Rishikesh, "Land of the Seers"

A rishi is a sage, a seer, a shaman. Rishikesh, situated along the Ganga River at the foot of the Himalayan Mountains, is a holy city where all of its inhabitants seem to be united in devotion and spiritual aspirations. Alcohol and non-vegetarian food are strictly prohibited here. Devotional music is blasting out of speakers all day and all of the night. Swamis, monks, and sadhus comprise of a large percentage of the population. The powerful Ganga River flows a severe turquoise green and clean through the city.

Rosanna and I arrived here a little over a week ago and were instantly spellbound. We loved it. I knew right away that I’d be here for longer than just a few days. The fact is that traveling can be really tiring and sometimes you go destination to destination and just keep bouncing around checking out stuff. But then it dawns on you that tourism for the sake of seeing more stuff is unnecessary. The most important life experiences lie in exploring your mind. And Rishikesh is the place to do it.

In 1968, John Lennon, George Harrison and the gang came here to study Transcendental Meditation at Maharishi Mahesh’s ashram. This area has been a powerful holy city for thousands of years, but the Beatles’ arrival put it on the map for spiritually-minded travelers and yogis. Today there are dozens of ashrams and hundreds of schools dedicated to teaching yoga and meditation. The mountains are beautiful here, as are the beaches along the Ganga, but most come here to take some time for themselves and learn about the mind.

At the ashram where I am staying there is morning meditation with Swami Dharmananda. At 6am, I rise before the sun and head on down to the meditation cave where swami sits in darkness surrounded by dim-candlelight, a shrine of important gurus and saints, and about 20 or so western students. We gather before him and practice breathing exercises (pranayana), chant mantras, and explore the mind in silent meditation. Meditation lasts an hour and half, and while at first it was difficult for me to sit this long, I am growing to absolutely love these sessions. With sustained effort and a deep yearning to progress, doors are opening.

Swami Dharmananda also teaches an afternoon class. Brilliant lectures! They last about 2 hours and during this time he expounds on a subject with lucidity and authority. Subjects range from meditation to yoga to Vedic philosophy. And what I love about this guy is that his teachings are so devoid of the “new-age” speek that seems to be inherent in so many western lecturers of the subject. Swami is straight up Indian, a no-frills monk, and when he speaks- he is conveying the wisdom of his guru, an unbroken lineage of knowledge that goes back thousands of years.

Rosanna and I visited a few different yoga schools here and each one of them offered valuable experiences. But in my heart I knew it wasn’t enough just to do yoga. I needed understanding. I was seeking a teacher but was somewhat daunted by the infinite variety of teachers and schools here in Rishikesh. In a wonderful flash of serendipity, I encountered a great guy I’d met on the Annapurna circuit a few months ago. I spoke of my search, and he and his brother instantly began singing praises of the Trika school.

He said all the things I wanted to hear. A school that takes you from the beginning, that explains the philosophy of yoga and the precise mechanics of the postures, while also detailing the spiritual application of the asanas. With a great enthusiasm I listened to him talk about this month-long intensive course. The next course would begin tomorrow morning, he said.

So, with the rising sun I marched up to the Trika school and enrolled. That was four days ago. Each day since then has been incredible. These long days of meditation, yoga, and lectures, feel like spiritual boot camp, but I love every minute. Our teachers are knowledgeable and impressive. One teacher, in particular, is like a laser beam of knowledge and zaps me with complete understanding and great excitement each day. Everything that I am learning resonates on many different levels, uniting the disparate spiritual teachings I’ve studied through the years. All religions are saying the same thing, using different words and approaches. My education at Trika is clearly illuminating the missing puzzle piece- the science of why all these holy paths work, and why all devout spiritualists arrive at the same place.

So now I’m committed to a month here in Rishikesh. Not sure what comes next. A few weeks ago I attempted to buy a flight to Thailand that was supposed to depart March 1. I failed, and while I was frustrated at the time, I now realize why—I’m supposed to stay in Rishikesh. It feels right.

Saints, Sadhus, and Kumbh Mela

February 14, 2010: Kumbh Mela

All over India, the vast majority of citizens place an extremely high priority on devotion. While Hindu is a monotheistic religion, there are many “Gods” or manifestations of God, and they are praised and honored in regular religious festivals throughout the year and fascinating rituals. One of these festivals is Kumbh Mela, which due to its awesome important and massive popularity has made it the largest gatherings of humans on earth. Celebrated over the course of 45 days beginning in January, Kumbh Mela draws many pilgrims to the holy Ganga River. In 2003, 70 million people made the journey.

