I was in Benares in February this year. Or was it March? The actual month is unimportant. What is important is that I visited the town after more than a decade. You will find, and can read, my old posts by clicking on the links at the bottom of this page.

I visited Benares in November 2014/15 during the Kartik Purnima festival. That was the first time I noticed the grand aarti, or evening prayer, that happens on the ghats. There must have been between 20,000 and 50,000 people at the Dashashwamedh Ghats that evening, and I felt as though half of India had arrived to watch the ceremony. When I wandered the ghats the next evening, I noticed the aarti happening again, and I guessed that this was now a daily affair.

VIP treatment.

VIPs, politicians, and other people watched the aarti from the comfort of a boat, not deigning to mingle with the hoi polloi.

I walked into the winding lane leading to the Kashi Vishwanath temple one morning and photographed the line of faithful pilgrims waiting for their 10-second darshan with the lingam enshrined in the temple.

Unless you are the Prime Minister, temple authorities always forbid you from photographing idols, claiming we are not allowed to photograph God.

I shall pause my reflections for now and reserve them for the next post.

Narendra Modi became Prime Minister in 2014, and my last visit happened in February 2015. I remember this well because in November 2014, we traveled by train to Benares and got chatting with a few security personnel who were travelling with a firebrand, Uma Bharti, who was then a part of Modi’s government. Modi had launched his ‘Clean Ganga’ project with much fanfare, and she was visiting Benares for that purpose. Like many of his grand schemes, this one also went up in smoke.

When I visited in February 2015, I traveled alone by train. My companions noticed me collecting my garbage in a paper (or plastic) bag and then putting it into the dustbin. They copied my behavior and laughed about politicians who posed for photo-ops to prove to Modi that they had aligned themselves with his “Clean India” mission. Like many of his schemes, this one also went up in smoke, and India has become filthier in the last decade.

I mention Modi because his constituency is Benares, and he claimed the river goddess had called him to the city. Since then, he has focused on a few grand schemes to change the city as per his vision.

Changes at the Kashi Vishwanath Temple.

Let’s first talk about the Kali Vishwanath Temple. He (Modi) created a wide corridor leading to the temple, claiming he was making it easier for Shiva to reach it. I’ve never understood how people swallow such garbage because, if Shiva needs a human to make a path for him, does it mean that the human (a priest or a Prime Minister) has more power than a god? In doing so, he destroyed many old temples that had existed in the gullies for centuries. Some priests claim that Modi has destroyed more temples than Aurangzeb, but I don’t know if these accusations are valid.

A large, ugly concrete structure has been built, and opposite it is a new office belonging to the Kashi Vishwanath Trust. I admit that it has become easier to visit the temple now. Rather than waiting hours in a line, you walk into the office, pay Rs 400/- (about 4 US Dollars), and traipse in and out. The process takes thirty minutes. Also, if you wish to attend a special aarti at an unearthly hour, you can book your slot online. I discovered that you must book your slot two months in advance: my wife tried to book a slot a month before our visit, and they were sold out!

You can argue that religion has been commercialized and commoditized, and you would be correct. On the other hand, our population has been increasing (as per the latest data, our birth rate has fallen below the replacement rate, which is a relief), and we have become more overtly religious. More people make a show of visiting temples than before 2014, so both online and offline bookings are convenient.

My wife and our Singaporean friend went into the temple, while I stood outside. I have visited the temple twice with my boss, when I was a lowly Area Sales Manager: once for the evening aarti in the temple’s inner sanctum, and once for a morning visit.

The Evening Prayer. And now, a morning prayer.

The evening aarti was magnificent and mesmerizing, but a priest broke the spell as soon as it ended by grabbing my collar and demanding money. The next morning, my boss took me back to the temple – my raise depended on my compliance – and insisted I bow to the priest. The priest whacked my back in benediction – I think – and I snapped up, glaring at him. I am proud of my self-control, and I restrained myself from giving him a black eye.

Those two temple visits may have been instrumental in converting me to atheism/animism.

People love selfies.

On this trip in February, I stood outside, watching people enter and exit the temple. Behind me, stores selling temple offerings made good business. Police barriers and barricades have now become a prominent part of the landscape, as have police officers. Many hang around, wondering what to do with their feet.

The wide corridor to the temple and the paved (I assume) pathway to the temple precincts have made it convenient for wheelchair users to visit the temple. A large screen on the ugly concrete structure designed by Modi’s favorite architect shows the priests conducting their prayers, and another shows our Prime Minister. The scenes on the screen loop with different visuals, ensuring viewers don’t get bored.

We live in a selfie universe, and I photographed people taking group pictures and selfies. Everyone wears garlands and religious markings on their foreheads. Most carry a steel plate (a thali) with offerings. The focus is on the photo-op.

At one point, I sidled up to a two-meter-tall constable. Looking up at him, I asked if the new social mores now make selfies and photo-ops mandatory. He looked down at me from his lofty Himalayan heights and laughed.

“I sometimes wonder if people visit to pray, or to take selfies,” he replied, smirking.

There is a change in the air.

Gadolia has changed. Conversations over chai.

Now, let’s move on to Gadolia, the market leading to the main Dashashwamedh Ghat. Please read the following paragraph to understand the mythological significance of this ghat. Once, the road at Gadolia was paved but rough. There was a chai shop in the center that became the meeting point for our small group traveling to Benares. The chai shop has disappeared, swallowed by the rough march of big commerce. Also swallowed are the conversations we’d have with local people over a cup of chai.

Now, there is a properly paved road, encouraging two-wheeler drivers to dash around with gay abandon. The shops now have a standard front-facing design that they copied from Amritsar. The crossing at one end of Gadolia still exists, but the shops at the far end are large, with huge displays showing shopkeepers showcasing saris to Neeta Ambani, the wife of Mukesh Ambani, the Chairperson of Reliance Industries. She now postures as the uncrowned queen of India. A cable car is coming up to transport people from the train station to Gadolia and back.

