Day 15: another day

I had intended to only stay at the ashram for three nights, but due to unforeseeable circumstances I was not in the right mood to be on the road again. So I stayed another day. I didn’t sleep very well. There is a picture of a guru, Mataji’s deceased partner hanging in my room. He is seated in meditation pose with his eyes closed. Laying in my bed, my eyes a little wet, at night, and looking at the photograph on the wall made me think that his eyes kept blinking. I was blinking to confirm what I am seeing. I fell asleep with my headphones on and when I woke in the morning the battery of my ipod was almost out as it was running all night. I was up at 6:30, earlier than usual since I arrived in the ashram. I went to the yoga room, class is at 7 and laid on the ground. My mind blank. Staring at the ceiling. One by one four of the women at the ashram quietly come into the room as well as Mandakini, Mataji’s daughter, who was to lead morning yoga today. It was exactly what I needed this morning. Class was about two hours and combined elements of hatha and vasana, breathing exercises and meditation. I felt very good after.

I realized I have tons to laundry so I put my dirty clothes in a bucket, add water and some fair trade organic soap. Sitting outside by the hammock, washing. Then comes out the american guy topless wearing a little white wrap around his waste covering only his groin and thighs. He never talks, never makes eye contact, so enigmatic yet boring, im actually not curious to hear his story having convinced myself it is probably mundane and uninteresting. Despite having lived here for a year, in relative isolation sleeping or doing whatever all day in his room and only having one meal a day, despite all that he doesn’t feel transformed to me. He still exudes an aggressive almost annoyed vibe just by having someone like me in his sphere. The cows! Something is happening with the cows and he starts making these primitive noises waving his stick, like father time. Then runs down and controls the heard yelling gibberish. It was so comedic for me, I am just not buying this guy, nope. It was so nice to wash clothes by hand wring them and put them on the line. It reminded me of helping my mom hang our laundry in my balcony in Alexandria. The middle of the day was not memorable, which is probably a good thing, there is no reason to always do something here, you can just be.

The bell rang around 4pm. I thought it was food, I was hungry. When I arrived I realized that it was class time. Mataji was about to give a talk on the Chakras. I am such a novice that I will not even try to relay what she was talking about. It was very soothing. Yet I was so much more aware of my restless legs, my sore back. Sitting on the ground, on a cochin with legs crossed. My left leg below the knee was so numb it didn’t feel like it was part of my body anymore. I went in and out of listening to Mataji. She sat opposite us, with an open notebook sitting on a carved wooden book stand. Her eyes closed the entire time. She spoke in a continuous flow with no interruptions. Her voice so soft and subtle that you had to pay attention. Only the spinning fan above was making its own subtle noise and I had to listen to that too. At times I felt as though she was talking directly to me. It is hard not to personalize and apply the little bits and pieces that my ear catches of her speech. I felt as though she filled the room with words and I was only able to capture some here and there and try to make sense of them. She talked about the illusion that we create that is life. She talked about the spirit and its independence from the body. I can’t give it justice, if I try to remember what she said it will sound trivial and simplified so I would rather not. As she was talking about not being totally devoted to bodily pleasures I catch a glance of that boy again. Wearing that pink shirt again. He is working out in the garden and I can see him through the bamboo shades. My attention kept going back and forth between the lesson and the object of desire. I am a bad student.

After the lesson I was calm, my walk was light, like I was just touching the ground enough to move forward. I was surprisingly in a good mood. My stomach growled, protesting that fact that I haven’t given it something to breakdown and consume.

Being in such a good mood and before dinner, I made one last call to peace. Sending an email and making a call offering a hand, I am willing to accept anything. Alas, no response, no answer, voice mail.

