Shout Out #25
Trip Start
Jun 05, 2006
1
28
41
Trip End
Ongoing
Haridwar,
India
Sunday, September 30, 2007
My original intent was a much more extensive journey through Rajasthan on my way south
01
. A month into it I'd only been to Jaipur and Pushkar. By then the summer arrived and the temps were 110 F in the deeper reaches of the desert. Further south in Mumbai and Goa, the heat was also humid. Elad was going north and I figured he had the right idea in mind. We booked train tickets to Haridwar with the ultimate destination of Rishikesh in mind. Shortly after buying the tickets Elad broke a tooth on some paan he bought on the street. (Paan is typically a mixture of spices, fruits, sugar, and betel nut rolled into the leaf of a Betel pepper tree.) He now had a predicament- fight through the pain and continue onward or trust an Indian dentist with the job at hand. With a good recommendation from the hotel staff, he decided to stay behind and see the dentist. After his first 4-hour visit Elad decided it was a good time to handle some other lingering dental matters. The equipment was state of the art and the prices were unbeatable. He bumped back his departure day, I took the original ticket and got out of town.
All the direct trains were booked. The first leg went through New Delhi where I caught a rickshaw to the Old Delhi station and the next train to Haridwar. The first leg of the trip was packed. Considering the conditions of a 2nd class non-AC cabin I shudder at the thought of a 3rd class ride. Although there were 5 of us on a 3-seat bench, I was fortunate to have my spot. People boarding at stops between destinations had to push their way up the aisle while others pushed their way off. Shoulders, elbows, hips, and faces blended into a nearly indiscernible glob. At one stop a group of elderly farmers shoved their way on. The farmers all wear white dhotis- an incredibly versatile type of clothing. Gandhi wore dhotis as an expression of simplicity and as a way of being accessible to the poorest people. One man wore incredibly thick-lensed glasses with huge black rims...a perfect complement to his dhoti
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. His eyes bulged with the magnification. The spear in his hand could have skewered at least three people in one quick jab. Nobody but me seemed to take concern. He had to push and argue his way on just like everybody else. The second train was less crowded and much more comfortable but I still would've enjoyed some personal space. Weariness always contributed to an annoyance about standing out...being watched or approached out of curiosity. Not being in a social mood, I wore my headphones through most of the ride. The dust blowing in the open windows started to gather in my hair, on my face, and in my eyeballs. Eventually my eyes ached whether open or closed. Vendors constantly paced the aisles selling food...the easiest sell in India. I was just about the only person who didn't order one, two, or three meals. Nothing looked appealing. One of the younger venders, a boy of about 20, wanted my attention. He may have been curious about my appetite but I think he just wanted to give me static. I only noticed his voice because the people around me started to look back. I shook my head implying I wasn't hungry but he kept talking in Hindi. Though spoken to me his words were meant for everybody else. He gauged the impact of his words by looking at everyone but me. I took off my headphones and sharply told him I didn't want any food. He simply smiled and motioned for me to put my headphones back on. It was a sign to take them off or attract further attention
03
. I simply closed my dusty eyes and listened to the metal wheels on the tracks. Haridwar is a revered pilgrimage town. Built where the Ganga flows from the Himalayas onto the plains, it's name means Gateway to God. People from all over the country, especially as an escape from the summer heat, take religious vacations to Haridwar and nearby Rishikesh further into the mountains. It is one of the four sights for the Kumbh mela- the largest gathering of people in the world. After a 16-hour travel day the train pulled in at nearly 9 PM. I exited feeling far from religious. Thankfully the people were different in this area. Rickshaw drivers weren't pushy and the people were generally mellow. The city was louder and busier than I expected but I liked being able to walk without drawing a crowd. Typically my backpack attracted a roving pack of hotel and transportation touts. Leaving the station, finding a room, bathing, and eating were done more as a necessity of survival than as anything of satisfaction. Sleep was like an escape.