A badly maintained kiddie play area has come up next to the Dashashwamedh Ghat. The steps to the Varanasi Jantar Mantar still exist, as does the Jantar Mantar, but now you must buy a ticket to enter.
If you are facing the Ganges, the ghats stretch out to the right, ending at Assi Ghat. Now, they have a pre-dawn aarti at the Assi Ghat, and people mentioned that the authorities plan an evening aarti as well.

The Manikarnika Ghat will be remodeled.

Standing at the Dashashwamedh Ghat, walk left. The first ghat you encounter is the Manikarnika Ghat, which is being dismantled. No doubt another ugly structure will come up in the next few months. Continue down the path towards the bridge at the far end, and you will reach the NaMo Ghat, a ghat Narendra Modi named after himself. Since the crowds have increased, this is the one ghat you can drive up to and then take a CNG-powered boat to travel along the river, or to attend the evening aarti without getting into the crowd.

Private Ghats. Disappearing rowboats and vultures.

Modi has built a helipad at the NaMo ghat for his exclusive use: no one else, not even the state’s chief minister, is allowed to use it.

The rowboats have almost all disappeared, a massive tragedy. You cannot compare the experience of sitting in a rowboat and waiting for the sunrise, or watching the ghats light up as the sun rises. Sitting there, listening to the water, feeling the breeze, chatting with the boatman, and watching a dog pick at a skull in the river is an unbeatable experience. The vultures on the far shore have disappeared. Many years ago, they used to perch along the shoreline.

The city away from the ghats has not changed much, but luxury hotels have sprouted up, and rooms there cost between $800 and $1,000 a night. Big business has moved into the town, and you will see billboards announcing the presence of the Adani companies dotting the skyline. Where Modi goes, Adani is sure to follow.

The people are changing.

The people have changed. My wife and her friend wanted to visit the Kashi Vishwanath temple, and the hotel driver promised a quick trip to the hotel, at the princely sum of R.3,000/- (over $300). Luckily, the trip did not materialize, and they discovered they could buy a 400-rupee ticket and enter.

I met a local from Varanasi when I was driving in the Kumaon hills, and he told me that people in the town are not as warm as they used to be. They are out to make a quick buck, and the old practice of a leisurely conversation over paan or chai is disappearing. A decade ago, the hotel driver would not try to cheat us.

Anger lurks under the surface. When I was having chai, I praised the upcoming cable car. A local pounced on me, stating that the cable car would rob rickshaw drivers of their income. I conversed with a boat owner who claimed that most of the new business opportunities are going to Gujaratis, Modi’s home state.

They are deeply upset about the temples that have been broken down, and the ruthless way the Manikarnika Ghat is being bulldozed, but no one wishes to speak up. They fear reprisals, and no one wants the state to put them in prison, take away their business, beat them up, or bulldoze their homes.

Change is in the air.

The boat owner also told me that now, with the corridor to the Kashi Vishwanath Temple open, almost 100,000 people visit the ghats daily. I am tempted to believe him because, while I have always considered the area to be crowded, nothing prepared me for the absolute crush of humanity on the streets or the Dashashwamedh Ghat in the evening. It felt as though people were materializing from the roads, the steps, the walls, and the air.

Change is in the air.

Change is in the air.

The show of religiosity has become commonplace, and now it is risky to tell people you don’t believe in God. The reactions can be almost violent.

Change is in the air.

The city’s warmth and amiability have diminished, and a close friend of mine, one from an old Benares family, wishes to cut his ties with the city.

Change is in the air.

Small businesses are under threat, and big businesses are elbowing their way in.

Change is in the air, and the old ways coexist with the new, for the moment.

But the city has existed for several thousand years and has changed many times. Yet, I believe, the city’s essential character and pluralism have remained intact. The city will be around even after the current PM disappears into history’s dust.

I will not live for the next few thousand years and have no wish to be around for that long. Will Benares change and become a city of ruthless, grubby people, or will they laugh again?

Let’s reconnect a few thousand years from now, and compare notes!

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ashvamedha

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dashashwamedh_Ghat

1. Street photography, where I adopt a humanistic perspective most of the time. However, I also search for street objects for some creative work.

2. Travel and landscape photography.

3. Distorted reality: Instax movies, fisheye work, digital pinhole, and other stuff.

I am also looking to adopt a few other approaches:

1. short-and long-term projects, and I will start creating zines.

2. abstract work and some conceptual work.

Staying within the realms of straight photography is fun, but it can be boring. It is possible that I will present this work only to paying subscribers, but I may make it available to everyone part of the time.

I was returning home after meeting my engineering batchmates and stood on the road, making a few videos with my Instax Mini Evo Cinema Premium, set to the 1930s-era dial at full strength.

I like surreal images and videos, and may make a few more. Creating them constantly can make them seem gimmicky, so I will make them sparingly.

It is good to distort reality, to allow a little bit of insanity into your work, and to experiment.

Background music: Epidemic Sound.

I hope you enjoy this video.

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Epidemic Sound

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Photography and surveillance blog post.

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Sonix: Awesome transcriptions

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was probably amongst the first of India’s new-age godmen to burst on the international scene in the 1960s. Born in 1911 CE as Mahesh Prasad Varma, he studied physics and later rebranded himself as Maharishi and Yogi. He created the practice known as Transcendental Meditation and became famous for his association with the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Donovan, and Woodstock in 1969.

Was he a fraud? I won’t hazard a guess, but many (including him, I suppose) became wealthy as godmen and yogis – Osho Rajneesh, for instance. Rajneesh, or his Ashram, owned almost 100 Rolls-Royce cars by the time he died.

Some of these godmen – Sadhduru, Sri Sri Ravi Shankar – are excellent businessmen. Others, like Ram Rahim and Asaram, are rapists, and others, like Yogi Adityanath, are hate-filled politicians. Then, to round up the categories, you have those who wear saffron robes spouting hatred and who somehow manage to fool many people.

The list above is depressing, and if anyone studies the lives and fortunes of these people, I won’t blame them for believing that the institution of godmen constitutes one of the most sanctimonious groups of neoliberals. Yet, and while I have not met them, many genuine rishis, munis, and yogis live in India. You won’t meet them because they shun publicity. Some may live in the mountains or forests, others not.

