Tramping the Dusty Roads

A short, very short trip to Neelkanth.

Rajiv Chopra — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 10:17:12 GMT

The Backstory

Once upon a time, there lived the gods (devas) and ‘demons’(asuras). Once upon a time, there was a sage called Sage Durvasa who cursed the devas, causing them to lose their strength. Some say that, at first, the devas were not immortal and sought to break the chains of mortality. The version of the myth is unimportant to this tale. What is important is that the devas and the asuras agreed to cooperate to churn the ocean of milk to get ‘amrit,’ the nectar of immortality.

I won’t describe the entire tale here, but while churning, a lethal poison called ‘Halahala’ emerged first, threatening to destroy the universe. Vishnu sought Shiva’s help, and Shiva agreed to consume the poison, which turned his throat blue, earning him the name ‘Neelkanth,’ or ‘the one with the blue throat.’

The devas got the entire lot of the ‘amrit.’ Vishnu took the form of the seductive Mohini, distracting the asuras and enabling the devas to steal the amrit. The devas became immortal, and the asuras retained their mortality.

There is a link between this tale and the Kumbh Melas. The myth says that Garuda (Vishnu’s vehicle, or vahana) took the pot (Kumbh) away from the site. Four drops of nectar fell to earth at Prayag (Allahabad), Haridwar, Ujjain, and Nasik, and we celebrate the Kumbh Mela at these spots.

All myths are allegories.

We are not meant to take myths literally: they are allegories meant to illustrate timeless principles. Unfortunately, there is a growing tendency to communicate and to interpret myths literally.

Diana L. Eck wrote a book called “India: A Sacred Geography.” I read this book many years ago, and the central thesis is fascinating. She postulated that India is a civilizational geography, linked by a dense network of sacred places, rivers, towns, temples, and journeys. These bind the geography into a shared cultural-religious imagination. There is merit to this thesis.

One of the first people who created a unified kingdom was Aurangzeb, but his empire collapsed. Then came the Brits. Then, Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Vallabhai Patel unified the geography by abolishing over 300 princely states.

The concept of a shared civilization must come from India being, what Diana Eck calls, ‘a sacred geography.’ Be clear, however: there is a thesis, and there are details behind it.

The devout believe that Shiva consumed the awful poison, Halahala, at the site of the Neelkanth temple near Rishikesh.

We drove up to Neelkanth. We did not do the trek.

You approach Neelkanth from Rishikesh by one of two ways. You can drive 32 km up the hilly road, or you can take the 12km trek from a point near Ram Jhula. My friend had no intention of walking, so we drove to Neelkanth.

If you stand in the middle of the Ganges River and face north, you will take the road on the right-hand side of the river and drive up. Once again, we hired a rickshaw and drove up to Neelkanth.

The temple was under renovation when we arrived, making photography difficult. I managed one or two images of the temple without the plastic covers. I don’t know what I was to expect, but I felt no sanctity. Maybe I have the sensitivity of a block of stone, but I feel the power of nature when I am out in nature. Does the power of nature, the feeling of absolute freedom, express divine power? Is this god? I don’t know and don’t wish to explore the topic.

Experience teaches me that when we start to walk into the analysis-paralysis puzzle, we tie ourselves in knots and then get lost. Maybe we fear pure emotion. It is also possible that we do not permit ourselves the luxury of simply enjoying life and nature.

To each their own, I say, but the cynical part of me still wants to discuss religious belief. Why do we wish to visit temples, discuss scripture – supposedly written by God – and argue over whose religion is better?

Fear is one force that drives us to places of worship. We’ve sinned and continue to sin, but depend on god’s eternal mercy. If we make enough offerings to this god, then we will – we hope – go to heaven.

Life screws some of us, and we see no hope in our current life on earth. We go to temples and pray for a better life when we are reborn.

Considering the conflict and genocide raging in the world, I postulate that god has not been successful in his/her mission of making us wise, benevolent, genuinely repentant, spiritual, or good people.

I noticed a few security barriers at the temple compound’s entry and a few policemen guarding the premises. Does God need a policeman, or do the temple authorities need protection? Methinks, the latter.

I was not happy about entering and circumambulating the temple premises. The floor was wet, and the water seemed dirty. I would have jumped for joy on leaving the temple precincts, but something told me to look devout and serious.

On pakoras. Do not call them fritters!

I found true joy when we entered a tiny eatery and gorged on pakoras and chai. The closest word in English that my brain conjures is fritters, but when you use the word ‘fritters,’ you rob pakoras of all their romance.

