Passage Through India, part 3

November 11, 2014
Dharamshala/McLeod Ganj

After a week of yoga and Ayurvedic healing (among other things),  I left Rishikesh on (another) overnight journey, this time to Dharamshala. It turns out that there is a bus that leaves Rishikesh daily at 4pm for Dharamshala, arriving somewhere around 6 or 7 am. It's a harrowing ride through the foothills of the Himalayas (which would be considered mountains almost anywhere else), in the dark, on narrow, windy roads, along steep precipices, at speeds which always seem just a little too fast (there's a reason why so many drivers in India have a little statue of Ganesha--the god who is the remover of obstacles--on their dashboard). The bus itself was deluxe by Indian standards--we all had our own seats, which also reclined. But the brakes screeched loudly and the tires squealed relentlessly around each curve. And there were ALOT of curves. And even though, at some point, I had given myself over to releasing control over the situation (I had to trust it would all be fine--because looking out the window and thinking about the drive wasn't going to change the outcome of any of it anyway), I was still jolted out of a teetering doze every few seconds or so by an extra loud screech or an extra long squeal. The honking, well, that just become part of the scenery.

But arriving in Dharamshala (McLeod Ganj more precisely) was a blessing--and in so many ways. I met a group of young people (in their 20s) from England, Sweden, and Chile, on the overnight bus and we spent some time together hiking and at HHDL's teachings, and for a few meals. I also met some travelers from India.  One couple, who now live in Qatar, explained to me their unusual relationship status--that is, that they were dating without arrangement by their parents. And the woman was the oldest daughter and not yet married (at over 30). I also met a group of young men from Delhi while I was on a hike with my new friends from the overnight bus. We spent a nice long afternoon tea and snack in a hillside "cafe." I learned about what this particular group of men thought about "Englishers" and the relationship between their present and the colonial past of India.

Fellow Travelers on the Path! (Including the dog, who travelled with us a couple of hours on our pretty rocky and steep hike.)

 
Friends from the overnight bus ride on a hike in the hills above McLeod Ganj (which is already about 2,000+ meters-or 6,800 feet).

Loving some Tibetan food in McLeod Ganj.

In addition, I had some really interesting interactions and conversations with the very kind Kashmiri brothers who ran the hotel I stayed in in Mcleod Ganj. I also met a Kashmiri man on one of my many walks to and from His Holiness' compound;  I had several chats with him (and a cup of tea or two) about the relationship between Kashmiris and Indians. I also enjoyed several conversations with aTibetan monk (and his nephew who translated for us) and several other refugees from Tibet. I felt such a profound connection with those who I met in the shadow (or rather in the light!) of His Holiness the Dalai Lama's compound. And of course, the teachings and presence of His Holiness was, to say the least, inspiring and transformative. And another blog post...

Long live His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

A Passage Through India, part 2

November 5, 2014
Rishikesh
Arriving the following evening in Haridwar, I grabbed a motorized pedicab to Rishikesh, the self-proclaimed "unofficial yoga capital of the world." My dad had sent me a link in the summer about Rishikesh and its relationship to yoga (I'm not sure he actually intended for me to read it and, you know, go there) and I thought it looked like a place I ought to visit--as a Beatles fan (thank you Maharishi) and as a yoga practitioner (if I may be so crass as to label myself that). Already I could tell that Haridwar was slightly less confounding then Varanasi (though I couldn't tell you how, exactly), and that Rishikesh--and in particular the High Bank side of this small(ish) city--had a different kind of energy, though also on the Ganges (but a part that ran quickly and, in some places, dangerously). The pilgrims here are comprised of a wide range of tourists, many of whom have come to seek peace, love, and yoga (much like the Beatles in the late '60s did from the Maharishi). So many yoga ashrams, so little time! I visited a few, had a fascinating Ayurvedic experience or two, and participated in just enough yoga classes during my week there to get just a little bit of the feel for yoga in Rishikesh at least.

