Four
months in India was not enough. I knew from the start that I would want to stay
longer, and I did want to. As the
time flew by, the last few weeks in Hyderabad were a struggle. My internship
was such a positive and valuable experience that I did not want it to end. I
had become deep into projects at work and felt frustrated to have to wrap them
up, give my final presentation, turn in reports, and end my involvement. And I
was certainly going to miss lunch with my coworkers (and how they insisted on
putting a variety of incredible home-made Indian dishes on my plate each day,
which I did not refuse). I had developed wonderful relationships with
coworkers, other locals, and the expat community in Hyderabad and I felt sad to
say my farewells. I not only felt sad to leave my life in India but I felt sad
to leave India…a country I had come to form such an intense relationship with.
The “Spiritual Pilgrimage”
After finishing up at work,
packing up the apartment, begging the government to register our visas so that
we could leave the country (a long story…), and tying up all loose ends, we
were ready to spend the last two weeks in India traveling up North before our
flight back to Israel. As three of my friends and I planned our itinerary, it
quickly turned into quite a “spiritual pilgrimage,” as we were to make our way
from one holy and historic city to another.
Calcutta
The trip started out in
Calcutta, which has a unique 1970s British-Indian charm, ornate architecture,
and white Volkswagon Beetle taxis crowding the streets. It was the first day of
a four-day dedication to Saraswati—my favorite Hindu goddess who is the goddess
of knowledge, art, science, and music. I was so excited to see Saraswati Pujas (religious rituals),
music, and dancing surrounding homemade shrines, inundating the city. Oftentimes the shrines are placed on
pick-up trucks, with a huge speaker blaring music and a following of twenty
boys and men dancing wildly behind the truck.
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| Saraswati |
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| Sarah joining in the Saraswati Puju dancing |
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| Saraswati Puja |
We also visited two famous
Kali Temples. Kali is a powerful and respected goddess who symbolizes time, the
cycle of birth and death, and destruction. She can be considered fearful in
appearance and her temples and shrines are often dark and mysterious. Animal
sacrifices are often made to her, so it is easy to spot areas splattered with
blood from the sacrifice of goats. We also visited the beautiful Victoria
Memorial, roamed through the “New Market,” found an old Jewish bakery remaining
from the Jewish population that once existed there, and ate a dinner at a
delicious little restaurant for 100 rupees ($2).
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| Victoria Memorial |
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| Kali Temple |
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| The New Market |
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| Street in Calcutta |
Bodh Gaya
The
next stop was Bodh Gaya and we arrived to the train station at 5am and took a
rickshaw straight to our hostel to squeeze in a couple hours of sleep before
officially starting the day. It
was cold and raining…such a drastic difference from hot and dry Hyderabad (it
rained once in the four months we were there!). Bodh Gaya is a small town that
is considered the birthplace of Buddhism. We visited the beautiful Bodhi Tree,
which is alongside the Mahabodhi Temple, where Buddha attained enlightenment.
Consequently, the whole town embraces Buddhism and welcomes Buddhist monks and
followers from around the world. The coolest part is that there are several
unique Buddhist temples that represent different countries, such as Thailand,
China, Burma, Vietnam, and Japan. Each is so different, vibrant, and beautiful.
We felt as if we were in a Buddhist Disneyland for adults, as we trekked from
temple to temple and took some time at each to sit in silence and embrace
Buddhist philosophy. We quickly accepted the peaceful, serene nature of this
Buddhist town and the temples, which was in contrast to the common animated and
lively activity often surrounding Hindu temples and rituals. Since there are
strong influences in Bodh Gaya from other Asian countries, we dined at the
local Thai restaurant. We were all ecstatic to have Thai food, since we rarely
ever had the opportunity in Hyderabad to eat good non-Indian cuisine. Sadly, it
was a huge disappointment. Dead bugs continuously fell from the ceiling fan onto
our table and plates, my Penang “chicken” was not chicken, a child threw up on
the floor next to us and the restaurant neglected to clean it up, and the food
was just gross. Conclusion confirmed: Indian food in India is phenomenal. Most
other cuisines are better left un-tried.
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| Mahabodhi Temple |
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| With our new monk friend in front of the Bodhi Tree |
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| 80 ft Buddha statue |
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| Thai Buddhist Temple |
Varanasi
Next
came Varanasi. I have always wanted to see Varanasi. Words will not do my
experience here justice, but I will try. As background, it is the holiest city
in Hinduism and Jainism and is one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world.
The city lies along the Ganges, or Ganga, which is the most sacred river to
Hindus and also a “lifeline” to millions of Indians who depend on it daily.