My favorite pakoras are the type you see in the image – thinly sliced potatoes, onions, or green chilies. There are other kinds of pakora as well, all deep-fried and coated with a gram-flour batter. It is the gram flour that makes them crispy, and they make a perfect pairing with chai.

When do you eat pakoras? While I avoid them at the peak of summer, pakoras exercise an undeniable charm, inviting you to eat them whenever greed overcomes you. Otherwise, pakoras at the peak of winter, or when it is raining heavily, are a perfect combination.

Visualize yourself sitting at a dhaba. It is raining outside. Even better when a fierce storm (an ‘aandhi’ or a ‘toofan’) is raging. You don’t want a wind (aandhi) that raises the dust. A ‘toofan’ that rages and makes the rain come down at a sharp angle rings the bell of hungry anticipation. When you are safely stationed in a dhaba and smell the pakoras being fried, you don’t care if you’ve left your umbrella behind. Time stands still, and waits only on the comfort food that is about to bring you much joy.

The smell of wet earth reaches your nostrils, excites your gastric juices, and causes saliva to spread through your mouth in anticipation. You close your eyes, smile, and call your faithful server to dish up a plate of pakoras accompanied by a cup of good Indian chai. Then, you eat. A meditative smile washes across your face. The rain continues, and maybe you call for a second helping of pakoras and a refill of chai. All is good with the world. Dirty politicians, businesspeople, and their evil deeds fade away as the warm glow envelopes your soul.

There are almost no comfort foods that will ever beat the humble pakora. No one knows who invented pakoras, but the original creator is definitely living in the heavens, smiling benevolently at us. The inventor of the pakora has spread much joy through the land, spreading happiness through the generations, a true saint.

The Bell & the pump.

Temple Bells.

I’d like to leave all of you with two images: the bell and the pump. When we enter or leave temples, we ring a bell, and the bell carries our attendance to the heavens. You get full marks for the day.

Water pumps in villages. I have used them.

The pump draws groundwater up and was once a common sight in villages and small cities. When I used to travel in India’s rural hinterlands, these pumps were a lifesaver, quenching my thirst and providing enough water to wash my face and dunk my head under, cooling the fires raging through my skull.

As groundwater levels drop and water pollution becomes rampant, these pumps are slowly becoming relics of the past. The young don’t want to pump water out of the ground, preferring bottled water, and adding plastic waste to the environment. I always liked the taste of the water I pumped from the ground. I may be romantic, but there was always something in the earth that added a tiny bit of flavor to the water. You get almost the same taste when you drink water from an earthen pot, called a ‘ghara.’ We lived a year without a refrigerator whilst living in an army transit accommodation and used a ghara instead. Water from the ghara is cool, refreshing, rural, unfashionable, and much cheaper than water cooled in a fridge!

And then, it was time to leave the Neelkanth Temple. Everything comes to an end, and one day, so shall we. I shall now leave you on that somber note!

India: A Sacred Geography.

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Nilkanth Mahadev

Neelkanth Mahadev Temple

Why Shiva drank the poison

Shiva drinking the poison

Halahala

Samudra manthana

India: A Sacred Geography

Wandering in Kankhal

Rajiv Chopra — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 10:15:45 GMT

Kankhal: A tiny, charming, dharmic village.

Kankhal is a small, charming village near Haridwar. I do not describe the place as a tiny village because it takes considerable effort from the villagers for them to have their village described as ‘tiny’ or ‘microscopic.’

Kankhal is just 3.5 kilometers from Haridwar. How long does it take to get there? The answer is simple: it depends. The time taken depends on your mode of travel, how crazy you or your driver is, the traffic at any point in time, and the season. If there is a religious festival ongoing, then the time to travel to Kankhal increases, and the cost skyrockets, especially nowadays, when Indians express their Hindu faith aggressively.

We hired an auto-rickshaw for the day, a practice I highly recommend. I have followed this practice on many travels, and it helps to move around. Trust me, you do not want to stand in the middle of the road when the sun is burning holes in your head, or when the rain is coming down, and you are cursing yourself for leaving your umbrella in your hotel room.

Many consider Kankhal to be a historic town (I think it is a little more than a village) and one of the ‘panch teerth’, or five holy pilgrimage spots, for those who visit.

A visit to the Harihar Ashram. Terrible photos

I really don’t remember why we visited Kankhal: we had time, and it seemed like a good thing to do. Apart from this reason, my friend wished to visit the Harihar Ashram, which houses a lingam made of 151 kg of solidified mercury (called ‘parad’). People believe that this lingam – called the Paradeshwar Mahadev – has great healing and spiritual powers.