I started with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi because of his association with the Beatles and Rishikesh, but, like Bertie Wooster of PG Wodehouse fame, I may have run away with myself and left my minuscule audience gasping for breath, wondering what I am writing about.

Shall we get into the subject? I can only touch on this subject briefly here in this tiny post, but I promise I will dive into it over the course of the year. India is, as Diana Eck wrote, a ‘sacred geography.’

Who were rishis?

Shall we start by asking the question: who or what were rishis? A rishi, or rsi (sorry, I don’t seem to be able to insert diacritic marks). In the earliest Vedic concept, a rishi was someone who perceived the sacred truth, the cosmic order, and who could express that truth in a mantra or poetry.

Technically, a rishi was not just your run-of-the-mill holy person. In the early traditions, the rishis did not write down their ‘truths.’ They passed it on by word-of-mouth. Oral methods of transmission were widespread in many cultures worldwide, and in the early days, the rishis did not pass on the knowledge of the Vedas in writing. The earliest transmissions were oral, with great emphasis placed on proper memorization of the verses and correct pronunciation. The Vedas were the revealed sound, as perceived by the Rishis, and the succeeding generations of Rishis guarded this knowledge closely, for fear that ‘democratization’ of this knowledge would somehow dilute the knowledge.

My theory: while the original intention may have been pure, the practice of hoarding knowledge became a source of power, especially when the caste system started to ossify.

Were all the rishis really detached? I wonder. There are many versions of the Jaya-Vijaya myths, but I will give you a condensed account of one.

In another version of the myth, seven rishis went to visit Vishnu, and the rebuff infuriated them. In the version I related above, the Kumaras believed that the pair did not recognize who they were and deemed them imperfect. Yet, if we flip the coin, we may realize that, maybe, the Kumaras did not understand Jaya and Vijaya’s true nature, and so were imperfect themselves.

Who were the munis?

Now, let us turn to the munis. A muni was not the same as a rishi. A rishi perceived the sacred truth and the cosmic order. In contrast, a muni was an ascetic who focused on silent meditation, contemplation, reflection, and – possibly – withdrawal from the world.

A rishi also meditated and gained insight from ‘tapas,’ or ‘inner heat,’ a concept almost impossible to understand and explain. I have not experienced tapas so, I guess you must experience it to know it.

As the years and centuries progressed, the rishis – unlike a muni – became associated with yoga, ayurveda, philosophy, ethics, and statecraft. The last is critical: while some became associated with statecraft, they did not allow statecraft to corrupt or tempt them. That is the theory, anyway: no one knows which way an individual Rishi danced.

However, in the original concept of the word, ‘rishi,’ the rishis did not seek wealth or power, quite unlike the modern rishis like Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and his successors.

Remember: this post is just a short introduction, and I will research this topic deeply in the next few months.

Now, we can talk about the yogis.

Now, let’s discuss the word ‘yogi,’ and you will understand that Yogi Adityanath does not possess any of the qualities of a yogi. Wearing an orange bathrobe does not make you a yogi.

The word, ‘yogi,’ is a practitioner of ‘yoga,’ and the word, ‘yoga’ comes from the toot, ‘yuj,’ which means ‘to yoke’ the body and mind together. A yogi, therefore, was a person who practiced yoga as a path of transformation.

Raja Yoga, unlike the more popular forms practiced today (hatha yoga and ashtanga yoga) is closest to the original purpose of yoga, as a means of disciplined consciousness, mental training, meditative absorption, and spiritual transformation. An Indian-origin yoga teacher in Singapore told me that one way of looking at the physical aspect of yoga, is to prepare the body so that it can sit quietly and comfortably in meditation.

Everyone loves the calisthenic aspect of yoga, so the poor man did not last long in the yoga studio. We now have lots of people across the world dancing with yoga mats, and saying, ‘namaste’! ‘Namaste is not a universal Indian greeting!

A yogi, therefore, was a person who attempted radical mastery over mind and self. In the old days, yogis stood outside the pale of society. I don’t know if they developed twists and turns in their spare time but, since mobile phones were not around to distract these old practitioners, my theory may be tenable.

The degradation.

There is a sect of yogis called ‘Nath’ yogis and Adityanath (or, Ajay Bisht) claims to be a Nath yogi. These people were religious ascetics, politically active, and upheld military traditions, especially when high on psychedelic stuff!

Yogi Adityanath has a warped sense of religion, is politically active, and violent. In my assessment, he has debased the Nath tradition, but that is for me to state, and others to dispute.

Have the words, ‘rishi,’ ‘muni,’ and ‘yogi,’ been debased? Yes. I don’t hear many people using the word, ‘muni’ anymore but, ‘rishi,’ ‘maharishi,’ ‘yogi,’ and ‘guru,’ yes.

I will return to this topic later.

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A few links

Jaya Vijaya

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi

Transcendental Meditation

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Sonix

When I make that video, I will also give a longer explanation of the tradition.

You walk. Goats rub themselves against you. Human-animal and goat-animal live alongside each other for ten days.

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Men come to sell goats. Men -and sometimes women - come to buy goats. The most expensive goat I saw being sold cost over 1,200 US Dollars. The most expensive I was told about cost over 2,500 US Dollars.

Then, there is Eid. After the prayers are done, families sacrifice the goats and share the meat in a communal meal. Note: they sacrifice the goats and do not merely kill them.

The celebrations will end next year.

For the finicky Hindus amongst us, goat sacrifice does take place at the Kamakhya Temple in Guwahati, and at the Kali Temple in Calcutta.

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What can we learn from lizards?

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I was with a bunch of students in Ballimaran, Delhi, for a photowalk. We started at the haveli of Mirza Ghalib and ended at Lal Kuan, which houses the haveli of Begum Zenat Mahal, the favorite wife of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal Emperor.

Bahadur Shah’s trial after the Great Uprising of 1857-58 CE and his transportation to Rangoon, where he died, marked the end of the Mughal Empire, which Babur founded in 1526 CE.

Bahadur Shah Zafar’s writ did not extend even to the boundary walls of the Red Fort, yet he presided over the last burst of extraordinary culture and poetry, the likes of which have not been seen in Delhi since those days.

