I stopped
walking and looked over my shoulder. I didn’t see anyone. In fact, being a cold
Saturday evening, not many people were out walking, and definitely no one was following
me. My sixth sense had been hyperactive lately, so I wasn’t surprised by the
false alarm. However, that didn’t stop my mind from absconding from the
surroundings. I remembered my visit to the spy museum three years ago.
Washington, DC has been the city with the most spies in the world, a fact
highlighted during my visit. I took a left turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue, half
recalling my wonderful experience at the spy museum and half expecting to run
into a real spy with a secret motive. I smiled.
I have only
been in the Washington, DC metro area for four months. Though I have been an
avid adventurer for the past few years, laziness got better of me after I
started my first job. University life and job life are extremely different. And
this is not to say that I wasn’t enjoying life after school. Both were
wonderful, it’s just a big transition between the two. But this day was
different. The weather was cold and showing first signs of winter in the third
week of December, an odd scenario for mid-Atlantic, but with global warming and
climate change weathermen predicted a rather warm winter for 2016.
Georgetown Glow,
an art festival, was in its last two days and I didn’t want to miss it. Taking
advantage of the cold weather – I like cold – , I headed towards the metro an
hour ago. Riding the metro was not completely new for me, but I wouldn’t say I
was used to it either. Moving to a big city from a small town, where I used to
drive everywhere had a big impact on me. Finding parking in DC was a big
setback in my zeal for driving. Today, as in many cases, I decided to take
public transportation as Georgetown was only a mile walk from the Foggy Bottom
station.
DC added its
own flavor to everyone’s personality. The identity of race, ethnicity, and
background was lost in generalization. Wearing a black wool coat over a white
shirt, my identity was also lost within the DC crowd, at least my physical
identity. Although my appearance didn’t stand out, my behavior was still simpler
and friendlier than the DC standard. Mentally I was nowhere near stressed. I
was not a DC native yet. After reaching the Washington Circle from Foggy
Bottom, I was greeted with a heavy breeze of cold air, intensified by each
passing vehicle. I made a mental note of covering my ears and nose next time
I’d walk. I brought my hands out of pockets to touch my nose and made a note of
using gloves as well. While turning onto Pennsylvania Avenue, a pattern of
breeze from behind alerted me that someone was following me.
After a while,
my suspicion grew stronger. I had a constant feeling of being followed, but never
saw anything to confirm my suspicions. I stopped, turned around, walked back on
Pennsylvania Avenue. The goal in my mind was still clear: reach Georgetown Park
on Wisconsin and M, the starting point of Georgetown Glow. But as I continued
to walk, the feeling of being followed increased. My curiosity and
fantasy were quickly shifting to panic. I started scratching my face hoping to
launch a magical power and unravel the mystery of my spy.
On reaching M
Street, Christmas decorations greeted my sight. The sights and sounds of the
festival were entering through my eyes and ears, but not reaching my brain. I
was walking faster and faster on M street, subconsciously noticing the
buildings from 17th and 18th century proudly displaying their
plaques that stated their historical heritage. As I got closer to Georgetown
Park the crowd became thicker and lights became brighter. The street were filled
with people and decorated with lighted wreaths. I felt at ease and became much
more confident within the bright and busy streets. I turned onto Wisconsin
Avenue and noticed an information booth to my right. Water was flowing in a
canal under the bridge besides the booth. The cars were moving at the snail
pace giving way to heavy pedestrian traffic.
“Hello! Are
you here for Georgetown Glow?” a lady behind the counter asked me as I
approached the booth. Judging by her restricted movements, I could tell she was
freezing but looked happy doing her job. She was wearing a Santa hat and
keeping warm by an outdoor heater.
“Yes. Is this
the first spot?” I asked smiling. I had done some research and knew about five
spots of Georgetown Glow. I felt safe and in no danger of a spy attack. My
paranoia was in control because of my interactions with another human. Looking
back, I realized I should have talked to someone when I first felt I was being
followed. But I hadn’t, and being an introvert didn’t help.
