27 ~ The Indian Bonus.
- AV
- Jun 1, 2023
- 3 min read

I left Varanasi. I didn’t want to leave. I said it many times.The universe heard me. I almost missed my train.
Three hours before my train’s departure, we were wandering on the far side of the old city, quite far from our "home." The train App informed us that the train was running three hours late.
“Normal,” Ilo said. “Relax.”
Since it was my farewell to Varanasi, I suggested returning to our guesthouse on one of the little boats that cross the city. Romantic, right? Terrible mistake.
“How long will it take?” I asked the boatman.
“Twenty, thirty minutes max,” he replied. Never trust an Indian when it comes to timing. They exaggerate as much as Argentinians do but with double the patience and triple the impunity. They definitely outshine us in unpunctuality and delays.
I was naïve... I didn’t consider that the boat was old, rowed manually, and steered by a local man who, like all Indianscarried the peace of Shiva in his soul.
The route was just ten blocks along the riverbank. What could go wrong?
Never ask that in India. You’d be amazed.
We boarded the boat. Everything was stunningly magical: the sun setting behind ancient temples, the seagulls, the golden glow of the evening at its peak. “The best decision of the day,” I thought… until suddenly, the boatman veered toward the opposite shore.
“The river current is too strong. We can’t go this way. We need to cross to the other side and then return,” he said.
This little timing detail wasn’t in my plan, especially considering we were four people on a rowboat, in the hands of a single man, crossing a river of considerable size. That was going to be quite a plan.
Meanwhile, I checked the train App.
The train, which had been delayed by hours, had suddenly decided to skip several towns and arrive in Varanasi right on schedule, meaning three hours earlier than its last reported delay.
“What? That’s not possible, right? That makes no sense...” I told Ilo, baffled but this was India—the land of nonsense.
By the time I realized it, I was thirty minutes away from my train’s departure, sitting in a rowboat, in the middle of the river, on the opposite shore, and on the wrong side of the city.
I "talked" to the boatman, explained my situation, and begged him to hurry. I did this three times. Not all locals here speak English well. He smiled and kindly said yes, but none of my attempts made him row any faster.
I pleaded with him to at least drop me off as close as possible to the other shore so I could jump out and start running toward the hostel.I had a retreat in another city, I couldn’t miss that train. And this wouldn’t be the first or last time I’d run like a lunatic through a city, this time in India.
So I decided to grab the oars myself…Except they weren’t oars.They were just wooden sticks, not even attached to the boat.
We started spinning in circles.
I couldn’t row properly no matter how hard I tried.I must have looked ridiculous in front of my friends and the boatman,which, I guess, earned me some empathy points.
There I was, powerless, floating in the middle of the river, watching my body drift slowly across the golden-orange waters,taking in a cinematic viewwhile I lost the train I couldn’t afford to miss.
“It’s over. You lost it,” Ilo said.
But even in India, while trying to embrace the concept of flowing,I never give up.
I jumped out quickly.I sprinted through the streets like a madwoman.I raced up the hostel stairs.I grabbed my bag, my backpack, and the best homemade bread in all of India- which I had pre-ordered from the guesthouse-
I hailed a moto-taxi and said,“To full speed!”—like in the movies.
Then I remembered I was in India, and that was a terrible idea.
So I changed my phrase to,“Uh... fast but safely, please, sir...”
We zigzagged across the city, dodging tuk-tuks going the wrong way.
I sprinted through the entire train station, trying to identify my train by "reading" signs in Hindi. Upstairs, downstairs, back upstairs.
I asked several people, but almost no one spoke English. Through a mix of gestures and words,they all told me the same thing—the train still hadn’t arrived.
I breathed.
Two hours later, the train finally pulled in. The sweet taste of Indian unpunctuality.
The platforms had no roof, and between the trains,I could see the full moon shining bright.
I sat on my backpack, looked up at the sky,and said my goodbye to Varanasi.
I knew it was only a “see you later.”

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