The first sign is always a lack of energy and an exceptional weariness...my body begs for sleep. A reduced appetite tends to coincide with the lethargy. Then my stomach churns and all questions are answered. "Why didn't I eat on the train? Why did I sleep for 10 hours? Oh yes, I'm sick again." It was my third bout of stomach problems in a month- this one being the worst- the morning was unpleasant
04
. Still, it was a new city and I simply couldn't stay in bed. There were streets to roam, people to meet, and sights to see. It was an illness that simply kept me on a tighter leash. All wanderings were bound to a limited radius from the refuge of my room.On my way to the Ganga I passed a tourist office advertising 'Side Seen' as a service. It made me curious. Maybe they show people "India...from a different perspective". I imagined walking away from their tour with satisfaction, saying to myself- "Wow, I've never seen it from that angle before." That was as far as my curiosity went regarding their tour services. I continued on my own.
The Ganga's natural course runs to the west of the city- not far from town but apparently not close enough. They've built huge structures across the river to divert large portions of the water through wide channels adjacent to the city. A 30-meter tall statue of Shiva built at the junction of the diversion and the main channel greets everybody coming to town. Bathing ghats line the diverted channel; pilgrims line the ghats. Some tentatively enter the cool water clinging to chains secured on shore. Others, mostly kids and young boys, jump in the water, splash around, flow downstream, and get out to do it again. The men bathe in their underwear; the women bathe fully clothed. Some perform rituals of varying elaboration when they enter the water
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. Most rituals are completed by full submersion as the Ganga's holy waters wash away their sins. I stood in observation on a bridge above the scene. Temples and venders sit behind the ghats and the bathers. The whole stretch of the diverted riverfront is designed to accommodate the constant stream of pilgrims and people in the business of religion. As I watched the water flowing under the bridge a man came up to talk. He was from Delhi but he spends the summers in Haridwar helping his friend with a business. As we watched the scene he told me of a yearly celebration at the river. "After (In) two months there is big Shiva party with singing and dancing. All night no sleep. Very good! Many many people come to Ganga. Why are you not swimming?"
"My stomach is bad and I've just been wandering around the city."
"Diarh?" And pointing to his butt, "When you are having water coming from...?"
"Yes, exactly." He then gave me a long list of sometimes-contradictory advice on treating my condition. 'Eat bananas. Don't drink tea. Milk is good. Tea grounds might be good.' (Milk and tea grounds are 80% of a cup of chai). Fortunately for me his father was a master of these home remedies. The topic eventually and somewhat thankfully shifted gears after about 5 minutes.
We went directly into discussing the death of his brother. His brother's wife wanted his help getting by and raising her kids. He stepped in as a semi-father. One day he took one of the boys to the ghats we were overlooking. He decided to smoke a chillum and zoned out watching the water flow by. After some time he realized the boy wasn't around anymore. The boy was never found
06
. 'After that I went crazy. My mother sent me to a mental hospital.' Pointing to his temples, 'They put shocks on my head.''What! Electroshock?'
'Yes. Four times they were shocking my head. Smoking chillums is no good. I stopped smoking after that. I only smoke sometimes now.'
Before I left he wanted me to say hello to his friend's daughter at their shop. 'Only her eyes have problems', and he crossed his eyes in explanation. I sat down with him and the 15 year-old cross-eyed girl while they discussed something in Hindi. They seemed to draw a conclusion, and in English, said bananas were definitely the way to go for my stomach. Since I'm American she asked if I liked John Cena.
'Who?'
'John Cena. The fighter for WWF.' She pulled out a stack of playing cards and showed me John Cena flexing for the cameras. He's her favorite 'fighter'. When I looked at her she would look off to the side, always avoiding eye contact out of self-consciousness. I stayed for about 5 minutes until I went to get bananas. My side seen was over for the day and I'd certainly gotten a dose of India...from a different perspective.
