Rishikesh Day 3 & 4: Have we forgotten our Mother?

The most impressive part of DAY 3 was the Arti Ceremony. Arti, often called "the ceremony of lights," is the most popular Hindu ceremony involving gurus, holy people, and other divine representations (like Shiva, Lord of Mercy and Compassion). The ceremony lasted about 45 minutes and consisted of chanting, the passing of a five-wick lamp and other items. During the ceremony, members of the congregation pass their fingers over the flame and touch their foreheads. They also sprinkle water from the Ganga River (per Indian name) over their heads. It was a wonderful ceremony to witness. In concert with the sunset and the sounds of the swollen river, the chants and lights offered a space for reflection and prayer. The stillness of the wind, allowed me to bask in the prayers lifted by my sisters/brothers; to feel their most intimate of desires and needs. Without any promise of delivery, they chanted, clapped, and prayed faithfully. I wondered if Abuelita Lupe was there and followed by lifting a prayer for my loved ones. My prayer included YOU. <3





Keeping with the theme of enlightenment and awareness, we actively searched for a Yoga class on DAY 4-- after all, Rishikesh is the 'Yoga Capital of the World.' After visiting several Yoga Studios, we were fortunately referred to an ashram where we received FREE personalized instruction, tea, watermelon, and had the privilege of meeting Guruji, the founder of the ashram and most revered man by his followers. Having taken a break from Yoga, it was a challenging yet invigorating experience.





We couldn't leave without visiting her... the Ganga River. She was swollen and cold after the showers from days before. She flowed steady raising the dirt which tinted her with the color brown. Excited to make her acquaintance, I removed my shoes and held the chain attached to a cemented pole as I descended into her womb. Her initial coldness was shocking. It was as if the coldness acted as a defense mechanism alerting her visitors to her strength and value. She felt me and I felt her. Soon, the coldness disappeared and with it went my hesitation to submerge myself in her. "Ram, ram, 1; ram, ram , 2..." I chanted while holding hands with some beautiful young women from Rajasthan, India. With each submersion, she enveloped me with her warmth and energy. I realized that more than washing my body, she had given me a portal into her hurt. Her exasperation became mine. Together we pained over the harm woman/man had violently inflicted upon her, her mother, and her father. Ashamed of my neglect (our neglect) I apologized.... "Forgive us sister, for we have wronged you!"

Have we forgotten our mother?

**You can find a video of the arti ceremony on the side bar.

Rishikest Day 2: You know you're a tourist when...

The second day was characterized by two things: 1) lots of pictures, and 2) classical tourist mistakes. After having breakfast, Meli and I walked along the river bank. In route to Laxman Julha, the neighboring city, we met
Lashi Baba (in the red), who accurately guessed Meli's Iranian background and invited us to have some chai. Typically we would refuse, but we gladly accepted the offer because: a) it was in an open space, b) we were in dire need of fuel, and c) tea was being prepared by a lovely boy, aged 12, whose name escapes me (in the white and brown shirt). Btw-the little girl is in the photo Sona, the boy's niece.

Here is where the photo extravaganza began. Left and right people greeted us, inquired about our country of origin, and requested pictures (if you recall a previous post, I mentioned that Indians are fascinated by tourist, especially "White" tourist). Some went as far as asking "Can we take a picture shaking hands?" (This one make me feel as though I was an ambassador to the US lol- which technically I am, but you get what I mean). At first I didn't know how to feel about it, but considering that I, and every other national geographic photographer, takes pictures of Indian people without consent, their request seemed like a courteous and fair exchange (ha ha). In fact, it became fun once I started asking to take pictures with them, in return.

Following tea, we proceeded onto Laxman Julha. This was not intended to be a hike, but it turned into one. Lashi Baba had mentioned that the Full Chooti (small waterfall) was about 3km up- which didn't seem like a long distance- so we decided to give it a gander in our chanclas/shoes --which we ruined. We hiked for about an hour to the small waterfall, instead of hiring a taxi; this was tourist mistake number 1. Minus the heat, humidity, ever-present threat of an attack by a monkey, and the lack of appropriate shoes, it was worth it.

So onto mistake number 2... as we were descending from the hike to the first waterfall, we met four men who kindly offered to drive us up to the "big" waterfall, which was located 2 km up the mountain. Considering that we were without a taxi and energy, we accepted their offer. The waterfall was breathtaking.

I call getting in a car with four men a mistake, not because they were bad people, but because it probably violates some "tourist rules of engagement" as they pertain to women. But what were we to do? Meli's chancla ripped, we were 6 kms away from our guesthouse, no taxis were in sight, and night was falling upon us-- we needed a ride. What sucked was that, the guys, who had promised to return us to the city by 6:30pm for the Arti ceremony, were so involved in their personal fun that they neglected to follow through on their promise on top of dropping us off a ways out of the town we were staying in.

Lastly, I think mother nature scolded us with her heavy rain... lol As we were walking to the guesthouse, it began to pour. We had to run home in about 3 inches of water- at this point my chanclas didn't mind it because they were already ruined. I should have paid attention to the signs (i.e. we were eaten by mosquitoes, it was humid, etc.), but instead, Meli and I decided to hike in non-hiking sandals, to forgo the taxi, and to get in the car with perfect strangers. All and all, we are glad that beside their Justin Bieber and Akon loving ways, they were respectful and gracious enough to give us a ride; even if it was hours after.