The British Crown wound up the English East India Company soon after the uprising, and India became a British colony.

They also banned Muslims from entering Shahjahanabad for three years after the Uprising.

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Mirza Ghalib was the last poet of that generation, and the only one who lived beyond the Uprising. Bahadur Shah Zafar was an excellent poet himself, and Ghalib lived and composed poetry alongside poets such as Dard, Mir Taqi Mir, Zauq, etc.

Only Ghalib’s haveli survives in the lanes of Ballimaran. We met an extraordinary guard at the haveli, one who could recite Ghalib’s poetry with a rare finesse. Listening to that humble guard bring a spot of magic to Ghalib’s beautiful poetry left us mesmerized. A sign outside Ghalib’s haveli always angers me. The sign states that if Ghalib had written in English, people would have considered him the world’s greatest poet.

Balderdash!! That is snobbery!!

Westerners and Hindus like to believe that Muslim women are uneducated. Yet, throughout the walk, I spotted four girls’ schools!

We ended the walk at Lal Kuan, where you will find the dilapidated ruins of Begun Zenat Mahal’s haveli, now a girls’ school.

I used my Instax Mini Evo Cinema Premium and set it to the 1930 Era dial setting. Music from Epidemic Sound.

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It is always tempting to look back in the mirror and sigh about the good old days, no matter if they were good or terrible. I always enjoyed my time in Rishikesh, but I will avoid the town during the monsoons.

In my last post, I may have spoken about how the rain could transform the road into a raging river but, I did not speak of the terrible humidity in August. The Southwest monsoon winds pass through India between June and September, and it is incredible how dependent we are on the monsoons for our water and food security. Any alien spying on our planet from afar would be constantly amazed at how, despite the advances in artificial intelligence, we behave stupidly. India has not made sufficient strides towards achieving water security. We don’t have enough water, and what we have is polluted. No wonder India may be the world’s cancer capital.

Rishikesh during the monsoons.

The humid weather during the rainy season is awful. I have almost zero tolerance for humid heat, and any alien spying on me will shake its head and declare me insane.

The rain washes the air, making the sun’s rays harsh. Steam seems to rise from the ground, and the river adds to the humid heat of Rishikesh in August. I opted to stay in the cool confines of our cheap hotel and thanked anyone who was to be thanked for the working air-conditioner. I am spoiled.

Near the Beatle’s Ashram

One morning, we walked along a beautiful, shaded path to the Beatles’ Ashram. And, when I speak of the shade, I refer to the tall trees on either side of the path. It is possible that the authorities have applied tar to the path in the intervening years, and if so, it will be a pity, as marauding cars will then tear along it. That day, however, we walked. A few cars – jeeps – passed by at breakneck speed, but there weren’t many. “Development” does not always bring pure joy to the world. When I was growing up in Nainital, we hardly saw any cars in the town. Everyone walked. Now, you have to keep hopping out of the way of crazy drivers, and few people walk unless they are on the upper roads.

We saw the Ashram from the outside – I had no intention of paying to enter. From what I could make out, there were a few abandoned buildings and ‘pods’ inside the premises. People told me that Donovan and the Beatles would sit in the pods and meditate. Maybe they got stoned before their meditation sessions, or maybe they meditated sober a few times, and meditated while stoned on other occasions, and gathered at night to discuss the two experiences. I believe that Donovan wrote ‘The Hurdy Gurdy Man’ when he was stoned.

We had to turn right from the main pathway to reach the Ashram, and I darted into the woods, overcome by curiosity. Or maybe the sight of a few bones and skulls pulled me towards them. Life and death coexist in the woods. Humans run from death, even though we must all die one day. I’ve never understood the motive of scientists who wish to explore the possibility of eternal life. Why? When we live in a world where people cannot coexist and keep bombing each other, who wants to live forever?

Instead of going into the Ashram, we turned into a small field or park. A sadhu sat alone with his chillum, his glassy eyes fixed on eternity. A wandering Bengali minstrel sat under a tree strumming a guitar, playing his music, and singing. After snapping a few photos in a desultory fashion, we sat under the tree and listened to him sing. I wondered if it was polite to pay him, but he was playing for himself and didn’t mind the company.

The sadhu was too stoned to talk, so we lay down on the grassy patch of land, listening to a duet between the Bengali chap and the river’s music.

After a while, my friend’s belly began to gurgle, and he insisted we walk back because he wanted to eat at a famous restaurant – ‘Chotiwallah.’ I won’t explain what a ‘choti’ is; please read the article in the link.

I think the proprietor of Chotiwallah restaurant devoted all his energy to promoting his establishment, leaving none for making good food. The result was a hugely unsatisfying meal, one that I had a hard time digesting. I remember stopping for a chai en route to our hotel. Even though it was hot and I didn’t really want to drink the chai, I felt it might have helped to digest some of the garbage I had consumed.

Sunset creates magic in Rishikesh

Sunset creates magic in Rishikesh, whether you are on the side where the ashrams line the river, or on the other side where commercial establishments line the riverbank. I took my camera and tripod to both sides. When you are on the ashram side of the river, you will see the sun going down and, as the sun goes down, the sky’s color changes, as does that of the river. There is a different visual symphony daily, and it does not pay to be cynical.

This last paragraph reminds me of the conversation I eavesdropped on in Simla many years ago. As the young bride gushed about the sunset, her pot-bellied, cynical Sikh husband cast a weary, cynical eye at the setting sun and replied thus: “So what? We get the same sunset in Ludhiana daily.”

Do not copy the Sikh gentleman’s behavior!

I photographed the rock in the river from the ‘commercial side’ of the river. You may now understand why, in my last post, I mentioned that if you decide to swim in the center of the river’s flow, nothing much will be left of your remains.

I must return to the humid weather. It was so humid in August that year that I could not bear to wear the T-shirts I had brought, so I bought a few cheap kurtas emblazoned with dramatic celestial designs. They cost me a dollar each, but the quality was awful, and the red dye they used to color the kurta transferred to my chest and stomach. After a few days, shades of red, green, and blue fought for primacy on my torso, and I managed to get it off only a few days after I returned home.

