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.
A serene view from my balcony.
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.
The revered Ganga.
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.
Butterflies accompany you up the steep hill toward the ashram grounds.
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.
There were a number of these meditation huts near the entrance.Obviously, they’ve seen better days.
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.
The dorms. They must have been amazing back in the day.
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.
Laxman Jula, one of two foot bridges that span the Ganges.
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!
Waiting for lunch.Waiting for the bus.Waiting for the taxman.
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.
My time in South India is winding down, and I won’t be sad to leave the heat and humidity behind. Two short months ago I was freezing in Kathmandu and looking forward to Goa. At some point in the coming weeks, I’ll hit the sweet spot…mid 20s during the day and high teens at night. It may only last a few days, but I’ll try to make the most of it by not whining…
I took an auto rickshaw out to the boys’ gurukulam in Vattiyoorkavu yesterday. The driver was hilarious, regaling me with stories about his rickshaw woes and the tourists he has met and his religion (Anglican) and how he knows the Canadian flag because it has an olive leaf on it. Sometimes, he even paid attention to the road.
Despite being in hospital for ayruvedic treatment this week, Swamiji was waiting for me, and we had a good meeting about how I can help with the revamping of their website. I had lunch with the boys before heading back to town and hitting the beach for a quick swim before the sun went down.
The boys, taking a break from studying for exams.The girls from the Thrissur gurukulam along with their teachers and volunteer Verena from Germany.
I returned to the beach early this morning for a big mug of excellent coffee and to watch the fishermen bring in their catch. They must set the net out in the evening, then they haul it in by hand in the morning. It’s a huge job requiring many hands and looks like a tug-of-war between man and the sea. They sing as they bring in the catch, and it is quite beautiful. Kovalam is certainly not one of my favourite beaches, but it’s the only one I’ve seen where fishing coexists with a thriving tourism industry. May it continue.
The English as a Second Language course I took a few years ago is finally being put to use this week. I’ve been given an evening slot in the girls’ daily schedule – 8:15 to 8:45 pm – not exactly prime time given that they get up at 5 a.m.Kids being kids though, they will play at any time, exhausted or not, so we’ve been having fun so far.
It was a bit of a challenge, given the difference in ages, to find learning games that work for everyone. The youngest is about 7 and the eldest 12 or 13. Luckily, their English proficiency is more or less equal with the possible of Devanandha who is too smart for her own good. Girija cheats, so she does okay too.
If there is a flaw in my approach to date it’s that the games get them wound up and they are not ready for sleep when we wrap things up. Last night, they wanted me to sing and dance for them. I get up early along with them, so you can just imagine how much interest I had in a soft shoe routine, especially in the $&(/#@ heat and humidity. Nevertheless, I tried to teach them how to jive, which is a bit weird since I’m not very good at it myself. Ah well, they say that those who can’t, teach!
On a completely different note, have you ever had the privilege of watching a German and an Indian discuss the notion of time? Germans with their strict adherence to order and precision and Indians for whom time, like all things related to road safety, is just a suggestion. This was the conversation between our Indian coordinator Ramesh and the German volunteer Suvarna yesterday morning on the way to town. One of the funniest things I’ve witnessed in a long time…
So ‘cited. And terrified. I have an appointment for a haircut in Thrissur tomorrow morning. It is badly needed; it’s extremely hot and humid here and I scare the bejesus out of myself each morning when I look in a mirror. Think about it though; the vast majority of Indian women don’t cut their hair. So how do the stylists get practice. On the tourists I suppose…
Told you it was scary…
i arrived in Pallippuram two days ago. Verena and Suvarna, the two German volunteers, have been a godsend in terms of helping me to understand how things work. Swami T has a lot of rules… I’m starting to think that all swamis have control freak tendencies, but he is doing a good thing for these kids, so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt.
The girls are sweet. They are also sick. At least four of them have heavy colds, one also has fever, and I’m afraid to think of how this might impact me in the coming days. Nevertheless, it’s impossible to stay away from them. In the interests of their privacy (this is their home after all), I cannot post pictures. You’ll have to take my word for it.
There is (another) big religious festival going on in Kerala, and we went to one of the nearby temples yesterday to see the goings on. There was a huge sand mandala in the centre of the courtyard, and the four men who created it were getting ready to destroy it and construct another more elaborate one of Vishnumaya – the god being celebrated. They showed us pictures of him. He wouldn’t be easy to draw let alone create out of granules of sand. The temple was filled with flowers and offerings of rice, fruit, rupees, etc. which is why I can return time and time again to these sites. They are happy, living places.
Expert craftsmen.
Interestingly, there are Hindu gods here in Kerala that don’t exist in other parts of India. So just when I was getting comfortable with the A list of deities, they’ve introduced a whole new cast of characters. I give up.
