Shout Out #26

Trip Start Jun 05, 2006

Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of India Rishikesh, India
Monday, October 22, 2007

Rishikesh is a small town with the common sounds of a common Indian city. The roads are sometimes busy and full of honking cars and motorbikes. Other times they are less busy, less noisy, but always full of sound. The nearly empty bus from Hardiwar is unloading at the nearly empty bus station in the middle of town. Two foreigners with large backpacks follow a handful of locals up the aisle and out the front door. Of the two, the Israeli had a much smaller, lighter pack. There was no iPod or camera, only a few books, some clothes, soap and a toothbrush...mostly items of necessity. If on a walk through town and he decided to jump in a river, a camera mostly got in the way. iPods need electricity- chargers, adapters for wall sockets, and computers for music storage. It's not that he left them at home; he never bought those things to begin with. He was not a man concerned about the latest goods or trends. He had not left much behind when he left home.

    Elad knows much about the world. Newspapers, books, magazines, if it crossed his path he soaked it in. Then sifted, sorted, weighed for merit, and catalogued or discarded. The major news outlets in India were nearly always discarded. It's no different from most other nations when it comes to the depth of reported news. 'Richard Gere Kisses So and So at Indian Awards Program'. It was a treat when he discovered a quality newspaper. In the meantime he read books about Hinduism and the various cultures he experienced daily. Aside from reading, having lived in London, New York, and Jerusalem, he's experienced much of the world firsthand. He is a man of great depth with an inherent quality of living in a straightforward manner. He is also looking; peeling back the layers of something that can't be read or written or spoken of.
    Ash is from the United States of 'Merica. When the bus employees loaded his bag they always lifted with a grunt. To get it on his back, he lifted the straps with both hands and hefted it up with a little jump before slugging it around his right, then left shoulder. It's fully loaded with several books, notebooks, pens, a camera, an iPod, chords, adapters, binoculars, swimming goggles, climbing shoes, some clothes, some medicines, repair supplies, a multi-tool, trinkets from kids on the streets, toiletries, gifts, and locks (that never needed to be used) to secure it all inside. When he packed his bag and went on the road, he left many belongings with his family for storage.
    Ash knows much less about the world affairs. (He is 'Merican afterall). He reads but very little of what he reads comes from Rupert Murdoch and company. Rather than digesting the latest happenings, he likes to dig into text about people and humanity and the common threads of human experience. Ash enjoyed not seeing or hearing the news while traveling

. Much of it being due to the nature of the news and much of it being due to the fact that he has led a relatively stationary life. The news spoke of a world he was no longer living in. The information he enjoys typically takes work to find. And like Elad, Ash is a man digging behind layers of something that can't be read, written, or spoken of.
    Their quest led to Rishikesh in the lower Himalayas. The main attraction is actually the three communities up the river- Laxmanjhula, Swarg Ashram, and Ramjhula. Laxmanjhula and Ramjhula are actually the names of the two bridges spanning the river. Since the Beatles' visit in the 60's, westerners began visiting in numbers, seeking yoga, inspiration, or just a dip in the Ganga.
    The rickshaw stopped at a busy parking lot on the west side of the river. It was a ten-minute ride from the station in town to the station near Laxmanjhula. Lugging their backpacks, they weaved through the lot onto a path flowing past a variety of shops, restaurants, and ashrams with signs in English. Glimpses of the wide river could be snatched in gaps between buildings where ghats stepped to the water. In this stretch of town the riverbanks are low enough to give access.
    Laxmanjhula bridge spans the river, extending from a steep bank on the west to an arrival point on the east side...once across, the outer world no longer exists. There's talk of it, stories or ideas coming and going with the people, but it's not real. There are no international politics or discussions of real estate. There is water flowing by sandy beaches and rocky banks. There are ashrams, hotels, and places to eat. There are shops and temples, and temple shops. Many babas spend the days in the ghats or sitting along the walkways accepting alms from anyone passing by.