This year happens to be an important year for the Mela because of the moon’s auspicious alignment. I really wanted to experience this event, and so I decided to fly from sunny south on up to Deli just in time for Shivarati—a festival that coincides with Kumbh Mela.

Leaving Delhi before sunrise, Rosanna and I took a northbound bus headed to Hardiwar (I’m now traveling with lovely Rosanna, who I met in Nepal a few months ago and met up with her in Delhi last night.) Rosanna is great company and that helped make this tumultuous journey in a local bus enjoyable. Two passengers in seats just in front of us spent the majority of the 8-hour bus ride leaning out the window and puking their brains out. We began counting the episodes with amazement that there could be anything left in their systems. Ten puking sessions later we arrived in crazy Haridwar.

Roads were blocked off. Pilgrims were hauling bags and suitcases on their heads, walking every which way. Confusion abounded, gridlock to be expected. We got out of the bus and began searching for another bus to Rishikesh, which is where we planned on being based out of. However, we learned that the whole city was blockaded and that unless we wished to walk 13 miles, we weren’t going anywhere.

Every single hotel and accommodation was way overbooked during this massive festival, but a helpful tourist info dude set us on the road to an ashram that could lodge us for the night. Pretending to be husband and wife (this was necessary), Rosanna and I talked the serious swami proprietor of the ashram into letting us stay there. He seemed skeptical about our marital status, but didn’t question our different last names and that our passports listed home addresses that were opposite sides of the country.

A little before sunset we embarked upon the journey to Hari Ki Pari, the centre of town where the festivities occur, where the Ganga River flows.

Along with millions of devotees and pilgrims who come the Kumbh Mela, it’s also the largest gathering of sadhus, saints, and monks. Walking barefoot around town, many of these sadhus are naked, painted white with ash and wearing sparse jewelry and accessories that make them look like ancient sages who have just emerged from a cave. Orange is the color and everywhere you look you see the saffron garb of monks and spiritual ascetics, carrying their only possessions- beggars bowls and blankets.

Much energy was swirling around. The volume of people was astounding. The road was like two rivers of people flowing in opposite directions. Their were many blockades and Rosanna and I had to hire several rickshaws who would take us another couple hundred of yards, before quitting at the next blockade. Eventually we arrived at the Ganga.

Loud Hindi devotional music was blasting out of megaphone speakers. Many lights were strung across the bridges and everywhere, reminding me of the lawn-art scenes you see around Christmas, like millions of candles illuminating the amazing spectacle. Great joy filled my heart as we walked around with open eyes taking it all in.

The monks and sadhus stay in camps located around Haridwar. The following morning, Rosanna and I were exploring the camps when one extraordinarily little man arrived to be our guide. With a waving of a hand he encouraged us to follow him. We passed through a little doorway and arrived in a sadhu camp with many tarps stretched across wooden frames, forming up several communal “living room” spaces. In each one is a group of babas, saints and naked sadhus, surrounded by devotees. We were invited to join them and so we took a seat. Speaking in elementary broken English we were able to communicate a little, and where words failed we shared in laughter.

Rosanna and I were intrigued by the Mela because we had heard that it’s an opportunity to discuss with monks and saints the finer points and philosophy of their faith, exchange ideas, and learn the sacred traditions of this varied community of holy aspirants. Having spent some time with these guys, I really don’t know how much philosophizing/ praying actually happens here. All I do know is that they smoke prodigious quantities of hash and marijuana.

They smoke out of a chillum, which is a hollow graduated cylinder that gets filled with a combination of hash and tobacco. And as soon as they finish one chillum, taking massive hits and exhaling thick clouds of smoke, they begin preparing another, which involves a curious ritual of rolling the tobacco and hash together in their hand. Neither Rosanna or I smoke, and refused when offered, which fortunately didn’t seem to bother the babas.

After hanging out with the babas for the better part of the afternoon, Rosanna and I concluded that hanging with the babas was a lot like hanging out with some of our hippie friends, and were kind of bored.

Leaving the camps, we headed on down to the river. It was there that I took my first dip in the Ganga. A sacred bath it was. When I emerged from that frigid green water I felt fully alive and completely grateful for the gift of life. The Hindus are fanatical about the Ganga and speak endlessly of its sacred power and healing properties. I was skeptical about this, but after taking a dip I am now a believer. It was amazing! The Indians were elated to see western me strip down into my underwear (this is what all the Indian men wear when they swim, so I followed suit) and bathe in the Ganga.