 


I came to Rishikesh, I think, to experience (perhaps naively?) yoga in a more "true" form--closer to the source. I mean, Rishikesh is the "yoga capital of the world" and (though I've been teaching yoga for only a short time) it seemed like the thing to do. Again, my experience was complicated. I loved roaming around Rishikesh, taking "Laughter Yoga" (seriously, it was the best time ever), riding a bicycle in the hills, meeting folks on the side roads and pedestrian suspension bridge.  But I can also say that, in my limited experience, I found at least some of the practices steeped in what felt like a patriarchal system (not surprising based on my experience of how men treat the women). I also winced (literally) at some of the mechanics and insistence on postures being just so (heels must reach the floor in Downward Facing Dog), regardless of body type or limitations. Was I coming with my Western Orientalist limited mindset to appropriate a tradition not my own, and for my own colonizing purposes (a conversation for another day)? Or was I reacting to the ways in which this patriarchal culture seeks to keep women and others (Muslims, for example) in their place? How can I be judgmental about that which I know not? And about a place which I have over the years come to idealize, but have so little experience or knowledge? All of my reactions, responses, experiences reveal my limitations. India helped me see and work with those limitations.

A Passage Through India, part 1

15 November 2014

I recognize the complexity of referencing E.M. Forrester's A Passage to India in the title of this blog, but some of my experiences of India were seen through through a lens that I imagine many Americans (and perhaps all Westerners?) experience India, and that is through an in part idealized, exotic, awe-filled, and in part fear-filled lens. At least that's how I remember A Passage to India (though it was more than a couple of decades or so that I read it). And that is certainly how I experienced India. I have at any given moment here felt at once filled with reverence and joy, fascination and shock, fear and awe; I have felt like I was always meant to be here, and I have felt utterly alien to the landscape. To say that I have experienced India as confounding is somewhat of an understatement. I've observed myself both with amusement and with some discomfort my responses, and it is with some trepidation I share those experiences, but, you know, I wouldn't want to pretend my experience wasn't what it was, or that I am not who I am in this crazy, beautiful, complicated planet (did I also mention messy?). I can say with certainty that, as I met people in contexts that didn't center around me as a consuming tourist (not that there is any thing wrong with that), I felt connected to my experience in ways that didn't involve some of those other layers of fear, idealization, exocitism, etc.


Varanasi
My first introduction to India (outside the airport transfers in Mumbai and Calcutta) was in Varanasi. I can't remember if I read it somewhere, or if someone I interacted with on my trip reflected to me, that Varanasi as a first entry point is a bit of a "baptism by fire" experience. And that was nearly literally true for me. Varanasi teems with energy both sacred and profane. The narrow pathways in the old city along the sacred goddess Ganges river are home to touts angling to sell you goods, offer you a daybreak boat ride, smoke weed with you; they are home to cows and water buffalo (and dung and urine); they are home to those on holy pilgrimage; they are home to motorcyclists and bicycles. They are a tangle of energies that lead to a multitude of "ghats" along the Ganges, each with its own feel and distinguishing characteristics.

Cows CAN walk down steps, at least in Varanasi

I'll leave the full descriptions to the Lonely Planet India guide. For me, each foray out into the streets and pathways of Varanasi (and a day trip to Sarnath, place of the Buddha's first sermon), was an exercise in balancing trust and wariness, open heartedness and guardedness. Example: on one late afternoon I was watching the funeral rituals at the burning ghat, where bodies are brought for a washing in the sacred Ganges and then cremated on a pyre of wood. It's considered the most prodigious place in India to be cremated and it's happening 24 hours/day. As with so many things in India, I observed with a combination (and from a distance, literally and figuratively) of humility, reverence, speechlessness, and occasionally disbelief. A young man offered to explain the ritual to me so that I might understand better what it was all about. Why no women (family members) were allowed near the burnings; how the flame from which the fires were lit was sacred and had been burning for generations; how the cost of the wood needed for burning the bodies was calculated; who carried the bodies to the ghat. He led me around the ghat amongst those carrying wood and fire, amongst family members and holy men--much closer than I would have ventured on my own, or even really wanted to venture accompanied. I again found myself in a confounded state of reverence with a tinge of uneasiness and nauseousness.

The Sacred Ganges at Sunrise

That night I took the overnight train from Varanasi northwest to Haridwar. The train was scheduled to leave at 1 am but was running late, so I sat in the train station from about midnight (I didn't want to miss my train!) until 3:30 am, hoping I might figure out which train was mine, and which platform. I was the only white person at the station that night, but I think we were all experiencing the fatigue of waiting in the chill of the evening for a train to come, ousted from a seat on a bench by a limping cow eating (and flinging) trash from the nearby trashcan, and trying to find a comfortable way to be. This was definitely one of those "I'm too old for this" moments, huddled over my duffle bag in the middle of the night, trying to figure out which train, which train car, which berth, (there were two people sitting on my berth when I finally found it, but they politely moved), which train station, was mine.