Day 14: Hello Ganga

After another good night sleep I woke up around 6:30 and found myself walking out my room, fingers in my hair, other hand pulling my underwear from that snug spot and started walking towards the back gate to the garden. Crossed the creek and walked through the woods. I guess I had decided in my sleep that I was going to take a dip in the Ganges first thing this morning. I only realized what I was really doing about half way to my destination, that spot I was at last night with the girls. “what am I doing, what if the current pulls me in, what if no one sees me, does it count as suicide if I accidentally drown, I guess it wouldn’t be accidental if it was suicide. Should I just say I did it without doing it? Why am I so afraid its just a river, I always hated the idea of swimming in fresh water, feels so oily and not heavy enough, oh com’on just do it, what about the fungus?” I had already arrived at the spot. I stood there for about four minutes staring down at my feet and the river. Looking around, “is there anyone here?” a man walks up, takes off his clothes and stands knee deep. He seems fine. “why am I doing this again? I mean I don’t really think its going to wash away my worries or whatever or am I falling for that idea?” I take off my clothes, I happen to have on orange underwear, I think that’s the right color. My first step is hesitant, I step on the big rocks and pebbles that line the bank, the water is not too cold, but refreshing. I wobble side to side like a kid just learning how to walk as I step from rock to rock, at least the bottom isn’t that mushy muddy stuff usually in the bottom of rivers and lakes. The water is still just above my ankles, but I am a couple of feet in, I’m not going in much more, hell no not with that fast current. I sank to my ankles and wet the bottom of my thighs then slowly I submerge myself. The water rushes over my back and head. I can’t say it was a religious experience, because I was mainly scared for my life but it was intense, especially that I am still half asleep. I tried to gather any tiny bit of spirituality left in me to make a wish. The best that came out of me is “please take away all things that make me sad.” “is that really the best I could come up with? What an idiot.” I fumbled back up and out of the water. Ok, check, done. I stand there for a second to dry. A woman comes to bathe. I realize I am standing wet in a tiny pair of orange briefs in not the most flattering pose. The moment was over, I just wanted to put my clothes on and take a real shower. Walking back I wondered about any skin diseases that may develop in a few weeks because of this impulse to satisfy a “to do” list.

I make it back to the compound, as I started thinking of it as one. As I open the gate I spot that sexy guy. Wearing a bright pink shirt today, hmm, nice work outfit, bright pink shirt and brown shorts.. Mmmm. I almost bumped my head on a branch, I was trying to stare not so obviously but failed. I am in the bathroom naked thinking to myself “I will not do it, not here, this is supposed to be a holy place, I guess.” by the time I turned on the water and started to lather the soap I had already failed to maintain my promise to myself not to masturbate. Thanks boy in a pink shirt, you took me a step further away from renunciation.

I spent most of the day in the hammock reading my book. It felt like a resort, minus the beach.

Just before dusk, having had a good day, I was in a good mood and decided to break another promise I had made to myself. I checked my email and face book and even made a phone call to New York. I shouldn’t have done any of the above as my mood completely turned and I convinced myself after an hour on the phone that I am now single and must move on. I hear the bells, must be dinner time.

It was someone’s birthday, the girl that busted into tears the night before. So dinner was a bit different today. There was a birthday ceremony. It was actually nice, they had created this shape on the floor in the eating room. It was made of colorful powders, flowers and candles. We all sat in a circle on flat cochins. Birthday girl had a special seat. The ceremony was very organic and midway between formal and under planned punctuated with almost awkward moments of silence. At times it even felt borderline melancholy. Birthday girl had to light the first and last candle, symbolizing that we are born and die alone. In the middle, between birth and death we meet many people who become part of our life, so the rest of us get to light the rest of the candles. One by one we each got up and lit candles. One of the boys is playing the tabla. They turned off the fans as to not blow the candles, which made the room very hot. No lights were on, just the candle light. Then we were each given a fistful of flowers and we had to get up one by one and shower birthday girl with flowers, as we wish her good health, sanity, whatever we want to wish. Different people picked up musical instruments and joined in the noise. Mataji played the harmonium which has a certain funerary sound to it. It was a bit drawn out but all very sincere. I was totally distracted by all of this, it was very interesting, like I was at a family function meets a company retreat or a camp. They sang happy birthday in Hindi then Mataji says “and in Egypt…” I had to sing it in Arabic, then another person did it in Finnish, then Dutch, then French then German. Man, there are people from all over the place here. More than half the people preset were not Indian including the pack leader, Mataji, who is German but having lived in India for over fifty years she has morphed into something more Indian than European, a kind of spiritually improved European. Don’t be fooled by her orange loose dress or her thick, long dreadlocks wrapped around her head like a turban, this is not one of those hippy dippy lets read our crystals and get naked in the woods type. This woman really paid her dues, she really combines Indian spirituality with common sense and logic. I am a bit in awe of her. Birthday girl seems to have had a good time. I made an early exit and retreated to my room wondering what coming back to New York in three weeks will be like.