One or two temples in Laxmanjhula provide a free meal in the morning. Also, more than in other towns there are cows roaming freely through the streets and alleys. They consume a steady diet of chapatti, rice, grasses, or whatever is given or discarded on the street- including cardboard and plastic. Because of the pilgrimage season, a constant stream of Landcruiser-like trucks attacked the road between Swarg Ashram and Ramjhula further to the north.   Tour groups poured out of buses with loads of plainly dressed men and women in colorful saris- both wearing bright baseball caps to identify the members of the tour.
    Once they each dropped their bags in a room, Elad and Ash roamed the area. Staying on a trail close to the river they passed through Laxmanjhula. Just to the north is Swarg Ashram, the quietest of the three communities. Swarg is mostly a collection of little homes, some street side vendors, and a few quiet ashrams- all set on the little road running from Laxmanjhula to Ramjhula. They stayed on the trail to avoid the Landcruiser traffic on the main road. More little homes and tents are tucked away along the riverbank. A handwritten cardboard sign outside one tent said, "Hand Stand Babaji, For Tweelfs Years For World Piss, Love, and Unitey". Not grasping the meaning of 'Hand Stand' Ash went for a closer look. The man in the tent sat with his left arm held above his head, something he either has done for 12 years or something he will do for 12 years. Ash hoped there were no karmic repercussions for spelling errors.
    The path led back to the main road just before getting into Ramjhula, the busiest of the communities. It's the primary tourist hub for Indians and foreigners alike. The bridge extends from in front of the Shivananda Ashram on the east to a circular plaza centered by a large Shiva sculpture and anchored by two tall temples on the western side of the river

. Stalls ring the plaza selling cd's and tapes about the Ganga and its sacred waters. Every stall plays the same handful of songs throughout the day...every day over and over in every stall. Signs for guesthouses and yoga classes hang from every structure and the ashrams have essentially become yoga hotels with English speaking yogis. Young men weave through the crowd selling stickers to adorn the forehead. One man dressed as Hanuman (the half-monkey god) somewhat aggressively tried to bless people with a smear of tikka on the forehead. Elad and Ash routinely ducked aside or batted his hand away. Sometimes Hanuman shrieked like a monkey when snubbed.
The following morning Ash checked out of his room and hauled his stuff to Ramjhula. Elad also planned to move but his day started later.
To the north of his new room a sign posted on a tree next to a sandy trail warned against swimming on that stretch of river due to dangerous currents. It was the perfect invitation to walk down the trail. Many foreigners also accepted the invitation. The trail opened onto a broad beach with a scattering of people relaxing in the heat next to the slowly moving water. The Ganga is lined with a surprising number of beach areas; patches of sand around boulders and large rocks deposited by the mountains. A few Indian men took the sign to read, "This way for chicks in bikinis." Indian women, even while swimming, aren't supposed to wear revealing clothing

. Prior to taking a dip they change into full body wraps. For the men, seeing a foreigner in a bikini is quite a treat. They all stared- some with absolutely and humorously no attempt at discretion.
    Two Russian women sat down near Ash. One remained fully dressed and stayed on the beach while the other, a tall redheaded woman, wore a bikini and walked to the water. Every head- male and female, foreign and domestic- rotated with her progress. A boat of Indian rafters paddled directly across the river, about 30 meters distance, to within five meters of where she waded. With perfect posture and perfectly synchronized rowing strokes, the boat of seven men with one woman floated by. Every face watched and all the men had the biggest grin possible. Not one person paid attention to where the coordinated paddles led.
    "That's hilarious," Ash said to her friend. "You didn't want to attract attention today?"
    "I forgot to bring my bikini to the beach. We decided to come here after our yoga class."
    "Just swim in your clothes. It's so hot here. They'll dry out quickly. The water is great because it's so cool." Her friend Julie called over in Russian asking her to bring a towel. She didn't want to walk back uncovered. Julie said, "I think they haven't seen a women without a sari before." Tanya added, "She could be a model."
    They had come on a retreat with their yoga teacher and a group of about 20 students. The beach was a good between-class destination. Later in the afternoon they all left for lunch at a spot recommended by the Russians.
    "We've found two places where it's safe to eat." One of the approved spots is the German Bakery next to the Shivananda Ashram

