Reliving my past lives in my present that was a week ago

It was time to head back to Oregon after the conference.  I had a couple of hours to kill before I had to return the rental car.  It was an overcast, "June-gloom" day in mid-April.  I loved it, thanks to having acclimated to the Oregon conditions.

I decided to go for a drive.

Los Angeles was my first home in the US.  Thus, there is always a feeling of nostalgia when I visit LA and there is always an urge to check out those old places.  There are places I remember but, of course, there is no there there.  Everything has changed.  Such is life.

Fully expecting changes, I set out on an unhurried drive.  From the Santa Monica Freeway, I transitioned to the Pacific Coast Highway.  PCH is always a draw for me, to get to inhale the moist salty Malibu air and appreciate some of the gorgeous scenery.

When I stopped to fill gas, a thought struck--why not drive up to the Hindu temple in the canyons only a few miles away?

As a first year graduate student, I  always looked forward to exploring the world outside of the campus. For the most part, as one who had yet to start driving in the US, I had to wait for offers of rides.  I went to this Hindu temple with Arun and two other grad students whose faces are now so blurry in my mind.  It felt very strange to go to a temple in the US.  Me, an agnostic at that time, at a Hindu temple, in Los Angeles.  Very surreal.

I decided to head there.  The difference between that first trip with Arun versus now was this--I stopped whenever I wanted to, in order to enjoy the scenic setting and take photos.

As cars sped past me, I wondered what could be more important than to stop and take in the beautiful canyon.  Perhaps some were speeding to the temple; but, wouldn't their god be ok with them stopping along the way to smell those proverbial roses?

Finally, I reached the temple.  The parking lot was nearly full.  I remembered then that it also coincided with the new year day according to most Indian calendars.  Toyotas and Hondas and Mercedeses that reflected the affluence of the Indian-American community.  I wondered whether the few who drive beaten up Fords and Chryslers simply do not show up at the temple, which is also then why they don't get rewarded with BMWs?.  The faithful are also rich?  A shiny Range Rover parked by my rental vehicle.  I suppose it helps to pray to the heavens.

I stepped out of the vehicle and walked around.  Rare was a solo worshiper -it was mostly in groups of families and friends.  It seemed that some were visiting from India.  The locals and the foreigners alike were taking photographs.  The locals and the foreigners alike didn't smile when the cameras were clicked--, as is the case in India, .  A teenage boy rushed out in a dhoti and sneakers.  Will his high school mates make fun of him if a photo of him in dhoti and sneakers were to be passed around on Facebook?  Or is he very comfortable with his persona?

I was tempted to walk into the temple and get some tasty snacks from the cafeteria.  That was always something I looked forward to when Arun, or later Ramkumar, drove us there.  But now, unlike then, I cook pretty tasty foods, though not the fare that would be available at the cafeteria.  I no longer drool for the foods of the old world.  Perhaps it is a reflection of me getting older as well.

Not much time left, and I wanted to experience a few minutes on the beach.  As I drove out of the temple road on to the canyon road, there was an odd feeling that I might not be back again.  If not ever, then certainly for a long time.  It seemed like it was a farewell to an old friend.

A few miles of curves later, I made a left on to PCH, and parked.  I walked down the steps onto the sands.  The pier was only a few more steps away, but I was short of time.

Behind me, a young mother was playing catch with her two boys.  I know I have reached a stage in life that I can never again get that sense of excitement and joy and awe those two boys exhibited as they chased each other with the plastic baseball bat and ball.  I was also a kid once, but that was a long time ago.  That past seems like a movie that I watched.  Was that past real, or is me looking at the pier and watching the kids the real life of mine?

I got back into the vehicle and drove towards the airport to return the car and board the plane.