Month: March 2018

I’m moving. Again. Fifth time since arriving in Rishikesh two weeks ago. It’s a long story, but I’m tired. Perhaps that’s why I called the airline today and changed the date of my return ticket to Halifax. If the universe is willing, I’ll arrive home on the afternoon of March 18…the first time in awhile that I’ll experience the pleasures of the third month of the year in Canada. But it’s all good.

The moves are a combination of things. I cancelled my original guest house on a whim, not realizing the yoga festival was on and would take up many of the accommodation options

in town. Then Evi arrived and wanted to stay at Yoga Niketan. Unfortunately, it’s not the same place she experienced 20 years ago. There are a number of difficulties, not the least of which is the shortage of decent yoga teachers. Case in point, one of the gardeners taught this morning’s class…

Luckily, there are other possibilities now that the festival is over, so tomorrow we go to Ananda Prakash Ashram where she knows the teacher. (He is also married to a Canadian and spends time in Ottawa and Toronto so I had an “in” as well.) He personally saw to it that we got a room, so I’m confident we’ll be okay there. And we get to room together for my final three nights in India, so I couldn’t have scripted it any better!

Coming back down the hill from Tapovan, we saw a fire at a hotel. It was next door to a place I stayed at last week..dodged that bullet…

As usual, mixed feelings about going home. But home is home. And India is always here.

I’m slowly getting at the essence of Rishikesh, with a little help from Angelos, a guy I met at the ashram in Kerala. He helped me get a room in the guesthouse where he is staying and is introducing me to the places and experiences that are all around me but would easily go unnoticed.

I was aware of the huge ashram behind us. The tower is beside my balcony, and the chanting – morning and evening – is mesmerizing. I didn’t know until yesterday that the guru there is the famous Prem Baba. As luck would have it, he is in residence and gives daily talks. I understand from Angelos that he is one of the more credible sages here; I’ve heard nothing but good things since, so I’m going to his satsang this morning for a first-hand listen.

Yesterday, I attended the afternoon kirtan at the same ashram. I cried… completely overcome. The voices, the instruments (some familiar, others unknown) melded into sound that touched my core. If I hadn’t already purchased the entire contents of an Indian music store (112 CDs) on a USB stick, I would have picked up one of their offerings. Who knows, I may already have it😁

 

8:23. Not bad for an 8:00 am start in India. I gave up on punctuality a long time ago, so I’m not stressed, just looking forward to a day at the hill station of Mussoorie with Evi. It took some effort to arrange the cab, but with the help of the manager at my guest house, I have a decent car for the 90-minute trip.

The driver speaks some English. A short time after we reached the main highway, he pulled over, turned off the engine and announced “Urine out.” Fortuitously, there was a monkey on a rock next to the car so I passed the time snapping pics and tried not to enrage it by smiling.

As we neared Rajpur, the village where I was to meet Evi, he asked for the 5th time the name of the hotel. Because, as is always the case with Indian taxi drivers, he had no idea where he was going. He finally asked me to find it on Google maps, depending on me to give him directions. I’d had enough, so called Evi and had her connect him with someone at the hotel who could speak Hindi. Good thing, we were going in the opposite direction.

Only one thing could have made me long to return to the confines of that taxi, and that was the experience on the bus that followed. Mussoorie is a hill station, and that means one hour straight up on hairpin switchbacks that are scary in a car and terrifying on an overloaded bus driven by a 20-something with delusions of invincibility. As we boarded, I saw that we would have to stand, and it soon became apparent that I would kill the woman seated next to me if I didn’t lower my centre of gravity. So I sat on a sack of something – cabbages maybe – for the remainder of the journey thereby saving two lives. Since I don’t pray, I spent the time silently apologizing to my mom. No mother needs to hear that her child died careening off the side of a mountain in a bus that would never pass inspection if indeed there were inspections.

But we made it! And we took a taxi back because I try never to make the same mistake twice.

Chaurasi Kutiya Ashram, where half a century ago, the West cane to sit at the feet of India’s timeless spiritual wisdom. That’s the wording on the brochure that describes the Rishikesh landmark to which the Beatles came in 1968 to study with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Here, they composed 48 songs featured on The White Album, Abbey Road and Yellow Submarine.

50 years later, as I follow in their footsteps, the emotion is overpowering. While the grounds remain as be beautiful as ever, the buildings are in an advanced state of decay. The site has been taken over by a group called the Rajaji Tiger Reserve. There are nature trails going off in every direction from the main pathways, and I noticed large mounds of elephant dung here and there as I made my way through the site.

I must admit that the thought of encountering a wild elephant while paying homage to the most beloved band of my youth was disconcerting, but somehow it did not lessen the barrage of feelings that bubbled up…it’s hard to describe where the sadness was coming from…perhaps from John’s death and the knowledge that even someone as gifted as he wasn’t safe from the delusions of others. Perhaps it was the realization of how much time has passed since that time of innocence.

When I wasn’t fighting back tears, I was singing Norwegian Wood and wondering why I’d chosen to walk 13 kms in sandals with no support. I may be older, but apparently wisdom hasn’t kicked in yet

Rishikesh. I’ve heard a lot about this holy town on the banks of the Ganga, and I’m happy to report that it wasn’t all hype. There’s an easy, laid back vibe here, except for when people are running around throwing handfuls of paint at each other. But that was yesterday,  and today is another day.

The first thing I noticed as I walked off the plane at Jolly Grant Airport (isn’t that just the happiest name for an airport?) was the cool mountain air, such a relief from the scorching heat and stifling humidity of Kerala. My second observation was that pretty much everyone on the plane was also heading to Rishikesh, about 20 kms away, for the International Yoga Festival.

An Indian woman waiting at the luggage carousel offered to share her pre-arranged taxi with me. Not only did she haggle with the driver to reduce the price (we were going to different parts of town), but she had him stop along the way to take pictures of the two of us posing under giant billboards featuring the Dalal Lama. It turns out he is one of the guest speakers at the festival. Talk about auspicious timing on my part!

When we arrived in town, she had him stop at a fruit stand where she berated the owner for giving me more grapes than I asked for, forcing him to cut off the excess so that my total was 100 rupees ($2) for a bagful of fruit. Honestly, if this woman had been with me from the beginning of my journey through India I’d be at least $200 richer.

As she left the taxi at the ashram where she was staying, she reminded me not to give him one rupee more than the agreed-upon price, invited me to visit her in Mumbai and blew me a kiss. Every taxi ride should be this eventful!

As mentioned, yesterday was Holi, the festival of colour. I had planned to walk to the Beatles Ashram on the other side of town but changed my mind after venturing outside. Every single person who walked by me was covered in pink, green, orange, etc dye. Hair, clothing, shoes…head to toe. Not having any clothing I wanted to sacrifice, and having already participated in the celebration in Nepal a few years ago, I retreated to the safety of my room. The Beatles would have to wait.