It’s December 24th and for the first time in my life I haven’t seen a Christmas tree in December. If I didn’t have access to social media it would feel as if it wasn’t happening. I caught myself the other day salivating at a Tasty video making vegan chocolate chip cookies; they looked amazing. I miss everything Christmas and look forward to making next year special.
My layover in New Delhi was brief which was welcomed. These cities are so insane I really can’t spend too much time in them. I landed late and immediately went to the hostel. It was dark and the area around the hostel looked like something out of Escape from LA. In the morning I left the hostel early and luckily, I arrived early, as I was about to get a crash course on the Indian interstate bus system.
After being in India I would make a suggestion that anyone coming to visit, who is attempting to explore and stray from any sort of tourist track, should prepare by taking an India Processes 101 course. I do not know who would offer such a course but it would be invaluable resource for westerners. Not only is India on the geographical opposite side of the planet but somehow every aspect of life developed completely opposite as well. It’s incredibly frustrating and very tiring. In public people are friendly but all too often it is with the expectation of some sort of monetary compensation. At times I feel as if I am viewed as a walking cash machine complete with the account balance of Bill Gates.
I purchased my bus ticket through RedBus; a popular travel booking mobile application. To India’s defence there are a few very high quality booking applications which are mobile first. They aggregate train, bus, and air transportations providers and make booking easy. This is driven directly by the lack of usability within the UI of the transportation companies online booking systems. They are more similar to a skin for WinAmp than an Uber but they get the job done.
My ticket states the departure location is at a major metro stop and bus station close to my hostel. The ticket also states ‘Gate 2’. It’s common for bus pickup and drop off to be at seemingly random locations along major thoroughfares. This pick-up seemed appropriate and through google translate, I was confident I would be able to locate the correct bus. I arrive at the bus station and am passed between 4 different agents representing various state agencies and bus companies. Eventually I am passed to a young guy who speaks english. He informs me I am at the state run interstate bus station and I have a private bus tour ticket. He points to ‘Gate 2’ over yonder, smirks, and wishes me well.
I exit the station and immediately see ‘Gate 6’ entrance for the metro and ‘Gate 7’ is directly across the street. I conclude the train station must be under a major intersection. There must be an entrance on each side of each the streets. I just need to get on the other side of the station. Security blocked the path immediately behind me through the station so I needed to go around. I have to flip a coin, left or right. I came from the right, didn’t see any entrances, so it must be left. A few hundred feet later its clear I chose wrong as the crowds die down. The sidewalks are packed with travellers loading state run busses. While these busses lacked live chickens, they make the chinatown busses in Philly look like luxury cruisers. The chaos continues into the road and for the first time I see it has a 3.5’ concrete divider. It is effective against vehicles but it doesn’t stop the stream of scaling pedestrians and their luggage. I’ve hopped a lot of fences in my time but I don’t have the skills necessary that these old Indian women had.
My bus leaves at 7am and it’s 6:35am. I am completely lost and my only lifeline is my weak 3G connection. I am frantically googling and getting no where. I walk past a group of tuk-tuk drivers asking if I need help. I show my ticket and everyone knows where it is, they point to direction of my hostel and with their arm motion, ‘over there’. I ask how far and suddenly no-one speaks English. One offers to take me there, 100 rupees and doesn’t participate in any negotiation. It’s a sellers market and I am the only one buying. I get in the rickshaw, he’s confident about the location and we are off completing a u-turn around the concrete barrier.
We dodge metro passengers and pedestrians along the main road. He pulls up along side of another rickshaw and asks for directions. We hang a sharp left turn and arrive at what I would describe as an outdoor bus depot. Another left and we are in an enormous dirt parking lot. A hundred busses in various functional states, marked by 20 different bus company logos fill the lot. Frantically he starts asking other drivers and mechanics for information on my bus. We are pointed further down the lot. At the speed and invincibility of the the star in Mario Kart we continue the search.
