Day 10: Moments of Peace with Waves of Chaos
Written by: Geetika Kullampalle
"Ughhh," I groaned as the alarm echoed through the room. Another sharp pain shot through my stomach, and I clenched it, wincing. Anshu came up to check on me, asking if I felt any better than yesterday. Slowly, the rest of the geckos began to wake up, and before they left for their showers, each one asked how I was feeling. Their concern washed over me like a blanket of comfort, reminding me just how much they cared. It made me feel a little stronger, a little less alone.
As I step into the mandir, each footfall echoes softly in the quiet. The air is cool and fragrant, carrying hints of incense, and my steps slow as the familiar calm settles over me. The marble beneath my bare feet feels grounding, each step drawing me closer to the heart of the temple, to Baba’s presence. With every breath, the weight I’ve carried begins to lift. Ahead, Baba’s statue stands bathed in morning light, his marble form gleaming, transformed from its usual pearl white to a warm, golden glow. I pause, taking in the way the light falls over him, his features soft yet powerful, as though he’s come to life. His familiar, gentle smile holds something deep and timeless, a silent acknowledgment that makes my heart slow, makes the air around me feel lighter.
Foxy is by my side, padding along quietly, and as we approach, he sits, leaning his head into my lap, his warmth anchoring, contrasting the cold feeling of the marble floor. For a moment, it’s just me, Baba, and Foxy, a world held in perfect balance. I place my hand on Baba’s feet, feeling the smooth marble against my skin, a surge of energy radiating from that single touch. It’s in these quiet, simple moments, when I’m here, hands pressed to his feet, watching his form turn golden as the sun rises; that’s when I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. It’s as if he’s been waiting for me all along. In the distance, a soft voice begins the namam, each note rising to fill the temple with melody.
The sound reverberates off the walls, filling the space, sinking into my bones. I close my eyes, transported by the vibrations, feeling as if Baba and Guruji sit beside me, their presence timeless, as though they’ve been here, in this moment, forever. And in this stillness, I find peace, a quiet reminder that I am home. After our Mandir time, all of the geckos file in to get our morning cup of tea, instead of sitting down where we usually did at the bonfire circle, we sat down at the rock benches and talked about the cultural event, and the activities everyone was planning to do, and when we could practice. We sipped our warm Mulberry tea as we discussed our ideas and what everyone wanted to do.
Today was the day we were going to Ramana Ashram and Seshadri Ashram. We took cars to Ramana Ashram first, and once we arrived, we were given 45 minutes to explore. I found myself wandering into a small, packed room, filled with people meditating. In a tiny corner, I squeezed myself in, closed my eyes, and tried to let go of the thoughts swirling in my head. I focused on Baba, on Guruji, and their presence around me. As I sat there, something shifted. The pain in my stomach that had been nagging me all morning, vanished. Last summer, Sruti Akka told us about focusing on our pain, how sometimes it would just melt away if you concentrated enough. That memory came rushing back, and there, in the calm of the room, I could feel the peace and energy around me seeping into my bones. It was like the calmness lifted the pain away. After about 30 minutes, I stood up, feeling lighter. Outside, a peacock greeted me with its soft song, as if it was serenading the stillness in the motion within me.
Even though I had been to Ramana Ashram before, today felt different. The energy felt different. I felt more connected to Ramana thataya, as if he, Baba, and Guruji were all watching over me, making sure I was okay. It was comforting, like having unseen hands on my shoulders, guiding me. Before we left, we ran into Chandrasekhar Uncle and shared our camp experiences with him. We invited him to the cultural events on the last day of camp, and his eyes lit up with excitement. After saying goodbye, we moved on to Seshadri Ashram, where the peace from earlier followed me. As we did pradakshina, the calmness wrapped around me like a soft blanket. Later, all of the geckos gathered under a big tree outside the temple, talking about our feelings, reflecting on the day, and making plans for the rest of it.
When we returned to camp, we were greeted with the irresistible smell of Ammama’s cooking. The moment we sat down for lunch, our mouths watered, and soon our stomachs were bulging from the feast she had prepared. The food, as always, was amazing. After lunch, we gathered for dance practice in the room. While Group Two was practicing, Hasi, Maanu, and I, part of Group One, went to GTR. I helped them prepare for their performance; a fusion of taekwondo and karate. Watching their routine unfold was mesmerizing. The way the two martial arts styles blended together, with every kick and turn in perfect harmony, was beautiful. Their passion was visible in every move. Once the practice was over, we took a break in the kitchen, devouring cold watermelon and ladoos that melted in our mouths. Refreshed, we rushed back to show Sruti Akka the choreography that they had come up with. Her eyes sparkled in awe as she watched, clearly impressed with the hard work and dedication everyone had put into it.