07
The scale said 68 kilos (150 pounds), a number that made me want to get my rupees back. In all of the cities a few people get tiny portions of money by selling the use of a scale. I constantly saw low weights and constantly thought their scales were off. After a few days of stomach problems following a minimal diet in the meditation center, I was 30 pounds lighter than what I weighed prior to leaving the U.S. All year I carried a seven-day treatment for stomach sickness. From a strong dislike of antibiotics I hadn't touched them in all the prior bouts. When the scale dipped further I broke down and took the first pill.
Elad made it to town with a new smile and plans to check out some temples to the north. We both had it in mind to find a yoga ashram. Being a pilgrimage destination, the ashrams were in abundance. Of the few we looked into, nobody spoke English. They were the 100% genuine non-touristy version. Exactly what I would have wanted if I could have understood what was going on. It was looking like Rishikesh was the place for yoga.
We stopped at a temple that was even bizarre by Indian standards. It had a rectangular facade, approximately four stories tall with a tower extending another 3 stories from the center. In the top floor of the temple a deity (perhaps Surya) sat in his chariot
08
. Seven baby blue horses burst forward from the floor below, metaphorically pulling the chariot along. A fifteen foot statue of Ganesh danced on one of the lower floors and two goddesses also flanked one of the lower floors...Saraswati standing on her swan and a goddess I didn't recognize standing on a lotus petal on the back of an alligator. An approximately thirty-foot diameter sun was built on the front concrete beams of an unfinished building next door. Shiva- the destroyer- posed on a demon in the center of the abstracted solar panel. The entire complex took on a baby blue/light pink palette though no color was spared. Venders sat under rainbow umbrellas in the lot across the street and sold snacks from their carts.We left our shoes at the entry and walked through a thin flow of water on the threshold between sacred and profane. It's a toss up which was which. The passage led past a room-sized diorama of the Ganga flowing from the Himalayas out to the plains. Miniature statues of deities sat on the model train green peaks. It proceeded through a room of airport security railings to guide Elad and me in zigzags through the vastly under capacity event. I somehow wound up in a concrete faux-cave with water leaking on the floor and cobwebs in areas I shouldn't have discovered. It's still undetermined whether the cave was a part of the show or not. At that point we were lost. Corridors led to corridors and we came across another two people hoping we could point them in the direction of escape. More corridors led to rooms with human-sized statues of various gods- a perfect opportunity to play our game of 'Name that God'. I might have recognized 2 or 3 of them.
The finale was a large hall with oversized photos circling the upper reaches of the walls; all depicted a haggard elderly woman with a huge red growth on her lip.
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My original assumption was that she had a lot of money, little sense, and an inordinate amount of karma-guilt. The kind of guilt only a monstrous temple celebrating every known deity could assuage. The next day I learned she was Shri Shri Ma.Down the road a boy of about twenty said hello. He wore the loose white clothing of an ashram student and his hair was cut short, leaving only a patch of longer hair in the back...the common symbol of devotion to Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu. After many infamous 'Hellos' from a variety of apparently friendly individuals I'd developed a measure of suspicion towards anyone who approached. The kinder, less assuming types aroused the most suspicion. Because this guy had apparently no agenda other than friendliness, I let Elad carry the conversation. He was with two younger siblings, neither dressed for the ashram. They invited us to their house and I hesitantly went along (especially because my ass was chafed and my stomach was still churning). His house- although still very close- was at least fifty paces further than he said it would be.