On our last evening, we stopped to eat dinner at a restaurant. I was thirsty, and the humidity had squeezed every drop of moisture out of my body, so I ordered five bottles of water and drank them down in ten minutes. We were in an air-conditioned restaurant, so I spent the rest of the evening running to the toilet.

Water in, pee out.

Parmarth Ashram

I will conclude with a brief discussion of the Parmarth Ashram. The Ashram is also big on yoga, and they run an international yoga festival annually, in March. I attended the evening prayers once, and it is fancy without being over-the-top, unlike the prayer ceremonies in Benares. People – white and brown – sat on the steps while the priest conducted the prayers. The evening breeze was cool, and I sat on the steps after the prayer, enjoying the sunset. I had immersed my father’s ashes at the Parmarth Ashram’s ghat. After the immersion ceremony, I had lunch at the ashram, a simple vegetarian fare. The menu was simple, and we sat on the ground and ate. On a subsequent visit, I may stay at the Ashram for a few days. I expect simple living. The simplicity should not fool you: while the ashram’s spirit and simplicity are impeccable, the ashram authorities know they attract well-off people, so they ensure the premises and their ceremonies are impeccable. The rich don’t stay in the Ashram. Most of them cannot squat, so they arrive in droves from the Ananda Spa and return to their luxurious retreat, cleansed of guilt and free to sin again.

Someone may ask me a pertinent question: what are the tourist sights in Rishikesh? There are none. Or, there were none. What do you do in Rishikesh? Unless the authorities have made a mess, you enjoy the town’s and the river’s spirit.

We are unused to walking, enjoying the breeze, the shady paths bordered by tall trees. Modernity demands that frenetic activity must be integral to our existence.

In the 1960s, Donovan sang a song, ‘Slow Down World,’ and he enjoined us to chill out a bit, to breathe, and to enjoy the simple pleasures the world offers us.

Rishikesh reminds you that life can be slow, easy, and enjoyable. Rishikesh reminds you to chill out a bit, to breathe, and to participate in life’s slow rhythms.

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Sonix. For audio transcription

The Nik Collection

I will restrict my nostalgia to two posts.

I won’t spend weeks and weeks gassing about my various trips to Rishikesh, so I will combine my impressions into two blog posts and then move on to another place until I “return” to the town. This statement reminds me to write a few blog posts about my recent trip to Benares, which I will do soon.

I can’t say I remember exactly whether my first trips after my corporate career ended were to Benares or Rishikesh, but I remember that these were the first towns I visited. My corporate career went up in a corporate political mushroom cloud, and I remember the anger boiling inside me when I visited Haridwar and Rishikesh. Anger can be corrosive, and my fury set me back by two years. I kept bouncing between consulting and photography until one day I dropped all pretenses of becoming a grand consultant and focused on photography (now also video), writing, and teaching.

The short-lived life of “My Camera & My Chai.”

It was perhaps on the second afternoon that my friend and I walked along one of the shaded paths as the river flowed beside us. We stood probably about fifty or sixty meters (200 feet) above the riverbed, and we stopped for chai at a little chai stall. The two of us sat in the shade of the trees; the river water babbled as it flowed towards Haridwar; the breeze was cool, even in April. Then I placed my camera on the table next to my glass of chai, took a photograph, and chatted with my buddy while eavesdropping on the other people having chai.

Life can be good.

I remember starting a blog called “My Camera & My Chai,” which I intended to be a humorous, sarcastic view on life, and for now, it exists in the deep recesses of my mind. Maybe I will change one section on “Tramping” to “My Camera & My Chai.” We shall see.

Lakshman and Ram Jhula

(The Lakshman Jhula, above).

There are three ways to cross the river. If you start at the end closest to the mountains, you can cross via the motorable bridge. Then, coming into the town, you have a suspension bridge called “Lakshman Jhula,” constructed in 1918 CE or thereabouts. The word ‘jhula’ means ‘swing,’ and as you walk along the narrow bridge, you must pick your way through the crowds. People walking, taking selfies, shooting photos, people squatting, people on two-wheelers, and cows all jostle for space. The bridge sways as you walk across it.

I love walking along the bridge when the sun is going down, and looking ‘down,’ away from the mountains towards Haridwar. The sun lights up the sky and casts mesmerizing reflections on the water, as boats become silhouettes. Trust me, I am not being romantic! Photography is difficult on the bridge. While photography is not overly difficult, it is challenging in the fading light, especially as the bridge keeps swaying and people keep bumping you around.

I was using my Nikon D200 those days, a fantastic day camera, but cameras weren't very good in low light back then. Still, I think I got some decent photos, which I was happy with.

Rishikesh is a vegetarian town, and the foreigners who flood the streets don’t make a song and dance about missing their beef steak! Our hotel, which the first time was just beyond the municipal limit, so the restaurant served us eggs in the morning, which was great. On another trip, we smuggled eggs into the hotel–an absolutely cheap hotel–and bribed one of the young workers to boil eggs for our breakfast. On that occasion, it was a real challenge to dispose of the eggshells. Since my friend had bought and cared for the eggs on the journey to Rishikesh, it became my duty to walk through the pouring monsoon rain to the town’s border to dispose of the shells.

I doubt I would have the courage to smuggle in the eggs in today’s charged right-wing culture. A bunch of right-wing hooligans would probably accost me, accuse me of insulting Indian gods, and of being anti-national. These people are jobless, insecure, full of misdirected anger, and violent. Sometimes you need to follow the practice of the angels who refuse to follow in the path of fools.

As you approach the Haridwar end of Rishikesh, you encounter the second suspension bridge–the Ram Jhula. I prefer the Lakshman Jhula, and I have no logical reason for it. I just do.

Shops, little hotels, and hostels dot the streets on the left side of the river, if you are facing the mountains. Temples and ashrams dot the right side, and you will find the Beatles Ashram on the right.