Later, we helped Sweety Akka prepare for the water balloon fight. To move all the water balloons from GTR to the gated yoga area was hard work. Sweety Akka, Hasi, Maanu, Jahu Akka, and I mustered up all the strength we had and finally moved it to the yoga area. We all gathered to play musical chairs; uncles, aunties, and kids. The game went on forever, with Keertana emerging victorious. The laughter, the nostalgia, it brought us back to last year, the shared memories making us all feel closer. Then, out of nowhere, a water balloon hit the back of my head. I looked up to see Sweety Akka, Hassi, and Dharani on the roof, armed with water balloons and water guns, lugging and giggling. Chaos erupted as we grabbed balloons and began a full-blown water war. Laughter filled the air, and within minutes, we were all soaking wet, drenched in both water and joy.
As the sun began to set, we rushed back to Babuji Hall, drying off and reminiscing about the epic water fight we just had in the center of our bed circle. Then, out of nowhere, Dharani's voice cut through the quiet, "Umm, guys? I think it’s raining." Keertana’s panicked scream followed, "OUR CLOTHES!" In an instant, we all jumped from our beds and sprinted down the stairs, our hearts racing. Outside, the sky had opened up, and the rain poured down in thick, heavy sheets. We dashed to the place our clothes were drying, our feet slipping and sliding in the growing puddles, water dripping from our hair. The mud beneath our feet squelched with every step, sticking to our sandals as we fumbled to gather all of our clothes.
Arms overloaded with wet fabrics, we scrambled back inside, laughing breathlessly as we stumbled up the stairs. But before the exhaustion could set in, Dharani’s voice echoed again, this time with excitement: "Guys, we should play in the rain!" I barely had time to think before I grabbed Hasi’s hand, sprinted to the Gratitude Circle area and began singing, "My Love is Gone." Suddenly, all of us ran back down the stairs, our voices rising in joyful song. The rain pelted down harder, but it only fueled us more and more. As we ran in circles around the empty bonfire pit, we sang louder, laughing at the top of our lungs, completely soaked yet feeling more alive than ever. The rain came down in waves, drenching us even further, and the cool droplets rolled down our faces, mingling with our laughter. We sang every varsham (rain) song we could think of, our voices merging with the steady downpour. It was as if the rain itself was joining in, a part of our melody. Completely soaked, hair plastered to our faces, we didn’t care. It felt perfect.
Hasi and Samanvi didn’t miss a beat. They grabbed flashlights and made sure everyone had warm water from the main tap. It was chaos, yet there was something oddly comforting about it. As we passed around flashlights and warm buckets, Anvi suggested, "Guys, can we sing Guru Mahima?" And so we did our voices filling the bathroom, a light rising above the darkness. It was almost magical, this strange, unexpected moment of unity. Singing together like that, it felt like we were weaving a thread between us, connecting us in the dark.
After what felt like hours, everyone was finally showered and warm, and we made our way to the kitchen for dinner: pav bhaji and chapati. The moment we stepped inside, the smell of fresh food mixed with the lingering scent of rain on our skin. Sruti Akka was already there, and as soon as she saw us, chaos ensued.
After Arati, Hasi and Samanvi, ever watchful, made sure we all took warm showers to avoid catching a cold. The warm water was a relief after the chill of the rain, its heat seeping into our skin, washing away the mud and the cold. But as I was mid-shower, the lights suddenly went out. For a moment, I stood there in the darkness, water still running, a mix of confusion and disbelief. Then, laughter broke out from the nearby stalls as we realized the entire camp had lost power.
We all started talking at once, our voices overlapping, trying to tell her everything that had happened. She laughed, shaking her head, and said, “Now you’ve really lived like an Indian!” We laughed with her, the room buzzing with energy.
Just as the laughter died down, the rain started again, harder than before. The sound of it crashing against the metal roof of the kitchen was almost deafening, like a thousand drums beating in unison. We couldn’t even hear our own thoughts, let alone each other. Yet, it was oddly mesmerizing, the rhythmic pounding of the rain a backdrop to the warmth and light inside the kitchen. As the rain softened, we began to sing again, our voices rising above the fading storm. The kitchen, already alive with the sound of laughter, now overflowed with song. Slowly, the aunties and uncles, and even the annas, joined in, their voices blending with ours. We sang for what felt like hours, the rain outside becoming a soft hum, a gentle reminder of the wildness we had just been part of. By the time we headed back to our rooms, the air was cool and fresh, the storm behind us. We were exhausted, but our hearts were full. The day had been a whirlwind, a mix of chaos and calm, laughter and song. As I lay in bed that night, still feeling the rain on my skin, I couldn’t help but smile, already looking forward to whatever the next day would bring.