Noise, Knowing and The Road Ahead

I was sitting in the Ramana Maharshi Ashram library, enjoying a book by Paulo Coelho, when I had the sudden feeling that I was going to leave Tiruvannamalai. I couldn’t believe it.

I closed my eyes and went inside.

What the fuck is going on here?

I had been here eight weeks. I had found my guru. Why would I leave?

But it wasn’t a thought it was a knowing. And the knowing is never wrong. There was no doubt. I had to leave. I didn’t know how or where I was going, but the clarity was there.

I got up from my seat and went home.

I had to leave my Airbnb. I’d enjoyed it for the first two months, but now it was time to move. I’d booked everything in October the year before, while sitting on the tarmac at Gove Airport, dropping off a patient who was being flown to Darwin Hospital on a Care Flight.

I remembered the booking vividly.

Right after I booked, I got a message from the host:

He wanted me to know there might be construction noise in the neighbourhood, and I wouldn’t be eligible for a refund if I confirmed.

I remember thinking: There’s going to be an issue here.

But I was pretty easygoing. I thought, Alright a bit of noise, I’ll manage.

Fast forward to the 1st of March.

I packed my things and met the host at the front gate. He looked nervous.

When I arrived, I saw why.

It was a construction site.

A pile of rock, a concrete mixer, and mounds of soil. It looked like the work had only just begun. Right next door.

He gave me a quick tour. The place itself wasn’t terrible, but the energy felt off. And after ten days of jackhammers, concrete mixers, and deafening noise from 9 AM to 6 PM sometimes even later, I’d had enough.

One Monday night the noise went until 8:30 PM. That was the final straw.

I contacted Airbnb.

I explained that I had tolerated the situation for ten days, but this was unlivable.

The host had clearly downplayed the issue. He messaged me, fired up, saying he’d warned me.

I told him straight:

“No, you didn’t say the construction was next door. You didn’t say the entire place would shake. You tried to deceive me.”

He deflected, blamed the workers, the city, anything but himself.

In the end, Airbnb refunded everything. But I still had to find a place to stay that night.

I did.

And with it, the knowing came back:

I had to leave Tiruvannamalai.

But I didn’t know where to go.

Varanasi?

Rishikesh?

I packed up my things in the morning and went to drop off my scooter.

On the way, I spotted my friend A.

I pulled over, sat down beside her.

She asked how I was.

I said, “I’m leaving.”

“Why?” she asked.

I explained the Airbnb situation and told her I felt I just had to go.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I think Varanasi,” I said.

She looked at me and asked,

“What are you looking for?”

I paused.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

She followed up,

“How would you know that you’ve found it?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t even know how to answer that.”

She smiled gently.

“That would be a good place to start.”

I sat with it.

Then I said,

“I think I’m looking for peace.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Bhagavan was very clear, there’s no such thing as peace of mind.”

Then she looked at me with depth and said,

“Remember why you came here in the first place.”

I nodded.

“Yeah... I hear you. I do.”

While we were chatting, a few more people showed up. One of them was M — an Australian woman. I didn’t know her, but we got talking.

I explained my situation, and she offered something unexpected:

“If you end up going, I can put you in touch with some people I know. You’d have a place to stay.”

It felt like a sign.

We exchanged numbers. She said she’d let me know.

I decided to stay one more night in Tiruvannamalai to see what unfolded.

The next day, I was at a chai shop when I noticed a girl I’d seen around before. I waved.

She smiled, came over and sat with me. She was from Italy but lived in England.

We chatted for an hour. I told her everything, the Airbnb, the signs, the knowing.

I laughed and said, “I think I’m about to leave at any moment.”

“Where to?” she asked.

“Varanasi,” I replied.

She lit up.

“My friends are getting a taxi to Varanasi tomorrow morning.

Why don’t you share a cab with them?”

That was it.

I booked my flight.

I booked my accommodation.

I was going to Varanasi.