I don’t know about the current situation, but the town had absolutely no decent restaurants, and on our first visit, the only decent place to eat was the hotel we stayed in. One guest was a gorgeous Frenchwoman, so the two of us were happy! Our second hotel was awful, and we had no choice but to stay there. My buddy had booked an Airbnb, but our hostess had disappeared from town without warning. The rain was so heavy that I could hardly see where I was driving, and we finally got a room in a tiny hotel. The hotel was so cheap that our expenses for the entire trip were only 100 US dollars per person, which included fuel, accommodation, and food!

The hotel was on a sloping road, and the water streaming down the road seemed to be an angry river. I parked, unloaded my companion and our luggage, parked my car in the public parking, rolled my jeans up, and walked barefoot to the hotel. How else would I remember that hotel?

It’s a simple life.

Most people congregate by the riverside in the evening. Some bathe in the water; others meditate. Some chant; others sit and contemplate the sun as it goes down, lighting the sky and the water. One person, as you see, stood on the riverside one evening, swinging a rope around his head, chanting something. Everyone, brown and white, blends into the town’s landscape, creating a new composite culture.

I only have a problem with the few ‘German Bakeries,’ where Westerners congregate. The Westerners don’t mess around–they are not those obnoxious Israelis–but the restaurant staff always seemed to resent serving anyone with brown skin. I cannot count the number of times I have quelled the desire to catch them by the scruff of their necks and dump them in the river. Of course, it would have been an impossible task, but the desire was always strong, and I always enjoyed the visuals my brain conjured.

Despite the irritating and subservient behavior of my fellow citizens, I’ve always preferred Rishikesh to Haridwar. But hey, when I reflect on their behavior, I understand why it was so easy to colonize us!

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I will make this a short essay. Before I continue, I’d like to stress – again – that I am an atheist and that I remain an atheist even after the brief encounter I will now share with you. My aunt thinks I am spiritual but not religious. Am I spiritual? I don’t know. Aspects of old Shaivism attract me, as do the basic tenets of Sikhism, as does the foundation – and music – of Sufism.

A few weeks back, I rented a car and drove up to a town called Munsyari. Munsyari is in the northern reaches of the hill state called Uttarakhand, and if you cross the peaks that dominate the town’s landscape, you may find yourself in China.

We spent a few days in Munsyari, then drove to another town called Dunagiri. I had just half a day to explore the hills because it rained all the time. My friend stayed back at the hotel – his heel spur was bothering him – and climbed up the hill, where I met a sadhu, the priest of a tiny temple at the top.

We had a brief but fascinating conversation. Watch the video, listen to the VO! No spoilers from me!

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I remember my first visits to Rishikesh during my time in consumer sales. Rishikesh was like a lonely, forgotten backwater town, lost in Haridwar’s ephemeral glitter. We’d book our hotel stays in Haridwar’s tiny hotels, travel to Rishikesh for a day trip before concluding our business, and return to Haridwar for the night. Rishikesh had no worthwhile hotels or hostels in those days, and if you spent the night in the town, there was always the possibility that your money would disappear into the night.

Then, Rishikesh became an international yoga center.

When I returned to North India a little over a decade ago, Rishikesh had transformed itself into an international yoga center, and solemn, earnest, serious, pale-faced Westerners could be seen doing yoga all over the place or having intense discussions about Jiddu Krishnamurthy’s philosophy. They congregate in their pale enclaves, and whenever they meet you, they fold their hands comically and say ‘namaste,’ assuming that every Indian always says ‘namaste.’

Unlike Haridwar, which has kept its pious Hindu culture while acquiring a vast industrial backyard, Rishikesh has changed. Indian corporations and schools have also discovered Rishikesh, and you will find campsites upstream, populated by young corporates on a team-building exercise or schoolkids out on a trip.

Sitting by the banks of the river, you will observe young professionals whooping and wearing safety gear as they sail along the river in rubber boats.

Rishikesh represents a threshold.

The Ganges meets the plains a few kilometers upstream from Rishikesh, and the water is clean and rapid. The river basin is rocky and will break your bones if you are foolhardy enough to venture to the middle of the rapid stream. If you are foolhardy, your friends and family may have to search for your bones in Haridwar, as the river will carry you away.

Rishikesh is also the place from where pilgrims begin their ascent into the mountains en route to the holy shrines in the hills.

I always assumed the name “Rishikesh” translates into “The hair of the Rishis,” but, of course, I am wrong. The original name was probably “Hrishikesh,” meaning “Lord of the Senses,” a name for Vishnu. Rishikesh, therefore, clearly has Vaishnavite origins.

If you wish to take a more philosophical view of Rishikesh, you can compare the town to a threshold. A pilgrim will travel from Haridwar to Rishikesh (the threshold) to the final spiritual destinations in the hills (Kedarnath and Badrinath). With the growing rigidity of temple rules and focus on exterior signs of piety, I wonder how long Badrinath and Kedarnath will keep their original spirituality.

Rishikesh is also a physical threshold in two ways. One, it is from here that pilgrims begin their ascent into the mountains. Two, it is here that the Ganges crosses the threshold from the hills to the plains. Most people do not realize a simple fact: although the river remains the same, it takes on different names as it journeys to the plains. The river starts at the Bhagirathi, meets at the Alaknanda, and finally becomes the Ganga.

The location of Rishikesh at the twin gateways of a pilgrim’s journey to the holy sites in the hills, and the transition of the Ganga’s journey from the hills to the plains, is significant from both a geographical and a religious-mythical perspective. Rishikesh has always been a center of meditation. I don’t know how many people have visited Rishikesh, but it’s a town with the river flowing between forested hills on either side. The hills and the pure water define Rishikesh.

The town retains its ‘cool’ vibe, even now.

Despite its deep association with meditation, the town has not (at least not until my last visit) acquired overly religious terms. I’ve written many times that narrow religiosity is overtaking India, but Rishikesh has so far escaped that fate.

Rishikesh’s transformation began in the late 19th and early 20th centuries when ashrams, such as those associated with Swami Sivananda, sprang up, transforming Rishikesh into a site of organized spiritual pedagogy. These institutions systematized the teachings of yoga, Vedanta, and meditation, making them accessible not only to Indian seekers but increasingly to an international audience.