Because it is so heavily used for bathing and cleaning, discarding of bodies
and waste, commuting, leisure use, and religious ceremonies, it is one of the
most polluted rivers in the world. It is not pleasant to smell or look at, but the
activity in and around it is captivating. Along the Ganges in Varanasi, there
are unique ghats, or steps, leading down to the water that are used for
different purposes. For example, some are specifically for bathing, and if you
visit during early morning hours, hundreds of locals are seen bathing
themselves and cleaning their clothes in the water. Other ghats are used for
cremation purposes. As we approached the largest one, the smoke in the air
became denser and the smell nearly intolerable. We watched mesmerized as men
layered wooden logs, started fires, and carried dead bodies wrapped up in colorful
sheets over the flames. Everyone stood around and stared emotionless as the
sheets burned away, the bodies slowly disintegrated, and skeletons remained
visible over the flames. Men continued to place new logs and fan the flames
while starting different piles for new bodies coming through from the
ceremonies in the water. Captivated, bothered, and curious, we sat perched on a
stack of logs, watching for a considerable length of time while a thin layer of
ash covered over us.
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| Logs next to the cremation ghat, no pictures taken at actual ghat |
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| Varanasi on the Ganges |
The
“old city” section of Varanasi is made up of winding, narrow streets lined with
tourist shops, restaurants, temples, shrines, and markets and stuffed with
people, cows, monkeys, dogs, goats, mice, and feces. Despite the beauty, the
filth cannot be ignored. Many humans and animals are visibly sick and
suffering, intensifying the experience.
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| Hindu Temple |
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| Ganges |
Although large corporations in India are
infiltrating the cities and building superstores profiting the corporate owners
(two of the richest men in the world live in India), the towns and cities are
still filled with locally owned shops run by men with specific goods or skills
to offer. The streets of Varanasi are lined with cobblers, jewelers, bakers,
welders, and craftsman of all sorts.
We
spent several days exploring the city, visiting ancient temples, taking a boat
tour of the Ganga with a local named Banana, being pushed along with the
crowds, witnessing sacred ceremonies, eating semi-decent food (South Indian
food is better!), and being flashed by sadhus, or very religious Hindu
yogis who are seeking liberation through meditation and contemplation of
Brahman. They are often covered head to toe in human ash and like to show
people their private parts….
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| Ceremony on the Ganges |
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| After this picture was taken, the sadhu flashed us.... |
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| A man handed me his baby, left without telling me, and didn't return for 10 minutes. The baby was terrified...so was I. |
Allahabad
The
original plan for the next leg of the trip was to take a train straight to
Rishikesh, our final destination, yet all the trains had wait-lists. Realizing
we had to make an alternative plan, Sarit and I decided to get a little crazy.
We decided to first take a three-hour train ride to Allahabad, another very
sacred Hindu city, which was the host for this year’s Kumbh Mela, which is the world’s largest
religious gathering and occurs every three years. This year’s Kumbh Mela also
included an auspicious religious event that only occurs every 144 years. Consequently,
over 80 million people made their way to Allahabad. Because of the massive
crowds, sadly a stampede occurred in the Allahabad Railway Station, killing
almost forty people. Hearing that the crowds had begun to diminish, we decided
this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that we could not pass up. As
expected, the Kumbh Mela grounds were covered with thousands of large tents and
millions of people. It lasts several weeks, so many devotees decide to camp out
on the premises the whole time. It felt similar to a fairground for a state
fair or huge music festival, but amplified times 1000—and throw religious
deities, shrines, sadhus, yogis, holy cows, and dogs into the mix. We met a
wonderful Kashmiri scarf owner, experienced a power outage while under a large
crowded tent, befriended a Hindu astrologist who told us our futures, watched a
ceremony on the Ganges, listened to a group of men perform ceremonial music,
and dodged swarms of people trying to bless us and put Ganges water on our
foreheads.
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| Holy Cow! |
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| Our new scarf-stall owner friend |
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| Kumbh Mela ceremony on the Ganges |
Agra
By
evening we somehow made it back to the train station for our night train to
Agra. We arrived in Agra by the early morning, just in time to see hundreds of
men, women, and children perform their morning excretion alongside the railway,
butts in the air facing the train, providing the passengers with a lovely
visual! I tried to wait until it was safe to look out the window, but this
routine carried on for what seemed like miles… The good news, though, is that
we were also in time to see the Taj Mahal with the backdrop of a beautiful,
soft morning glow. I originally did not have intentions to return to the Taj,
simply because I had already been and did not want to invest time and money
into returning when my travel time was limited. However, because a kink was
thrown into our plans and Sarit had never been, it made the most sense
geographically to stop in Agra for a few hours. I am glad we did. The Taj was
even more magnificent the second time. After about an hour gazing at her beauty
and exploring the premises, we grabbed a quick, cheap paratha and dosa
breakfast and then headed back to the train station to continue on.