Four stops later we are no closer to finding the bus. On our left is an enormous bus depot filled with buses but not many passengers. On our right looks like a market which supports the population of the drivers and mechanics. Clearly frustrated the driver heads straight through the market area. Time is ticking and every 50’ he stops, takes my phone to show someone, gets back in and continues driving.
One bar of service appears on my phone and make a hail Mary call to the number on the ticket. It rings, someone picks up, who quickly hangs up once they hear I am speaking English. I call back again and hand the phone over to the driver. They exchange some words and quietly he hands the phone back. He then turns his head and points to the stall directly next to us. In big letters the name of the transportation company is staring at us. We had arrived and didn’t realise it; the counter clerk watched the entire thing. Lesson learned, stay calm and attempt to look around.
There are a few other passengers waiting at the stall. After 45 mins another rickshaw arrives and we are instructed to get in. I semi joke with a British guy that the bus has arrived. We both question if we booked the right transport. The rickshaw takes us an hour to a pick-up location outside of town, a petrol station along a major road. We can finally start our journey to Agra. The ride is uneventful yet bumpy, I only touched the ceiling once which was nice.
Agra is a city outside of Delhi and considered part of the Golden Triangle of India. A city most famous for the Taj Mahal. When I planned India I didn’t give much thought to visiting the Taj. I am not one for tourist traps and this seemed like the quintessential tourist trap. I hadn’t met many people who had been there but the ones who did, had nice things to say about it. Agra is a proper city but the area around the Taj is built for tourists.
I arrive at the hostel and am immediately asked “are you coming on the Taj boat ride?”. I wasn’t aware of any boat ride but it was about sunset and it sounded nice. I grab my camera and set off with a mixed group of travellers to capture my first sights of the Taj.
It was Friday night and the Taj is closed every Friday. Foot traffic is slow and most of the shops are closed. The Taj is surrounded like a fortress by an enormous red wall. I’m not sure its purpose but I am sure it does more than just block the view. Walking along the road we encounter the usual suspects; monkeys, people selling henna, and tour guides.
Through the trees we see the tip-top of the Taj and while we cannot appreciate the scale from our angle, it is clearly massive. The property ends at the river front where our boat is departing. The river front is less of a shore and more of a drained swamp. Litter and cows are scattered about and a man with a wooden boat stands before us holding a big wooden stick.
The water is dark but calm and we climb aboard. I see no fish or aquatic life at all. The boat thrashes about each time a new passenger climbs aboard. Everyone gasps in fear once faced with their possible fate should they fall overboard. Our captain uses the oar to gently push us from shore and into the river. The sky is clear which is rare and we have a clear view of the Taj. It’s incredible but again, our view isn’t great and it’s hard to get the scale. The members of the boat agree to wake up early in order to beat the crowds and see the Taj in the morning.
5:05 comes early and I meet our group members in the lobby for a 5:30 departure. An old adage of India which I created is “arrive early and depart late”. After a few different lines to procure our tickets, shoe covers, and complementary bottles of water; we are part of the first 20 tourists inside the complex at 7:30.
The massive red walls complete the feeling of being in a fortress. They leave little flexibility in a path and direct you to into a large courtyard. The paths of the courtyard connect with the main gate to the Taj. Through the main gate we have the first real view and it is magnificent. The white marble reflecting the light from the morning sun fills the entry way. We also get the first sense of the scale of the structure. From every angle where we stand, the field of vision of our eyes and cameras are completely filled with the Taj, its unescapable. The soft white marble is beautiful and like zombies, the tourists walk through the archway slack jawed in awe.
I have never seen something so impressive. The world’s largest general store in Wall, SD was magnificent, but I have to say the Taj has it beat. It was unlike anything I have ever seen in my life. No expense spared and every aspect is perfect. Each of the four sides completely symmetrical mirroring themselves. Without the background to provide context, impossible to know which side was the front.
Up until this time my ignorance lead me to believe this was a castle or cathedral of some sort. It’s a tomb build by a king for his favourite wife. It took 22 years and adjusting for inflation cost about a billion dollars to build. It is one impressive headstone.