Day 13: Hari Om?

I had a good full night of sleep. I felt so refreshed. Having ignored the fact that internet is available has also been nice. But why am I making such a conscious decision not to check the email and the face book. I want to share and tell everyone about everything, I want to hold on to the little details I’ve captured before they fly away into the abyss forever. But NO! no email. I was avoiding the inevitable.

The day was peaceful. I sat at a table by the hammock and caught up with my writing. It was nice to recall events from only five, four and three days ago and try to juice out every detail I can remember and see it written on the screen. I felt odd sitting there with my little computer knowing that everyone here is totally trying to give up their connections with the outside world, their material possessions. Renunciation was the thing to do. When the bell announced lunch time, I went into the dinning room with my computer in hand and sat it next to me. It was sacrilege. Like bad etiquette. One woman muted her gasp. Everyone is very soft here, even when they gasp. I am more aware that my voice it a few disciples too high in a place like this.

I noticed one of the boys that lives and works here. So striking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was just the right height and on the skinny side of things, but lean, I can see his muscular calves and big hands with sculptural veins tell me he was built to work with his body. His skin was so dark that his dark brown eyes looked more honey colored, but they aren’t, its just a trick of the eye. Contrast. His features reminded me of me. Not the way I actually look but the way I imagine myself. There is me as I see myself in my mind’s eye and the other me that I see in the reflection of a mirror but refuse to believe is me. “My hips are too wide, my thighs are too big, I thought I was more hairy, is my forehead getting bigger? My beard is not thick enough. I’ll never get those abs or that chest no matter what I do.” The boy is what I wanted myself to be. I was totally taken by this male creation. His eyes sparkled sexily but he never made eye contact long enough for me to say something back with my eyes. The sun was beating over my head but I had forgotten the heat for a moment. I was burning with desire.

Later in the evening, just before dusk, Gwyn, the French journalist that led me here, wanted to go for a walk by the Ganga. A Swedish woman staying here joined us. It was a nice walk. Here is that German guy talking to one of the men that live in the woods. In the space between the ashram and the river is a strip of forest, wilderness. This is where Mataji and her Guru lived for ten years. Here are men living in the open, in a stage of their lives when they totally renounced all earthy things. They wander the woods, or sit by the river. I’ve seen a couple here and there, living together. We walked further away up stream. There was a nice spot where the river takes a turn and the current picks up. “are you going to swim in za river?” asked Gwyn. “yea but I’m a little nervous.” I can’t stop thinking about the waste and bodies that have been dumped here. In my mind I’m also thinking that if there was a good spot for me it is this one, at least the current is fast and things that live in still water wouldn’t survive here, right? Anyway, I thought of it as a challenge, a thing to check off my list, so I can say that I swam in both the Ganges and the Nile. “maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready,” we walked back past people bathing, holy men idling, families picnicking. The sun was setting, the colors were vivid, the sky was clear. I breath really well here. It just hit me then that I haven’t had any problems breathing, like I do in New York. Maybe it really is not being around cigarette smoke. My spirits were high. We walked back into the gate of the hideaway as the bell was announcing dinner time.

