Rishikesh, Friday the 13th - Wednesday, Dec 18th

It rained all night in Delhi from Thursday, Dec 12 to the next morning, Friday the 13th—thunder and lightning all night long. Even Paramjeet called to make sure I was ready for the change of weather and my journey to Rishikesh the next day. Friday the 13th started off with an early morning train ride out of Delhi (6:45 am) to Haridwar, where I was picked up by a driver and chauffeured to the yoga retreat in Rishikesh. Upon arrival I had the shared lunch with the students who are doing their yoga teacher training certificates—the school offers both 200 hour and 300 hour teacher training. As I have gotten to know this group of people, it turns out there a good amount of Europeans, Indians, and Americans participating, and many are under 30 I would say—I do feel weird knowing that I stick out being older than most of them, but I think I pass for younger so it doesn’t matter. I will save my criticisms about the type of people who do these yoga training courses for another time, although I have been thinking a lot about a conversation I had with my friend Dave about these type of people 3 years ago in Taos…

I didn’t do any of the yoga activities for the rest of the day on Friday, and while I was just trying to adjust at the prospect of bathing out of a bucket and sleeping without a sheet in pretty cold conditions, I guess you could say the accommodations were a shock coming after the nice stay I had at Colonel’s Retreat in New Delhi. Three days later, I feel like a bougie bitch because I have one of the few single rooms apparently, and I am getting special treatment since all my excursions are squeezed into 5 days while the students string out their excursions over 4-7 weeks.

Saturday Dec. 14: I managed to by-pass the “cleansing” activity of vomiting and showed up for Hatha Yoga at 7:30 and followed the normal course up until lunch. The 300 hour course includes the following:

  • Mantra – 6:15 – 6:45

  • Pranayama – 6:45 – 7:30

  • Hatha Yoga – 7:30 – 9

  • Breakfast: 9 am

  • Yoga therapy – 9:45 – 10:45

  • Yoga Philosophy – 11 – 12 noon

  • Adjustment & Alignment – 12:30 – 1:10

  • Lunch – 1:15

  • Anatomy 3:30 – 4:30

  • Ashtanga Viniyasa Yoga 4:30 – 6 pm

  • Meditation 6:15 – 7:15 pm

  • Dinner 7:15 pm

From what I can tell, it’s pretty relaxed and some students do some classes and skip others depending on how they feel… After lunch, I met up with Vinayak’s best friend from High School, Vaibhav, who took me around town on a nice walk over Laxman Jhula, the iconic bridge of Rishikesh, although Vaibhav informed me that the bridge was deemed unsafe and closed recently, but you can’t stop tourists so it is now open for foot traffic but motor vehicles are barred. He also informed me that where I am staying and where the bridge is located is not really Rishikesh. Rishikesh is a town further town the river. We walked over the bridge, sat on the steps on the river bank for a while, had some snacks at Budha Café including an avocado shake and actually very good nachos (hey, everyone needs a break from Indian food sometimes), and then walked past Ram Jhula (the other bridge—Ram and Laxman are brothers in the mythological story) to the scene of one of the Ganga Aarti ceremonies, Parmarth. The ceremony was just ending but there was a lot of excitement and people were everywhere. We had a pretty deep conversation about Hinduism and whether or not it is a religion or an ethnic identity, philosophy, and system of stories creating a mythology, and he told me some of the Hindu tales, especially the ones having to do with the different heavens the gods inhabit (the heavens aren’t for people, they are for the gods). At the end of the night we got some more refreshment at the “German Bakery” just at the end of Laxman Jhula. By that point I was sore! The yoga and the walking were catching up with me.

Sunday, December 15: Sundays are free days for the students in the training course, which meant sunrise trip to Devi Kunjapuri Temple! We were supposed to assemble at 5:20 am, but we ran a bit behind… by the time the group made it down to the jeeps waiting for us, it was close to 5:45 or 6. The drive there was very long up a winding road, and once we got to the top, day was starting to break. Up we went 300 steps to the temple where light was showing from behind the scattered clouds. I was astounded to find out we had ascended a considerable altitude, and were now at over 5,000 feet – a mile high! The views were absolutely stunning at the sun continued to rise and break through the layers of clouds. In addition to the drumming and chanting taking place at the temple, there were screeching monkeys fighting over bananas and many other tourist groups milling about and taking selfies and group shots. After maybe a couple hours we came back down, in which process I was a bit selfish and clung to riding shotgun in the car, considering there were 4 squished in the backseat, and 4 more in the very back sitting over the tire wells. I guess I was in a strange mood at that point…

The sun was shining brightly when we returned and it felt good to sit out in a tank top on the terrace of the ashram. Then it was time for my massage! Which is part of the package of the yoga retreat. I have not really had many massages in my life so I didn’t really know what to expect. This guy really worked over my body, front and back, and thankfully he used my jojoba oil instead of his sesame oil that had some slight essential oils in it. Considering how tight and sore my hamstrings, calves, shoulders, back, biceps, and triceps were from the yoga and walking, he really worked them out hard. He made a comment about it actually, and gave me advice to take a nap afterwards to give my body time to heal but to continue on with the yoga tomorrow. When he massaged my knees it tickled so much and I burst out laughing!