The complex also houses the ‘Mahamrityunjaya Temple,’ which has a rare Three Mukhi Rudraksha Tree.

A few essential digressions!

Aryans

Now we have reached the point where I must digress again and give people some background information. Many believe that the Hindu faith stretches back about 10,000 years, but this belief is pure self-serving fantasy. The human transformation from being a hunter-gatherer society to a more settled, agricultural society only happened between 10,000 and 12,000 years ago. A few scientists also believe that it was when we started our journey towards becoming agronomists that we began manipulating our environment, but that is another story.

For now, let’s assume the Aryans entered the subcontinent, and many competing theories exist about who the Aryans were, whether they were a fantasy, and whether they brought their language, religion, and gods into the subcontinent.

Vedic & Hindu Gods

‘Rudra’ was one of the Vedic gods, one of the few who became a ‘Hindu’ god – Shiva. Rudra was the wild one, and some believe he represented the wild, untamed forces of nature. He, and later Shiva, wore a necklace of beads, called the ‘rudraksha.’ A rudraksha is a sacred, dried seed from the ‘elaeocarpus ganitrus’ tree, often called ‘tears of Shiva.’

Rudraksha Mala.

A ‘mukhi,’ or ‘mouth (I assume) is a line on the rudrakhsa, and the number of lines/mukhis can vary between one and twenty-one. I will not digress into a long essay on the rudraksha at this point and reserve the right to write an essay on the rudraksha a few months from now.

The ‘Mahamrityunjaya’ is a powerful Vedic chant from the Rigveda, dedicated to Rudra/Shiva, and seeks victory over spiritual death, fear, and bondage.

‘Maha’ means great. ‘Mrityun’ means death, and ‘jaya’ means victory. I have listened to the Mahamrityunjaya Mantra many times and used to chant it once upon a time. Even though I am not religious, I felt the power of the mantra whenever I listened to it or chanted it. This is not a mantra you chant when you are out dallying with someone or while on a lazy Sunday morning picnic. It is imperative that you prepare yourself and sit comfortably with a calm mind before listening to or chanting the mantra.

Now, I return to the tale. I took some horrible pictures of the Paradeshwar Lingam because I was worried that a priest would turn up and bawl me out. No one appeared, and the visit to the temple premises was calming and peaceful.

Back to the main topic. Kankhal.

Our visit to Kankhal was short – less than half a day. The Ganges river water flows by Kankhal. The locals told me that the government – I assume – had built a canal, diverting some of the Ganges river through the village. Diana Eck called India a ‘sacred geography,’ and there is much truth in this description. We remain obsessed with religion and, these days, religiosity reigns supreme. The surge of religiosity is brand new and bizarre. Indians are religious, but religion has (apart from some strange restrictions) largely remained a personal affair. Now, people wear their faith as a badge, displaying it on their shirts, coats, blouses, or foreheads.

We wandered amongst the temples situated on the banks of the waters. I remember squatting on the steps, enjoying the breeze in the shade of the trees. India is becoming hotter, and we are obsessed with cutting trees. Meanwhile, years back, I enjoyed the breeze and the shade.

People must survive, and the poor must pay a heavy price to survive. The poor pilgrims we saw could not afford even ten rupees as a donation to the temple. They brought their ten or twenty-rupee notes to the lady you see sitting at the table. She’d give them nine one-rupee coins for every ten rupees they gave her. I wager a bet that she had struck a deal with the temple administration and shared part of her 10% profit with them. I assume the pilgrims considered it a fair bargain, preferring to pay the conversion cost rather than part with ten rupees.

Since those days, the rupee’s value has fallen. Its path has entered a steep, slippery slope, and, even if you disregard unfavorable comparisons to the dollar, the fact remains that almost no one these days even recognizes a one-rupee coin. You can forget about the old fifty-paisa or twenty-five-paisa coins I grew up with.

All good things come to an end, and so did our short visit to Kankhal. Our gastric juices were calling, demanding attention. I remember that Kankhal had no restaurants back then, and the local food at the stalls looked forbidding. Yet we were starving, so we satisfied our hunger pangs with junk food – packaged cake and biscuits, before heading back to Haridwar to explore yet another temple.

Will I return to Kankhal? I don’t know. A friend and I are discussing a potential trip to Haridwar, so I may well revisit the old village. Time, as the old cliché says, will tell. Maybe, we will get something to eat!