I am convinced that the next push happened when the Beatles and Donovan visited Rishikesh in the 1960s, catapulting it into international fame. Yet, I do not remember seeing Westerners thronging the yoga centers of Rishikesh during my earliest visits. The Westerners were probably there, but maybe there weren’t many, which is why I did not notice them. I also admit that I focused on getting into the town, conducting my business, and leaving.

My tunnel vision would have made me oblivious to everything happening around me, and it was only when I visited the town again as a photographer that I noticed the pale faces flooding the town. These people have not come to proselytize. These foreigners are not big spenders. They come to Rishikesh, stay in reasonably priced accommodation for months, and focus on yoga and Jiddu Krishnamurthy. Some want to understand India’s caste system, and in attempting to do so, tie themselves into knots.

The wellness revolution in Rishikesh also received a boost when the Parmarth Ashram started becoming popular. The wellness revolution also received a boost when expensive resorts like Ananda Spa opened. I met a few of the rich women who stayed at the Ananda Spa and visited the Parmarth Ashram to attend the evening aarti. She sat a few rows behind the main ‘Swami’ who, after the aarti concluded, looked straight at her, telling her he sensed the power of her spiritual energy. I remember suppressing a smirk as I listened to her breathless retelling, congratulating myself on my self-control.

“He must have sensed the sparkle of your diamonds,” I remember thinking.

Running an ashram is exactly the same as running a corporation; the scale differs. An ashram’s business has a halo because it is supposed to be spiritual, whereas a corporation tries to gain a halo by pretending to engage in sustainable practices.

My cousin used to volunteer at a neighborhood temple but stopped when he realized that the other volunteers–especially the well-known and well-off people–only viewed the temple as a stepping stone to a political career. When you blend religion with politics and the business of the state, you get a mixture that has an awful texture and stinks.

Should I return one day?

Rishikesh, luckily, still possesses a peaceful atmosphere. The combination of the river, the bridges, the wooded hills, and the unpretentious yoga gives the town an enduring charm. Nothing is in your face. Nothing is bombastic.

Unlike the river’s rapid flow, life’s flow here is calm, unhurried, gentle, and peaceful. It is time I revisited Rishikesh.

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I edited the image using Lightroom Desktop, not Lightroom Classic. This is a brilliant, simple tool to edit your photos. I am not an affiliate so, if you wish to explore the Photographer plan, do so!

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I was in the market in Janpath, New Delhi, where I reflected on photography, waiting, and ‘the decisive moment.’ Capturing the decisive moment requires patience, active watching, and anticipation.

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Sonix: Audio transcribing

Fujifilm X 100 VI

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I’d like to visit Rishikesh again, climb up to Kunjapuri one more time, and do it before the government installs a cable car that goes almost to the top. Maybe you’d like to accuse me of being old school, or maybe you will say that I have allowed Michael Easter’s book, “The Comfort Crisis,” to captivate me, but I believe that if you make things too easy, they lose their value.

Kunjapuri is a shaktipeeth, one of the 51(or 52). People believe this is the place where the chest of the goddess Sati fell to earth.

We climbed up, and I thought my friend would collapse.

I was in Kunjapuri many years back. My friend and I left our hotel at about 3:30 in the morning and drove for almost an hour to reach the base of the hill. Then, we climbed. Kunjapuri is about 1,676 meters (5,498 ft) above sea level. I don’t remember how many steps I climbed- it seemed like 500, but Google Aunty informs me that, from the base of the hill, you climb 312 steps. Once the cable car is installed, you will be able to fly halfway to the top, but you will still need to climb 80 steps. Most people will balk at the prospect of climbing 80 steps, and the rich and lazy will lobby for a helipad to be constructed at the temple on the hill. In fact, they will even importune Surya (the Vedic sun god) to delay sunrise for their manicured and pedicured benefit.

We climbed. I am much fitter than I was a decade ago, but I would still consider the climb challenging. My friend was corpulent and wheezed his way up the steps. His wheezing was so loud that I worried he was about to get a myocardial infarction. We stopped halfway up the hill to get some chai. We stopped at the chaiwallah’s stall on the way down, also, to get chai and Maggi noodles. I don’t know why, but Nestle’s Maggi brand of instant noodles is popular in the hills, and it is almost a rite of passage for anyone traveling to the hills to have Maggi noodles at a chaiwallah at least once. They add onions, tomatoes, and chilies (if you wish for the spicy version), and it is imperative that you wash it down with chai. If you avoid the chai, the spice of the chilies may make you hop from foot to foot.

Greeting the blue dawn.

We reached the temple on the hill before the sun was up. I noticed a sliver of orange light in the blue sky of the civil dawn and made a mental note to reach Kunjapuri half an hour earlier on my next trip.

But damn: glory be! When you get up there, the view is magnificent. You get a panoramic view of the Garhwali range. The cool breeze blew, even in April, and all seemed well with the world.

We were lucky to reach the last moments of civil dawn, when the sun was still a few degrees below the horizon. As the sun reached the horizon, shades of red and orange mingled with the blue, and then blue gave way to orange and yellow; and then orange gave way to yellow until finally, the blue sky of the morning light asserted its presence once again.

Westerners populate Rishikesh these days

Westerners, with their pale white faces and sincere expressions, populate Rishikesh. They come to Rishikesh to learn yoga and often stay for months. They are all sincere and walk around with books by Jiddu Krishnamurthy, a deceased New Age Indian philosopher. You will encounter these people practicing yoga and discussing Indian philosophy with solemn expressions on their faces. To their credit, they do some good work and try to keep the town clean. Most of them do not make a ruckus, and thankfully, the genocidal Israelis have not yet discovered Rishikesh.

A few Westerners arrived that morning, sat on the ledges, and turned their faces to the sun in silent meditation. They were deeper into their meditation than some of my fellow countrymen who wandered along the temple’s platform.

Photography at the temple

My friend kept sticking his bum between my camera and the landscape in front of me. The sun washed over the white temple walls, and the red temple flags lining the platform fluttered in the cool mountain breeze.

When you are photographing the scenery at dawn or dusk, don’t just look into the sun. While that is one way to do it, look away from the sun. Observe how the sun lights up foliage, buildings, people’s faces, or anything the light falls on.