I joined the evening prayer again, trying to do a better job with following the text. After the ceremony, which takes about half an hour, Mataji gives each person in their hand a sweet or a fruit. Spirituality aside, it was nice to have a routine, where you sing with others. Each person surely has their story but who cares how we got here, we were all singing in a language most of us didn’t know, there are bells and incense and at the end we get a sweet in our hands from our mother (she is our mother for the time we are here). I felt like I was in rehab or something, like I ended up here to re-center, that is what I felt was happening. When it was all over some of the girls sat by a tree next to the shrine. Madakini turned around and said "so Mohamed, how does it feel to be here, with all this Hindu stuff?" I wasn't really sure what she was asking but I sensed a hit of surprise with her tone. She had already asked me earlier "what kind of name is Mohamed, is that a saint?" and I thought to myself does she really not know? anyway I'm getting off track, so she asked how it was being there. I responded "it's OK!." Her mouth was slightly open, others leaned forward with their eyes fixed on me as if they anticipated me to elaborate. "um, I mean I am not a religious person but I am interested in religion, its the way most people in the world live." It was a really awkward to have to explain myself at all. I mean, why is it any more peculiar for me to be there than any of the other people? none of them grew up in Hindu households. The Canadians, the Americans, the German, all of them are passing through, visitors, tourists. I felt uncomfortable to being under the microscope even for that moment but I tried to conceal my discomfort. I told them that I am simply interested in learning about all religions, I thought they might like that answer. Truth is I wasn't there for one reason or another, I ended up there by chance and I liked it so I stayed, no mission, no agenda, no reason.

One of the girls started crying. I walked away and went to my room, my cell.

Day 12: Santosh Puri Ashram

I was happy with my time in Hardwar, but one night was definitely enough. I was tempted to stay another night just to have an air-conditioned room and a TV but that would have been silly. Since I haven’t been staying in places for as long as I had originally planned, I found that I have a lot of time. What to do with this time. I kept going through my guidebook trying to make a revised itinerary, what else can I fit, what do I want to see, where do I want to go? A few days ago when I was in Mcleodganj I had that realization as well and was looking into flying to the Andaman Islands, it would have been $350 but totally worth it for a perfect beach. However the Monsoon just started there and so that was out of the question. Then I had that note the French journalist left me with the name of the peaceful ashram she recommended. I looked it up and called.

I thought to myself I’ll go for a couple of days, if I like it I stay more if I don’t I leave. It was a bit out of the way and I ended up walking about 2 kilometers with my bag but I found it. This was definitely off the beaten track. The ashram is adjacent to a couple of other ashrams, is in a nice spot by the Ganga. I walked through the gate and under a trellis with vines growing on it into a courtyard. the walls have a pink hue and on one side is a shaded area with columns. A little boy directs me to a woman sitting there. Her name is Mataji, translating into something like “respectable mother.” A very sweet German woman in her seventies who has been in India since her twenties. She lived with a sadu (a holy man) in the woods for 10 years and when he died nine years ago she, along with her three children with him, built this ashram. The place is very serene, felt like a hideaway, a retreat. There is an Indian family that lives here and takes care of the property. It is not so nice and not so simple. Beyond the courtyard is a little garden, not the prettiest but nice, with a little temple in the corner dedicated to her husband. There is a gate in the back of the garden that leads to a little path over a creek that leads to the woods on the banks of the river. Compared to the noise pollution one gets used to in India after 10 days, this place is very quiet. I hear nothing but birds, cows, and chip monks. I like it here. I think this is what I needed, a break from the chaos outside and a place to just be chill and pull away, let go of whatever it is I am holding on to that was taking a toll on me.

Mataji gave me some juice they made from a tree on the property and showed me a room. It was a simple little room, like a cell with the bathroom adjacent. There is a hammock right outside under a hut-like roof.

There are a few people staying here. There is also one of Mataji’s daughters who helps run the place. Most of the people staying here are women. There is a white guy, I think American, in full costume (white turban, white vest, white wrap on the bottom, beads around his neck, beads around his elbow. He doesn’t talk, ignored me when I said hi and stays in his room all day (which has no bed). I guess he is working on something. There was another guy, a German “oh, your name is Mohamed, there aren’t many Mohameds in India, I’m just surprised..” the guy was weird, gave me a bad vibe. He had that dark grey stuff around his teeth. And walked around with a pack of cigarettes. He seemed not to like me very much, I can immediately tell he was thrown off by my presence. To me it was funny looking at this German guy sitting there clearly having trouble wrapping his head around a guy like me (he assumes he knows everything about me by my first name) and what I’m doing there in a kind of Hindu spiritual retreat. He was sitting and right above him is a swastika, the Hindu variety. But I couldn’t help and be entertained by the juxtaposition. I mean couldn’t this guy just shut up and give me a chance before making all these presumptions? I guess I was doing the same but only in reaction to the negativity I got from him. Eek.

