Contemplating the Afterlife

    In India, more people die due to road incidents than anywhere in the world. A more astonishing statistic: 13 people every hour die in road accidents. And, being India, we know there's more than what's being reported. The most common deaths occur in bus accidents, which kill civilians en mass.

    So riding in rickshaws, on motorbikes and in buses can be an exhilarating as well as terrifying experience.  


    Below is an example of my interior experience of riding an overnight bus:

    I did not contemplate the afterlife until the bus would tip this way and that at every slight turn, hitting potholes every few seconds. I swore at one point I could feel the bus relying on only the left wheels. It was probably my imagination- my fear grabbing onto the best of me, but nevertheless it sparked an unusual interior dialogue.

     Instead of sleeping, the ride started a whole whirlwind of topics in my head. "Maybe this is why so many people turn to religion because they're in the face of death all day and they need a way to accept their fatal future oh my god the bus is turning will it flip over I wonder what would happen if I were the only to survive a toppling bus tragedy would I be like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable, would my mind create the illusion that I was some sort of superhero I wonder how long the news of my death would take to travel home, is this something I'll think about the entire time I'm here? Well it won't stop me from leaving the house and traveling on buses so I might as well get over it but it's fun to contemplate things such as this so maybe that's why I actually NEED to take buses and if you think about it there are 1.3 billion people in India and that's only according to the census and I bet there's at least 100 million more not registered so in actuality not that many people die per capita, fuck that, hearing about at least one death a day is still a shitload of people".... Phew. Sleep.


   Since that bus ride, the theme of death has been staring me in the face. Upon returning home my host mom informed me of a death of a friend. Everyday there's an article on the front page of The Hindu talking about a tragic accidental death, from being electrocuted by a wire near the bus stop to being crushed between two buses while crossing the street.

   I can't stop my mind from stumbling on the topic, but I can change how I react to these thoughts. Every morning when I dread stepping onto the dusty floor, putting on my sports bra and heading down the street to pray and practice some yoga poses I contemplate the benefits of doing so.

    In America I would think about yoga in terms of it helping me succeed. It would give me enough energy to make it through a 14 hour day. It would rid me of guilt that I haven't exercised in weeks and allow me to focus on other matters. It would be a midday break from the bustle of campus. Even after all those beneficial reasons would wash through my head, I still sometimes would not go to yoga class. "Well I work 14 hours a day, why not cut that down to 13 and chill in the park, or grab a coffee? That'll work just as well." Yoga was a task.

    Here, I think, if I go to yoga today, it will increase my changes of survival. I will be quicker to respond to tentative dangers on the street. I will notice and avoid the stray power lines lying on the ground more easily. I will be more strategic in crossing the what-would-be six lane street... if cars stayed restricted to a lane.I will be more assertive to toward my auto rickshaw driver and arrive to work on time without being scammed of my money. The rice will digest more easily, and I won't feel sick while at work. These reasons hold much more weight. I get my ass up, and I go.Yoga is an aid.

    When we take action as a response to the need to survive, more can be done. Laziness takes a nap.

   In situations I can't control, mainly transportation, I have begun to learn to let my thoughts ride on through. I wish them away, watching them wither in their ascension. Possibly one of the most humbling experiences is routinely realizing your own mortality. 

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    Today on the way to work a woman and her son approached my auto-rickshaw begging for money. I looked over and shook my head. That is what we're taught to do. Then I looked over at her son. He was burned from head to toe with one eye gouged out and scars indenting the top of his skull. He had his hand out, and before fully registering the image I pictured his hand crumbling into ash and forming a pile on the street, and for lack of a more original reaction, a shiver ran down my spine. I looked down and saw goosebumps--caught my breath. When I looked back up, the two were being refused at the next car.

   The whole scene made me wonder. Am I more afraid to die, or afraid to suffer?

   Apologies for the dark post...