“Yes. Here’s
the map. It will guide you to all five exhibits,” she replied and handed me the
map. “Just walk behind me through that bridge and you will see the first
exhibit. Follow those people,” she pointed at another small bridge to her right
behind Wisconsin Avenue Bridge.
I walked
behind the information desk. Indie music was blasting through hidden speakers
and continued to get louder as I walked towards the bridge. My senses were back
in the present. I thought no one was following me and was just afraid of being
alone. I walked a few steps and turned left with others onto the small bridge. To
the left under the Wisconsin Avenue Bridge, there were two faces made of wire hanging
upside down below the Wisconsin bridge. The front one was pink and the back was
blue. Their reflections on the canal water showed the faces right-side up. I
heard gushing of water below me.
“That’s the
second exhibit, not the first one,” I jumped and turned around to see a white
man in his mid-fifties. He was distinctly different from black coats walking
by, still no one noticed him. He didn’t look like an American man. He had
square face and he was wearing a white shirt with light blue lines. The first
thing I registered was his ability to be without a coat in 30 degrees weather.
I also took note of his accent. I could not hear the water anymore, indie music
filled my ears.
Without a
second thought the words burst out of my mouth, “Were you following me?”
He smiled, “Not
really. But yes, I was walking behind you.”
I was relieved
and frustrated. If he talked to me earlier, I wouldn’t have been so paranoid all
night and could have enjoyed my walk a lot more.
“How did I not
notice you?” I asked with puzzled face. I looked behind, I walked back, but I
didn’t see anyone like him.
“Well, I don’t
know. Anyways I’m Yuri Agapov,” he stretched out his arm for a handshake. It
seemed like he was avoiding my question, but I shook his hand anyway. “And you
are?” he asked. I realized I was being rude but I was still processing the
sudden friendliness of my stalker. Nonetheless I smiled and said, “I’m Rohan.”
“Ah, Rohan.
Let’s walk to the first exhibit.” Yuri said as he took a step to his right
towards the other end of the bridge. I stood my ground. He was really imposing
on my night. I planned to visit these exhibits on my own. If Yuri was really a
spy, then I was being played with. Yuri turned back to me, “Don’t worry I’m not
a spy. I’m just a normal guy like you.”
“Can you read
my mind?” I asked puzzled.
“I don’t know.
Let’s just enjoy the exhibit. Shall we?” He pointed towards the end of the
bridge where people were standing and facing the canal. Yuri’s confidence had a
certain effect on me. I followed him. We turned right at the end of the bridge
towards a small viewing area. Across the canal on the wall was a projection. The
music was loud and I discovered a hidden speaker in a corner of rather small
viewing area.
“Let’s go over
there, away from the music, so we can talk. I know you have many questions,”
said Yuri pointing at the back of a tree behind the crowd watching the first
exhibit. The projection showed a caricature of a small boy sitting at a desk.
He dropped his head on the desk. Small boys started sprouting out of his head.
I liked the concept of showing ideas coming out of brain. From the corner of my
eyes I saw Yuri slowly walking towards the tree and expecting me to join. I
followed him again. My subconscious mind was attracted towards Yuri’s oddness.
My curiosity was taking over logic and caution.
“Let’s sit
here,” Yuri said after walking behind the tree.
“But we won’t
be able to see the projection. I wanted to take some pictures,” I said in
protest.
“I know, but
the music is soft here, so we can talk. I will answer your questions and then
we can go back to the exhibits.” I couldn’t resist his kind smile. I sat down
beside him.
“Where do you
live Yuri?” I asked with intention of taking over the conversation.
“I live in
Russia,” he replied.
“Yes, but
where do you live here, I mean? I assumed you were from Russia because of your
name,” I said.
“Nowhere. I
live in Russia, in a town called Samara,” he said.
“Did you come
directly from Russia to these exhibits?” I asked with a little sarcastic tone.
Only a nutcase would travel to DC from Russia to see some art exhibit.