I left Agra in the morning en route back to Delhi. Again I arrived early for the bus but this time a little bit too early. It was before dawn and the street wasn’t awake yet. I told my driver to let me off by a street light where some guys were burning trash to stay warm. I prop my bag up on the stoop and take a seat on the curb.
Not long after I arrive a worker of the shop arrives to open. He proceeds to unlock and roll up the gate. In front of the gate is a desk which acts as the counter. As he passed the edge of the desk he yells at something. I saw a dogs tail earlier but it had already scurried off. I figured there must have been someone sleeping back there. The worker continues his morning routine, a minute passes and a woman appears from behind the desk.
She looks young, probably 18. She bends down and picks-up a child, a toddler, and stands him on the desk. He’s so small and is only wearing a long sleeved shirt, nothing below the waist. I’m stunned and that hollow feeling starts in my chest. I was wearing multiple layers with pants and I was still cold. The kid wasn’t crying or putting up a fuss of any kind. Just stood there looking to his mother as she draped her shaw around her shoulders. Behind her is a pile of garbage and rubble. She walks over to it, picks up some sort of cloth, uses it to wipe his bottom, and after throws it back in the pile. It was mechanical, as if it was their daily routine and unfortunately, it probably was. I sat there nervously trying to avoid eye-contact while fixated on what was occurring just beyond my personal space. A moment later they were gone, walking past me as I listened to music with my iPhone and Bowers and Wilkins headphones. A little while later I loaded the bus and spent the four hours back to Delhi thinking about them.
Poverty is nothing new, we have all seen poverty in our lives and changed the channel when one of those “Feed the Children” commercials plays late night on TV. Poverty is different here though; it’s past the point of having nothing, it’s past the point of hope of having anything. We both exist on the same planet at the same time but their lives are unrecognisable. How does this happen? Why did I get so lucky? What did I do to deserve this? To cry about the unfairness doesn’t begin to describe the inequality.
The enormity of the disparity is overwhelming. Circular conversations describing solutions stating the obvious fill hostel common areas ending without conclusion, in a collective guilty silence. Is there an answer? The solutions seem too grand and daunting to even start, it’s to overwhelming to even take the first step. A collective overwhelming feeling of helplessness prevent us from even trying. And who am I to even comment? My headphones cost more than the amount of money she would ever see in this life or the next.
Once I got to Delhi I didn’t venture far from the hostel. I was leaving early in the morning for Rishikesh and Delhi is mental. I treated myself for dinner and enjoyed a last chicken tikka and Oreo sundae before the retreat.
Rishikesh is in the mountains of northern India along the Ganges river. It is considered the birthplace of all things yoga and mindfulness. Popularised in the late 60s by the Beatles and their time spent learning transcendental meditation. Students from around the world flock to it in pilgrimage to practice and learn from the gurus. I signed up for a 6 day 5 night retreat at a school that came highly recommended online. I started doing yoga last summer and started exploring the mindful side of the practice last spring. I don’t have much exposure to the lifestyle at home and recognise there is a lot I don’t know. This would be an excellent opportunity to develop my understanding and expand my knowledge.
The city of Rishikesh is a welcomed change from the chaos of the metropolitan areas. Enormous statues of various deities mark the entrance to the city and the buildings are built hugging onto the cliff side along the road. Two bridges provide a path over the Ganges forming a dispersed area of temples, yoga centres, and babas for all your spiritual cleansing needs. The streets are filled with western tourists filling every possible caricature found at the Boulder Whole Foods parking lot. It’s a different place but inline with what I had imagined.
I am staying at a yoga school which is focused on 100 - 500 hour certificate teacher courses. They also offer weeklong retreats covering similar material. When I arrived I learned I was the only student that week for the retreat. It reenforced the lesson from the camel exclusion. Always book things after you have arrived in town and don’t rely entirely on reviews from the internet. I was hoping for small classes but one-on-one instruction seemed a bit much, luckily there were drop-in participants which helped fill the sessions.
