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Published: December 14th 2007
sunrise
sunrise from my balcony at Ananda Prakash Yoga AshramWhile I was in India, I spent most of my time in Delhi. Last time, in 2005-2006, I took seven trips, and returned to Delhi seven times - a particularly auspicious number as seven capital cities have rise and fallen on the site where today’s modern Indian capital now stands. New Delhi is the eighth. This time, I took only one trip, and that was to Rishikesh for four days (Nov. 12-15). I went primarily to visit my friends and teachers, Chetana and Vishva (Yogi Vishvketu), who just opened their new ashram - Ananda Prakash Yoga Ashram.
On the train to Rishikesh, November 12 Dehradun Shatabdi (the express train from Delhi to Haridwar). I’ve been thinking about me and India, and how our relationship has evolved. Here I am in the midst of my second trip. Everything here seems familiar, the same. The major difference is me. I’m different.
For one thing, I am much healthier than when I arrived in December 2005 (I had a bronchial infection back then). Also, I know how to be here. But most of all, I know why I am here. I feel more certain, more “grounded,”
ashram
The exterior of Ananda Prakash Yoga Ashram more settled.
India seems as fascinating to me as ever, but perhaps less mysterious. Maybe I am just accustomed to the spell India has cast on me! Chetana and I were talking, and we agreed that in discovering India, we have subject matter for life. (She is originally from Toronto, married to an Indian yoga teacher, and travels between Canada and India.) Exploring the land, the culture, yoga, etc., is endless.
Women like Chetana, and my kiwi friend Rebecca, married to Ajit, and myself are in an interesting position. We are both part, and apart, of this culture. I felt completely a part of Ajay’s family during Diwali -- decorating, lighting diyas, performing puja to Lakshmi -- but in other situations I am reminded of my foreigner status. A porter at New Delhi railway station wanted to charge me 200 rupees for carrying my backpack. The correct charge -- what he would charge an Indian -- is about 30 rupees. (Obviously, I declined, and carried my backpack myself. Which is exactly why I carry a backpack in India.)
I think learning Hindi will help me “fit in” more, and negotiate these every day situations better. Right now,
ashram stairs
Ananda Prakash Yoga Ashram I am trying to read large Hindi signs that are visible through the train window, usually hand-painted advertisements in bright colours like orange and red on dusty old stone walls. I can recognize most of the “letters.”
But India is probably one of the world’s most suitable places for being in a shifting, transitional state because this culture holds so many contradictions, extremes and opposites. Ghastly poverty and sublime beauty easily co-exist here. Life is fluid. Closer to its true nature, methinks.
So, being here this time seems inevitable. I started on a grand journey more than two years ago that has taken me in a surprising and unexpected direction … and I am still on it …
India was both an unexpected ands fateful diversion. No longer a diversion, she is in my blood now. My web of friends and family continues to grow stronger. But when I am in India, I feel like India is as big a player in my hero’s journey as me. I remember someone saying, about the excellent film Lost in Translation, that the city of Tokyo is like a character, or co-star, in the film. India is like that. India
ashram terrace
Ananda Prakash Yoga Ashram is incapable of taking a background role.
I have been here less than a week, and already I have had so many rich experiences. Diwali, of course -- the puja, going down on the street to watch the neighbourhood fireworks, driving through the smog to a party at Ajay’s friend’s place in Nizamuddin.
On Saturday, the day after Diwali, I had a visit from my friends Kailash and Mohini. I felt so happy to see them, and Ajay’s family were so gracious and welcoming towards them, inviting them to stay for lunch. A very lively conversation ensued, and we found out that Kailash and Ajay’s grandmother are from the same city in Punjab (Rawalpindi, which ended up on the Pakistani side of the border after partition). Also, that Kailash taught at the same college Ajay’s father attended in Delhi. They had a lot to talk about, and by the end of lunch, seemed like old friends. It was a wonderful experience to be part of, and again I felt warmly connected to my “new world” -- my life in India…. Which continues to amaze and surprise me.
We also talked at lunch about my ongoing project, to
fire puja
Fire puja at Ananda Prakash Yoga Ashram write about Delhi, especially from a historical perspective. I am inspired by a great book, called The City of Djinns, by William Dalrymple. In it, he often refers to a professor of history, Dr. Jaffrey, who provides him with invaluable help and information. I, too, wish I had a contact like him … and it turns out that Kailash knows him! Another of those serendipitous moments seem to happen so often in India.
The other day, I said to my friend Amrieka, that anything is possible. And she said, especially the impossible. I love that she said. Perhaps that’s the primary thing India has taught me: if you have the right attitude, India rewards you with “magic.” Or, at least, that’s how it seems to me.
I am listening to my iPod as I write this on the train. The Indian raga playing does seem like appropriate music for the passing scenery, the Indian towns and villages, people waiting at the railway crossing, working in the fields, bicycling - the timelessness and unceasing current, cycles of life and death.
(I just saw a Sadhu on the train platform who looks like John Belushi…)
November 14, Rishikesh Sanjay
Vishva's cousin Sanjay I am falling in love with Rishikesh. It’s my third time here, but I am just now understanding and feeling that this place is the “soul of yoga.” I love the mountains, wind and river, which are so alive, and seem to be speaking to me. Everything is radiant and alive here, and the people are calm and friendly.