The sun lit the faces of the Western women sitting and enjoying the sun. Years ago, when I edited their faces, I increased the saturation, making them almost yellow. This time, I reduced the saturated colors created by the morning sun to give their skin tone a more natural hue.

Peace reigned supreme

It was too early for pilgrims, and the place was peaceful. I count myself as half a ‘Pahari,’ a person of the hills, and I love the solitude of the mountains. During the peak tourist season in some parts of the hills, people from the plains drive up, honking, playing loud music, making a nuisance of themselves, and sometimes getting drunk on the streets. I wonder how many pilgrims will visit Kunjapuri in the years to come. I was in Benares in February, and the crowds stunned me. Ever since Modi widened the corridor to the Kashi Vishwanath temple (also creating a helipad for his exclusive use), the crowds have swelled, and it is almost impossible to walk in the Gadolia area near the ghats.

Will this be the fate of Kunjapuri, I wonder?

We walked down after a few hours, did homage at the chaiwallah’s stall by consuming Maggi noodles and chai, and reached the bottom of the hill. I noticed someone had stuck a thick incense stick (dhoop) at the base of an electrical pole. Maybe they wished to bless those who supply us with electricity. I don’t know.

Kunjapuri is beautiful, peaceful, and I hope it stays that way. Whether it is the prospect of cacophonous tourists or throngs of pilgrims seeking divine blessings, the future cable car will change the place and may rob it of some of its peace and magic. Maybe I was lucky to be there at the right time.

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After we stuffed our stomachs with pakora and chai at Neelkanth Temple, the two of us returned to Rishikesh. It was approaching lunchtime, but the warm glow of the pakoras was happy in our stomachs, and neither of us was in the mood for lunch. Except for the German bakeries, there were almost no decent places to eat in Rishikesh. On our first trip, the best place was our hotel’s restaurant, but it was popular, so we did not get a room there on our subsequent trips.

The Ganges is clean uptil this point.

It is my firm conviction that the water of the Ganges remains clean only up to Rishikesh. Small camping companies specializing in corporate and school camping trips have been setting up shop in this part of the Ganges, just before the water enters the municipal area of Rishikesh, so in the subsequent years, if you want to experience the last stages of the (relatively) clean river water, you will have to journey up to the point where the water’s path meets the plains after completing its journey through the mountains.

Climbing down at the chai stall.

I remembered passing a chai stall just as we crossed the bridge over the Ganges. One road turned left towards Neelkanth, and the other went right, past Rishikesh, to the Beatles Ashram and beyond. The last time I was in Rishikesh, I did not explore the Beatles Ashram because I did not wish to pay the 100/- entry ticket, but I will do so the next time. If my memory serves me well, it is at the Ashram that George Harrison added a verse to Donovan’s classic, “The Hurdy Gurdy Man.” As per the story, they were sitting under the starry skies, in a psychedelic mood, and that is when George penned those words. I’ve listened to the version that included George Harrison’s verse, and it is fabulous. You can watch Donovan sing George Harrison’s verse here or here. It appears that Donovan started writing the song in Rishikesh. Listen on.

On the way back, I overrode my friend’s objections, stopped at the chai restaurant, ordered some chai, and asked the owner the way down to the riverside. That chaiwallah – not our Prime Minister (!) - must be making a decent sum of money because of his restaurant’s location. Location is critical!

My good man, or his wife, pointed me down a narrow, broken path to the river. The “proper” path stopped after about 3 meters, and then the broken path plunged steeply towards the river. I walked over the stones and boulders you often find next to rivers in the hills, crossed to a sandy path, and reached a sandy embankment by the river.

Photography while angled downwards.

There was nothing interesting to photograph from the safe havens of the sandy embankment, so I climbed over to the boulders by the river, lay flat on one boulder, hooked my Timberland shoes into the cracks, and lay down. When I say I lay flat, I mean I was lying flat on the boulder, but my body was angled downwards, at a thirty-degree angle to the rapid waters. If my shoes had lost their grip, I would have slipped headfirst into the water, ruining my camera and cracking my head in the process. Still, it was fun, and sometimes – to misquote Cyndi Lauper – guys just gotta have fun.

I walked down to the riverfront alone, discouraging my travel companion from following my path. While I do not claim to have the nimbleness of a mountain goat, I am nimble enough, and I refused to take responsibility for my friend in case he tumbled, like Humpy Dumpty.

My Timberland shoes had stayed with me for over a decade, and I loved them, discarding them only when the soles separated from the upper. Nowadays, I wear Ecco or Timberland shoes, and own shoes from both brands. I invest in my shoes, and this is one article of clothing I refuse to skimp on. When I am out photographing, I am on my feet for three to six hours, sometimes more. There is little point in being miserly with your shoes, and then hobbling in pain.

However, I must comment on the people who live in the hills. I once met – a few times – a pretty young girl walking up and down the hilly paths near Bhimtal. She carried two boxes of tomatoes on her head, each weighing ten kilograms (twenty-two pounds. The young girl always marched up and down the steep slopes, smiling gently, wearing only a pair of rubber slippers. Whenever I met her, we’d chat for a minute or two and then go our separate ways. I always looked ruefully down at my Timberland shoes, wondering why I could never emulate her near-barefoot walking.

I had bought a pair of ‘barefoot walking’ shoes, but never quite took to them. There is much to be said for walking barefoot because your feet make contact (or near-contact) with the ground, allowing you to get a firm grip on the soil. My brief experience with barefoot walking had one side benefit: I stopped landing on my heels when I walk, and now tend to land on the balls of my feet.

I used my Nikon D200 on this trip, and it was a wonderful camera in its time. Now I mainly use it for digital pinhole photography. We had arrived at the chai stall at about noon, not the best time for photography. Yet, the water and air were so pure that it did not seem to matter. When I repeat this shoot, I will go to the same place early in the morning to capture the golden hour. The sun would be behind me, and in the shadows in the evening, so the morning will be my pick for the next shoot.

Ah, but hey, nature is beautiful. Always.

Till next time!!

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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 …

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