India has invariably chewed me up and spit me out. I've discovered that even being reasonably adventurous and adaptable- along with my Midwest compulsion to acquiesce despite my true feelings of discomfort- was not enough to keep me from my breaking point. I reached my limit when my friend's mother and I arrived at the train station in the middle of the night. I had no idea how we got to the platform, which didn't appear to be marked in any obvious way aside from signs in Hindi and English proclaiming "No Spitting" (this went completely ignored). We then boarded the 2nd class sleeper, and my last bit of nerves quickly fizzled away. In the space where maybe 4 people could have comfortably slept, there were not 6, not 7, but 8 bunks! We would be sleeping three deep, with only about two feet of space in between each "bed", (if it could be called that) which is not even enough space to turn around- this is accomplished only by leaning your entire torso over the compartment, hunching and swinging back in, careful not to scrape off half your scalp on the bunk above you. I spent the night turning over and over, trying to peel my sweaty skin off the dirt-smudged 2'x6' plastic pad, as well as prevent my spine from contorting too much in one direction (I was sleeping ON my backpack to prevent my belongings from being stolen).
Needless to say, I looked pretty haphazard stepping off the train at 7am in a small town in the valley below the rolling green foothills of the Himalayas. We hired a share-taxi to go up the mountain to Nainital- a 1-hour drive made torturous by the fact that the "seat" I
had paid for was really only two-thirds of one. Clouds swiftly moved in and rain started to fall as we wound up the hill at breakneck speed, 6 people in a small compact car, the driver disinclined to slow down for neither the wet road conditions nor signs reminding “If you die your family will cry”. I tried in vain to keep my sights fixed on the road ahead to suppress my nausea, which was impossible as my head was whipping around and I was constantly opening and closing the
window every 5 minutes due to the changing weather; still I was drenched by the end because my companions insisted that the window stay ajar lest they would “suffocate”. I could not wait to get out and lay my eyes on the peaceful lake on top of the mountain.
had paid for was really only two-thirds of one. Clouds swiftly moved in and rain started to fall as we wound up the hill at breakneck speed, 6 people in a small compact car, the driver disinclined to slow down for neither the wet road conditions nor signs reminding “If you die your family will cry”. I tried in vain to keep my sights fixed on the road ahead to suppress my nausea, which was impossible as my head was whipping around and I was constantly opening and closing the
window every 5 minutes due to the changing weather; still I was drenched by the end because my companions insisted that the window stay ajar lest they would “suffocate”. I could not wait to get out and lay my eyes on the peaceful lake on top of the mountain.
Much to my dismay, some not-so-thoughtful urban planners had arrived long before me- there was a CITY at the top of this remote mountain, complete with high rise apartments and traffic jams! Half a dozen touts converged on us as we stepped out of the cab, and I sat with my head bowed in resignation while my host negotiated our accommodation. On our way walking to the hotel, a langur (monkey the size of a 10-year-old child) leaped out of a tree, landing with a thud in a dumpster, and scared away the little remaining wits I had left about me. I sat awake
at night listening to horns honking, sirens blaring,and dogs fighting, wondering (and hoping) that I was really just experiencing a bad dream.
The next day, we were to make our way to the ashram of my host’s friend from Switzlerland, which was even farther out in the mountains. She decided that the best way (by that I mean the cheapest way) would be for us to join onto a tour bus that was heading that way. I hopped
in the van and selfishly grabbed one seat all to myself and refused to relinquish it even at the behest of the driver who wanted to maximize his fares (He didn’t realize that I was teetering dangerously on the verge of a nervous breakdown and having my own seat was keeping me
from going over the edge). 21 more people (not including the driver) proceeded to file into the 15 passenger vehicle and I was thankful that my early cleverness would now allow me to keep my sanity- adolescents had to sit on adults laps! I felt guilty for most of the journey, which stopped and started very frequently as many local temples were stops on the tour, but this was a trivial sentiment as my actions were actually to everyone’s benefit to not have to witness me
lose my mind.