At sunset we attended the riverside puja. Puja is a religious ceremony of gratitude to God. During the Kumbh Mela this puja is incredibly popular. The whole area was packed to maximum density hours in advance of the ceremony- it was impossible to move. Rosanna and I had secured a great place, but then at the last minute we were booted and had to go elsewhere. In a vast ocean of people all we could see were the backs of peoples’ heads. For a moment I was disheartened, but then we spied a ladder and monkeyed up it just in time to witness the Brahmin priests wielding fire and offerings.

Amma is Love

February 8, 2010: Amma’s Ashram

From the lovely jungle backwaters of Allepey, I boarded a ferry that headed south through narrow waterways lined with palm trees and lotus flowers and green. Every tourist on board had their camera out and were snapping away as every moment was a photo opportunity.

Along the boat ride, a smiley Indian man took a liking to me. We were sharing a couple of laughs, and when I told him I had a drum he became ecstatic. This guy played tabla and began to demonstrate on my Nepali drum. When I told him I play cello he began kissing my feet in admiration, and with a big genuine smile kept saying that he was not worthy. I still don’t know what that was all about, but I liked his spirit and enjoyed his crazy companionship. I only understood about a third of what he was saying. He went away for a while, but then came up behind me and whispered in my ear, inviting me to come down below into the captain’s chamber. I thought it was strange and was a bit leary, but it seemed classically Asian and random, so I followed him.

In the captains chamber I found my smiley friend, along with the captain, and the co-captain. A couple empty bottles of rum were strewn about and the smiler quickly emptied the contents of a bottle into a glass and handed it to me. At first I protested, but then with a smile I embraced the randomness of the situation and enjoyed the delicious rum. After finishing the first glass, he poured a second and I enjoyed that one too. The more I drank the easier it was to understand this guy’s crazy mind. I soon came to understand that my smiley friend, along with the captains and crew, were all drunk as a skunk!

By the time I arrived at Amma’s ashram the universe was smiling with me and everyone was glad. Walking slowly in peaceful summer bliss, I sauntered across the bridge and entered the sprawling pink compound that is Amma’s ashram. Gentle late afternoon sunlight painted everything in soft golden hues, a light breeze was blowing, and at this moment all of this stimuli felt like a giant cosmic hug. It felt right here. This is where I needed to be right now. Love felt omnipresent and I smiled to think we were all in this place together in celebration of love, in celebration of Amma- “the hugging guru”.

Long ago Amma devoted herself to the welfare of humanity and began offering love to the destitute and all by offering hugs. She calls it “giving darshan,” and over the course of her lifetime she has hugged millions and millions of people. Hugging is her “service”, that is what she does and people loooooove this woman! Her great love has inspired the adoration of many, and today she is revered as a living saint.

An ashram is a holy place where devotees live, learn, and practice their faith. At Amma’s ashram, there are over 4,000 people who’ve been living here permanently for several years. They are from every country, including a large population of Indians. There are also many dorm rooms to accommodate the several thousand visitors who come from far and wide to experience Amma’s “darshan”. The ashram is a microcosm—a veritable city with a university, a hospital, several apartment buildings, a pool, restaurants, gift shops, laundry facilities—it’s all here. The ashram is situated on a thin strip of land with the backwater canals on one side, and the Arabian Sea on the other. At sunset, devotees gather on the beach for prayer and meditation.

The devotees who have been here for a long time wear white, and all around the busy compound you see them walking about and working with great industry. Sometimes it feels like a cult because they are slow to warm up to outsiders, segregate between men and women, and in general live a curious life of singular focus and adoration of this one woman, Amma.

Day begins at 4:50, at which time the haunting chant of several hundred women rhythmically overlaps the solemn lonesome drone of the men’s chanting. Each morning at this time I would go and sit beside the fire where morning puja is performed. Some 40 or 50 devotees are gathered around a fireplace where a Brahmin priest builds a fire and begins tossing oil, flower petals, and all sorts of ritualistic items into the fire while murmuring prayers and chanting the names of Shiva. With eyes half closed in a soft gaze, I sat there immersed in prayer while the loud enthusiastic chanting of devotees would sing me towards spiritual trance.

As the hour progressed the tone of chant rises in step. Just before six it reaches a climax-- a wild surging melody as this ecstatic band of angels belts out adoration. And then at six, suddenly it’s over and in the absence of the intense chant, a mystical silence and peace pervades the ashram. White robed women and men emerge from morning birjan and suddenly flood the silent compound. Surrounded in darkness, cool morning wind is blowing through my hair as I miander around slowly in walking meditation.