Rishikesh Day 1: Help a Confused Tourist Day

Rishikesh, 'the yoga capital of the world,' is located along the holy Ganga River just a few hours north of New Delhi in the State of Uttarakhand. Ever since the Beatles stayed at the ashram of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in the late ’60s, Rishikesh has caught the attention of spiritual seekers from around the world.

Our journey began around 6am when Ajay & Vickram-peya picked us up from the apartment and drove us to the New Delhi Railway Station...in the race car lol. Upon arrival to the station, we bid farewell to the peyas who warned us about 'bad people', and booked it to the entry gate. As we prepared to walk through the "checkpoint" (meaning a broken metal detector, and a baggage x-ray lacking in operating personnel), we were stopped by an agent who must have noticed the "TOURIST" sign on our forehead. He requested to see our tickets and noted that we had been "wait-listed." Quickly he directed us to the International Tourist Bureau (ITB), where the ITB agent redirected us, to another office located through the crowds, around the gate, parallel to traffic, and in behind a hotel. After noticing our confused look, the ITB agent kindly offered to walk us there.

"But I thought our tickets were confirmed" I said to the man behind the desk. Unfortunately I couldn't understand what he said, but I was encouraged by his efficiency and calm demeanor. Soon after he reviewed our passports, he placed check marks on our tickets and we quick-stepped back to the station in search of platform 15, Car 3. Following the announcement board, we jumped onto Car 3, only to find that one of our seats was being occupied by an elderly woman who nonchalantly reclined her chair and ignored us despite the questioning looks we gave her. "What should we do?" I said to Meli. We stood there a couple of minutes hoping to locate an attendant, but he/she was nowhere to be found. Instead we were helped by a woman sitting on the row behind, "What seats do you have?" she asked. I showed her our tickets and she said "You are in Car 1, you need Car 3!" Of course it would be too efficient and too easy for the cars to coincide with the announcement board. So we hurried over to Car 3 (after asking for confirmation), hoping to find some empty seats-- wishful thinking. Making our way through the narrow path, we found two gringitos occupying our seats. They quickly explained that they had been given separate seats and suggested we take the seats in the adjacent row. Meli and I weren't feeling argumentative, so we followed their lead by taking the two available seats hoping not to be removed and embarrassed later by the proper passengers.

Soon the train was in motion and we took it as our cue to relax and enjoy the 4.5 hour ride. It was a delightful ride; we had a working A/C, tea, breakfast, and rode next to a viejito from Kashmir, who was curious about my book (Trickster City: Writings from the Belly of the Metropolis) and our origins. Along the way we stopped at Saharanpur, a city known for it's craft work. El viejito encouraged us to explore the station and shared that he had lived in New Jersey, but didn't like it much. He expressed a dislike for our "lack of spirituality" noting that he is much happier in India. A train ride is no place for debate, especially with an elder, so I nodded, reflected on his words, and continued reading my book.

Upon arrival to the Haridwar Railway Station, Meli and I ventured out --more like wandered -- to find the bus station. Denying a number of offers from rickshaw and taxi drivers, we eventually stumbled upon the station (if you call stumbling the act of noticing buses drive in and out of a lot). It was mad busy! As logical foreigners, we sought the "Enquiry" office (per British spelling) to solicit more information. "Rishikesh? Gate 2 and 3!" The man exclaimed, then moved along to the next client. "Ok" we thought, "how hard can it be? We go to gate 2 and 3, wait for a bus that says Rishikesh, pay Rs.22, and we are set." NOT! We walked over and quickly learned that order is not the preferred method of operation for neither buses nor people. People everywhere ran towards and boarded the buses long before they parked at the gate. We kept asking people "Rishikesh?" "Nehi, nehi" They would reply. Misguided, we chased after a few buses, boarded the wrong one (which we figured out thanks to a young man selling fruit on the bus), and then waited some more for the appropriate bus. We must have looked broken, not to mention sweaty and muddy, because moments later, another young man selling fruit approached us asking "Rishikesh?" "YES!" We exclaimed desperately. Then, he kindly pointed to the bus (which mind you was already full and didn't even make it to the gate), walked us over and then confirmed with the ticket taker "Rishikesh?" "Hanji!" said the man. So on the bus we went, which delivered us to Rishikesh an hour and a half later.

The bus dropped us off at some random place, a psudo-bus stop of sorts that looked like someone's driveway. From there we took a rickshaw to Ram Jhula Bridge, the bridge leading to the northern side of Rishikesh where out guest house is located. Suddenly, the man stopped, signaled for us to get off, and pointed straight and said "up!" His directions were vague, but we eventually saw the bridge and headed in that direction. At this point, we were feeling weathered and our luggage felt 50 lbs heavier. We asked 5-6 shopkeepers if they knew where Vashishth Guest House was located, no one could give us exact directions. After 7.5 hours of traveling by train, bus, rickshaw, and by foot, we arrived at our destination! We were exhausted so decided to take it easy by having dinner at the Green Hotel Restaurant and then walking to the Ganga River to enjoy the view.
Thank you to all of the people who had mercy on our souls and helped us get to Rishikesh... <3