Traveling Through Time

I stared in wonderment as the priest removed a very heavy, ancient book from his cabinet. He flipped through pages within the manuscript while I waited with my family in a cramped room. Dirt and dust swirled around us as we sat on tiny carpets on the floor. The priest looked up and asked for our family name. As soon as we told him, a look of recognition lit up his eyes and he quickly turned the page to a specific section of the book.

We nervously glanced at each other and wondered if the priest would be able to find hand-written passages from our ancestors, who had set foot in this room long before we were born. All of a sudden, we heard the priest say “see what I found.” We looked at each other in awe. He had pinpointed our ancestors’ names and signatures in this book full of names. We imagined how our ancestors had arrived in this town of Haridwar, India hundreds of years before us and documented their journey in our ancient family tree. Here we were at this exact same location, looking into our past.

The scent of strong sandalwood incense filled this room full of books at the banks of the holy Ganges River. I had come to India to find my roots and learn the names of my ancestors. I couldn’t believe that a girl from Los Angeles, California had grandparents and great grandparents who had lived in the villages of India. Their lives were so different from mine, yet we shared a family lineage. I slowly signed my own name in the massive book, etching my personal history in this time capsule.

When future generations visit Haridwar, to dip their feet in the Ganges River and understand their roots, they will see my name with my message: “continue to travel and grow.” As the sound of temple bells pierced through the quietness in that room, I knew that the prayers (puja) would soon begin. We walked down toward the banks of the Ganges, lit with hundreds of small lights floating down the river. I realized that one day I would come back to this country, my ancestral home.