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Substack Half-Dead: Museo Camera

Rajiv Chopra — Wed, 08 Apr 2026 16:03:34 GMT

I am associated with the Delhi School of Photography, and we have an arrangement with Museo Camera in Gurgaon (nowadays, officially called ‘Gurugram’). I teach photography at Museo Camera. So, if you are in Delhi or Gurgaon, give us a shout, and I’d love to teach you photography!

Museo Camera is an excellent museum for cameras, and exploring it will also give you a snapshot of photography’s history.

had mentioned Museo Camera, so I thought I’d also give him a snapshot view of the place.

All photos and videos done with my Google Pixel 10.

Delhi School of Photography

Substack Half-Dead: Baag-e-Bahaar, New Delhi

Rajiv Chopra — Wed, 01 Apr 2026 15:50:44 GMT

I often visit Basant Lok in New Delhi, and have been going there for years. A few years ago, we’d go to a movie, but now I sometimes visit the place for coffee. A few years ago, I decided to visit the medieval structure in the garden next to Basant Lok market, and it surprised me.

Since then, I’ve been there a few times, and once, when I was walking along a wall during the monsoons, I slipped and tumbled two metres (6.5 feet) to the ground below. My judo and sports training came to my rescue! Even though my ‘falling’ skills are rusty, they were enough to save me and my camera that day. I rolled over and walked around the place until I realized the little finger of my right hand was sizzling. That is when I noticed the nail had almost come off. I called my wife, and she ordered me to visit the emergency department of the nearby hospital. I sighed, drove to the hospital, got a tetanus shot, and acquired a huge bandage. At least I could build a story about how I got the wound fending off terrorists. No one believed me.

Firoz Shah Tughlaq built Baag-e-Bahaar, so it is about 600 years old. In the middle, there is a garden called ‘Baag-e-Bashist,’ proving, once again, our civilizational relationship with Iran (Persia).

When I made this video with my Instax mini Evo Cinema Premium, an idea germinated in my feverish brain. I will start a project - maybe with the Baag-e-Bahaar, on the medieval gardens that dot Delhi’s landscape. In our feverish rush to build concrete and abuse our Muslim rulers, we ignore many aspects of their rule, one being their love for gardens.

New project!!

Instax mini Evo Cinema Premium

Backblaze

Photography and the "P-Word."

Rajiv Chopra — Sun, 29 Mar 2026 17:08:56 GMT

Sonix

Wandering in Haridwar

Rajiv Chopra — Wed, 25 Mar 2026 04:41:45 GMT

I have not been back to Haridwar in a decade.

My last post on Haridwar was short but good enough for the subject at hand. I have not been back to Haridwar for about a decade. I may return to Haridwar in the future as a transit point to the hills. If my plans work, I will go on a road trip to Garhwal sometime next year.

My first visits to Haridwar happened a few decades back when I was working in the bakery industry and visited the town to sell my company’s products. I remember being distressed when I discovered that the town’s authorities had banned the consumption of meat and liquor. Yet, when I was in a small hotel–Haridwar had no decent hotels those days–I noticed a money plant growing out of an old “Old Monk” bottle. ‘

Old Monk Rum is alive and well!

Old Monk’ is a beloved brand of Indian rum, and once, when a rumor spread that Mohan Meakin (the brand’s owner) was considering withdrawing the brand from the market, my friends all predicted riots would break out across the country if Mohan Meakin were to withdraw Old Monk rum.

I am glad to announce that Old Monk rum is alive and well, and, since I am primarily a rum drinker, I am an ecstatic child.

Haridwar is mainly a pilgrimage town.

Even though industrialization is changing the landscape of Haridwar’s hinterland and suburbs, the town retains its essential character as a pilgrimage destination and as the point where the devout board buses for the ‘Char Dham Yatra.’ Many shops sell blankets, even in summer, and when I inquired, I learned that pilgrims buy blankets before heading out to the mountains. Many don’t have accommodation. Faith drives them, and they are willing to sleep in the open as long as they can complete the journey.

The four dhams, or holy places in Uttarakhand, are Yamunotri, Gangotri, Kedarnath, and Badrinath. The Yamuna River starts at Yamunotri, and the Ganges River starts at Gangotri. I do not wish to travel to Kedarnath and Badrinath. Not that I have a problem with the towns, but the crowds are increasing, and now you need to give an affidavit, swearing you follow ‘Sanatan Dharma.’