“Yes, you’re
correct. In fact, I come here every day, but today is the first time I’m
talking to someone,” he said. Now I was baffled but he had my complete
attention. I was trying to understand this whacko.
“What? You
travel from Russia every day to see this exhibit? Wow. Do you own a supersonic
jet or something?” I asked with more sarcasm. Part of me thought he was making fun
of me. “Wait. Are you talking to me today to make fun of me?” I stood up agitated.
“I assure you
Rohan. I’m not making fun of you and am talking to you with sincere compassion.
I think we should walk. Hear me out and decide for yourself if I’m making fun
of you or not,” he said while looking directly at me with his blue eyes. This
eye contact had a hypnotic effect and I again succumbed to his request.
“What do you
think of this art exhibits?” He asked.
We walked onto the bridge.
“The faces are
kind of cool, but the projection is a waste of effort,” I said expressing my
honest opinion. And I found the film to be nothing but ordinary.
“That’s
because you’re here to appreciate, not understand. They are all here to find
something to appreciate or to falsely show their appreciation to influence
other people. No one is interested in understanding the artistic expression,”
said Yuri.
“I don’t
understand.” I said. I found his statements to be offensive, but I remained
calm. We turned right after the bridge and headed towards the information booth
on Wisconsin Avenue.
“Art is a form
of expression. I thought you would understand that more than the average person
in America,” he said. “Here let’s go down.” Yuri said pointing at a set of stairs
going down to the canal, just behind the information booth.
“But the map
says…” I started. I hadn’t noticed the stairs when I arrived, so I was pointing
at the map to follow the suggested route.
“I know the
map says otherwise, but this route is shorter and quieter,” Yuri said as he
climbed down the stairs. He didn’t point or wait for me. He was confident now
that I would follow him. He wasn’t wrong.
We climbed
down and reached a small walkway parallel to Canal. Yuri turned left towards
the wired faces exhibit. I followed him. The reflections were not visible from
down here, making the faces less impressive. “You see Rohan, perspective. From
here, these faces are not as cool,” said Yuri.
“Yes, I agree.
Why did you say that I should understand more than the average person? What
should I understand?” I was not going to let him change the subject this time.
“An Indian guy
walking to an exhibit like this on his own is very rare, may be you have an
element of American individualism. Generally Indians are very social and they
don’t go to events alone,” he said. He was correct. In fact, I have been
criticized at times about my comfort of being alone. “You’re thinking in the right
direction. Like Russians, Indians believe in being rather than doing, as
Americans do.” I was puzzled.
“Wait, what?”
I asked.
“Here,
in America what you SHOW matters, while in our countries what you ARE matters.
That is why India has a rich history of self-discovery. This history drew me
towards India a decade ago. I went to India for the first time to seek
self-realization.” Yuri said.
“I see.” I
said with a little detachment in my voice.
“I see these
ideas are not appealing to you,” Yuri said. We walked past the wired faces below
the Wisconsin Avenue Bridge.
“Well, I never
paid attention to these things,” I said. I was busy carving my professional
niche that I never paid attention to self-discovery. Yuri was looking at me.
“But now that you say that, I do feel stuck in my life, personally not
professionally.”
“Precisely
what I felt. That’s why I went to India.” He said with a sparkle in his eyes.
“So you went
to India and you discovered the secrets of self-realization!” I said.
“You don’t
know India as much as I do.” He said.
“Really?”I
replied. Someone was preaching to me about my own culture.
“Yes. I read a
lot about the control of soul and spirit. I’m sure you heard it all your life.
However, you have no idea how it’s practiced,” said Yuri.
“Fair enough.
I don’t. You tell me, if you know,” I said in response. I never paid attention
to soul searching. That had been some ancient crap I didn’t need to know.
“Exactly. This
attitude is the reason of downfall,” said Yuri.
I was alarmed
and impressed. “Can you really read my mind?” I asked.
“Yes, I can
now.” Yuri replied.