At night, lying in bed in the ashram, I can hear Mata Ganga (the Ganges River) singing. Her voice is deep and haunting. It sounds like a chant, rolling up from the river bottom, filtered through a conch shell. The morning mist on the mountains, the Himalayan foothills, seems mystical. The neighbourhood surrounding the ashram wakes up. A goat bleats, a cow lows, the sound of Vedic chanting floats through the air. In the morning, the air is cool and a strong wind blows down from the mountains and along the valley carved out by the mighty river as it wends its way through the centre of Rishikesh. The sun comes up from behind the mountains, casting the sky with a pale yellow tinge. I gaze across the neighbourhood, Tapovan, across the river, at the mountains and wonder how
many Sadhus are up there now, performing their morning sadhanas amongst the trees.
It’s beautiful here. Peaceful and inspiring. Spiritual “work” becomes easy. Mind opens to learning, heart opens to love, body opens to flow. People have been studying yoga and pursuing spiritual concerns here for millennia.
I find the Ganges mesmerizing. Glacial waters flow from high up in the Himalayas through the heart of India and empty into the sea of Bengal in the south. I wonder if I could one day travel by boat from one end to the other -- what an adventure! What a blessing.
Life at the ashram just now is very relaxed. I am here in between programs, and there are only about 8 or 10 students here. I was very disappointed to discover Vishva would not be here during my four-day stay. (He is in Delhi, ironically.) I saw him only the first night and he kindly sat beside me and ate dinner, which he normally doesn’t do. I almost felt like leaving the ashram, but I’m glad I didn’t as I am having a relaxing time. The fresh air and peacefulness is a welcome antidote to Delhi. And I
have had the chance to get to know Chetana, and make a new friend, and explore Rishikesh.
Last night I went to the aarti at Parmath Niketan Ashram on the Ganges, in the heart of Rishikesh. I have longed wanted to be part of this ceremony, and finally made it. When I arrived (it is about a 40 minute walk, at least, from Ananda Prakash ashram, where I am staying), a crowd had already gathered on the ghat. Many young men and boys in yellow uniforms were seated together around a fire pit on the steps. A woman singer, accompanied by a harmonium player, were also seated on the steps, about halfway between the river, below, and the street above. They were amplified and also lit by a powerful spotlight.
I took my shoes off and dove into the crowd, surrounded by Indian families, people of all ages. (I missed the spot at the entrance where the shoes were kept, and carried them, until finally stashing them under the stairs near the river.) One family of girls and women took me into their fold, showed me what to do and made sure I received the blessings. The night
was warm and balmy, and a thin crescent moon seemed to hang above the Ganges. The music was wonderful. I recognized some of the devotional songs and chants that were played as I have them on CD. But hearing them in this way, during a puja at night in Rishikesh on the banks of the Ganges is an entirely different experience and one I would not have missed for the world. I clapped and sang along to Hari Krishna Hari Ram and felt joy and belonging.
I noticed there were a couple of other foreigners also at the aarti, and I also noticed how they kept themselves apart from the crowd. So often, foreigners look like spectators to me in India, but it is not how I feel at all. I feel that of all places on earth that I have been, India is the most likely to welcome and engage a stranger. That’s my experience, probably helped along by the incredible welcome I have received from Ajay’s family. For whatever reason, I usually feel very, very safe in a crowd of Indians, and welcomed to take part .
After about an hour of music, people in the
Uma
Uma in the dining hall crowd began to make their way to the edge of the platform, on the river. An enormous white statue of Shiva in lotus pose, looking ecstatically blissful, is seated beside the river at this place, and the crowd flowed to the river’s edge on either side. (Way above us, atop a gateway, is an enormous statue of Krishna and Arjuna, in Arjuna’s war chariot, horses and all.) People began to light incense and diyas, placing them on little “boats” made of hardened leaves and filled with flowers. Chanting “puja Ganga” they set them adrift on the black water and the current carried them softly downstream into the night. Families lit their diyas and set their offerings to the river on the water together, watching as they floated away. It was a magical site.
I was missing my Mother, who would have loved this ancient ceremony. Mata Ganga - the Mother River, India’s most powerful symbol of the cycle of birth and death - always reminds me of my own Mother, and I was wishing I had an offering for the river, that I had arranged to buy one of the little boats before the ceremony started. And, of course,
shortly after feeling that wish, a sweet boy who was selling them came up to me, and I bought one for 10 rupees. India’s like that. She responds to a heartfelt wish.
Some girls jumped at the chance to show me what to do, and I set my offering on the river, giving it a good push out into the current so that it wouldn’t get stuck among some rocks near the bank. I wanted my offering to my Mother, and the Mother River, to be free. I said some prayers and felt very moved, and perhaps let a little more grief go with the diya as it sailed away.
