Whisper #11 - Feet Before Hands (Berlin Edition)

Berlin, somewhere before COVID.

It was my first time in the city.
I was supposed to meet a friend at the end of the day.

10 a.m

My phone died.
My charger refused to work.
My wallet decided it wanted a life of its own.

By noon, I was in this big city with no technology, no money, and only a vague visual memory of my friend’s place from Google Maps.

So I did what I always do when I’m frustrated.

I walked.

5 p.m

I had walked in circles long enough that every street looked the same. Buildings repeated themselves.
Direction stopped meaning anything.

I found a park, sat on a bench, took a breath or two, opened my notebook, and wrote one line:

How can I be lost if I’ve got nowhere to go.
— Metallica,The Unforgiven III

I didn’t just calm down.
I laughed.

Not because things got better but because I stopped arguing with the day.

I remember thinking: This will be a story to tell one day.
I didn’t know how literal that would be.

A few minutes later, I got up, put my backpack on my shoulders, and started walking again.

In a blink, I was on the floor.

A bicycle.
My 60-liter backpack bracing me from behind.
A girl lying next to me on the street.

We both looked at each other and said the same thing, out loud:

“What the fuck.”

Then recognition landed.

We knew each other.
Not from Berlin, from India.
From my first yoga teacher training, years earlier.

Out of more than three million people in the city, we collided like that.

After the shock settled, she asked what I was doing.
I told her everything.

She smiled and said,

Come with me. I’m teaching a class tonight.

At the studio, I dropped my backpack and decided I’d probably skip the class. I was exhausted. Mentally done.

She gave me a look and said,

Follow me.

We entered the shala.

Mats were already laid out.
Props scattered around the room.
Music playing softly.

She stood near the door and said:

Good evening everyone.
Tonight’s class will be led by my dear friend, Saf.

And she pointed at me.

Silence.

Every eye in the room turned toward me.

In my head all I said was: “What the fuck.”

I was wearing jeans.
A hoodie.
Two unmatched socks.

Someone smiled.
A guy gave me a thumbs up.

My friend walked over, tapped my shoulder, and said,

Enjoy.

Then she left.

I froze.

I hadn’t taught a class in months.
And after the kind of day I’d had, this felt like the last thing I needed.

But the class had already started.

So I walked to the teacher’s mat.

Hi, I said.
I’m Saf. And I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve had a yoga teacher in jeans and unmatched socks.

A few people laughed. A few kept staring.

I know you’re expecting a power class, I continued.
But I’ve just arrived in Berlin after a long day.
So instead, we’re doing yin.

I don’t remember planning much after that.

Each breath I cued, it was for me first.
Each pause I offered, I needed it myself.

At one point, I noticed a student staring at me with questions in their eyes.
I realized I’d forgotten a side of the sequence.

I laughed and said,

Don’t worry about it. I’m still in Berlin for a couple of weeks.

Somewhere along the way, I relaxed.
Found my voice.
Found my frame.

The noise of the day faded.
The room softened.
So did I.

After the class, I sat quietly and closed my notebook.

Same line.
Same words.

I hadn’t written a sentence earlier.
I had been living it all day.

With love and stillness,
Saf