At seven, there is yoga in the main hall. I join about twenty other men. Somewhere else the women do yoga. (Everything at the ashram is divided by gender.) And at nine, we all take breakfast. This is when my Seva begins. Seva is the name given to selfless service offered by devotees. Amma encourages devotees to sign up to perform tasks and do work around the ashram, and says that selfless service is the most direct path to God. I must agree--of all the activities that I did during my few days at the ashram, none were more rewarding than the three hours per day when I got to feed and serve all the hungry devotees.

Soon afterward, loud devotional music began blasting out of speakers all around the compound. Hindu rituals would commence as a prelude to another session of Amma giving darshan.

The main hall is a large open-aired canopy with concrete floors and a stage up front where Amma sits surrounded by devotees and assistants. There are two large movie screens at the front of the hall that display the live video cameras fixed upon Amma. An ocean of folding chairs are lined up in rows and at the center there is a band of Hindu musicians who sing devotional songs all day long. A never-ending river of people file in from both sides of the stage, slowly approaching Amma for a hug. Along with thousands of devotees, I sat there in meditation watching the movie screens, observing the love Amma offers uniquely to each person that would come into her arms. Sometimes it would seem like she was crying, other times smiling, and on one particular day she seemed very tired, almost pained by the strain of this emotionally taxing activity.

It’s a great love that she practices and I found myself quite moved by her selfless commitment. It’s interesting that she never proclaimed herself a saint, but by virtue of her practice and the endless love that pours forth from her, she is celebrated as a saint. You can see it in the eyes of people that approach her. To touch her is to experience a miracle. To be healed. To be made right with God. And to feel her arms wrapped around you is to know it’s gonna be alright. There is a light, and there is a path to peace.

Now, I must confess, I didn’t exactly feel that light of love or compassion in my darshan experience. For me, the process was quite tumultuous. With the typical hierarchy of pushy Indian men running the show, we were like cattle being herded frantically up onto the stage. Like drill sergeants, these uncompromising ringleaders command you this way and that way and you will obey. Just before approaching Amma you are instructed to get down on your knees where you inch forward amidst incredible commotion. When it was my turn, many hands grappled by head and placed it near Amma’s shoulder. Amma took hold of me for about 3 seconds, mumbled a Hindu prayer in my ear, and instantly I was being pushed and pulled away from the guru. It all happened so quickly, I barely had time to consider the arms of a saint wrapped around me.

Since visiting Amma I keep imagining what it would be like to go on world tour giving people hugs wherever I go. That’s a beautiful thing. I would like to do it. To be a light and give hope and love and hugs to all who need it—what could be more noble or rewarding?

The Past Few Week in South India

February 4, 2010: The Past Few Weeks

I haven’t been very good about blogging lately. Days go by so quickly in the ever surging torrent of daily activity and traveling here and there and hanging out with people that there just isn’t enough time.

Anyhow, that disclaimer aside…here’s the last two weeks.

Leaving the beautiful beach of Gokarna I headed down to Kochi. Kochi is a cute historic village on the coast. It was a Portuguese colony for a while, and much of its European flavor still remains. While I didn’t find it particularly exciting to visit, I did enjoy the peaceful air around the place and spent two days happily wandering aimlessly through the quiet streets and sitting on the banks of the Arabian Sea watching the sun go down.

While in Kochi, experienced an ayurvedic massage, an experience I will briefly describe for you so that you won’t have to experience it yourself. Later on I learned that ayurvedic massages aren’t supposed to be enjoyable and now I know why. The masseuse gave me a petite paper G-string “garment” (what’s the point, nothing was covered and obviously I wasn’t shy) and laid me out on the table, which was just a massive block of wood—no pillows. He then proceeded to dump oil all over my head and began ripping out the hair follicles in my head. Once he was done with that he poured another gallon of oil over my slippery oily body and began mashing my bones and limbs into the table. I was yelping silently for relief but I trusted the masseuse and endured it. Finally when the massage was complete he had me sit in a box that was like a phonebooth that only goes up to the neck. This is the “steam room”, and slowly the heat begins to increase. I’m feeling extremely vulnerable locked in this box with just my head sticking out of it, like a chicken being cooked slowly. Soon the heat becomes unbearable, I’m sweating buckets, and I’m totally ready to cut my losses and call this massage a wrap. Meanwhile the masseuse is just staring at me with a funny smile that just makes it all seem hilarious and strange. Eventually he released me, I took a shower, and then he had the audacity to sit me down with a pen and his comments book where he asked me to write about how great my experience was.