Mathura
Our
next stop was Mathura. Mathura is the birthplace of the Hindu god Lord Krishna
and seemed like a cool place to stop over while making our way further north.
Well, here is when things got crazy. We arrived there late morning with
intentions to spend the day exploring and visiting Krishna Temples and then
taking an overnight bus nine hours to Rishikesh. Upon our arrival aggressive
men bombarded us trying to get us into their rickshaws. No one spoke English
and we quickly learned that Mathura was not a common tourist destination, as
there was not another Westerner in sight and no women either for that matter.
We finally found a driver who seemed to understand that we needed a ride to the
bus station so that we could book our bus ticket for that evening. He drove us
to the bus station and then told us that the bus station was closed because the
public buses are on strike. This is SO typical to be offered a service that
does not exist and then get charged for it. In this case, he wanted us to pay
him even though he knew from the beginning the buses were on strike and the
station would be closed! Infuriating. We insisted that he take us back to the
train station for free, where we had passed a travel agency.
Upon
reaching the one and only “travel agency,” we noticed a large crowd and
commotion out front, but thought nothing of it and went inside. That is when we
met a Hari Krishna businessman who spoke a little English. We asked where the
owner was and he told us he was outside trying to prevent his shop from being
bulldozed. Apparently the storefront was constructed illegally (yes, there are
actually laws in India; it is just hard to decipher which ones are taken
seriously…) and within a minute a large bulldozer came charging toward the
store we were standing in. It then rammed into and destroyed the front of the
store, before nonchalantly moving on to the next adjacent property. The storeowner
then entered frustrated and did not acknowledge us. We knew immediately that he
did not speak English so we attempted to communicate via the semi-English
speaking Hari Krishna, explaining that we needed a bus or train to Rishikesh
that night. We were then told what we already knew, that the buses were on
strike and that there were no trains. We were really mad and walked back toward
the train station where we found a tourist information office. We were ecstatic
thinking there was a person who could help us, but when we entered we found
that the one man inside did not speak English. He provided us with an old map
of the city and semi-communicated that there was another bus station that may
have private bus companies.
Back in a rickshaw, we made our way to
the other station to discover that it was also closed. It actually looked
dilapidated and as if it had not served as a bus station for years. We soon
realized our best option would be to take a train back to Agra or Delhi, where
we would be more likely to find transportation heading north, rather than
having to spend the night in this eerie town. So we headed back to the train
station. The trains to Delhi were all booked in sleeper, second, and third
class, so we had no choice but to purchase the $1 general class ticket, where
you have to hurry to jump on the train because hundreds of people cram into one
train car, standing body to body and hanging out of the doors and windows. It
was going to be far from pleasant but we felt it was our only option. Well, it
turns out that was not an option after all because when the train pulled up,
there were so many people in the general class, that the men were literally
hanging off the side of the car and from the roof. You could not fit another
body into the threshold if you tried—which is the risk you take by purchasing
the cheap general class ticket. Acting quickly, we decided to get on the train
regardless and try to make our way to the general class section once the train
began moving. We soon learned that was impossible, as the cars were not
connected, so we found ourselves stuck in first class without first class
tickets. We decided to make our way to sleeper class, which is next lowest
class above general seating, realizing the consequences of “jumping the train”
in sleeper would have a lesser fine than illegally sitting in first class. It
was overcrowded, hot, and smelly as usual, but a nice family made room for us
to sit in their section. As the train ticket inspector made his way down the
aisle, slowly climbing over bodies and bags, we tried to formulate a possible
explanation for why we were ticketless but felt we had no good answer, as we
should not have gotten on the train in the first place if our section was full.
Sarit sat there literally praying to G-d he would not see us, while I stared
down the isle getting ready to face him and the embarrassment of being
portrayed as the “two white girls who didn’t pay for a ticket.” Everyone was
already staring at us, why not cause a scene? I couldn’t decide if I should
pretend to be horribly sick and run to the bathroom, pretend we lost our
tickets, or play ignorance about what section we were supposed to be in (even
though it clearly stated it in English). Well, as luck would have it, out of
the numerous train rides I have been on in India, this was the first time that
an inspector…although passing by us several times…did not check our tickets!!
Our adrenaline and heart rates returned to normal levels after the two hours
passed by and we made it to Delhi!
