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
Many have wondered how I get around without speaking Hindi... well, fortunately many of the people we interact with on a transactional basis do speak some English. Such people include business owners/shopkeepers, some rickshaw drivers, and service attendants. In fact, most people here speak Hinglish (Hindi+ English= Hinglish). Below is a list of words I have learned through conversations with people and from lectures offered by Poonam, Mahima, and Varsha. Please note that I have written down their phonetic spelling (meaning, this is what it sounds like to me when I hear the word) so I apologize for not providing the accurate spelling: - mother- mami
- father- paapa
- brother- peya
- sister- didi
- food- khana
- shoes- utah
- slippers- chappal
- head- sar
- shoulders- kandha
- knees- ghutana
- toes- anghuta
- hands- unghuli
- nose- nak
- ears- kan
- mouth- hot
- small- chooti
- big- budi
- monkey- bandhal
- teeth- dhat
- cheeks- ghal
- beautiful- sundar
- good- accha
- finishes- katab
- thank you- dhanevad
- please- muje carne do cam
- sorry- muje maf cardo
- eyes- ahk
- tongue- geebe
- book- kitav
- water- pani
- dog- ghutta
- cat- bili
- car- ghadi
- "no fighting!"- Lahrai mat caro (I say this constantly to Mahima and Poonam lol)
- "see you tomorrow"- cal milengue
- ready- tayar he
- "what's your name?"- apka nam kya ha?
- "see you Monday!"- som var co milengue
- flower- fuhl
- home- ghar
- tree- per
- kilo- kiji
- spinach- palak
- "how much?"- kitna?
- yes- hanji or ji
- no- nehi
- grandfather- dadaji
- grandmother- dadiji
- aunt- auntie
- pudina- mint
- straight- sida
- twelve- bhara (this comes in handy when directing the rickshaw driver to "Sector bhara"; where we live)
- holiday- chuti (anytime one is not working is considered a holiday/holiday time)
That concludes today's Hindi lesson. Stay tuned from more on Eva's Journey to Speaking Hinglish...
Ps. We are traveling to Rishikesh this weekend and will be blogging about it shorty after our return. :)
Pss. The two children in the first picture are (L-R) Prachi and Varsha; they are sisters. Even though Prachi is not old enough to join the tutorial group (aged 4), she attends daily and perpetually asks homework. Homework for Prachi involves writing the alphabet and numbers, up to 20 to be exact. While it may seem disorderly, her constant interruptions bring a smile to my face. "Ma'am! Ma'am!" Says Prachi as she points to her work and quizzically nods for approval. "Accha! Accha, Prachi!" We celebrate in reply. Then she contently returns to her writing exercise, only to request our attention moments later. It's endearing.
Pss. The second picture is of (L-R) Manglam and Nishu; they are also siblings and belong to the "second batch" (the second group which attends from 4pm to 5pm, aged 8-12). They are very advanced in their English speaking ability and generally serve as translators for Meli and I. :)
These are the most popular songs of the moment. I am going to assume so because they come on the radio all the time... Enjoy!
So the title may be a little controversial, but it really captures the nature of the past week... btw- I apologize for including so much in ONE post. Our persistent internet problems have really put me behind.
Last Saturday, Meli and I visited Rajghat (the final resting place of Gandhi), the Gandhi National Museum, and Lodi Garden (a garden that houses the tombs of past rulers). At Rajghat, the experience was surreal. It’s hard to explain what I felt in standing in front of Gandhi’s resting place. It was overwhelming feeling of melancholy mixed with inspiration. In silence, everyone bowed...it was as if our collective prayers fueled the flame that kindled over his remains and provided a portal for his energy and spirit to be timeless. I lifted a silent prayer in his name and bowed as I stepped away. This reflection process continued through our visit to the we Gandhi National Museum. It was not fancy by any definition, but it was filled with posters that highlighted his speeches, artifacts that he owned, and the clothing he wore on the day of his assassination. As P. Diddy put it, “what a life to take... but I know he’s still living his life, after death” (“I’ll be missing you” by P.Diddy). His energy and passion were felt at Rajghat and throughout the museum- there is no doubt his spirit remains. 
This was followed by a visit to Lodi Garden. In brief, we saw couples sitting on benches, underneath trees, next to ponds, on the stairs... PDA everywhere! (for those who don’t know, PDA means public display of affection). The masjid (mosque) and tombs where gorgeous and I was amazed at how preserved they were despite the fact that people visit on a daily basis.
Fast forwarding through the week, items of note: we were without internet (allegedly someone stole a cable-I didn't buy the story lol), we finally figured out that the yellow and gray box that looks like a radio from the 70s is a generator, Laxmi’s cooking saved our lives, and I heard the familiar sounds of reggueton and hiphop coming from an adjacent neighborhood (perhaps a wedding or street party that, of course, we were not invited to). Oh yes! So Meli and I were adopted by Dadaji (grandpa) and Dadiji (grandma)! Considering that our internet was out, we visited the local cafe which we expected to open at 10am (as advertised)... this wasn’t the case. While we waited for the shopkeeper, we were approached by an elderly man, Joe Dadaji, who said that we reminded him of his grandchildren. In conversation we explained that we were without internet and that we are in India working with Maitri. He immediately celebrated our volunteerism and offered his wi-fi. “You can use the internet and meet granny- I am sure she would love to meet you” he said. I looked to Melissa getting ready to accept the offer and then the shopkeeper arrived. We thanked Dadaji for his offer and promised to visit him later. After using the internet for an hour (charge is 60 rupees per hour or USD $1.30), we had some time to spare before we met the internet technician so we decided to visit the grandparents. :) Our visit was delightful. Dadaji was very curious about our origins, the nature of work, and he was amazed that two “little women” (he meant it in a loving way) would be so entrepreneurial. We got to know each other, exchanged contact information, and got our palms read over tea. Meli said I was glowing after this experience... I love viejitos (the elderly) and feeling like I have a little family away from home.
On Saturday, we visited the Red Fort in Chandhni Chowk (Old Delhi). Well, only the exterior. We would have entered the fort to get the full experience, but like most places here, there are two quotas: one for Indian Citizens and another for Foreigners (usually 200 or 300 rupees more than the rate for nationals). Considering that Meli and I didn’t want to pay 250 a pop, we decided to forgo this experience and visit the Red Fort again later with an Indian friend. :) The most exciting thing about this trip was the metro-- I have to say that it was better than the DC metro. They have a “women’s only” section which at first I was 
leery about, but then understood the value of it when I noticed that women were much more sociable and relaxed when in the company of other women. During our ride we met two lovely young women who insisted that we squish and make room for everyone, a PhD student/university Professor examining feminism in India, and laughed coyly at a couple of men who after standing awkwardly in the women's car decided to walk to the back where the rest of the men gathered. 
Last but not least, on Sunday we returned to Aashriwad to celebrate the General’s birthday... without him! lol (That's how they do here... you ain't gotta be present to have your birthday celebrated) It was great! We socialized with the elderly, meet cute-little-miss Punam (Resham’s daughter), ate some cake, had a traditional south Indian lunch, and then rode home in a race car (it’s not really a race car, but every time the peyas drive, it feels as though we are in a fierce competition).
I have officially surrendered to India...
Namaste!
ps. our internet was finally fixed! :)
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.
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.
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. 