We finally arrived at the ashram, which could only be reached by foot. We hiked downhill and came upon the beautiful mountain view. The ashram sprawled down the hillside, wooden buildings and vegetable patches, flowers and tea gardens. Cows, mules, dogs, and even macaques roamed around. Young boys in yellow robes milled about (they are sent here by their parents from all over India to study the Veds and become priests). An old man with red hair and laughing blue eyes approached us, dressed all in white robes. The Swami has been living in India for over 30 years, studying under Maharishi until his death (who I believe is the same Indian saint who hosted the Beatles during their time here). He felt called to preserve the Vedic studies and went on pilgrimages around India to locate the best teachers to start his ashram. This venture is built completely on foreign donations of Maharishi’s followers, as well as by exhausted European businessmen seeking a place to come to gain back the peace of mind they had lost. So it seems I’ve come to the right place for this as well; breathing in the mountain air and eating the organic food grown completely on-site has already started to bring me back from my harrowing ordeal. Upon hearing about our travels, Swami-ji shook his head and said that foreigners should always travel in luxury for at least the first two weeks while they are integrating into the lifestyle in India; most Westerners can’t even dream of how different the conditions can be here (me!). His diagnosis on my then-precarious mental stability: I had succumbed to culture shock.
He read my star chart for me on the first evening we arrived, and everything was incredibly spot-on. There was also helpful advice for me to take into account. Every night we eat with the students; it reminds me of being a kid at camp, sitting in a line, waiting for those whose turn it is to serve to ladle stew onto our steel plates. I can’t imagine being so dedicated to spiritual studies at such a young age. The atmosphere is extremely peaceful (only broken once when I was made aware of the fact that there are leopards and even tigers in the area).
at night listening to horns honking, sirens blaring,and dogs fighting, wondering (and hoping) that I was really just experiencing a bad dream.
The next day, we were to make our way to the ashram of my host’s friend from Switzlerland, which was even farther out in the mountains. She decided that the best way (by that I mean the cheapest way) would be for us to join onto a tour bus that was heading that way. I hopped
in the van and selfishly grabbed one seat all to myself and refused to relinquish it even at the behest of the driver who wanted to maximize his fares (He didn’t realize that I was teetering dangerously on the verge of a nervous breakdown and having my own seat was keeping me
from going over the edge). 21 more people (not including the driver) proceeded to file into the 15 passenger vehicle and I was thankful that my early cleverness would now allow me to keep my sanity- adolescents had to sit on adults laps! I felt guilty for most of the journey, which stopped and started very frequently as many local temples were stops on the tour, but this was a trivial sentiment as my actions were actually to everyone’s benefit to not have to witness me
lose my mind.
We finally arrived at the ashram, which could only be reached by foot. We hiked downhill and came upon the beautiful mountain view. The ashram sprawled down the hillside, wooden buildings and vegetable patches, flowers and tea gardens. Cows, mules, dogs, and even macaques roamed around. Young boys in yellow robes milled about (they are sent here by their parents from all over India to study the Veds and become priests). An old man with red hair and laughing blue eyes approached us, dressed all in white robes. The Swami has been living in India for over 30 years, studying under Maharishi until his death (who I believe is the same Indian saint who hosted the Beatles during their time here). He felt called to preserve the Vedic studies and went on pilgrimages around India to locate the best teachers to start his ashram. This venture is built completely on foreign donations of Maharishi’s followers, as well as by exhausted European businessmen seeking a place to come to gain back the peace of mind they had lost. So it seems I’ve come to the right place for this as well; breathing in the mountain air and eating the organic food grown completely on-site has already started to bring me back from my harrowing ordeal. Upon hearing about our travels, Swami-ji shook his head and said that foreigners should always travel in luxury for at least the first two weeks while they are integrating into the lifestyle in India; most Westerners can’t even dream of how different the conditions can be here (me!). His diagnosis on my then-precarious mental stability: I had succumbed to culture shock.
He read my star chart for me on the first evening we arrived, and everything was incredibly spot-on. There was also helpful advice for me to take into account. Every night we eat with the students; it reminds me of being a kid at camp, sitting in a line, waiting for those whose turn it is to serve to ladle stew onto our steel plates. I can’t imagine being so dedicated to spiritual studies at such a young age. The atmosphere is extremely peaceful (only broken once when I was made aware of the fact that there are leopards and even tigers in the area).
The only problem is that we are stranded here, albeit temporarily. We thought it would be easy to book a return train ticket once we got here, but there is nothing available because the 15th is India’s Independence Day and everyone is taking advantage of the long weekend and traveling (to awful, pseudo-peaceful places like Nainital). We had wanted to leave Thursday, but it appears we will be stuck here until Tuesday. But for this I am counting my blessings- there could be many worse places to be stuck than at a self-sustaining ashram on a hill overlooking the Himalayas.
No comments:
Post a Comment