For the Love of Kahn

Kahn had met Arti in India. He was visiting an ashram in Rishikesh. Arti came everyday to see if he needed his cloths washed. She was an exceptional beauty. Her family was poor but not so much that she dressed badly or was uneducated. In fact she had a penchant for speaking very good English. She made sure to associate herself with English speaking people so she could learn more words and asked them kindly to correct her grammar if at all possible. Her family noticed her ability a bit and would if some occasion came up where English was the only option, turn to Arti who would communicate to whomever whatever they needed to know. She would give directions to a temple or tell them if they were close to the ashram they were staying at. It was times like these that she felt so powerful and separate from her family. She secretly liked this feeling.

One day Arti asked Khan if he would like to come to their home for dinner and he accepted. He found the home of Arti to be quite cozy and clean. The father of Arti was base in his manner but kind of funny and accepting of foreign proclivities without much judgment. He laughed more than that of other village men. Later he would discover the two women in the household were sisters and were both married to him. What a shock! This was not a normal Hindu way of life. But for this father who wanted sons, he had believed his first wife Chandra could not produce them so he married the sister. Funny thing happened however, two sons were born consecutively to his younger bride. Now Khan knew the science, that the man determined the sex of the child, but he was not going to argue this matter with Arti’s father. Kahn admired this man and felt a bit of a kinship in his going against the odds, carving out a moment in life that screams this is me this is who I am like it or not I will do what I deem is best for ME!

Kahn came from a family that expected much from him. He was the oldest and firstborn in America outside of China. He was an independent boy who completely understood what was expected of him. He knew his marriage and his lifestyle would be fully enmeshed in his family business. His father was a wealthy businessman from Hong Kong but their lineage came from the Mongolia area long ago hence his name. His father owned and was CEO of a large insurance company out of China. So it was after college they had allowed him travel the world for one year. This served Khan well as his independent nature was given full sail and instead of feeling slighted at the prospect of coming back home, signing on and working in his fathers all consuming business, Kahn felt lucky that so much was being given to him as he met so many who had nothing at all.

He had graduated 6 years ago and had been working five of those years for his father. It was only this last year that Kahn went into his father’s office one day and pleaded with him that he be allowed to take off for a few months before the next stage of his life began. Soon to be married to a woman that was part of the company and came from a family that was highly regarded in Hong Kong, Kahn felt he needed once again some time to fly free and be on his own. Not stating the ‘fly free’ part to his father, Khan waited full 2 or 3 minuets while his father seemed to finish up some of the paperwork on his desk. Never looking up from his desk his father said “Granted two months”.

Kahn chose Rishikesh. His choice came from an ad he had seen a few months previous talking about the river ‘Ganges’ or ‘Ganga Ma’ as he was later to call it. His dreams had continued to call him to India and after his father said yes, off he went. He chose an ashram over a five star resort in the hills as he felt he must be by Ganga Ma. He did not regret one minute of his stay. He grew his hair long and he attended a yoga class daily. He would in the ensuing years ahead, continued with the classes. He thought of some of the best ideas for the growth and profitability of his fathers company and this he had not expected at all! What an interesting journey he was on. This river, this holy Ganga Ma, would bring him many ideas in the two months of his stay and in the years ahead. He would embrace daily meditations as a way of life from this trip. Sometimes when deep inside his meditation he could hear her waters speak to him. Ganga Ma who would tell him his happiness is only dependant on the moment, this moment, and that he had eternity to expand into more of all that he was right now! This meant to him, don’t sweat the small stuff! The river seemed a well of unlimited ideas and understanding. Or, perhaps, Ganga Ma was a conduit to the Source that lay hidden in all of us.
What a pleasure to meet this unique family too! Arti was an unexpected brilliant girl who spoke amazing English and who set herself apart from most girls that come from the same circumstances. Then there was this father of hers who seemed to be completely abandoned to the notion that he could choose his own destiny! Khan had a keen sense of admiration for these two. He did notice that the father drank some and when he did he would get quite sentimental and around the circle where they ate dinner on the floor, he would tell them stories, mostly in Hindi (which Khan spoke very little of) where he with use his flailing hands and emit exaggerated sounds from his mouth that seemed to weave a tale that captivated the rest of the family. By the end of the tale the tears came rolling down his face and he would hug whoever was near him saying how wonderful or how lucky he was to have them in his life. This was the moment the family would choose to wrap up the evening by offering Kahn tea and clearing the remains of their meal. Kahn always refused tea and gave himself leave to go back to his room at the ashram.

Sometimes Arti would in all the commotion, slip out before Kahn left and meet him down the road to walk him back to his ashram. She liked these moments very much as the town got quiet and the lights in the market place where beautiful. She felt his breath sometimes when they were together laughing. Kahn liked to talk in different accents and make Arti laugh as he imitated a few people they both knew who stayed at the ashram. Sometimes she got an earful from the ‘newbie’s’ as Khan called them and would assist Arti with an exit plan when they got to be too pushy and mean spirited. What a kind man he was Arti thought.

As Khans time for departing became inevitable, he and Arti took a long walk down by the Gangaji one evening after the family meal. Arti felt a tremor in her heart as Kahn took her hand (when no one was around and dropped it quickly if he saw anyone approach) and felt a boost of life that seemed to come straight out of her Soul when he told her how much he would miss her. Arti never felt this way until his hand held hers. His palm seemed like velvet and his grip was like nothing she ever imagined. She felt a sense of hope and expansion where all at once she knew if she thought about any ‘future’ this moment and her feelings of joy and freedom would soon be robbed and all that old ‘impossible stuff’ would take over. So she just listened and smiled and held Kahns hand and let her heart beat to the tune of forever.

He left the next day. She was not around as he packed his bag. She did not see his reaction to the poem she wrote him and had tucked into his pocket when he was unawares. Khan was deliberate about everything and when he packed his things went into pockets and looked for anything he might have forgotten inside them. He saw this thin paper with lines right out of grade school it seemed. He sat on the corner of his bed and read this..

I have a fire in my heart
And am wounded from its heat
I am unwilling to find the water
To quell its painful fury!

Only the herder knows that special
Lamb that will guide the rest
That will give the most to him.
In secret I know I am the one for thee
And you for me..

But you must move on with your life,
And I am waiting in Joy for that one day
To relive this moment again when just the
Holding of your hand spoke clearly to me
And said,

I am a woman
I am beautiful
I am loved.

In this heated knowledge,
Where will it take me?
To the next life we will meet I promise
Do not for get me even then.

Signed Arti

She wrote out the word signed…

He knew he loved her as tears rolled down his face. He tucked the letter into his wallet where it remained… transferred into wallet after wallet until his death.

This poem would show up in his life whenever he felt alone or needed to remember something so simple and fresh and true.
He would follow said instructions completely..

‘To the next life we will meet I promise
Do not forget me even then.’

… He believed her words and knew that he would not forget her even ‘then’.

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arti, chi, fareast, india, kashmier, land, landscape, linaji, lovers, mountains, mystical, people, portrait, rishikesh, scenes, street and streetscenes