. It sits atop a steep portion of riverbank with a terrace looking down the valley. The full spectrum of western tourists paid well (by India standards) for western food. A man with tussled long black hair, five o'clock shadow, and a Magnum PI mustache sat in the back with a blonde woman and her approximately 8 year-old daughter. He wore a white mini-skirt-length lungi, no shirt, and an assortment of prayer beads and jewels around his neck and wrists. The woman's hair was more unkempt than his and her daughter's hair was wilder than hers. He was teaching the girl his favorite mantra, chanting loudly with the 8 year-old, "I love al-co-hol. I love al-co-hol." Another man in a lungi (his was knee length) sat in annoyance with his wife who blatantly found the food to be of sub-Euro standards. A Canadian woman near both the other tables was petting the long hair of an Indian man dressed fully in white. She kept remarking about his peaceful presence and his life of leisure. A younger crowd of backpackers sat on the terrace talking of chakras, guesthouse prices, and trips to Gangotri or other treks near source streams for the Ganga.
Ash, Julie, and Tanya sat at a corner table overlooking the bridge and the two tall temples across the river. His trip caused them a small measure of thinly veiled annoyance. "In Moscow we could never leave to travel for a year. If we tried to get a job they would ask what we did for a year. It would look lazy

. You are lucky to be able to do that." Tanya has an architecture degree and works as an interior designer. Julie knows three languages and works as an interpreter/translator.
    They also didn't approve of his meditation course. Tanya looked at Julie who told him, "In our yoga program we aren't allowed to meditate for seven years. First we must strengthen the muscles in our back so we can sit long enough to meditate without injury." He thought they had been brainwashed. "Maybe surfing strengthened my back but I've had no problems. If I make it far enough to get past my wandering mind, my feet and legs start hurting long before my back." There was a silent agreement to disagree.
    Tanya didn't like her salad and didn't eat it. Julie ordered too much food and failed to finish half of it. "We both didn't eat our breakfast either." They both could've been models.
    On the way to his first yoga class Ash bumped into Elad, also going to the same class. "Have you been to any other classes."
    "No, it's been shanti shanti. I've done some stretches in my room but I've mostly relaxed."
    Afterwards they met up with a guy named Jess and went for dinner. Jess was contemplating buying a book with a coffee table play-by-play arrangement of various meditation techniques. "See here, they talk about transcendental meditation. And here (flipping some pages) they show such-and-such meditation." He used 'aces' the way many use 'cool'. "Elad and I just went to a decent yoga class."
    "Aces."
    "Tomorrow I'm going to meet those two Russian girls on the beach again."
    "Aces

. When?"
In the morning Ash went by an ashram to ask about their yoga classes. A Taiwanese woman was already in the office asking the same questions. They left without the right answers and he went with her to a class she attended regularly. Elaine, or LinLin, had been in Rishikesh for a month. In Taiwan she worked as an office assistant in a corporation in a big corporate business park. She left to learn yoga. When she's ready she will return as a yoga teacher for the same company. She's a smart girl.
Ash enjoyed the class and talking with LinLin and started going most mornings. He also attended several other classes with several other teachers and began to regain some of his lost strength. He went to the beach, met new people, and started enjoying a similar mind frame to what he achieved in Railey Beach, Thailand with rock-climbing. Yoga is a similar mix of physical exertion and mental focus. Being in a relatively stress-free situation and having a steady outlet brought about a new feeling of contentment. His world was calm. Writing became more difficult because it has always been his outlet. He rarely needed it anymore. An additional (and entirely unprecedented) side effect was a diminished interest in women. The feeling was related to preserving a quiet mind. Eros is not a peaceful love. Eros is fury and passion and sometimes war. Ash wanted agape

