonderful people filled the world: people who welcomed me into their homes and treated me like a celebrity, people who stuffed more oranges than I could eat into my backpack, and people who gave me a ride and then excitedly video-called all their relatives so I would say Hi.
However, at that moment on that train station, these nice events were crowded out by what had happened three days ago. I had been taken out of a bus and into what felt like a phone booth without a phone. A soldier had forced me to strip and kicked me while laughing and saying "Cow". He aimed for my groin and didn't miss by much.
Maybe I didn't belong in this world of adventure. What if his kick hadn't missed? What if I had said something wrong and been slapped like the Afghan refugee standing next to me? I hadn't fought back. I hadn't done anything. I wasn't an intrepid adventurer. I was just a kid playing with toys not meant for him.
Later that day, when I was riding back to the hotel, a car door opened in my face and I went sprawling onto the road. So out of place.
Four years later, i.e. a few weeks ago, I was walking home from an above-average guitar concert and the song played again on my headphones. As much as I love the mountains, I don't belong in Dharamkot either. The chain of events that has led me here is so incredible that it's hard to believe I'm here, but I don't fit in.
How did I get here?
I don't belong here
I don't fit in with the travellers discussing deep truths over and over till the air is heavy with profound words that have forgotten their meaning. I don't fit in with the cool people, and it looks like I'm the only uncool one here. I find it hard to maintain a conversation beyond pleasantries; so many times my words are just punctation in awkward silences. I run in the hills, and I've hardly seen anyone else running. "You go high, the others get high", a friend tells me. While that sounds cool, it would be nice to fit in.
I wrote the words above more than a month ago thinking it would make a cool blog post. But between then and now, something has changed. I don't mean that I've suddenly found my tribe, or that the song doesn't have an effect now. It's more that these things don't seem to matter so much.
When you feel something strongly, maybe the brain goes through a pattern-matching exercise with the past. Many memories and feelings swim to the surface of your mind, creating waves of emotion, each amplifying the previous one till this becomes the truth of what you are. You think this is something important to write about, which forces the truth to take the form of words that get frozen in time.
However, while I see the "sense" and even a hint of resonance in what I was trying to say, the truth is no longer there.
For the last few weeks, I have been meditating and running regularly, which seems to have somehow led to me feeling that even if I don't fit in, I belong. So maybe that's all it takes: minutes in a day where your mind has space to observe and analyse, and any place can become home.
I have a theory. This "me", that is all cool about not fitting in, is also not the "real" truth of who I am. Yes, I am the guy whose mind is at peace even though he doesn't belong. But I am also the guy who feels bad about not fitting in. I am these two guys, and many more.
This is not an original thought by any stretch of the imagination. As the Buddhists say, there is no unchanging self (or something like that. I'm no expert!). I'm a stream of people changing through time and space. When the stream is observed, the person you get is the truth at that instant. Frozen in words from two instants, these two people are this blog post.
There is this old riddle that this reminds me of: you are carrying two wolves, one on either shoulder: one angry and one peaceful. The one that will get stronger is the one you feed. This metaphor has some mild disagreements with the stream metaphor, allowing as it does for free will. I don't know if the stream just happens to pass through the meditation-time-and-space, or if it was a conscious decision to feed the meditation-wolf.
To be honest, I don't care much.
How did I get here?
I don't belong here
Whatever, man. Chill [Me: today]
Before I get lost in philosophical gymnastics (maybe I do “fit in” here in Dharamkot after all!), let me conclude by saying that on June 17th 2023, the truth that is frozen in these words is that I belong. I belonged in Turkey, I belonged on that cycle, and I belong here in Dharamkot. I belonged even when I felt I didn't. Home is anywhere my mind has space to think and be.
Where is our Gangauli^ anyway?
I left mine in 2001 and I have been trying to find it everywhere I have been since. It does kill the beauty of new Gangaulis that could have been, but I am way too rigid in what I want. I know there is a world out there to be explored and lived but what if someone wants to restrict their existence and not venture out? The choices that I have made when I was too young to make them have put me on to this never ending struggle. People like you make it easier to get by so thank you Pritam.
I wrestle with this ‘I do not belong here’ feeling but I can hardly come up with such evocative post about it. Since last 4 years, I am ‘in transit’ and I don’t know when will I reach my home, but I do feel frustrated about this transitory (read never ending) phase. I cannot stop moaning about it but at times, I feel relived about where I am. The grudging acknowledgment of some mercies that I find bestowed on me give me a moment of stillness. I think those are the moments when my chaotic existence finds stillness.
When I cannot find words to resonate with my being, I hunt for writers who do this for me so that I can just +1 them. You are a blessing I found ‘you know where’ and I have been thankful ever since. Just the other day I was talking to the mod ‘you know where’ place and was moaning about the fact that you don’t write much. I know even this backbiting won’t push you to write more because you are busy living. I wouldn’t want to interrupt the process but yea, it would be nice to know what is happening, especially if it is described like this post and all the post on this substack Pritam. When I am not reading your post, I am waiting for a new one from you. I know, it is all about me.
Whatever man, I got a Pritam’s post (Me, today).
^ Episode 265 reference. Hope this didn’t sound idiotic.
Whether you will ever completely fit in or belong, I do not know. But as you observe the various snapshots of your self, the writing that pours forth is full of silent thought and meaning. Thanks for sharing. I almost presume to know you based on your writings!