We spent time silently sitting by the river observing varied rituals. Some people dunked themselves into the water once, others up to three, four, seven plus times. Some would spend what seemed like forever just being in the water--deep cleansing--for others it was a quick in and out. Some gathered water into little jars and massive jugs--portable holiness--while others gave the river floating, flower-filled, leaf-bowls and little tea light candles. For such a conservative country it was interesting to see men striped down to their boxers and some older women standing, dripping wet and topless chattering on with friends. Of course, it seemed that young women were the ones required to be the most modest, all of the ones we saw walked into the river completely clothed. Despite the sparse and clinging clothing, no one stared. The focus was inward and reflective.
We sat and observed Rishikesh, we also walked and observed Rishikesh. Ironically, however, much of Rishikesh ended up observing us. We weren't blantant foreigners like the blondies we saw, but little things gave us away. Yvette's fair skin, my gages and lack of "normal" jewelry, and then of course when we opened our mouths and spewd perfect English and pathetic Hindi. During our mini walk-abouts we were frequently stopped by Indians and politely asked if we wouldn't mind taking a picture with them. You got used to being a walking attraction. I mean it is only fair, we snap pictures of them, so they are just making it a fir exchange.
We met the folks above on a walk to another part of town. The man in red, whose name I believe was Ranja Baba (or something close to that) approached us, knowing we were foreigners and struck up a conversation. Amazingly he guessed right off that I was not Indian, but "Irani"! Wow. I was pretty stunned. When Yvette mentioned that her family is from Mexico he began speaking a bit of Spanish and Italian. He mentioned that he had lot of friends from around the world. He seemed to be the side roads of Rishikesh's unofficial ambassador. He invited us to sit for chai, which the handsome young man (again I cannot recall his name) behind us made. As we were sitting the boy's family came by and this adorable little niece was quickly placed on our laps for pictures.
We soon bid our friends farewell and continued on walking. Eventually after sauntering through the neighborhood of Laxman Jula, we realized we were on the path toward the two famed waterfalls of Rishikesh. So we kept walking. The walk soon became a climb up a windy mountain road. Half way there we were told that we should have taken a cab from the bottom of the main road to the beginning of the actual hike to the waterfalls. Oh well. We made it this far might as well push on. And push on we did. We encountered a pack of big, grey monkey's who were eye out bag that held drinks in it. Lucky a man on a motorcycle came by and drove next to us scaring the monkeys off until we had passed. Another much appreciated act of kindness.
Soon we made it to the leaf, covered hike to the waterfalls and the waterfalls themselves. Absolutely stunning.
Beyond that we...
Found the best chai place in town, the lavender-coloured "Office" (an unfitting name I know). And there made friends with two little girls who silently shared their cookies with us, their extremely well educated mother who chose to stay home and take care of he daughters and a social Portuguese-Indian.
Fed cows who knew you had extra rotis (little tiny pita like bread) to give away.
Witnessed the "arti" festival. An evening ritual gathering on a lovely ghat.
Did yoga at a beautiful, well-kept ashram with amazing gardens that we, fittingly, accidentally stumbled upon. The yoga was free, held outside and privately guided by a casual, but tough instructor. After the session we were offered various drinks and fresh watermelon for breakfast. We were shown around the ashram, got to see the cows that the feed, and meet their Guru-ji. If we had had more time, the instructor offered to take us to the abandon ashram where the Beatles stayed, but unfortunately we found this magical place only hours before we had to head back to Haridaw and from there home.
And of course, we cleansed ourselves in the river.
It was an experience that would be difficult to put into words, so I apologize for the lacking attempt. There was such a startling cold when first stepping in, but the river was accepting and warmed quickly. The moments under the water seemed to last forever. It was like being in a humming, all-enveloping cocoon, where you did not feel the wet, tugging or cold, instead just comfort and warmth. It felt like you existed quietly, calmly in that moment and nowhere else.
After our initial dips, we befriended the girls to the left of me you see there and together the four us dunked into the river, holding hands and counting "Ram, ram 1; ram, ram 2; ram, ram 3..."
It was amazing.
Finally there was the trip home. Definitely much less inspiring than our time there. Briefly it went like this:
Walk to rick shaw. Get over charged for a short ride to the bus station. Wait at bus station (aka dirt lot) for bus. Bus arrives, but you are not allowed on. Finally allowed on. Bus does not go. Lean out window. See men working under bus. Curse at broken bus. Buy ice cream being sold through the windows by little boy. Ice cream falls on to lap. Curse ice cream and realize you hate ice cream. Hour later bus finally goes. Attempt to sleep away the annoyance, heat and runny nose that has been here most of the trip. Wake and ask Yvette if we are almost there. Nope. Bus turned around, then took detour. The long mountain road way. Get bloody nose. Get blood all over black scarf. Have concerned fellow bus riders pour water on your head to stop the bleeding, which is fine. Then have concerned fellow bus riders pour water on to your white head scarf, which is not fine, but done out of kindness. Finally arrive in Haridwar. Eat lunch at seemingly nice Hotel restaurant. Receive poor service even though you are the only ones there. Use disgusting bathrooms. Finally end up waiting on the train platform. Get dirt swept at you by inconsiderate sweeper man. Finally, finally get on train. Train is A/C. Your hair is wet.
A/C+wet head=sick.
I had a one day fever and one day of upset stomach and weakness, but I am all better now.
A subtle, and profound adventure.
My BFFs: (L-R) Gita, her older sister Laxmi, and Varsha