Daily activities include 5 hours of vinyasa/meditation instruction and practice, excursions to local sightseeing destinations, and communal meals. On the first excursion I was paired with a newer instructor of the school. He had been teaching for two months and started his tenure after completing a 200 hour instructor course. He felt a deep spiritual connection to the yogic lifestyle and discovered his passion for teaching others while in Rishikesh. After he completed the course he was offered the job at the centre. He promptly quit his job in Dubai and moved to Rishikesh to start the new chapter of his life.
We walked through town getting to know each other and discussed my intentions for the week. His story was relatable and I could feel the love and confidence he had for his decision to start his new life. I could also feel the contrasting guilt. A guilt generated from failing to meet his Muslim families expectations for his life. His mothers appalled and shocked reaction to his decision to forgo eating onion and garlic, illustrated her fears of losing her son to this counterculture lifestyle. A lifestyle and decision she didn’t understand and feared the immortal consequences.
He was attracted to the ‘true’ and ‘real’ yoga, the one started and lived in Rishikesh. He shared his disapproval for the yoga of the west, the beer yoga classes and how it’s turned into a workout. Upset that the only part of yoga which made it to the west was 10% of a much larger lifestyle.
As we walked to the temple stopping at various statues I asked him “What do you like better, yoga or meditation?” Turning with a pause and smirk, he said “let’s take a walk”.
We walked along the Ganges river and he brought me upto speed on the whole thing. Up until this point I really only knew some buzzwords. Enlightenment, downward dog, chakras, and transcendental meditation seemed to cover it and they were all separate entities in my mind.
On our walk he broke down the yogic lifestyle and its eight limbs. You cannot choose yoga over meditation as they are part of the same system and I had the names wrong. The eight limbs are: Yama (ethical standards and sense of integrity), Niyama (self discipline), Asana (the physical movements or ‘workout’ of yoga), Pranayama (connection between breath, emotion, and health), Pratyahara (removing attachment to ‘things’), Dharana (concentration and removal of distractions), Dhyana (meditation), and Samadi (enlightenment). Each builds on each other to create a sound and happy life. It reminded me of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Seemed reasonable and a pretty good blueprint for life and self development. Many of the areas sound similar to popular new years resolutions and it provides a structure of self discipline and accountability. Parallels can easily be drawn to other religious principles from around the globe. It’s all the same stuff just with different names.
The belief is that all things, living and inanimate, are connected through a higher consciousness which lives inside of everything. Enlightenment is the achievement of transcending the self and becoming one with this consciousness. The theory of the conscious universe is also a popular topic within quantum physic circles. Very Interesting reading from the science perspective.
An aspect I don’t agree with him on is the notion of ‘real yoga’ vs ‘western yoga’. He felt that if you were gonna do it, do it all the way, fully commit. The parts of yoga that made it to the west were in his opinion, a bastardisation of the practice. The west just took the ‘good’ parts and left the rest. Yoga moved to America, turned into a pregame for brunch and never looked back.
I see his point but I don’t agree with it. I would argue the physical practice of yoga is a gateway drug into the eight pillars. It’s more or less a rebranding campaign of spiritualism.
Walk into any yoga class at any gym in the states and you’ll find the majority of participants practicing the majority of the pillars passively. Classes are on defined schedules, requiring self discipline in order to make them on time. There is a social structure within the class which participants need to conform for the greater good. The poses are hard, requiring concentration and control of breath and body. The instructor might also share a spiritual thought sparking an idea within a student who wants to gain a deeper understanding. It doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world and no-one who doesn’t enjoy it is going to stay. It’s not evangelical and there is no expectation, just a little exposure to an alternative way of thinking.
As the week progressed I learned a lot about the different aspects of the yogic lifestyle. The majority of which came from speaking with the other students. Discussing how others found themselves in the same situation is always interesting. There is a clear overarching theme of trying to find ‘something else’ or some explanation which their current experiences fall short of answering. Everyone wanted to better themselves and found some measure of success through their yoga practice.