I took his advice and napped for about an hour, got up and had a glorious shower and washed my hair. The shower doesn’t get very hot and I guess the main idea is to fill up a bucket, wash out of that, then use a smaller bucket with a handle to rinse off. I half way did it with the bucket. And since the water wasn’t getting very hot, and we have intermittent power outages due to all the construction going on here, I timed it so that I could boil three kettle-fulls of water to pour in the bucket, which helped a lot. After much preening prepping, I ventured out to the Beatles Café which I discovered has a great terrace that overlooks the Ganga and the sun was setting in a beautiful scene. I drank a turmeric latte that had big chunks of cinnamon bark in it and wrote in my journal. I must admit at this point I was not feeling so hot—not sick or ill, just physically very exhausted and tired and therefore emotionally vulnerable. It ended up being a good mindset for journaling, and the turmeric latte with the cinnamon really helped me feel better. After sitting for some time, I ventured back to the ashram. I had been informed I was the only one who would be eating in because the students have to eat outside on free days. It turned out Jai, one of the boys who works at the school, took me out to the most famous Indian restaurant in Rishikesh called Rajasthani, and I had the most amazing Indian food I have ever eaten, including a warm dessert made out of carrots (and the carrots here are red!). Then we took a short tour around the market and the Triveni Ghat, which is another location of the sunset ceremonies. I had a great ending to the day which really helped because I was feeling kinda down before going to dinner!

Monday, December 16, 2019: Today I followed a similar routine as I did on Saturday: Hatha Yoga 7:30 – 9, breakfast at 9, Yoga Therapy 10 – 11, Yoga Philosophy 11-12, Adjustment & Alignment 12 – 1 pm, and lunch at 1 pm. After lunch I got some dirty clothes together to take to a launderer nearby because I’d rather have them fresh pressed and ironed (especially the Indian kurtas I bought in Delhi) than wash them here at the yoga school and hang them out to dry. Good thing I gave myself 2 days lead time before I leave Rishikesh because the place I wanted to go to, that supposedly takes 24 hours, was closed (it opened later when I passed by after my walk—doh!) so I went to another place that said 2 days and 660 rupees which is more than the homestay in Delhi charged! Oh well, it’s still only $9.50 which is a good price considering I’d spend that much at a laundromat in San Francisco, and waste 3 hours of my life. Anyway, then I took a little stroll around town, had a latte and a blueberry tart at Café Divine on recommendation from Vaibhav (both delicious), and took some pictures. A strange fog has rolled in, completely transforming the way Rishikesh looks. I often wonder what tourists’ impressions are of San Francisco’s mercurial weather changes (fog, sunshine, wind, etc.) so I recognized myself in the flip-flopped position. I wrapped up my walk by trying a second ATM that was also out of cash. That’s ok—I have some money—apparently ATMs in India are notorious for running out of cash—and it was so delightful to return home to the yoga school after a 2 hour jaunt around town alone.

For all intents and purposes I am now regarding where I stay as a yoga school than an ashram and I have some pretty developed ideas about advice to others looking to do a yoga retreat here. Now that I know what I do, coming from my perspective as a “beginner” and a “tourist,” not a student wanting to be a yoga instructor (strange strange of young humans tbqh—everyone here except for maybe one person is younger than me, most being in their 20s), everything makes more sense. I am thankful for the help the travel agent gave me setting this up, but I plan to write a separate blog post later dispensing advice for anyone who wants to do similar, and isn’t hardcore. ALTHOUGH, I am happy to report today’s yoga session went much better than Saturday’s, and after about 25 minutes I was feeling it! Yes sore now, but still feeling capable in my body and feeling determined to follow through my New Year’s resolution to take up yoga again. Screw the rowing gym! It will be cheaper and better for me to spend money and energy on doing yoga 2-3 times a week. I have other New Year’s resolutions as well, all of which I listed and ruminated on at the Beatles Café yesterday, but I will keep those to myself for now.

Dinner is up in a couple minutes, and I am planning with the main yogi, Harmindra Ji, to do my sightseeing tomorrow after my morning of practice: the Ganga Aarti ceremony at Triveni Ghat. Wednesday my train leaves to go back to Delhi at 6:10 pm, and my driver is picking me up around 3:30. My laundry will be ready at 3:20 (talk about cutting it close! Hope it all works out but I am sure it will, even if I have to take wet/dirty clothes back with me). I will have time in the morning to do Hatha Yoga, shower, pack up, and checkout. Good thing I think I have just enough clothes to get me through till then.

Thursday my flight for Dharamshala leaves at 1:30 pm, and I should be at the airport at 11:30 am. Probably I will leave the hotel for the airport around 10 or 10:30. Namaste!