Then I met Raven, an American girl living in Rishikesh with her teacher learning the harmonium, the instrument I saw at the Golden Temple (the Piano/Accordion combination). She was nice, we chatted for a long time. She also lived in Brooklyn so we hit it off. After I rested in my room for sometime I wanted to go check out the river and she was on her way there with a bag of flowers. She was very connected to the river and its healing potential, etc. I really liked her so I was trying not be so resistant to this kind of talk. We went, she started putting the flowers into the river. Then she started to walk in it. The current was fast. She seemed to have a moment, a connection with something. I felt again like an intruder so I walked away. When I came back she was totally submerged in the water, fully clothed.

We talked a lot about many things. Life back in New York, life in India. But we were always on two different sides on some things. I don’t know if she was aware of this but I was. She would say: being in India has been transforming for her, that her skin feels different. (I’m thinking its just the humidity) she would say that her intuition is stronger. (I’m thinking its because it is so chaotic that one has to sharpen their intuition to respond to their surroundings, I mean you need a good intuition just to do simple things like crossing the street). I felt like a classic atheist, for the first time. But I never thought of myself as such. I guess this is part of the self discovery thing this trip is supposed to be about. But really? Is that what I came here for? Why am I here, in India, in this ashram? Why am I not in a gay bar picking up guys for random meaningless encounters to satisfy some animalistic urge or to feel better about my manhood. I guess I had to remind myself of why I came, what was I running from? What am I trying to get over? Why are all these people here?

The bell sounds to announce dinner time. The food is served on a tin plates. There is a dinning room where people site on the floor around the perimeter and food is served in front of them. The food is simple, almost bland, like monastic food, but it was still good. There is chanting before eating, people are really into this, I felt like a tourist. I’m just watching, not really participating. I mean, I do the rituals, the steps, I pause with everyone, I eat slowly, but I’m so aware of everyone around me. It was interesting.

Things get even more interesting when after dinner there is a “prayer to the divine.” wanting to be part of the group and not single myself out, I participate. But I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was told in the beginning that I don’t have to do anything, but participation is welcomed. So hey, its my first night, let me try it all. They had laminated sheets with the prayer transliterated into Latin letters from Sanskrit to read with the translation on the other side. I tried to keep up but some of those words had 20 syllables. I was getting sweaty and the mosquitoes were hovering. The main part of the prayer took place around the temple in the garden. There was a lot of repetition, sitting, and standing. Finally everyone, one by one goes up to the steps of the shrine, kneels and offers a flower to the saint, chimes the bell, then walks around the back of the shrine. I went last, it was very awkward for me as I was really just doing the steps. Everyone was so into it. When it was over I headed to my room and listened to music, wondering what a certain someone is doing now. I recounted the day and fell asleep.

Day 11: Hardwar

May 28. I would have stayed in Rishikesh another night just for that sweet room but I felt like I was done there and I was ready to go. My restless feet need to be on the move again. I ended up taking a rickshaw all the way to Hardwar since it is so close and the shared rickshaws make that trip anyway. My plan was to get an AC room asap. I needed the cool air. I found a room, rested and watched TV. Hardwar is a bigger city, a bit more chaotic and about three times the population of Rishikesh. I was in no rush to hit the street once I was inside. The main thing here is the ganga aatri performed by the river at dusk. There is also a temple on a hill that pilgrims come to from afar. I thought why not start there.