I had
also already visited Delhi twice before, so our plan was to get on the next
train out to Rishikesh. Delhi has two train stations and we quickly learned
that we were in the wrong one. The workers behind the window were rude and
refused to speak to us in English, so we were pushed out of the way by mobs of
other travelers trying to book last-minute tickets. We left the station to take
a rickshaw over to the other station but discovered that Delhi rickshaw
drivers, as well as bus drivers, were also on the public transportation strike.
A private taxi offered to take us for a reasonable price, but then he decided
not to. Another private taxi driver said he would for an exorbitant price,
which we could not justify spending. After finally finding someone who spoke
English, we learned that there was a city train that came through and stopped
at the other train station. Nearly missing it because the platforms were
mis-marked, we finally made it to the other station and were able to get 2 of
the last seats on the night train out to Rishikesh. We celebrated with
delicious tomato paneer and butter naan, and slept well after a very long and
stressful day.
Rishikesh
Finally
we made it to Rishikesh!! One of my goals while living in India was to spend a
week at an Ashram, which is a spiritual haven for yoga and meditation, in the
foothills of the Himalayas. The place to do this is in the beautiful town of
Rishikesh, which is situated along the banks of the Ganges, surrounded by the
Himalayas and populated with serene ashrams, guesthouses, and spiritual
devotees. It was five in the morning, dark, and rainy. We found two other
American girls who offered to share a taxi with us to the ashram, but it broke
down halfway there and we found a rickshaw to take us to the river, at which
point we were told to cross over a large walking bridge to the other side. We
finally made it to the Parmarth Niketan Ashram. The front gate was locked but a
man soon wandered past and opened it for us. The check-in desk would not be
open until 8:30am, so we desperately searched around for a warm and dry place
to sit for two and half hours. We heard the soft drones of praying and
meditation and quietly entered the prayer hall, which was full of people
sitting on the floor dressed in white robes and chanting softly.
We
sat at the back, barely able to keep our eyes open, as we were so exhausted.
Within a few minutes, the congregation stood and exited. An old monk walked
over to us, and not speaking English, seemed to understand the situation as we
sat there freezing with our huge backpacks. He signaled for us to lie down,
brought our shoes in to us from outside, turned off the lights, and closed the
door. It seemed like a minute had passed when I heard him gently waking us up.
It was now 8:30am and he had come to let us know that we could check in. This
is a wonderful example of Indian kindness.
The
ashram was everything that I had hoped for. It was beautiful, full of shrines,
statues, benches, trees, flowers, and happy, peaceful people. The donation-based
price (equivalent to a few dollars a night) included three meals a day,
sleeping accommodations, and yoga, dance, and meditation classes, which each
met twice a day. The ashram requested silence during certain hours of the day
and during meals. The dining hall felt like a soup kitchen. After removing your
shoes and entering quietly, you take a metal tray from the stack and scoop food
from large metal vats (usually a combination of rice, dahl, curry, roti, and
spicy pickled sauce), then sit on the floor in front of a wooden tray raised
about four inches off the ground. Eating in silence in a room full of people is
an unusual experience. I often found myself watching others and making note of
strange eating habits.
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| Lord Shiva |
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| Ashram food |
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| Parmarth Niketan |
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We
usually went to bed around 8pm and woke up each morning at 5:30am for the first
two-hour yoga session of the day. It was chilly and we roamed the premises
wrapped in thick wool blankets. Despite India being the birthplace of yoga, we
had found it challenging in Hyderabad to find really good yoga…not an Indian
re-interpretation of a Western interpretation. Thankfully, our yoga experience
at the ashram was very positive. We also had the opportunity to take a few
different yoga classes outside of the ashram by highly revered yoga masters,
which was amazing. Meditating was the hard part. I have never been formally
“trained” in meditation and like many people, my mind tends to actively wander
despite my efforts to stay focused. It was an ultimate challenge to attempt to
sit perfectly still in silence for one hour, concentrating on my mantra
(special words or phrases to help transform you into the desired state), my
breathing, and the present moment. The room was warm, lit by the soft glow of a
candle, and filled with the scent of burning incense. I would sit upon a stack
of cushions, with a pillow propped up behind me for support. Our meditation
guru was wonderful. She had been trained in Transcendental Meditation by
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, the yogi who trained the Beatles when they came to
Rishikesh in 1968. She briefly taught us the proper techniques for pranayama
(breathing), posture, and mantra chanting. It is a very accepting form of
meditation in the sense that you are encouraged to accept wondering thoughts,
feeling uncomfortable, falling asleep, and outside distractions. Rather than
fighting them, the key is to use the mantra to bring you back. Each session of
mediation got easier and I began to fidget less and have fewer wondering
thoughts, to the point that I not only embraced the experience but benefitted
from it. I felt refreshed and rejuvenated, with a clearer mind. In order to top
off my rejuvenating experience, I also had an ayurvedic oil massage at the
Ashram’s spa!