November 15, Rishikesh Yesterday, I went to visit Aurovalley Ashram, the beautiful ashram that I stayed in last time I was in India. It is about 15-20 kms south of Rishikesh, surrounded by meadows, a veritable garden-of-eden. I wrote an entire entry about it in 2006 entitled
Peace on earth. I had a very profound experience at this ashram, and was nervous and excited about returning. Would I feel the same way? Would Swamiji remember me? Did I dream this wonderful place? I was a bit worried
portrait
friend of Ananda Prakash Yoga Ashram that by going back I would ruin the original experience….
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Kamalika came with me, and we left at about 4 pm. I wanted to ensure we had time to walk down to the river (the Ganges) and watch the sunset before meditation / kirtan at 6 pm. However, it took so long to get there, due to traffic in Rishikesh, that we didn’t have a lot of time and missed the sunset by the river. (Although we did see the giant orange-red glowing ball just before it descended below the fields near Raiwala Village as we drove.)
The driver knew the way, and with only one stop to ask for directions took us right to the gate. The man who opened the gate went to fetch Swamiji (Swami Brahmdev). There didn’t seem to be very many people around, as dusk fell on the ashram. After a few moments I saw Swamiji walking towards us and I felt very emotional. Immediately I knew he recognized me and gave me a very warm welcome. He seemed very happy to see me, too, and we hugged. The connection was still there, between me and the ashram and its founder.
He took us to meet Deanna, who also remembered me and also gave me a warm welcome, and she escorted us down to the river’s edge.
Kamalika quickly felt the beauty and incredible vibrational energy of the ashram, but I think it was when we got to the river that it really hit her, and me too. We walked about 10 minutes through meadows to the rocky banks of the Ganges, the misty rolling mountains of Rajaji National Park providing a glorious backdrop. It was dusk, the gloaming, and mist was rising on the wide, shallow river. At this time of year, you can walk across to the flat, sandy banks on the other side (at other times of the year, the current is too strong). Gorgeous birds flew above the surface and stood feeding on the far side.
The river winds through this land with a current that is strong and true. Mata Ganga always seems to dance, with steadiness and an absolute belief in the inevitable cycles of life and death. I stood watching the grey-green river flow, and felt a sudden surge of movement. I shivered and felt a very emotional connection, chanting Om to move some of the energy I was feeling. I was at my favourite place on earth. Nowhere have I seen such beauty and felt such powerful energetic forces. My love of this place was deeply reinforced, and I made a vow of commitment to return here in the future.
We made our way back through the gathering dark to the ashram and evening meditation in the meditation hall, known here as the temple. The evening was warm and soft and the smell of tulsi (sacred basil) filled the air. We picked some to take with us. Kamalika gasped as Deanna opened the thick, carved and lacquered wood doors of the temple. The circular marble room was lit by a huge glowing green orb in the centre, and we felt a hushed, reverent silence. To our right hung very large, and very enigmatic, black-and-white photos of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. Someone had decorated the centre of the room and the pictures with flowers, leaves, rocks and other gifts from nature.
We each found a cushion and a spot to sit and meditate. Just like before, I found meditating in this temple to be an easy and joyful experience. Quickly, I dropped into a very deep meditation (and later, Kamalika told me she felt the same way). Then, the experience became sublimely beautiful as Swamiji started to chant, and his deep sonorous voice resonated around the circular room. It was one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard, the human equivalent of the sound of the Ganges. I was reminded of the uplifting sound of a Christian choir in a centuries old stone cathedral. Words cannot seem to capture the impact of this kind of spiritually charged and soul stirring sound. I felt very privileged, and also knew a person would never be the same again if they let this kind of experience affect them.
After meditation and kirtan, Swamiji ate dinner with Kamalika and I, and I was reminded again about how refreshing it is to be with him. He is the most direct and honest person I have ever met. We talked about integral yoga, and how you cannot “do” yoga - yoga is a state of being that cannot be carved out and separated from the rest of your life. And we talked about the ashram and his intentions for it to be a place of spiritual refuge and exploration. This is from the website: “what you do is not important, but with what consciousness you do it.”
There is a small, round house on the ashram grounds, a little removed from the other buildings. Currently, a woman artist from France is living there for a year. I was very drawn to this house, which was empty, last time I was at Aurovalley. I stated an intention, out loud, in front of Swamiji, to live in this house and write a book. I don’t know what I will write about. When I was meditating, I had a very strong feeling of being willing to surrender to the Mother, and allowing her energy to inspire and direct the writing. So, when the time is right…
After dinner, Swamiji and Deanna loaded us with presents - books and CDs and an invitation to the ashram’s birthday party on November 24th (my Mother’s birthday) - and then they walked us to the waiting car. Just like before, I did not want to leave; but just like before, felt sure I would be back.
When I got back to Ananda Prakash ashram, I lay in bed feeling the powerful energetic vibrations of Aurovalley before falling asleep. I felt full.
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Arun mehta
non-member comment
beautiful writing Mariellen !
I have often felt unexplanable peace around some rare individuals like you feel around swamiji . I was born in India and everytime i travel there it grabs me by my soul and shakes up my conciousness. To witness the contrasts in life and trying to explain them in earthly terms makes you question your own affluence and its origin. Suddenly God seems possible! Arun