Delhi, and Finding Myself in Rishikesh

« Return to India

Without a guidebook, I rely heavily on the advice of like-minded travellers. One of these travellers (who’s mind I rather liked) sold me on Rishikesh, India’s holy city, located on the Ganges. Here are temples and ashrams and yoga studios and holy men - the postcard of spiritual India. First I had to survive a night bus, which was overbooked, overcrowded and nothing at all like the way it was sold to me. Air-conditioned: The doors and windows remain open at all times. Reclining Seats: The seats are broken and don’t sit up straight. It took 2 hours before we got out of Delhi. I scored the best seat - up front ≠ where the legroom was lovely. Unfortunately I had nothing blocking my view from the near fatal collisions waiting for us at every turn. Every time the driver played chicken with an 18-wheel truck, you could have stuck a piece of coal in my ass and retrieved a diamond. Damn the legroom, nobody else had any idea just how close we came to having tea with Shiva, Krishna and Ganesh. I heard somewhere that India has more backpacker deaths than any other country in the world. This thought did not a peaceful journey make.

Rishikesh would present me an opportunity to do some yoga, find some spiritual discourse, perhaps explore my inner Gonzo. The cute Italian girl who sat next to me on the bus was on her way to an ashram for nine months, and showed me the literature of Swami Rama Sadhaka Grama. Swami Rama’s ashram sounded as good as any, as it might lead to enlightenment, inner peace, and some action with the cute Italian girl. Adhering to some unspoken rule that says night buses arrive just before dawn, we found a rickshaw and were relieved the driver knew where the ashram was. Which of course, was nowhere where it was. It took a frustrated, exhausting hour zipping up and down the streets, dodging cows and dogs and the odd holy man with madness in his eyes. At one point we called ahead and gave the phone to the driver for instructions. He now knew exactly where it was, nodded his head, and promptly got lost three minutes later. I love India. Finally we arrived, just as the sun rose over the foothills of the Himalayas, reflecting on the Ganges. It was a spiritual moment, but then again, getting out that damn rickshaw was a spiritual moment too. The guards gave us a clean room and within seconds I had passed out, wondering which blue-faced god decided to deposit me at dawn in the ashram of the world famous Swami Rama.

The Italian girl woke me shortly before noon. She had already had a lesson in Sanskrit and was excitedly moving her stuff to her allocated quarters. Apparently I had crashed out in the bed of a Korean girl, a slight case of Goldilocks. On the door, a notice said: No smoking, no drinking, no talking after 10pm, no meat, no this, no that. I headed to the office, where I was informed that this ashram only accepts students for long term study, and reservations are essential, and it costs $25 a day (a fortune in India), and there was no way in hell I would be getting any action with the cute Italian girl. I could, however, sit in with a bunch of Californian kids on their introductory meditation class. The guru himself was not in the country but the American instructor was friendly enough. The kids were fresh out of high school; dressed in the best yogaware daddy could buy, and taking this all very seriously. They had very stern-looking team leaders who sat up so straight it hurt my back. Their tans were immaculate. “Can you repeat clearly how one should position our shoulders during two-minute meditation,” asked one kid, with just a hint of teenage rebellion. Nirvana, it seemed, would be the reward at the end of the semester. And then I experienced a genuine moment of enlightenment. A true revelation! Here I am, living my dreams, seeing the world, making my own choices, enjoying each moment of my day. I’m not looking for the answer, hell, I’m living it! If you want to know the secret to life, kids, perhaps you should go out there and experience it. Travel, read, party, listen to different kinds of music, eat roasted guinea pig, shout, dance, and most importantly, wear loud socks. I grabbed my bag and hit the road, truly elated and as clueless about life as ever.

Gonzo Gallery for Delhi, and Finding Myself in Rishikesh

view full gallery

Tweet