The philosophy of Sanatana Dharma is old and has its origins in the Vedas. However, the principles ask you to uphold virtues like “honesty, refraining from injuring living beings, purity, goodwill, mercy, patience, forbearance, self-restraint, generosity, and asceticism.” I copied this last from Wikipedia, but when you analyze the principles, all that Sanatana Dharma asks you to do is to be a good human and to uphold universal values of decency, which include not harming or killing other people!

Anyway, I believe that when we use the term ‘Sanatani’ and insist it is a ‘Hindu’ belief system without examining the larger context and meaning, we diminish the term. But that is my belief so bite me!

The water, the chains to protect people.

The Ganges, or a canal of the Ganges, flows through Haridwar. The water’s flow is rapid, and the authorities have laid metal chains along the length of the ghats. You must hold on to the chains unless you wish the river to wash you away downstream. Of course, if you allow the river to wash you downstream, you may reach earthly home quickly, or you may also arrive at your eternal resting place quicker than you had originally planned! Unlike prisons, where chains bind you, these chains protect visitors and bathers.

In those days, as I have said often, I travelled to the town, did my business, moaned about the forced vegetarianism and abstinence from alcohol, and left. The end. My routine didn't mean I didn’t get to know Haridwar; I only explored the business side of the town.

On my last trip, I wandered with the intent of exploring different facets of the place, but Haridwar never held my heart. The experience differs greatly from Benares, where I have spent many hours sitting by the river. Remember, it is ‘the same river,’ but the Ganges is much cleaner in Haridwar than in Benares. Even though Benares has lost some of its charm for me, it still attracts me more than Haridwar.

We took a cable car up to the hilltop but refused to enter the temple. My traveling companion those days was corpulent, and didn’t wish to walk up. Our hearts met when he declared his desire to skip the temple. He didn’t wish to get caught in a priestly trap, and neither did I. It took some convincing to get him to agree to walk down, but we walked down, and he was happy with the walk.

When you are on the hill, looking down, the town looks pristine, the water blue and pure, and the colors come alive. It is when you reach the bottom of the hill that reality punches your nose, and you interact with the crowds.

The devout and the thieves.

We stood on the bridge when the evening prayers at the main ghat–the Har Ki Pauri–happened. An authoritative voice over a loudspeaker reminded the pilgrims to mind their belongings and to safeguard them from thieves and pickpockets. Thieves must do their business, and a crowded prayer ghat presents them with ripe pickings. The pilgrims pray for their souls, and the thieves pray for a ripe harvest. Both pray but for different outcomes.

Later at night, we sat by the river’s rapid waters and gazed at families gingerly strip, grip the metal chains, and dunk themselves in the soul-purifying water. I sat by the riverside, camera on a tripod, and with a slow shutter speed, tried to create abstract patterns. The red light from the streetlights cast fascinating, abstract patterns on the water.

Then, we were done, and the demands of our stomachs made themselves felt. We encountered a few cops and VIP cars near a crossing as we walked to a small restaurant. The word ‘encounter’ has unfortunate connotations, also referring to extra-judicial police killings. We are still alive!

My friend used to belong to a few foodie groups in Delhi, and they recommended a restaurant for dinner, but when I saw the food, my saliva, taste buds, and gastric juices rebelled. Only my authoritarian streak beat my digestive juices into submission, and I forced the food down my reluctant gullet.

Morning photography in our pyjamas.

We woke up early the next morning. Our budget hotel did not offer breakfast, so I remember walking down to the crossing by the river in my pyjamas and Timberland boots. We sat on a stool, had some chai, and had a greasy breakfast.

While my heart ached for an egg, the greasy breakfast was just what a Michelin chef would have ordered. We stayed in our night suits and crossed the river to walk along the far bank. I thought this was the best part of Haridwar. Watching people bathe, pray, get their heads shaved, sell flowers, chat, sip chai or smoke a joint is just what any god would have ordered to make a perfect day. I sat on the steps, chatting with a flower seller, and by the end of our conversation, we had become excellent chums!

The two of us were dirty pigs. I remember we stayed an additional night in Haridwar, and slept in our dirty pyjamas. But then, as we figured, it was not our bed so who gave a damn?

Final explorations.

During the day, we explored a few temples in the area, wandered around the gullies, drank some lassi, ate a horrible lunch, and took some photos. Some of the old houses, with their old, rotting doors, fascinated me. Old doors, even when rotting, have always fascinated me. I remember meeting a chap at Jama Masjid, Delhi, while photographing his door almost a decade ago. We’ve been friends ever since.

A digression into the philosophy of doors.