The western influence is apparent throughout India in every aspect of life. Popular culture, clothing, and the arts all look to the west for inspiration. Advertisements for skin lightening creams and American clothing brands symbolize wealth, success, and happiness. I had multiple conversations with people from India who discovered yoga through their time in the west and only returned ‘home’ after, to practice and expand their learning.
The history of Rishikesh and how it has been influenced by the same forces is very interesting. Rishikesh wasn’t always the spiritual Mecca it is known for today. Sure, there have always been gurus who called the mountains home but it wasn’t seen as the destination for spiritual pilgrimage. The establishment and future growth of Rishikesh was solidified after westerners started to show up in the 60s. First gaining traction through the notion of a hippy paradise and sent into overdrive by the Beatles and their practice of transcendental meditation at a local ashram. Once spirituality was cool in the west, India found its roots again.
Walking the streets of Rishikesh today, east and west alike are searching for something. West is looking to the east for spiritual guidance and east is looking to the west for a better way to live and improve their lives. Its fascinating to be apart of and watch. No one knows what’s best but everyone wants what they don’t have. Everyone is searching for happiness.
My final day I set out to explore what is commonly known as ‘The Beatles Ashram’. I would describe an ashram as a cross between a commune and a monastery. Its a place where students can come to learn free of charge. Lodging, meals, and guidance are all provided. Just show up, expand your mind, and give back in your own way.
I learned that the Beatles credit a lot of their song writing and creative process to their time at this ashram learning and practicing transcendental meditation. I was always confused when I would see the juxtaposition of the Beatles of Rubber Soul and the Beatles of the Abbey Road. I couldn’t connect the dots of how they arrived and embraced the counterculture. Then I went to the ashram and it all made sense.
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was the man who brought transcendental meditation to the west and legend has it, the Beatles met him in London. He invited them to his ashram to learn and they took him up on his offer. Over the years his ashram grew in popularity until Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s death when the ashram was closed and abandoned. The property has had no residence since and was fenced off by the Indian government.
Google maps is a beautiful tool but not always correct. If you search goggle maps for “Beatles Ashram” in Rishikesh it will mark a location and provide directions. The point is correct but their are two entrances and the point marks the closed rear entrance of the facility. The internet offers different information about the legality but I can only speak about my experience.
The road winds from town through the hills stretching about two miles along the Ganges river and there really weren’t any other people around. I did cross a baba at an intersection who excitedly asked me if I was on my way to the ashram. I sat with him for a moment and continued down the road. I reached the turn-off but saw no sign, just a trail framed in white rocks leading out of sight into the woods. I decided to follow the rocks and it led to a locked gate stating “Entry without ticket will be prosecuted”. There was no way I wasn’t entering, I had come too far and this was too cool. Off to the left I saw another path through the brush following the wall. I started down the path figuring I wasn’t the first and it must lead to the entrance.
A little while down this path I came across a way in. The brick wall has collapsed and I climb over the rubble and into the complex. It looks like a bomb went off and everyone just left. The first building I see is some sort of hall or kitchen. I can recognize the features of a bathroom in one of the rooms but everything is collapsed and overgrown. It is spooky quiet and there is no trace of anyone else. I climb around the rubble conscious of making any noise and take some photos. The compound is like a maze and I take notes on my path to the exit. There are dark basement entrances which I don’t explore too deeply. I had heard graffiti would be covering the walls but these structures looked like they hadn’t been touched since they were abandoned.
I stumble upon another area and see an enormous hall missing its windows and roof. I cross a wide drainage ditch with the help of some trees and a long piece of sheet metal roofing. I peek through a missing window and jackpot, I had arrived at the asana hall. It’s a huge meeting area flanked by two entrances to the meditation caves. The hall is empty and the walls are covered in graffiti. Some big, some small, some great, some not so great. It’s awesome and reminds me of the graffiti tunnel in London. A free space where artists of any skill level can leave their mark.