The temple is reached by taking a cable car. The ticket window for the cable car had a sign that said “1 hour wait time.” along the way to the ticket window are stalls and shops selling offerings that people can buy to bring up to the temple. Ok so far pilgrims are paying to buy offerings and paying to buy a ticket to a cable car. Awesome. Once you have your ticket you go into a “waiting hall,” basically an area where they put up bamboo posts and a tarp on top for shade with some seats. As you enter this area you pick up a number. Groups are called in every 10 minutes or so. It took about an hour wait for my turn. Meantime I notice this boy and his friends looking at me and the boy comes to sit by me and tries to ask me questions like “what country, what name..”, I wish he knew more English or I knew Hindi to communicate, he was very cute and his friend was even cuter. I am sure they had no dubious intentions but after 11 days of traveling solo and no sex being approached by a group of handsome 20somethings will automatically trigger fantasies of orgies.

My number is finally called and I push and shove as you have to do, and walk down a cluster phobic path only to find another waiting area. What is this Six Flags? Ok fine, wait some more then finally we get called to get into another cluster phobic path towards the cable cars. “Oooh what is this? Another stall selling “offerings,” this is it folks buy up your offerings before its too late, its your last chance.” it was an awkward few moments as I was singled out since I was alone and each car takes four. Most people do things like this in groups, no solo pilgrims, tourists or visitors here. So I had to wait to the side until there was a group of three that I can tag along with. Finally a cute family, two parents and a little boy and me, their adopted cable car rider. We wiz up the side of the hill, it was a very nostalgic moment, especially with this nuclear family sitting across from me, I felt like I was peering into some random family’s family album. In fact they asked me to take a picture for them that will probably end up in an album. I was cute.

Once you get off the cable cars there are more stalls selling offerings. The selling never ends here, it was like a little bazaar at the temple. Architecturally there is nothing of interest. But I should have known that. This is not about grand architecture, it is a place where people believe a special power resides and they make it holy. Now the way people around here seem to experience the sacred it beyond me. There is so much money being thrown around. And the hundreds and thousands of identical prepackaged offerings are handed to two guards that are standing at the shrine who then dump the contents into a huge pile. Really? Is that it? I wasn’t very moved by any of this, not that I was resisting but it just seemed like such empty ritual to me, very different from my experience at the Golden Temple for example. There was a woman crawling on all fours, she must have sinned really bad or something, people were pulling their kids away from her, she was sweating perfusly and people were giving not so nice looks. I wonder what she did or what she wants to make her go at such lengths.

It was all so brief as I was pushed down the conveyer belt of pilgrims and visitors and before I knew it it was done. I was on my way out. It was all about 7 minutes but I am still glad I waited to experience this. I was shaken for some money, when I only put five rupees the “priest” shook my arm for more before he can give me my bindi.

I decided not to wait in line for the cable car down and just walked it. I had to go back to the hotel and shower after that.

In the evening I went to the main temple on the river, Har-Ki-Pairi Ghat to watch the ganga aarti. This was, like in Rishikesh, an awesome people watching event. It was much more crowded here, much bigger. I was trigger happy with my camera. It was pretty fun.

On my way back I found myself drawn into this restaurant, they had a printout advertising “Thali for 60 rupees” and without thinking, since I was hungry, I was inside waiting for food. I always attract funny looks here, people don’t know what I am. I look Indian but I guess something gives me away: the fact that I am alone, the way I sit and wait, the fact that I use hand sanitizer before I eat, that I eat with a spoon not my hands. I have no idea what the individual things were but that was by far the most amazing and delicious Indian dinner I’ve had yet. And it was just over a dollar. Im happy. The little boy that served looked so Asian, Chinese mixed and was a cute little happy kid who kept bringing me more to fill my plate. He was so happy to get a tip I felt like I made his day. I left smiling and with no unpleasant bowel movements :)