. When speaking with women, his 'Hellos' and 'Goodbyes' often meant just that. As a result, a few more women looked for more meaning in his friendliness. It's an odd phenomenon. He tried to use logic to test the validity. If So-and-so has flared nostrils and Ash does not, or, if Ash has flared nostrils and So-and-so does not, do their nostril flares arise codependently? There doesn't seem to be any logic to the phenomenon. Maybe a more straightforward mathematical equation can sort it out. If x = y or -x = -y, then x does not equal -y and -x does not equal y. It's still a mystery.
    He took more enjoyment in the simple pleasures of the day. He enjoyed waking up to the sound of the morning music coming from the temples- the singing and tabla drumming that filled the streets. He enjoyed the cows and often stopped to scratch between their horns. He watched how their mouths always chewed whether eating or not and how they used an ear to block the sun from their eyes. There's a positive psychological impact of sharing a roadway with animals.
    In many ways each walk was a journey. One time he came across a young man struggling to get a loaded pull-cart up a hill. Ash stopped and helped him with the load. They spoke briefly and the guy told him that every day was happy. Few can say that with honesty. Ash believed him and smiled.
    While buying cookies one afternoon he bumped into Sarah. She had just arrived from Rajasthan still lugging her bag. They had sent emails after the meditation course but this encounter was random. Once she landed a room they decided to go for a swim at the beach. It was a good spot for catching up. Sarah lived in Jaipur for several months working with a company doing a traditional form of block patterning with fabrics. After finishing her work, she was on a two-month tour before going back to England

.
    The people at the beach contributed much to the ambience. A French man standing in the water watched the pack of dogs run down and hang their paws in the river while lapping up some water. He turned to a woman and said, "I do not like dogs. I like cats and butterflies." Perfectly stated in a French accent. A policeman walked up and down the beach wearing his official shirt with his official badge...and no pants. He strolled along in his boxers carrying a big stick. His official capacity was safety, ensuring that nobody drowned in the water, but Ash thought he pulled bikini duty that day.
    Much of their discussion was about life and the directions each was headed. She's an artist interested in textiles. In her bag she has a collection of items she comes across. A rough, gnarled camel tooth was her most recent acquisition. He compared the tooth to the golden mean and drew the Fibonacci spiral in expanding squares. They studied the tooth for golden proportions.
    "I don't know how I'll ever reconcile my habit of collecting things with my desire to live simply."
    "That can be good. It's an artistic problem."
    "How so?"
    "Finding the beautiful resolution of conflict."
    The Russian girls walked by with pursed lips, barely opening their mouths when he said hello

. They sat far away. Both could be models.
    Sarah and Ash grew hungry and went to the trusty German Bakery. He was curious, "Why are the straws always so long? I don't even like to drink from a straw but it makes no sense. They collapse when you suck on it. Especially here. I would expect them to be too short."
    In eating her cinnamon roll, Sarah exaggerated the process of working to the middle...eating the outer layers slowly in anticipation. "I'm not sure why I'm making such a production of getting to the middle. It's not a great cinnamon roll."
    "It's the best part even if it's not the best roll."

    Over the next few days they spent much time together. Mostly in town and on the beach but one afternoon they hired a taxi for a trip to some nearby waterfalls. From the trailhead it was a two-kilometer hike to the higher set of falls. Midway up at a lower set of falls, a channel of water dropped several meters into a small upper pool then cascaded into a shallow wading pool. Two men worked near the shallow water shoveling gravel in the shade of a tree. They were working on the trail and shoveled as a team. One man held the handle and shoveled while another pulled on a rope tied to the handle, helping exert more force. They stopped and watched the arrival of a foreign blonde. After a short swim Ash and Sarah went up to the next set of falls.
    The channel of water fell from an upper pool several meters above the smaller, deeper swimming hole. Half the swimming area was dry, blocked by a temporary dirt dam. Three women worked in the dry spot, shoveling and carrying gravel to a mound off to the side