So here’s the thing. I’ve met a man…an Indian guy from Thiruvananthapuram. It came out of the blue, when I least expected it, and while he isn’t exactly as I pictured him, he is what I’ve been looking for. Compassionate, well-educated, well-travelled, distinguished salt and pepper hair, an infectious laugh and a flair for colour. He’s also quite a bit younger, and comes with some baggage – eight kids in Thrissur and another 12 outside of Thiruvananthapuram…all from different mothers…
And, as it turns out, different fathers.
We were coming back from one of the local temples last week, and I found myself walking with two of the three swamis who teach at this ashram. Swami Tattvarupananda and I got ttalking, and when he found out my career involved communications and that my passion is writing, he wasted no time in inviting me to help him rejuvenate the website for his gurukulum. Having no idea what a gurukulum was, I started asking questions.
Swami Tattvarupananda runs two centres for children who either have no parents or who come from dysfunctional and/or underprivileged families. A gurukulum is a centre where the children live…along the lines of an orphanage but never called that because, as Swamiji Tattv said to me, no child should ever have a label which implies that they are alone in the world. The kids are clothed, fed, nurtured, attend public school, play, do homework and help out as they would at home, all under the guidance of Swamiji and his team of staff and volunteers.
After a long conversation a few days later and a look at the amazing work he has carried out for more than ten years, I was hooked. When I leave here, I will be heading to the girls’ location in Thrissur for several days and then the boys’ residence in Thiruvananthapuram to get a feel for life there. Both locations are rural, so I’m expecting adventure. Initially, I will help him to re-write the contents of the website. I have a feeling, though, that this is the beginning of a continuing relationship. We’ll see…
It’s 5:06 a.m. and we’re back in the queue at Mookambika Temple in Kollur. I can hear the chaiwallah outside the stone walls, beckoning the early-morning devotees to indulge in the hot, sickly sweet national beverage that is to India what Tim Hortons is to Canada. Thankfully, the line is short this morning, and we proceed relatively quickly to the inner chamber where the goddess Devi sits amid offerings of water, fruit and flowers.
Tower of fire.Armed guards for crowd control.
This is our second visit to the temple. The first, which took place last night, will remain with me for a long, long time. It being a Sunday – and just before Siva Ratri – the line of worshippers snaked around the temple and doubled back upon itself several times as thousands waited to pay homage to the goddess. The women in their finest saris and laden with gold jewelry, the men stripped down to bare skin above the waist. The belief is that men are less receptive to the gods’ blessings so they must remove barriers like clothing.
Elephant blessings.
It was more than an hour before the line started to move, and when it did, the noise level increased exponentially. This was nothing however to what greeted us as we crammed through the tiny entrance into the inner sanctum where the puja was being performed. Hundreds of bells clanged at decibel levels that would be the envy of heavy metal bands. It had to be 40 degrees or more in that space, with bodies crammed together amid the feverish drone of mantras and prayer.
Our hotel was hard to miss!
It occurred to me a few times that I might not make it out without fainting, but somehow, I held on until we were catapulted into the relative tranquility of the outer hall. Swamiji Nivedan is nothing if not religious however, so we turned around and did it all again. Apparently it is bad luck to go through once…
Our motley road trip crew.
You must remove your shoes before entering a Hindu temple. You are also required to take a shower. Yet, there are cows inside the temple walls letting loose streams of urine (holy, apparently) and piles of poop. There is also a river in front of this sacred place which stinks of human shit. Because it is full of it. And this is the dichotomy that exists at every turn in this place.
I have once or twice referred to the location of this ashram as “the middle of nowhere.” It is, in fact, the centre of the universe.
Everywhere I look, banana trees, coconut trees, tiny red baby pineapples emerging from the centre of vibrant greenery. Flowers of every colour and description. Stately well-kept homes. What I have not seen since arriving? Cows. Not a single one.
Not everyone is Hindu here, but I don’t think they’ve turned all the bovines into steaks or hamburgers. Instead, I think there is more wealth in this area, and people can afford to look after their animals, confining them to pastures instead of letting them roam the streets in search of food. In a similar vein, no stray dogs. We saw three dogs in the village on this morning’s walk, one of them carrying a chapati in its mouth, but they looked well-fed and paid us no attention…not the sign of a hungry animal.
There are so many birds here it defies description. Early morning meditation takes place amid a cacophony of calls that can become ridiculously funny if you think about it too much.There are also human sounds…the morning call to prayer for Muslims, the voices of children heading to school on foot, bicycle, on the backs of motorcycles, crammed into auto rickshaws and buses. And the sound of our own chanting as dawn breaks in the cool open air on the top floor of the ashram.
Our daily routine is relaxed. There is no requirement to follow the program strictly as is the case in other Sivananda ashrams. That may be why I happily rise at 5:30 a.m. for morning satsang (meditation, chanting and prayers) and make the trip back upstairs in the evening for the closing program which finishes around 9:30 pm. I am nothing if not contrary.
I am also a little accident prone these days. I pulled an intercostal rib muscle yesterday during class, so yoga is not in the cards for the next few days. No matter, I am content.