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| Rishikesh |
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| Going in the Ganges... |
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| Evening aarti ceremony |
Although
my focus for the week was on mindfulness, yoga, and meditation, Rishikesh is a
really beautiful town and I took time to explore. The main strip along the
Ganga is lined with Indian shops selling scarves, tea, ayurvedic body soaps,
CDs, clothes, and jewelry. I found myself walking it each morning and
occasionally stopping for a fresh squeezed fruit juice. We hiked a little bit
through the hills, explored beautiful Hindu temples, and attended evening
aarti, or fire, ceremonies on the Ganges. We also visited the “Beatles Ashram,”
or the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram, which is now a dilapidated ashram in the
forest where the Beatles stayed when they visited Rishikesh. It was abandoned
in 1997 and is technically closed to the public; however, it is common to
“break in” (aka climbing up a hill through the woods and over a broken electric
fence to bypass the locked front gate) and tour the premises. It was unreal. As
most of you know, I have a small obsession with the Beatles. I had the
privilege of living in London and taking a Beatles tour in Liverpool, visiting
all of their homes, schools, and important sites for the band, yet this was
such a different experience. It felt very strange and mysterious. The
buildings—lecture halls, meditation cells, bedrooms, etc.—have 1960s
psychedelic vibes with ornate architecture and funky walls, floors, and
ceilings. One room is especially cool, as it has been turned into an art space
where visitors graffiti the walls with Beatle-related paintings and quotes. The
whole place was decrepit, yet it was easy to imagine what it must have been like
when they were there. I had chills!
Although
I was easily entranced by Rishikesh and the ashram and embraced the bubble of
peace, tranquility, and love-for-everyone-and-everything mentality, I was
harshly brought back to reality one morning upon finding out the devastating
news that two bombs exploded in Hyderabad due to Hindu-Muslim animosity. I was
instantly reminded of the hate, aggression, and violence that also exists in
India. I was scared and sad, and immediately e-mailed friends and coworkers back
in Hyderabad to check in with them. Later that day, as I sat on the banks of
the Ganges contemplating humanity, an American woman next to me was Skyping on
her phone with her mom back home. She held the phone camera toward the river
and glorious mountainous backdrop and said, “Mom, look, I’m showing you India!”
I couldn’t help but smile. This is India? Sure, this wonderful, heavenly place
is in India, but is it India? It is not the city slums of
Bombay, or the rural villages of Madhya Pradesh; it is not the political riots,
the bombs, or the rapes; it is not the polluted streets of Varanasi or the
strikes of Delhi. But I suppose it is all of this—the good and the bad in stark
contrast—that make up India.
Coming to terms
I
had been to India for a week in 2008, which was a “trial run” that enticed me
to return. This time around, I developed a relationship with the country that
is even stronger than I had expected. I learned to embrace the disorder, the
contrast, the uncertainties, the idiosyncrasies, and the frustrations. I
overcame “Delhi Belly,” I was deprived of sleep because of the heat, I shivered
as I bathed with a bucket of cold water, I was electric shocked countless
times, I woke up with red bites all over my face and feet on multiple
occasions, I sat with my friend in the hospital who got Dengue Fever (from mosquitoes), and I left with a wonderful red, mysterious, blistery rash on my
elbow that is still present after 3 months (don’t worry, currently being
treated). I marched in protest for women’s rights and attended community
meetings on combating the country’s “rape problem.” I could not leave my home
with my shoulders exposed and could not walk alone after dark. I could not
purchase alcohol at a store. I experienced and heard about horrific social
cruelties and injustices. I saw firsthand children suffering from malnutrition
and women slowly dying on the streets. And yet, how am I so in love with this
country? It is a country so captivating, complicated, and compassionate; a
country where the answer is never “no,” and the wait time is always “five
minutes”; a country where trucks, rickshaws, and buildings are beautifully and
ornately decorated with love from proud owners; a country that gives a new name
to humanity, where the acts of kindness exceed those I have ever experienced
before, and huge smiles are on the poorest and sickest of faces; a country so
rich in culture, tradition, and history; a country that evokes such strong and
contrasting emotions in me every time I stepped out of the house; a country
that challenges my beliefs, conceptions, and lifestyle; a country that makes
living difficult, yet so gratifying and exciting. Four months is not enough. I
still have so much to see, experience, and learn about in India. I am still
trying to figure it out and I can’t wait to return one day and continue
building and growing and strengthening my relationship.