. They worked hard- one had a shovel, the other two brought bags to be filled with gravel. They worked in a steady pattern. While one woman was dropping her bag of gravel on the pile, the other was having her bag filled by the woman with the shovel. Once full, she helped lift the bag to the woman's head. The used one hand to balance the load on their head, and with the other they swept their dress to the side, out of the way of their legs. They moved gracefully across planks of wood and down a little path to the pile 20 meters away. One of the women secured her skirt with a disfigured hand twisted almost fully backwards.
The woman filling the bags shoveled alone. She needed no help from someone pulling a rope. Every stab at the pile exerted an opposite force on the shovel. With every bit of force- little increments of friction- the muscles in her arms, shoulders, back, and legs fought back. Day after day her muscles fought and continually grew stronger, hardening her physique. With the daily fight her skin also hardened. First her hands became rough- matching the coarse wood of the handle. Then the handle grew smooth from constant use. Over many years the sun etched into the skin of her face. In response, the cell walls thickened in her skin and her face became tough like her hands. A lifetime of daily battles with the earth and sky sculpted her into a rugged likeness of the lower Himalayas. She was a woman of the rocky, arid terrain

. She stood straight, spat in her hands, and readily filled the next bag. With each bag her muscles fought, building strength for the next stab at the earth.
    Ash jumped in the pool and ducked his head under the cascading water while Sarah sat in the shade of a tree. It was a situation of observation for her. She wanted to take stock of the situation before swimming in a bikini in front of three women doing labor in dresses.
    She was also like the earth. Her traits were simply formed by a different environment. Not rugged or imposing, Sarah was from a cool climate with an abundance of moisture. Her much softer skin rarely fought against the sun. In the way an overcast day enhances the depth of color, her skin was used to glowing under softer light. Her world was not governed by exertion. She studied beauty and the composition of elements and spirit. She was an English garden creeping into the fringes of a rugged landscape. Like a flower springing from the crack in a rock she moved slowly, waiting to see whether her beauty would be accepted or scorned.
    As she emerged from shelter, taking more comfort in the situation, the women became more curious. Sarah waded in the water and they stopped to watch, taking a break on the rocks. They looked at her skin- how bright she was in the sun. They watched how she moved and studied her shape

. It was clear they were happy, that she was welcome- maybe even encouraged- to move freely in such revealing adornment. Their worlds blended well.
    Ash noticed little fish trapped in the pools on the dry half of the swimming hole and began scooping them from the warm, muddy water, tossing them into the cool stream. One of the women took interest and started grabbing fish as well. She scooped and tossed the way a mother might help a son while simultaneously trying to keep him tough.
    After the swim, Sarah and Ash retreated into the shade of the trees. A fourth woman- much softer than the other three- came up the hill in a bright blue dress. She spoke with the women, kneeled over the water, and splashed her face. When she noticed Sarah she also took interest. She spoke some English and walked over to say hello. Like the other ladies she absorbed Sarah's features. With broken English she tried to explain that she wasn't used to seeing a woman in a swimsuit. Her village was 2 kilometers further and she went up a steep trail. Before going she asked to have her picture taken. Ash pulled out the camera and the woman posed stiffly. She looked at herself in the LCD and asked for another. She brought the woman with the backwards hand to sit with her.
    The women smiled and waved goodbye when Ash and Sarah started back down the hill

. Their friendliness gave warmth to two people from a cooler climate.

    It was Sarah's last night in town. Early the next morning she was going on a trek to Gangotri. While away she didn't need certain things- her Walkman and tapes and a variety of other items. She left them with Ash because he was not leaving town anytime soon. After nearly a year on the road he was ready to sit still for a while...almost ready to fly home. Over the several days they spent together they'd never crossed the threshold of one another's rooms. Now they sat sharing music in his room. He listened to her Ravi Shankar tape, she scrolled through his iPod. He still felt content alone, not eager to stir things up with romance, but Sarah was different. She was peaceful and made no claims on his independence. They stopped listening to music and noticed the late hour. "You can stay here tonight."
    "I think I already am." (What the hell is your problem man?! How much longer did you want me to wait?)
    There's really no logic to explain it...x might equal y and -x might equal -y, but it's too much to think about.