Day 10: Ganga Aarti in Rishikesh

Feeling surprisingly refreshed for someone that was just on a bus for 12 hours I take my bag and try to find a place to stay. At first I share a rickshaw with three girls and we go to the High Bank area where a guesthouse was recommended. Didn’t like it so I put my bag back on and head back downhill, on foot. Its hot and I am just realizing how dehydrated I am, but I need the workout. Finally made it down and walked along the road until I saw a pedestrian suspension bridge. I follow my intuition and cross over. On the other side I check my book and decided to check out this ashram by the river. I get there but my mind can’t stop wondering about this santosh puri ashram the French woman wrote on her note. Should I just go there? What should I do? This compact little cute Indian guy strikes conversation with me and starts following me. He said he was just interested to talk to foreigners to practice his English. The guy seemed genuine so we hit it off. But my bag is still on my back and the sun is only intensifying. We go to the ashram I read about in the book. Very colorful place with sculptural representations depicting various religions scenes. The scenes were in cages or display cases, however you want to describe them. It was like a shiva/hindu theme park. We sat there in chatted some more but I wasn’t sure if this was the place for me so we left and walked back across the bridge and I started searching for a regular guesthouse. I am already exhausted by this point. My friend Lalit buys me a soda. He was a devotee of Shiva and had a lot to say about it. Nice guy, seemed to be really spiritual but not in the cheesy way that I’ve seen Westerners be “spiritual” in India. He kept saying “people come to India for peace but India lost its peace.” I mean yes Lalit, please don’t speak the obvious.

I see two blonds and I am drawn to ask them “where are you staying?” of course they respond “Parmarth Niketan Ashram! They have great rooms and the food is good.” oh really? that’s the place with the statues, the Shiva theme park across the river. So I tell Lalit, who’s been following me for over an hour by now that I will go back to that ashram to get a room. He wishes me good luck and walk away thinking to myself “I can’t believe I’m gonna cross that bridge for a third time already.” but I do and I make it back to the ashram. At the reception an old lady tells me “no room!” to which I respond by slapping my face with both hands “oh no! but I came so far for this place!” I am dripping in sweat and I played out the whole exhausted lost traveler look to gain her sympathy. Finally she pretends to make a phone call then says “ok ok, how many night you stay?” I say one maybe two, “ok ok one night I have a room.” I am relieved.

The room was amazing! My favorite room so far. It was so unintentionally modern with built-in concrete shelving. The bedroom had a backdoor leading to little space that I could only describe as a courtyard with an opening below to a similar space for the room under me and an opening above to the sky. To the right is a marble counter spanning the width of the room with a sink at one end. Then a door leading to the bathroom. All marble floors, very simple, very clean. I love it. Alas, the ceiling fan was not enough to cool this boy. This turned out to be the one of the hottest days here. I melted into the bed and passed out.

Hours later I woke up and went out to check out Rishikesh, or at least the area I was staying in, which I think was the best part where the ghats and temples lined the river. It was nearing dusk and around 6:30 the Ashram/temple where I was staying performs a ganga aatri, a ceremonial prayer by the river Ganges. This was some of the best people watching I had done so far. Students in bright orange and yellow robes, old men in faded pinkish robes, women in traditional dress, visiting families in jeans, a sprinkle of tourists, all kinds of people were there. The ceremony has a sequence and I am not very familiar with this so please don’t quote me on this but there was singing and chanting, sometimes clapping. Then there was a part when offerings, mostly flowers, were presented to a pit of fire. Then there was the culmination of the ceremony when flames were waved and people seemed to want to come as close as they can to the flame, put their hands over it then tough their heads and faces. At the center of all this is the head priest of the Ashram, who seemed like a rock star. This guy had a huge head of hair perfectly puffed almost like an afro with a streak of silver hair around one side of his face. When he entered the area by the river where the ceremony is taking place, people stood and parted way. There are banners all around with pictures of this guy, one of them even has him photoshopped next to the Dalai Lama. The pomp was almost Catholic.

I am really starting to like this. This was the first time that it really hit me that I am in India. I mean up until now it has been oddly banal, but being at this ceremony with all its performance and variety of people and energy was different. I walked briefly through a little market then headed across the bridge yet again (four times today) and walked aimlessly.

