Rishikesh

I'm really feeling quite comfortable in this little lovable town. Picture Palace; Char Dukan (the Four Stores); drowsy, dreamy clouds that breeze past one's face both aggressively and gently at the same time; kind tailors who make me pretty shirts and invite me to tea and sweets; guy at the internet cafe who throws beerpong and Punjabi dancing parties and gets us fireworks for the 4th of July; and sweet pups that roam the cobble-y roads. Found some hashish from various undisclosed locations that have made for very happy hookah sessions on rainy evenings. The monsoon, however isn't what I expected. It rains at night and in the early mornings but is clear during the waking hours of the day. And that is certainly not a complaint. In Rishikesh this past weekend I got caught in a downpour of torrential monsoon rain that soaked me through and through by the time I ran just a few meters to the ashram in which my friends and I were staying. Last night I woke up very peacefully in the middle of the night. I noticed through our makeshift skylight that there was lightning violently and frequently flashing and "paint[ing] a pattern on my wall like the pieces of a puzzle or a child's uneven scrawl," to quote Paul Simon... I woke my roommate Noah up and we went outside to marvel at it from our huge vista overlooking the town of Dehra Dun. I could see the rain and not feel it, see the lightning but not hear the thunder, and I could turn the other direction and look up to see millions of stars, crystal clear. It was truly magical, the best of a million different worlds, and it was almost as if Mother Nature herself woke me up because she just had to share such a spectacle with me because she knew I'd appreciate it.

Today is Monday, and after Friday's classes I left for Haridwar with my roommates Emilie, Rachel, Becca, Noah, Camden and Ben. Two buses, an auto- rickshaw, and several km. walking in miserably humid heat, we arrived at Hotel Swagat Palace and collapsed in a dog-pile in the air-conditioned room. Such comfort came at a mere $2-3 cost! I just love India and its cheap cheap prices... Ate dinner at Chotiwala, a place with a "forlorn mascot" and gorged on delicious food followed by pineapple and strawberry ice creams. On the way back to the hotel, we were lured by an inviting archway and generously-hung string lights down an alley to an ashram celebrating the final night of guru-initiation festivities. We entered, (after removing our shoes of course) and a kind old man showed us around the place, where a huge meal was being provided to all who entered. The man* led us through the swarm of festival-goers eager to ask us "from which country?" or to offer a strong invitation to join them in eating the blessed meal. The man took us to a room inhabited by a statue of Rama and a very old man worshipping a picture of what seemed to be his own image, and then to a statue of the previous guru that a boy told us was his god. It was here that an old, white-facial-haired woman took me by the arm and spoke very imploringly in what I can only semi-confidently assume was Hindi. We escaped up the stairs and into a room where the new guru was handing out blessed mangos and sugar packets. By the time we went downstairs, acquiescing to eating the meal was no longer an option. Nor was wasting any food. So we packed our already stuffed stomachs even fuller and walked laboriously back to our Palace.

We left Haridwar the next midday after a shmoozing with some more locals down by the Ganges, feeling dismayed at the ticket line for a cable car ride to a famous temple, and especially after seeing a poor poor man, naked, and barely alive, rotting in the streets. By far the most harrowing sight yet; any description I could think of could not possibly do it justice.

We got to Rishikesh about an hour or two later, and rented some rooms in the Shri Sant Sewa ashram. I hate to say it, but the vibe the place is going for is a little contrived. They know what the typical [American ("hippie")] tourist is hoping to find there, and they cram the streets with shops selling the associated paraphernalia and souvenirs. The yoga classes are reminiscent of those one might find in a YMCA, and the cafes reminded me of what I imagine Cabo to be like. Regardless, I managed to enjoy myself at the pooja ritual of singing Hare Krishna and other beautiful songs before a huge statue of Shiva and the setting sun, as people lit leaf bowls of flowers aflame and sent them down the fast-moving Ganges. As previously mentioned, the monsoon rain made its debut while we were there and by the time we got to our room we embraced the downpour and danced in the rain on the rooftop. We got back to Mussoorie late the next night, but the long bus ride was not unpleasant. Towards the top of the hill, Noah, who was sitting in the back with 5 or 6 young Indian men, pulled out his flute and began to play for them. The man in front of Ben, Camden, and Rachel took a drum from the overhead shelf and provided a beat. It was the combination of the two, however, that provided every individual on the bus with delight and animation. But other than these chance occurrences, I've been having a hard time finding music that suits my feelings, which is both sad and challenging me to unpack what exactly I am feeling.

As you can tell, I'm feeling quite verbose due to heady nature of my surroundings and activities. Your patience in reading to the end is indicative at least somewhat of your support my endeavors, and therefore appreciated.

*Just as a side note, you might also find it amusing that this man we thought was born and raised and lived in India revealed to us he lives in San Jose, CA, and that he received a phone call from the guru himself to come to India for the festivities.