They sold snacks from a little storefront on the alley and we entered a courtyard by a gate next to the store. They pulled up chairs and offered us water. I had my own and didn't want to take any chances. Instead they brought out chai and some awesome coconut cookies from the store
10
. I developed a good cookie habit after that visit. We sat and talked with him, his dad, and his brothers. Elad was curious about his yoga practice, what he studied, and different techniques he knew...questions I didn't understand. He knew all the techniques Elad asked about and showed us a difficult posture he could do with ease. Aside from that, we simply sat and talked. There were no ulterior motives in having us over. He simply talked and showed us a little bit of his life. It was a pleasant reminder of why it's important to keep an open mind. We parted directions with the young yogi when the alley re-joined the road. A swim in the Ganga was calling our name- the real part before it was diverted into the city. A group of sadhus- religious ascetics- sat on the banks of the river in a variety of different spots. Some were wading into the current, some sat in camps, and some relaxed in the sun. We found a good spot for a plunge and let the waters wash away our sins...at least the sins of the day.
The next morning my stomach troubles were over. I had no need to take the second dose of the seven-day treatment.
Elad and I met up again and decided to venture to the south end of town. We looked into a couple more ashrams but it was the same story...they were too legit for foreign rookies. We came across an old house converted into a new museum
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. In the main room a variety of displays depicted the course of a particular woman's life. She was beautiful in her younger years and apparently had a higher calling. She went on a long pilgrimage by foot through portions of the Himalayas. Over the course of her life she established over 20 ashrams throughout India. She became known and revered as Shri Shri Ma. Some of the exhibits were a little freaky; fingernail clippings, little locks of hair, and poorly manipulated black-and-white photos of her in scenes she hadn't actually been in. The most frightening exhibit was a life-size photo cutout of her as an older woman. It was decorated with a wig hanging from her head to make her look like Shiva and various items associated with the male god draped over her shoulders. It only gave her a witchy appearance. The house had been her residence with a little garden and a ghat by the stream in back.
Our next stop was an ashram across the street we discovered to be a Shri Ma ashram. We walked through as they opened the main worship area. A bust of Shri Ma sat behind the musicians leading the chanting and meditations. After awhile, one of her devotees held an audience outside the temple. He's a 93 year-old man of French descent. At first the audience was a French woman who held him in great esteem and Elad and me. An American who was into transcendental meditation, an Asian girl, and several Indian men and women ultimately joined us
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. As they arrived, everyone knelt and touched his feet in respect. We basically spoke of where we were from and what we knew of one another's home turf. He mentioned the gold rush in Colorado and had a few things to say about WWII. He moved slowly but his mind was sharp. For about half his life he lived in India as a devotee of Shri Shri Ma. He only mentioned her briefly, saying she may no longer be in the body but she's still with them at the ashram.
Two temples sit in the hills above Haridwar. They are accessible by cable car. The next morning we decided to check out at least one of them before leaving town. It was quite a process. First, a few kids trailed us trying to sell packages to take as an offering to the temple. They had coconuts and various items bundled in translucent plastic wrap. We didn't buy. Instead, we stood in a line for tickets then joined a line for the gondola- an experience I never got used to. I never enjoyed the body parts rubbing against my back.
The gondola offered great views of the city and the river before dumping us at the entry to the temple. Throughout the journey there were an abundance of opportunities to buy any number of religious paraphernalia. In the heart of the temple a massive mob pushed their way to a railing where a grumpy priest accepted the packages everyone but Elad and I brought
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. He ripped them open, pocketed any paper donations and tossed the remaining debris off to the side. An underling sat gathering plastic and coconuts from the floor. If karma could be bought, it was being sold.The mob dispersed into other rooms where all the statues of deities sat next to locked donation boxes. I simply wanted to escape and get to the view of the city. The escape route wove past a tarp-covered temple/mall. Little stalls sold food, music, and drinks made with a 3' pestle adorned with bells, prepared by a man chanting a mantra. Little karma machines spoke of the future for a small fee. The view was great but I'd had my share of temples. India has a deep spiritual tradition but the masses tend to play at the surface. I got the impression that pilgrimage vacations aren't too different from family trips to Disneyland in the United States. It was time for some shanti shanti in Rishikesh.
Comments
You do
look a little skinnier. Take care of yourself over there.