Why Travel? New Delhi, December 10, 2019

Each time I step out in a foreign country by myself reaffirms the kernel of self-reliance I carry with me. If I can cross this busy-ass road in New Delhi,[1] I can teach this new daunting class at work. If I can attempt to get a sim card from Airtel after crossing the busy-ass road, I can handle my parents’ next health crisis.[2] If I can travel alone in India for more than two weeks, I can probably make it through the next five years of my life successfully—successfully meaning tending to my career, attempting a healthy lifestyle, continually maturing by being open to change and new people.

Travel isn’t about seeing something new as it is contrasting yourself to something new. The you that gets reflected back from the strange outer world is not the person reflected back in daily life at home. Necessarily.

Who needs such constant violent reminders of their capabilities? I don’t consciously. Not as strong as Belgium being purely an escape from family like it was for Jeremiah,[3] my urge to travel remains a built-in wanderlust that functions as a mild rejection from whence I came. All those years ago sitting in the high school gym as a freshman listening to some students tell their Belgian exchange stories, I conceived of Belgium as the most extreme option, the best option provided by my Christian high school to differentiate myself, and it would differentiate me more than going to punk shows, dressing in vintage clothes, dying my hair black, and accepting the freaks into my friend group. International travel appeared as a rejection of the social status quo. Yet in rejecting one’s origins, one subjects oneself to the violence of alienation. What can you live with? What can you live without? The more I have pushed myself to prove to myself I can do something that tests my limits,[4] the more I deprive myself from the known quantity and from stability. What a high! Delivering myself from the deprivation of comfort becomes a proxy for the biohacking substance abuse indulges in.[5]

Last time was cheating, except for Tenerife[6]  (you have to fly off the coast of Africa to reach Spain in that case): London, Belgium, the Netherlands: the easy places with the familiar train stations and communicable languages. The time before that: Prague with a group of library school students: still cheating. The familiarity of western Europe demurs the violence of thrashing away the chaff from my self-reliance kernel. The violent absence of a mirror: I have nothing to reflect myself back, yet the other day looking at the western section of the Richmond District reflected in my mom’s cabinet glass door, I recognized Anders’s up-high Instagram panoramas. The same view from his apartment a block away. Only through a backward reflection did I recognize my own San Francisco neighborhood.  

It’s 2:15 AM back home in California and everyone I’d want to talk to is asleep. Jet lag is catching up and I’m fighting my drowsiness by snacking and blinking and warming myself by the sun’s rays through the window. Early winter, Northern Indian. Light made golden through pollution and smoke falls lazily on the stone floor. The sun seems to be going down in the same direction it came up and I’m listening to the new Black Marble album which is like translating Amsterdam in fall of 2012 into the present moment in New Delhi because I listened to their first album over and over that fall in the lofted front room of Willem’s government-subsidized flat in Amsterdam’s Eastern Docklands. Another depressing time without lack of self-inflicted violence as a litmus test of stock: my constitution wasn’t strong enough and I returned. Yes the coroner confirmed those bones on the cliff were Jeremiah’s and I went back for the memorial service, which occurred to me as a cogent excuse to leave at the time, but it wasn’t inherently true. The truth only came when my surprise footsteps up the stairs of our apartment in San Francisco caused my mother such joy she cried. The best part of travel is coming home.

 


[1] https://twitter.com/bibliobebe/status/1204295827876990976

[2] My purpose in life seems to be carrying the cosmic weight of my parents’ wellbeing, because I am both an only child and an adult child of an alcoholic whose nobility is communicated through the female virtue of care giving, which I use here as a euphemism for codependence.

[3] Jeremiah, my high school lover who apparently died on a cliff in Big Tujunga Canyon sometime between 2010 and 2012, was part of our Belgian exchange program, class of 2001 group. He told me the only reason he went on the trip was to get away from his family for as long as possible. He listened to the same cassette tape of the Steve Miller Band on a Walkman every bus ride, and by some bad miracle was placed with a Belgian girl whose boyfriend supplied joints everyday.

[4] The most extreme example being flying to Argentina from New York City to hitch a ride across the Atlantic on an Italian cargo ship.

[5] Drinking alcohol, smoking tobacco, doing drugs: all of it manipulates the body’s natural functions to deliver some feeling not easily attained otherwise (if at all). Yoga’s purpose is to be comfortable enough in the body to transcend the limitations physicality places on spiritual pursuits. Aging gracefully is reconciling the rivalry between mind and body.

[6] Not sleeping all night laying on Charlotte and Lizzie’s tiny studio floor in Shoreditch; hustling through rush hour in London on the tube to Gatwick; switching airplane seats with a British woman taking her tween daughter on vacation to the Canary Islands; the sweet paranoia and simultaneous dulling and heightening of senses when the edible comes on in the shower of the hotel room; eating a whole dark chocolate bar for dinner on my 35th birthday.