Confessions of a tourist

It had started raining.

As he ran for cover, he realized that the weather was not going to let up. When he had got up in the morning he had hoped for a sunny day. But the cloud cover had seemed unrelenting and the mercury had very staunchly positioned itself at the 5 degree mark in the thermometer.

The past one week in London had been pretty hectic with meetings taking up most of his time in the day. And the winter had really changed the definition of a day here. The cold and the darkness engulfed the city at 5:30 making it difficult to roam about in the evenings. Despite this, he had decided to make the most of the only weekend that he had to himself.

Armed with a tourist guidebook and the Tube map, he had managed to navigate through the all-familiar sights of London in the day. The digital camera had photos of him sitting on the lion at Trafalgar, with the statuesque guards of Buckingham, outside Westminster with the Big Ben towering behind him. These and many more to prove that he had played the role of a tourist to perfection.

He knew that when he talked to her in the evening, she would chide him for becoming the typical touristy types. Posing outside every monument and hurrying through the sights without even wanting to know their history and importance. But then, what was wrong in doing that, he thought to himself. Everyone did that and for once he didn’t want to be any different.

While he ticked off places one after the other on an imaginary check list, the afternoon saw him standing outside St. Paul’s Cathedral. And as he stepped out of the tube station, the sky decided to open up. He rushed up the steps and made his way through the revolving doors of the Cathedral.

The peaceful atmosphere inside any place of worship never ceased to amaze him. It was as if the doors filtered the sounds of the outside world. He gazed up at the beautiful domes and made his way towards the altar. Plaques and carvings adorned the walls and each was a tribute to history.

As he neared the altar he saw it aglow with the light of numerous candles that hundreds of faithful had lighted. His mind wandered to the conversation that he had had with her some days ago.

“How much do you believe in God?”

“Totally. And what about you?” she had said

“I do. But my belief stops at the point of turning into superstition”

“How much you believe depends on your faith. Do you pray everyday?”

“Not really. And I don’t believe in the ritualistic praying. Do you pray everyday?”

“Most of the times”

“And who in particular do you pray to?”

“Just God. Why do you need an image or idol of a particular deity? Isn’t He one in spite you calling Him by different names”

He smiled at the remembrance and wondered how he could never argue with her logic. The lady in front of him was praying and he bent down to pick up a candle. That’s when he saw the sign. ‘Please deposit 50p in the box’.

“42 bucks” his mind made the usual conversion. He looked around to see if anyone was looking and quietly got up to make his way around the crowd. He gazed out and saw that the rain had stopped. Perfect for a photograph, he thought and rushed outside.

He spoke to her at length in the night. He told her of the places he had been to and in return bore her sarcasm. The good humored bantering continued as usual, when she asked “So what did you pray for?”

He froze that instant, retracing back to his time in the Cathedral and realizing, to his horror that he hadn’t. Not only that, he had forgotten to even look at Him.

“Helloooo?”

“Yeah yeah … I am here” he blabbered out coming to his senses.

“What happened? Anyway, what do you plan to do tomorrow?”

“The same that I did today. I think it’s late. I will hang up now. My calling card is due to expire”

“Ok. Call me tomorrow”

He hung up in a daze. He wondered whether to hate himself for what he had done. The exhaustion of the day took its toll as he slept with a guilt ridden mind.

The next day was no better. Not much enthusiastic about a repeat performance of yesterday, he went to Tate Modern. The gargantuan gallery stood on the banks of the Thames. A veritable treasure trove of post-1900 paintings was displayed in the wide halls. He moved at a slow pace taking in each one. His mind was still not at peace as he ambled along until he came to an acclaimed painting.

The famous scene was painted in a modern theme and despite the liberty of distorted imagery afforded by ‘modern art’, the benign expression of the protagonist was evident. The painting was said to have that quality wherein whichever way you looked at it, His face was always seen to be smiling. But he couldn’t gauge that quality today. Whichever way he saw it, the expression conveyed sadness. He wondered whether the painting reflected the turmoil in his mind.

He hastened out of the museum block. Standing at the foot of the Millennium Bridge, he gazed across the river at the familiar dome towering above the city skyline. He sped across the walkway and through the lanes to mount the same steps that he had mounted yesterday.

He dropped a pound into the box today and lit a candle. Closing his eyes he prayed. He felt the peace that was surrounding him, enter him. He felt it touching his body, his mind, his soul. His mind focused on the benign face that had stared at him from the frame of the painting in the museum. And the face was smiling.

He walked out of the cathedral to a clear blue sky.