I went back to Rishikesh a couple of days ago,walked where the Beatles walked and toured the ruins of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram; the Babas, Sadus, and monkeys are the only current tenants.
The sun was high and hot beating down on the meditation pods and our heads. It really is like being in a sauna with your clothes on, perpetually sticky and wet inside of a cotton cocoon.
It is amazing to think of the ripple effect that the Beatles music has had. There was graffiti from all over the globe at the ashram. Through the exploration of their own inner worlds the Beatles were able to touch the seed of consciousness in others, very powerful. I have a new appreciation for some of their music and I thought I couldn't love them more than I already do.
It was blistering hot when we left the ashram (after paying the "Forest Service" guard 50 rupees for our adventure) so we ducked into a small air conditioned cafe called "Green Italian Food." This, ladies and gentlemen, was heaven on earth. We practically scrambled for the menus, eyes already bulging, parched throats yearning for a bottle of Fanta. We couldn't help but smile as this lovely establishment with a small handicrafts market in the back room and a Bollywood movie on the tv, served PIZZA.
I laughed as I read the description for "Peperoni Pizza," tomato sauce, green peppers and cheese, for in this holy city there is no meat to speak of. It is typical in India for things to be not quite as they seem or as a traveler thinks they "should" be. Food is prepared from scratch and the ingredients sometimes travel from great distances (while you wait) or are not available at all. We were curious about the pizza, would it fulfill our desires or would it be a cracker with a tomato on it?
Before long our table was loaded up with pop bottles, cappucino cups, masala french fries with sweet pepper sauce, a nutella crepe, two perfect pizzas and copius rounds of burps and giggles. We briefly discussed moving into the restaurant wondering if they would just let us sleep under the tables.
After lingering over more lemon and mint sodas, we headed back out into the heat to the bookshop across the street. As I entered the small stuffy closet like space with one fan blowing, I saw two bodies on the floor in front of it. The proprietors are sound asleep. We looked at each other and shrugged and began to step around them to reach the shelves that are packed with books on yoga, mediation and ayruveda. This to is India in all of her perfection, why wouldn't you take a nap during the hottest part of the afternoon?
Our next stop was Lakshman Jhula, up the river. We hiked up a steep roadway sidestepping cows, dogs, poop piles, burning garbage, sadus and vendors. During the walk the sky clouded over and thunder began to boom. The blessed Monsoon arriving to save us all from the Indian summer inferno. The wind began to blow and the dust began to swirl as the clouds opened up and released their precious cargo. I was happy to get wet and eve happier when the temp dropped to a cooling 70 degrees when it was over; allowing us a beautiful evening sitting at a German cafe drinking lemonade over looking the Ganga bridge, watching the monkeys and their tiny babies ply mangoes from the hands of passing pilgrims.
After the cafe we meandered buying trinkets and I was given the special "Ahimsa" price by two coy young men who ask me why I don't like long hair. They also ask if Ahimsa is my name since I have it tattooed on my arm, and they are not the first. I reply that it is a yogic principle, non-violence, not my name but after this exchange I briefly ponder changing it: Ahimsa Buckwalter. I think thats too much to live up to and it sounds pretty ridiculous, which is probably why I like it.
As evening fell it was time to return to the ashram. We took another motorized rickshaw as flickering lights begin to dot the foothills of the Himalayas. It was beautiful. I smiled as our driver aggressively skirted around sari clad pedestrians, ox carts, bicycles, motorcycles and cows and a cool breeze comes through the car. As we drove we passed countless ensembles of drummng and chanting; the end of another day ceremoniously extinguished in the kaleidoscope of ashrams a long the river. Horns honking, incense burning, feet pedaling, legs squatting, hands roasting corn and praying and I was completely alive inhaling deep dusty smoke tinged breaths.
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