Doors are portals to worlds inside and are portals to the world outside. Doors are privy to family histories, with laughter, tears, sadness, and joy. Doors have seen many people come and go, yet they stand firm, serving the family.

Unlike modern doors, which have a bland sameness, old doors have character. The original owners stamped their personality on the doors, and they put considerable thought and emotion into the door’s construction. Doors represent the family and are the first thing a visitor sees when they knock. Doors signal status, artistic intent, religious beliefs, and much more. Consider the contrast with our world, with bland, industrialized doors, especially in condominiums.

The signal is clear: we don’t give a damn about your family. Condominium makers and modern architects want to reduce to the lowest common multiple. Yet, no one likes to be reduced to the lowest common multiple of a herd, so you discover that, even in apartment complexes, the owners will embellish their doors with decorations, nameplates, plants, and other small pieces of decoration.

Tech giants and governments wish to strip us of individuality and seek to convert us to a bland form of Kissam Mixed Fruit Jam, but as long as people resist, humanity will survive.

I am not sure how I allowed myself to be sidetracked! But yes, that was Haridwar.

A final, memorable moment. Peace on earth.

One of my most memorable memories was watching the silhouetted shape of a man praying by the waterside. I am an animist, but I respect those with genuine piety, not those with showy, socialite piety. I sat for a long time, watching the man immersed in his prayers, and mentally I said, ‘Bless you. May you live in peace and happiness always.’

Substack Half Dead: Mea Culpa

Rajiv Chopra — Mon, 23 Mar 2026 12:06:38 GMT

I made this video with my Instax mini Evo Cinema Premium, or something like that. This is my latest toy, and a camera that I really enjoy lugging around. The best part of this camera, is that it has an ‘era dial.’ I think I used the 1980 Era setting for this video. I made this video on a rainy day, looking out of my home office window on the 18th floor of my apartment block. The trees in front of my home have disappeared and replaced by concrete.

The main point is something else, however.

This area was a flourishing forest three decades ago. Now, we have a concrete jungle. I love the environment but when I look out of the window, I must admit that by living in this area, I contribute to the forest’s disappearance.

This is what humans do!!

Read a book called ‘The Burning Earth,’ by Sunil Amarth.

We are all guilty. We are guilty as hell. All we can do, is to minimise the damage we do to the world by living responsibly. And we must oppose war, which creates massive environmental damage.

Mea culpa.

Instax mini Evo Cinema Premium

The Burning Earth

That strange little thing called 'Aura.'

Rajiv Chopra — Sun, 22 Mar 2026 04:26:29 GMT

Sonix, for transcriptions

Backblaze. Data backup

Starting with Haridwar

Rajiv Chopra — Thu, 19 Mar 2026 16:19:05 GMT

Haridwar does not attract me.

I don’t like Haridwar, and many people may wish to troll me for saying this. Not that I dislike the town: it is just that I don’t like it, and the town has nothing in it that attracts me. The ‘I don’t like’ exists somewhere in the gray space between indifference and active dislike.

Maybe I possess the sensibility of a block of lead.

Haridwar is a religious and now an industrial center.

Religious History

Shall we start with its religious role in India? People believe the Ganga starts its journey on the plains at Haridwar. I dispute this belief because, in fact, the Ganga meets the plains at Rishikesh, a few kilometers upstream. The name, ‘Haridwar,’ literally translates as ‘the door to god.’ However, belief is belief, and I do not wish to argue with those who believe that Haridwar is the place where the Ganga begins its journey on the flat plains of India.

The town had several names in the past: Kapila (associated with the sage, Kapila), Mayapuri (after the goddess Maya), and Gangadvara (the gateway of the Ganges).

Haridwar is one of the seven towns where, if you die and are cremated, you gain moksha (liberation).

I have found no evidence that Haridwar was ever militarily significant. Haridwar’s significance lies in its importance as a religious and trade center. Key developments in Haridwar’s history include the construction of ghats, temples, and pilgrimage routes in the Garhwal Himalayas.

The town boasts a few ancient temples: Maya Devi Temple (from the 11th century, dedicated to Shakti worship), Mansa Devi Temple (on Bilwa Parvat), and Chandi Devi Temple (associated with Adi Shankaracharya).