“What is that
supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Hear my story
out and you will understand. Where was I?” he asked himself. We were still
walking on the sides of canal at a snail pace. “Yes, souls. Contrary to common
acceptance, a human is a soul, according to ancient Indian scripture. The body
is just a cover. When people believe a human is body, they indulge in doing.
When people believe a human is soul, they excel in being. I didn’t know all this
at the time. I was duped again and again by fake religious leaders and yogis.”
“That’s why we
stay away from all that. You should’ve asked some regular Indian,” I said.
“That’s
today’s world. Blame others for your lack of effort.” Yuri said. I was on the
verge of lashing out. He kept reading my mind. “Don’t be angry. What I’m saying
is the same thing said in Geeta by Shri Krishna. Focus on your effort, not the
result.” This took me by surprise. He was right.
“Now you see
it. My focus was to find my inner soul, not to prove who’s right or wrong. After
almost two years, I learned the lesson of my life. Self-realization is to be achieved
by myself and not by someone else. I can’t search my soul in someone’s doctrine
or practice. I had to discover a Yogi within myself,” said Yuri. Now we were
climbing a slope onto Thomas Jefferson Street. Yuri stopped walking. “Let me
finish my story and then we walk. The fourth exhibit is just across the
street.” I nodded. I was engrossed in his story and wanted to hear more.
“I meditated
enough and was able to find a path to my inner soul before I was kicked out of
India due to visa issues. Visas and boundaries, a gift of the modern world.” He
said.
“That’s it.
That’s the story!” I was surprised to hear such an abrupt ending.
“I don’t know
what you were expecting. I’m not writing a fiction, I’m just telling my
experience.” Yuri said. I smiled and nodded. I realized I was treating Yuri as
an exhibit as well. He continued, “I went back to Russia, but I didn’t stop
meditating. I kept searching inside my soul and finally I broke the shackles off
my body.” He paused in conclusion of his story. “That’s it and here I am. Let’s
walk.”
We started
walking towards the street. I didn’t know how to react to this anti-climactic
ending, so I asked, “So how does it feel to be a soul but not body?” I
had no idea what I was saying. We crossed the Thomas Jefferson Street and went
inside a small alleyway parallel to other side of the canal, but at street
level.
“The same as
you’re feeling, my friend. No difference. The only difference is I’m at peace
now, compared to my past,” Yuri said smiling. We walked in the alley to reach
the exhibit. “This is the fourth exhibit. We skipped the third if you go by the
map. This is called Intrascapes.”
“You kept
saying these exhibits are not to appreciate but to understand, but there’s
nothing to understand here. This one looks like a bunch of light sabers on a
platform. Where is the creativity?” I asked.
“Ah the Star Wars
reference. I would say these are lighted artificial blades of grass. In
reality, however, these are acrylic sticks. The color changes you see in them
are not programmed. They simply are reactions of our movements and wind. Now do
you see the creativity?” Yuri asked.
I was
impressed, “That is cool. I would have never realized it, if I wasn’t told.”
“Because, you
are here to appreciate and not to understand. In today’s stressed world, no one
wants to use their mind to discover the message an artist is expressing,” said
Yuri. Expressing my doubts only proved his point. We walked out of the alleyway
and I followed Yuri. I knew he was leading me to another exhibit. We were
walking towards K Street.
“Yuri, it’s
been fascinating to hear your story and a little embarrassing that you know
more about my culture than I do. However, you weren’t honest about everything.
I still don’t know where you live. You can’t travel everyday from Russia,” I
said.
“Honestly,
Rohan. I live in Russia,” said Yuri looking at me. And in his eyes he was
telling the truth, or he was an excellent liar.
“Come on. Do
you have a secret jet or something? Even if you do, it’s not practical,” I
said.
We turned into
an office building behind another Georgetown Glow information booth at the junction
of K and Thomas Jefferson. Yuri was silent until we reached the courtyard. A
light projection on a section of building was the art exhibit.
