The Road to Rishikesh

October 6th

I didn't sleep at all last night as I was both running on adrenaline and anxious that I would oversleep as I had not slept the night before. Instead I spent the time reading and composing my first diary entry. By 6:am I was showered and dressed and awaiting a taxi to take me to the airport where I would meet with the group who were also attending the meditation program in Rishikesh.

Over night the number of bugs that littered the floor of my room and that now lay scattered throughout the lobby had trebled. They were so numerous that you could not navigate a clear path, and I wondered who had the thankless job of sweeping up the aftermath of last nights invasion. Needless to say I was glad that my stay here had been limited to a mere few hours.

Seated in the narrow lobby that had appeared significantly larger in the photograph, I noticed the prone figure of a man lying on the floor of the adjacent room. On closer inspection, I saw that the man, fully clothed in a blue shirt and dark blue slacks was in fact asleep. Only a thin white sheet and a pillow separated him from the cold marble floor of what was the kitchen. I realized that it is a reality for many people here in India, who live and work in the same place and often have only one suit of clothing. It was sobering, and all my earlier judgements about the shabbiness of the hotel now seemed irrelevant.

The taxi arrived and we speed along the still empty roads as Delhi was only just beginning to stir. The morning sun sat like a ball of orange flames in a sky cloaked with fog and smoke. I could smell the acrid scent of burning wood in the air that I associate with Delhi. By day the towering buildings of glass and chrome seemed incongruent with the unpaved roads and crumbling pavements that were the viaduct to them. It was not until we were within the grounds of the airport that these gave way to manicured lawns and neat beds of trees and shrubs that are a triumph against the rot and decay.

It is as if India, irreverent to the gods of modernity, is resistant to the wave of change that is rapidly transforming the country, even as she stubbornly clings to the chaos of the past.

I met the group members in the arrivals hall and after a few brief introductions the twelve of us clambered into the waiting SUV's and began our eight hour journey to Rishikesh. Our destination, the ashram of my teacher, Swami Sankarananda Giri, who initiated me into the practice of Kryia Yoga meditation three years ago when I first visited India.

Of my teacher, I can only say that he is a very remarkable and magnanimous man who made a lasting and profound impression upon me; sufficient to compel me to be initiated into a practice of which I knew nothing at the time. This, despite that fact that I believed anyone going to india in search of a Guru, was at worst a cliché and at best slightly self deluded. I am still trying to figure out which of these I am.

We were underway and soon joined the now congested highway that would lead us out of Delhi. The constant sounding of horns emitting from bicycles, rickshaws, motor bikes, cars, trucks and even the lowly Water Buffalo; as each vied for position on the road. It was amazing to see two wheeled flatbed carts piled high with bulging sacks of grain, harnessed by thick ropes. The bulging sacks resembled overfull udders that spilled over the side of the cart. The oxen strained under the burden of the weight and had to be encouraged with the occasional thwack from a small bam boo rod. 

The trucks were also piled high with goods, and so lumbered along precariously. It was not uncommon to see trucks at the side of the road with a flat tire or half of their load scattered in a heap on the ground. The worst offenders were the motorized rickshaws that achieved a maximum speed of 40km per hour.   There were hundreds of these small green and yellow vehicles that fanned out like an army of ants. The road belonged to them, and they stopped anywhere they could to pick up a fare. I noticed that one of them had painted on it's back panel the name KutKut Autos and I immediately renamed it “PtuPut “ as all it could do was putter along, clogging up the roads. And so the constant noise of horns beeping are less a sign of aggression and more an invitation to “get out of the way”!

Once out of the city limits the through fare narrowed to two lanes and the surface of the road was less even. In fact there were many areas where the asphalt has eaten away all together and cars had to drive over the chipped rocks that were the foundation for the road. To avoid these long stretches of rocky surfaces, it was pretty common for drivers to mount the dividers or slip through an opening, to join the oncoming traffic lane, temporarily narrowing our side of the road to one lane. Everyone took this in their stride and simply waited for the opportunity to retake the lane and accelerate toward their destination.

Therefore, a journey may take 6 hours or it may take eight depending upon what you encounter on the road. The long journey gave me an opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep, and soon I was oblivious to it all . We stopped for lunch at a small resort and the food was surprisingly good. Little did I know that this would be the best meal I would have for the next two weeks. Once we had eaten we were on our way again. Far from the metropolis of Delhi, the road had now narrowed to one lane in either direction. We passed through many small towns and I noticed that there were new “luxury” housing complexes being constructed every where. Even here in the remote countryside, India shows signs of succumbing to the current of change. And though she is this incredible meld of ancient and modern that wonderfully coexists, I fear that many of the cultural traditions that underpin her complexity will eventually be lost. Reduced to mere anachronisms, in this new landscape of econimic growth.

On arrival at the Ashram we were all relieved to pile out of the cars and stretch our legs. I was shown to my room which is very spartan, but clean and has an en suite bathroom. Thank god for that! I quickly unpack and head to the dining room for dinner. The meal comprised of dhal and rice and vegetables was unexciting, as all foods here are prepared with out salt. I am a little disappointed as I love spicy food, and will have to resort to the hot chili peppers that are on offer, to add flavor. 

And so begins my life in an Ashram.