The other significant event in Haridwar is the Kumbh Mela, which takes place every 12 years. The other three towns that host the Kumbh Mela are Allahabad (Prayagraj), Nashik, and Ujjain. I remember being at the Kumbh Mela (or properly, the Ardh Kumbh Mela) in the early 1990s, and it was a dull affair. The main event used to be the daily evening aarti (prayer) at Har Ki Pauri. But over the last decade, religious fervor has gripped India, and these festivals have become crowded. Temple tourism is alive and well. Many of my friends who were quietly religious have now become more fervent, and their prayer meetings have become increasingly elaborate, with people performing dances and recitals, and men and women buying new clothes especially for festival periods. Solemnity and smug piety accompany them everywhere. Bhajan discos are now becoming popular: you are in God’s and the government’s good books if you pray well and flaunt your piety.

Industrial Development

Industrial commerce never runs far behind religious commerce. Industrialists and priests often develop a cozy nexus. Commercial development began during colonial India, when the British built the Upper Ganges Canal, creating one of the world’s largest irrigation systems. Over time, this activity helped develop agriculture and also led to Haridwar’s development as a technical and logistical hub. Subsequently, especially post-Independence, Haridwar’s industrial development continued. The first major public-sector company to set up a plant here was Bharat Heavy Electricals Ltd (BHEL), transforming Haridwar into an industrial and religious centre.

The continued industrial development has helped build peripheral infrastructure and has helped increase the town’s population. I call it peripheral infrastructure because there is little development in the main town, save for expensive hotels.

Yet, pollution always accompanies industrial development. While the waters of the Ganges are relatively pristine in the principal town of Haridwar, industrial effluents have poisoned the water downstream. I don’t know what the future holds.

And now we move on.

I was walking down the hill when I shot those photos using my Nikon D200. I developed them using Adobe Lightroom Cloud.

Substack Half Dead: Somewhere there's a party.

Rajiv Chopra — Mon, 16 Mar 2026 11:19:22 GMT

Normally, I wait until I upload a video to YouTube before posting anything here. But hey, Substack autouploads to YouTube, but not as a Shorts video.

The opening lines of the song, “Pale Blue Eyes” inspired the title of this video, except I changed the ‘Sometimes….” to “somewhere..”

I was walking to a rendezvous with my college batchmates in Gurgaon, where I live, when I conceived of this video.

I was walking in Cyberhub, Gurgaon, and Cyberhub (the party zone) is next to Cybercity (the office zone). Office goers often visit restaurants and pubs in Cyberhub after work, while others visit to shop, eat, drink, and socialize.

I returned home around 1 am that night, slightly sozzled. We discussed the world’s problems without letting the world’s problems touch us.

As I walked to ‘The Drunken Botanist,’ I shot short videos on my Google Pixel 10, capturing people walking aimlessly toward restaurants and bars. All the while, I kept thinking, ‘Shit, hell. Schoolgirls died in Iran. People are dying there, as they are in Sudan, the Congo, Xinjiang, Burma…. And, we are walking along to the party, as though all is well with the world.’

To quote the lead character in the movie, “Three Idiots,” - ‘Alll izzz vell.’ Our government jailed - and recently released - the great man, Sonam Wangchuk, who inspired the movie. Sonam Wangchuk is a great man and one of the world’s great environmentalists, yet when he protested on an issue, the government deemed him a threat to national security.

‘Alll izzzz not vell.’

I don’t have war videos, so I downloaded a few from Envato, and created a few AI videos using Envato. This video, you see, is a ‘mixed media’ video, with music from Epidemic Sound.

Yes, somewhere there’s a party. Somewhere, there’s a war.

Movavi Video Editor 2026

Envato

Google Pixel 10

NightCafe AI Art Creator

Imagine, if you will, a world without images.

Rajiv Chopra — Sun, 15 Mar 2026 05:43:40 GMT

Sonix: Best transcription

On Photography: Truth and Ethics

Rajiv Chopra — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 12:06:47 GMT

The Original Image

I’d like to make a very short post this time, and I will avoid the temptation to launch into a lengthy discussion about machine learning, human laziness, AI, and all that jazz. However, I confess I use tools like Topaz Photo to finish my photographs (for noise reduction and selective sharpening), and these tools rely on machine learning algorithms.

Let’s briefly discuss ethics. While I will not give you answers, I hope to provoke discussion and maybe raise a few questions.

First, look at the image at the top of the page. I made this photograph in the Fatehpuri area of Old Delhi (Shahjahanabad), of a church constructed sometime in the 18^th or 19^th century. The church is beautiful, but the ugly wires crossing its face mar its aesthetic appeal.

Most photographers start editing photographs by removing distractions in the scene. Most often, these are small distractions, but sometimes, they remove people, rocks, and a whole bunch of stuff they don’t like. Some even use the warp tool to change the shape of a mountain because, in the image, the peak looks flatter than they remember it.