As I am taking photos a man in uniform appears from the shadows. He is the first person I see and promptly asks how I got there and if I had a ticket. He tells me there are two parts, the front gate and the back area. In speaking to him I am under the impression the back area is closed off but if you bribe the guard from the front gate he will turn a blind eye. He informs me of the fine for trespassing and we workout our own agreement. He would let me stay as long as I didn’t cross the front gate and I exit the same way I came in. I gave him a few hundred rupees and he was on his way. As he was walking away it occurred to me I had no way of taking a photo of me. He was the only other human I might encounter. I grabbed his attention and he snapped a dozen pictures at different angles he felt were best.
The compound is enormous. It’s mind-blowing such a place existed and was completely abandoned. On each side of the asana hall are entrances to the meditation caves which snake under the complex. 84 individual meditation chambers where students would practice. The walls of each covered in river rock from the Ganges river. All completely intact, the quality of the structure is apparent in the craftsmanship.
Adjacent to the hall is a 5 story pyramid shaped dormitory building. Constructed from concrete and would look at home near Chernobyl. The building consists of ~120 individual dorms each with their own bathroom and balcony. Every wall is covered in graffiti of all different sorts and styles. Some rooms are relatively untouched except for the decay of time.
I spent the afternoon exploring the compound and imagining what it must have been like in its heyday. I can attempt to imagine but I doubt I’ll ever come close to what actually happened. Maybe walls actually can talk and that’s why this place was abandoned and fenced it off. What a time to be alive. I wonder if something similar is occurring today or if that would even be possible. I hope so.
My time leaving India coincided with my exit from Rishikesh. Honestly, I was ready to move on from India. It’s a fight everyday and it wears on you, its exhausting. This is a country where poor doesn’t begin to describe the level of poverty and while exhausting, you can’t blame people for viewing you as a walking cash machine. On the flip side it’s a country of great economic growth and exciting change that is minting new millionaires everyday. It’s an enigma I couldn’t figure out and not without a trying effort. It’s a enormous patch of earth stretching three timezones offering every type of climate. A proud people with their own culture and customs specific to their local, regional, state, and national communities. Working through problems of scale unique to them as they migrate life to a digital age. Answering with solutions that are unique to their way of life and appear impossibly complex and alien to any outsider; but they work. A people who are trying to establish themselves in this new age while figuring out who they are in the process. There is a lot of change in India occurring everyday and progress is being made towards their goals. It will take time but surely something will happen and it will happen fast.
India provided me a lot of perspective which I am thankful. When locals would learn I was from the United States their eyes lit up. They would gush about how the US is the best country and share their dreams of visiting. Usually following up with a question asking why was I in India if I had their dream at my disposal. I never had a good answer and still don’t. Was I seeking a relevant authentic spiritual experience? Yes. Was I influenced by a movie? Possibly. Do I see parallels to the characters experience and mine? Sure, but mine is mine and theirs was a movie.
I am leaving India with more questions than answers but with a new motivation. What a shame it would be for me to waste all that has been given to me due to laziness or because it was hard. It’s way easier to do nothing. Anyone I met over the past month would endure my hardest day, everyday for the rest of time, if they could have the opportunities I’ve wasted or neglected. I can never make sense of why the world isn’t fair and I can spin my tires till they are bald trying to figure it out. That won’t solve anything and nothing will change in the process. The change comes from doing, the change comes from seizing the gift of my reality and doing something with it. Something so many others will never come close to experiencing I take for granted. I have to try, I have to take that chance because I was lucky enough to receive a seat at the table of opportunity and it would be a crime to waste it.
It’s 5:20 am Christmas morning and I am flying into Bangkok. While I am on the other side of the globe I am thankful for my family and friends, I wish I could be with them. I am thankful for the support and kind words everyone has shown me so far on this journey. I am thankful for my past experiences, my mistakes, and the lessons I've learned from them. The good times and the bad, and the choices I made which allowed me to be sitting here today. I am thankful for the possibilities of the future and excited to see what it has in store. Merry Christmas everyone!
-Joe