Anyhow, the mosquitoes were killers in Kochi and it was screaming hot there too. So after two days of that I jumped on a bus to Munnar, a breathtaking mountain village about 5 hours inland from Kochi. The bus ride was windy, turbulent, and difficult as usual, but the views were amazing. The higher we went the cooler the air got and the better the views became.

The mountains around Munnar are the highest in South India and in all directions you see an endless vista of hills covered in tea plantations. They look like paint-by-number scenes—a thick beautifully-manicured carpet of vivid greens in every shade with trees spaced strategically for proper shade all across the landscape. The air is fresh here and in the mornings the fog and the rays of light that shatter through the trees inspire many photographs.

This region is the perfect climate for growing tea and for the past 100 years these hills have been expertly groomed to produce some of the highest quality tea in the world. Tata, the richest family in India, owns the Tata Team Company and pretty much all of Munnar, along with every hillside in a 50 mile radius. The Tata Tea Museum shows countless scenes of incredibly hardworked Indians who, despite earning less than a dollar a day in the field, are beaming great big ecstatic smiles.

One day I took a ride with Stepha, a German yogi, up to Top Station, the veritable top of the world overlooking South India. It was quite beautiful up there and along the way we passed through several picturesque landscapes, saw elephants, visited a little spice garden, a flower garden, and visited Echo Lake where everything you shout comes back at you.

At nighttime we had a great group of travelers kicking it on the patio of the hotel. Two guys had guitars, I had a drum (and chocolate), a group of Canadians had beers, and a couple of Israeli girls had white bread and jelly. All together we had the fixins for a great little party and probably would’ve continued late into the night if it hadn’t been for the night watchman who turned the lights out on us and told us to wrap it up because school kids were trying to study in the neighborhood.

After Munnar I headed on down Alleppey, where I met a lovely British girl waiting for the ferry. We began talking and laughing and before long two days had passed and we were still together. We stayed at Gowri, a supercool guesthouse, in a primitive tree house with a veritable zoo of animals chirping, howling, and cockle-doodle-doing all night long. It felt like we were in the jungle. Rowan is an expert mosquito killer and before lights out she was a madwoman securing mosquito nets and swatting violently at everything that buzzed.

The area around Alleppey, known as the “backwaters”, is a network of waterways and canals that extend inland from Kerala’s coast. Narrow rivers and lazy lily pad waterways wind through tropical jungle terrain, yielding to wide open expansive oceans. Some people rent houseboats. It sounds completely romantic and I’d love to do it someday with a special someone, but for the time being Rowan and I enjoyed the local ferries, which travel along the same path at a price of 25 cents for a 5 hour ride. Along the way you see women doing laundry, men lounging around shirtless doing nothing but sitting in sunlight, little kids playing and shouting out to passer-byes for pens. It was all quite beautiful.

Musings on traveling, South India

January 31, 2010: Musings on traveling, South India

My backpack is too big, and too heavy, and now is beginning to tear at the seems. I don’t know how much longer it will last. On particularly rough days, I wonder how much longer I can last. It’s been nearly four months now since I left home, traveling around India and Nepal, and living out of my backpack. It’s real tiring some days, and in the heat of extreme summer sun I find myself longing for a peaceful place where I’m not constantly on the move and sweating like a sumo wrestler.

Usually I wear the same clothes day after day- my repertoire is so unexciting. My threshold for what constitutes unwearable has risen drastically and though all of my clothes are dirty and wrinkled, day after day I continue to wear it. When I feel it’s time for a change I reach down into the bottom of my pack and blindly grab whatever feels like a t-shirt. I begin to pull upwards, and when it surfaces I’ll consider the degree of dirtiness, and if it’s not to bad, that’s what I’ll wear.

I want to shed my possessions—all of them. Everything that I have I carry upon my back. I wish to be free of the burden of stuff. It’s the classic conundrum of my life. But when I sift through my belongings, I always return to the conclusion that I need all of the things I’m carrying—perhaps minus a pair of socks or a shirt, but that doesn’t do much for reducing the weight and bulk of my bag. In fact, I still feel that I am lacking stuff—like a mosquito net, which already would’ve saved me from countless sleepless nights of extreme discomfort. But where will I put it once I buy one?

Lately I find myself facing the exciting, but sometimes disconcerting, realization that the world is simply too big! There’s way too much I wish to do and I don’t have nearly enough time. Consequently, this travelers’ heart becomes torn as I evaluate every decision, constantly strategizing on the best way to spend the remaining days of my life. This realization becomes disconcerting when I consider the reality that I need several lifetimes to visit all the places that excite my imagination.