I noticed a place called Madras Café. I was hungry so I went. I was the only person there besides an older white man dressed in all white. He sat at the table next to mine. Seems like he’s been in India too long. I look at the menu and I found myself asking that guy if he’s been here before. I didn’t even think before I made the decision to speak with him it kind of just happened. He said he’s been here plenty and they have good food and made a recommendation. He also asked me to join him at his table. Peter was his name and he lives in Bayridge Brooklyn. What are the chances. “your name is Mohamed, that must get you into trouble these days? Huh? Some of my friends won’t even buy a falafel because they don’t know, maybe one out of ten guys is no good and supports AlQaida.” oh lord, is this really where this conversation is going? Luckily it didn’t stay that way. I think he was surprised to meet a guy named Mohamed in India, traveling alone, speaks English with no accent and blah blah. I understand. “but you don’t have an accent, you sound like New Yoka.” I’m thinking to myself “I am a New Yorker dammit. And stop trying to find out if I a religious or not just cuz my name is fucking Mohamed, I wish my name was Khalil or something.” The conversation actually took a more pleasant turn and we ended up talking about Middle East history, since he thinks I’m an expert, and it was all interesting. I got a free dinner out of it. Peter looked deep into my eyes and said “you’re a good man Mohamed.”

I walked back across the bridge, this time lights were out. All I can see is the silhouette of the hills across, the moon peaking from behind dark clouds like it is about to storm and the silhouettes of people in front of me, their bodies outlined by light from a motorbike coming from the other end. It was kind of surreal crossing the bridge in the dark. It must have been another power outage. I Haven’t said much about outages but they happen everyday.

I made it to my room and laid in bed. The sky was lightening like I’ve never seen it before. I was praying for rain (to cool down the air) but it was only a light show. I was sleepy but I kept staring at that opening in the courtyard to the space below and imagining a blue Shiva with its tongue sticking out and a halo around its head induced by a light bulb attached to the back of its head emerging fro the opening as if it was rising on a pedestal. “oh no are these the visual disturbances again mentioned as a side effect to the malaria meds or is this just my vivid imagination? Is it because I am staying at an Ashram, maybe there is something else living in……. …zzzz.z.z.z.z…” I fell asleep. It was a good day.

Day 9: Turning around

I woke up today happy that I wasn’t on that crazy bus last night. I went to sleep a bit sad because of an email and chat exchange I had after my bus ordeal. Today is a new day and decided that checking my email and face book every time internet was available was just a bad habit. I went to the café for an last omelet, ran into my Canadian friend, told her about my bus ordeal and how ridiculous I feel for having such a hard time making a simple decision. I think being on a trip like this, where you have the time and money and total freedom to do whatever really made it easy to see my faults, like my indecision was intensified, my insecurities everything is so much clearer. Which can also be a not very good thing since I am normally used to ignoring these things or distracting myself from them. But here they are.

Anyway, I was starting to feel mush better about everything. I walked back up towards Dheramkot, found a bench on the side of the hill overlooking trees and a mountain view and I sat there for hours. Listening to music and clearing my mind. Curious school kids passed by, they wanted me to take their picture, one boy wanted to try on my headphones. It was nice to be in the moment.

I had booked a ticket on a different bus for that night. Leaves at 7pm to Rishikesh. The ride was said to be 11-12 hours.

The bus ride turned out to be a pleasant experience. The bus was comfortable and nowhere near full. I had two seats to myself, window open, breeze in my face, headphones on, and no honking, no traffic. The bus had glass all the way up the sides so when the seat is reclined you can see the sky and the tops of the trees as we drive by. The temperature was pleasant. We stopped to help another bus that seemed to have broken down. While waiting outside this woman with a shaved head asked me what was going on. We struck conversation. She was a French journalist who had been at a yoga and meditation retreat for 10 days in Mcloed and is was heading to another place near Rishikesh. She was very nice, smart and I enjoyed talking with her. She is writing a guide to self-development and has had extensive experience with these kinds of retreats. We talked enough that she sensed I wasn’t the happiest fellow. I think her name was Gwyn. I went to sleep looking at the almost full moon, listening to Godspeed you! Black Emperor with the breeze in my face. I was missing Seth.

I woke up and the sun had already started to creep up, this bus ride was not bad at all, we were almost there. Gwyn got off the bus before Rishikesh but left me a piece of paper that said “Santosh Puri Ashram. Be happy.” The be happy part sounded like a good plan.