Photoshop’s tools have improved over the years, and I am sad that I lost the first edits, so I will content myself with a screengrab from a presentation I gave a year ago.

YouTube Video

No Wires

Examine the second picture now; you will notice that I have removed the wires, but I have lost detail, and the resultant image looks similar to the original. Anyone unfamiliar with the original image may believe that this second image is a true representation of the church. Please note: I also changed the sky.

By golly, there are birds and vultures!

Let’s move to the third image. I started this edit in December 2025 and worked my way through it slowly. In the meantime, Adobe improved its remove tool, making it remarkably easy for me to remove the ugly electrical pole in front of the church. If not for this latest improvement, I would have struggled for a few more hours. Then, I changed the sky, added birds, and also added a vulture. We don’t have vultures in Delhi: we have kites, but the AI prompt kept adding the kites that humans fly, so I changed the prompt to ‘vulture.’

My ethics. Your ethics.

What happens now if I send this image to a travel magazine/agency/website and they present this image to the world as authentic? They will lose their reputation once tourists visit the church and wonder how the church gave birth to electrical wiring.

I can post the image of the church on my website or blog without revealing what I have done, and no one will be any wiser. Will I be following an ethical line of behavior?

Beauty advertising – as an example – exhibits women who appear flawless. They promote the ideal, and only when you meet a model in person do you realize how much work goes into making them look flawless. Advertising pushes us to buy products or experiences because we yearn for the ideal look, home, product, experience, etc. Even when the actual experience falls short of the promise, we rarely confess our disappointment.

Are advertisers ethical? They promote ideals, but do they actually show what someone or a product really looks like?

Where and when does truth start to exist in the grey zone? Black and white rarely exist in the real world.

Do you have an ethical boundary, or an ethical grey zone? If you have an ethical grey zone, how thick is this zone?

Where do I skate?

You may ask what I do? I remove small distractions without worry or care. In general, I do not remove people or make large-scale changes to an image. If I do such things, or change the sky or add birds, then I will present the image as an arty-farty image and add the fine print confession, admitting I have removed wires, changed clouds, etc.

Once you start editing and add gradient maps to an image to color grade the photo, you change the image's look and feel. Almost no one believes that the color represents reality, but they represent your reality.

My question to you: whether it is photography, or writing or any other creative endeavour, where is your ethical boundary, or zone? If you have a zone, how thick is it, and how many shades of grey does it possess?

Join the conversation, bitte! I’d love to read your thoughts!

What does the future hold?

Rajiv Chopra — Thu, 05 Mar 2026 15:25:57 GMT

Sonix AI. For Transcriptions

DXO Film Pack

Danger often lurks beneath a calm surface

Rajiv Chopra — Tue, 03 Mar 2026 10:43:22 GMT

Be aware: A calm surface can hide a ruthless aspect.

Some old stories.

I’d like to share a strange story, and one that ought to remind everyone that you should never judge a person by their mild demeanor. Let’s travel back to Allahabad (now, PrayagRaj) for this story.

The first time I passed through Pratapgarh was when I took a bus to a small town called …

Make me a pro, dear camera!

Rajiv Chopra — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 06:16:42 GMT

Blind Rage in Ayodhya and Poona

Rajiv Chopra — Tue, 24 Feb 2026 12:15:39 GMT

Once, I was religious.

Once upon a time, I was religious. When I returned to India, we lived with my maternal grandparents. I became friends with a lady who lived down the street. We called her Krishna Aunty because she had a huge statue of Lord Krishna in her living room. I’d help her dress the statue every evening.

Then, I went to school in Nainital, a…

Build your muscle memory. Else...

Rajiv Chopra — Sun, 22 Feb 2026 14:09:23 GMT

Sonix

Substack Quarter Dead: Calcutta

Rajiv Chopra — Fri, 20 Feb 2026 15:51:54 GMT

The magnificence of death.

Do you see that magnificent building? That’s where I worked many years back, when I lived in Calcutta (now called Kolkata). It is an old colonial building on Strand Road, next to the Hooghly River, and near Calcutta’s iconic Howrah Bridge.

Colonial buildings dot the city, and many road names still recall the colonial past. After all, Job Charnock is said to have founded the metropolis in the early 18th century.

Yet, many buildings are rotting and, unless preserved and repaired, will collapse. The smell of death emanates from these magnificent old buildings. I detest our colonial past, but the Brits left Calcutta - and other parts of the country - with some magnificent structures.