Parmarth Nikitan Ashram, Rishikesh

Home Away

Nothing is flat in McLeod Ganj. The town washes up the sides of the Himalayan foothills and clings there like so many multicolored barnacles. The spirit of this place lives on in my heart, but the streets and pathways I will always remember with my knees. One does not simply walk in McLeod Ganj. One ascends and descends, twists and turns through a 3D maze contorted by necessity and artful means, making momentary Sherpas of us all.

It’s possible to pass through Daramshala  without a thought for the plight of Tibet in exile. But to do so would be to deprive oneself of the awe and wonder of witnessing the incredible resilience and dignity that quietly courses through the calloused hands and steady eyes of these people, relentlessly entwined with each other and their far away but far from forgotten homeland. Should you ever visit here, make a day or maybe two for the Tibetan museum. You won’t regret it.

On our journey to the land of the Rishis, we had a happy reunion with Peter Moore, fresh from his brush with medical fame, still in some pain but cautiously mobile. Our Fates and our carry-on luggage joined in joyful harmony at the Delhi airport, we forged ahead for Rishikesh and the Parmarth Nikitan Ashram.

The Ravens of Rishikesh speak another language, distinct from their Pacific Northwest cousins. Their calls are longer, more drawn out, resonant, hollow, and melodious in comparison. Their mournful calls echo across the Ashram afternoon in repetitive terracotta staccato. Corvid kirtan.

Most places we visit dance brilliantly with entropy and effort, trash and treasure in equal measure. In the Ashram, order prevails. The pathways are well paved and wide, the tended courtyards graciously green, and unblemished stone and terracotta archways provide ornamental context for a parade of brightly painted deities, attended by marauding monkeys and benevolent Brahmachari.

Naturally, some in our group have taken up the time-honored practice of collecting objects and experiences like pokémon. Be they for pleasure, for some form of practice, or for prettiness, I celebrate each purchase, each achievement or experience alongside my fellow travelers with genuine joy and admiration. But I notice that the journey of acquisition seems to be part of some other path than the one upon which I find myself. My journey feels purposeless. Not empty, just free of need. I feel very much at ease.

That has proven to be one of the more surprising aspects of this journey. I was prepared for the chaos, the craziness of India to wear me down and obfuscate my joy. But I find quite the opposite.

I have never come to terms with the default world view presented by dominant Western culture of the United States. My failure to embrace the cognitive discord of psychological and religious repression, the commercially enforced ecstatic consumerism that arises as a palliative for the spiritual gap that arises as a result, and the rapacious waste and environmental destruction left behind in the wake has left me feeling othered and adrift.

Conversely I have found the so-called chaos of India to be far from senseless. It is, rather, hypersensate, rich with aliveness and purpose. The entwined cultures of this ancient land and its people neither owe nor offer any explanations. They are unapologetically this. And without understanding what or why, how or where, I find I have no need for any of it to be anything other than what it is. Somehow, this place and these people make sense to me.

I would not go so far as to say I feel at home here, but I sense many aspects of this place that feel more natural to me than any home I have yet found.

We caught a massive Aarti celebration on our last night in Rishikesh. This fire Puja performed by monks from the ashram on the shores of the sacred Ganga is pretty much the main event in in the area. Thousands show up for it and participate every night. It is simultaneously an ancient and deeply moving religious practice and a major media spectacle.

I’ve done a fair bit of ambient audio and location audio recording, and every once in a while manage to capture something that just simply takes my breath away. I captured this piece in Rishikesh walking from my room at the ashram to the Arti. I hope that this small offering may help you to experience some of the flavor or feeling of this joyous expression of reverence and community

Headphones are a must.

Our trip from Rishikesh to Varanasi was plagued with cancellations, delays, and other uniquely Indian mishaps, resulting in us unexpectedly spending a night in Mumbai. Never mind that Mumbai is nowhere near any route from Rishikesh to Varanasi. It’s where we landed, so just accept it 🙂.

It so happens that I very much wanted to visit this town, as it’s the home of Nisargadatta Maharaj, one of my personal heroes. He is long dead of course, but Dominic and I were able to head out into the very much alive night market and score some amazing street food, with the usual accompaniment of many groups of Indians wanting to take selfies with us.

I’m including some pics below, and of course you can find these and many more in our shared photo album.

And the airline screwed up our flights. Three times…

And the hotel messed up our rooms…

And there were pigeons in the airport…

And our Uber which was supposed to have six seats only actually had four…

But this is India, and we just kind of worked it out.

From Kiran

Sometimes it is hard to be traveling with a bunch of foreigners in India.

Our group is lovely, but it creates a barrier between me and actually getting to know my people in a way. We are going to all these wonderful curated events, staying in all these curated places. Like a tourist would. And they are wonderful, truly. But this country is where I am supposed to feel at home, not like a tourist.

A part of me enjoys the chaos of the streets purely because I can get lost in it, and pretend for just a moment they are familiar. Not a spectacle, not a once in a lifetime event. Just another place to call home.