Yuri said
finally, “Rohan, I’m disappointed. You are still looking to appreciate and not
understand. You didn’t understand anything from my journey.” He was looking at
me. Frustration was visible in my eyes. “Don’t get frustrated. Let me explain.”
Nothing changed in my head. “I’m a yogi now. For me, a human is soul, not body.
My soul doesn’t need an airplane to travel. Souls don’t understand any
boundaries or physical limits.”
I was baffled.
“Are you a ghost?” I asked. I wasn’t afraid, but I wanted answers.
“If by ghost,
you mean dead. Then no I’m not,” he said. “I’m simply my soul. My body is
comfortably resting in my bedroom in Russia.”
My mouth fell
open in shock. “Does that mean you are travelling outside your body?” I asked
wide-eyed. I have heard about out-of-body experiences in ancient times.
“In a way,
yes.” I stared at him. He continued, “I control my soul. Every soul wanders out
of its body, that’s what dreaming is. When you dream, your soul is on a journey
but you can’t control it. When you reach self-realization, you control your
soul. You can go on any journey with just your soul.”
“Wow. I can
see the soul now. I feel empowered,” I said. I half joked without meaning it,
but I didn’t know how to respond. It was too much to believe.
“Look around.
Wave at someone,” Yuri said. I waved at a couple standing to the left of me. No
response. I freaked out. I jumped and screamed. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Yuri smiled.
“Calm down. You’re not dead either. Your soul is interacting with mine. Your
body is safe behind that tree where we sat.” My head exploded. I was having an
out of body experience. I was celebrating, panicking, freaking out, curious and
many other emotions all at the same time. The only words that came out of me
were, “How do I get back to my body?”
“Ah, easy,
just concentrate, close your eyes and open them. It’s time for me to go back as
well. Don’t forget to go to the third art exhibit we missed. After all, you
were here for them,” Yuri said.
“What about
you? Don’t you want to visit the third exhibit?” I asked.
“I have been
visiting it every day and can always come back tomorrow. I think I’ve spent
enough time here. I will go now. Close your eyes and wake up,” Yuri said
smiling. I stared at him. “You’ve trusted me for past hour. Trust me for one
more second. Close your eyes and take control of your body.” I closed my eyes
tight. I didn’t open them for what felt like a very long time. The Indie music
started blasting in my ears. I slowly opened my eyes and found myself sitting
behind the tree. I looked around to find that no one had noticed a guy sleeping
behind the tree. I stood up, turned around and went towards the bridge. Nothing
had changed. People in black coats were coming and going, stopping to look at
the film or wired faces, showing fake appreciation, explaining their admiration
to others. I finally understood Yuri’s point of people appreciating but not
understanding.
I didn’t have
to look at the map. I knew my feet were dragging me in the right directions. I
walked on the bridge, turned right, walked past the information booth, and across
Wisconsin Avenue. I turned right again and kept walking. My mind was racing and
continuing to analyze my experiences from past hour. I reached the compound of
a church on the left and entered it. A lady at the information desk greeted me.
I smiled and walked past her. A blue tunnel was erected in the middle of the
compound. Inside the tunnel, one wall had streaks of lights, while the other
was perforated and translucent. A few people were walking inside the tunnel,
while others were trying to take pictures of the lights.
Instead
of walking inside the tunnel, I walked outside along the translucent wall. I
understood the artist’s expression. Lights weren’t the purpose of this art. The
effect created by people walking inside the tunnel was. Shadows were the real
art, not the lights. One had to rely on other person to understand this art.
Looking simply at the lights, one could only appreciate the weird arrangement,
without understanding the effect. I too would have been taking pictures of
exhibits without understanding anything, if not for Yuri. Life, like an art, is
to be understood for its soul, not to be expressed by your body or appreciated
by others.
Copy-editor: Marisa Strothenke
Out of the
corner of his right eye he sees a guy standing on a sidewalk with a subtle
smile. The smile is familiar. James recognizes the smile as his own: upper lip
curled up on the right side, similar to a Sylvester Stallone smile. He fights
through the crowd and instinctively walks up to the guy.
