By Dan
Tuesday 30th of May 2017
We were taking a night bus from Agra to Rishikesh. Little did know we were to be given our first introduction to Indian cinema. Settling into sleep for the 9 hour trip, our lids had finally succumbed to the perennial call of gravity – drifting down to meet their partners. A soft silence had descended into the cabin like a blanket and we were all ready to make this trip just another dream.
Boom. Went the bass of the speakers. Boom. Boom. A choir of deep booming voices. The bus trembled. Something epic was happening. The voices crescendoed and crashed through the last barriers of sleep. All serenity lost in a sea of screeching Indian music. Our bus had turned into an IMAX theatre. This shit was loud. Like being in the front row at a Metallica gig. I attempted to ask the driver to turn it down, to which he did, until I turned my back and he turned the dial straight back up to melting point. There wasn’t much we could do. So I did the only thing that any wide awake, half-fuming sane person could. I watched the movie. The whole damn movie without subtitles. To say it was weird, wouldn’t be doing it justice. It was insane. I’ve never seen such a ridiculous film in my life, there were men with super strength who could stop elephants with their hands, ox with flaming horns rampaging through armies, heads didn’t seem to like the bodies they were attached to and would therefore frequently detach themselves with the help of our super hero, using a bent back palm tree to fling yourself over any obstacle was the most obvious form of transport and the list goes on and on. Naturally I couldn’t take my eyes away. I learned later this movie was called … the sequel to a potentially even more outrageous movie that I now felt obliged to watch. I finally went to sleep three hours later, accompanied by the imagery of decapitations and the treatment of gravity as a force without any authority; naturally my dreams were wonderful.
We arrived at Rishikesh in the early hours of the morning. Too tired to haggle with tuk tuk drivers we were taken to the north of town, where most of the tourists stay, and dropped at the place we’d called home for the next 4 days, The Something Something Ashram – A place where yoga and spirituality were practiced 24/7 and silence was encouraged between 9pm and 9am. Hari Om spirit creatures.
In the afternoon we had our first yoga class. In standard nervous newbie fashion we got as far to the back as possible. The class was based in healing from all the weeks previous lessons, but for us, those lessons were less about back cracking yoga poses and more about consecutive back breaking train and bus trips. There was much healing to be had. Oooooommmmmmm. Each breath taking us further away from the chaotic world we all inhabit. It seemed only fitting that as we developed our inner stillness a fierce storm raged outside, causing the windows to rattle in their holds. I could only smile at how peaceful it felt; out of reach from the hands of disorder and frustration. As we kissed our knees and assumed goddess poses, our minds emptied out all the crap, so by the end, with all doubts and barriers removed, I felt like anything was possible. I could do anything, like Michael T. Weiss on an episode of The Pretender. What a great TV show that was. A good sign that I've come to a state of peace is when my mind resolves back to my childhood and I can't help but smile at everything and nothing.
The rest of the days consisted of yoga, meditation and eating dal bhat, except on Sundays when yoga classes don’t actually happen and self-instruction is encouraged. However there was something wonderful sounding after breakfast that we were keen to try out: Karma Yoga. It promised to be an hour of yoga that would not only increase our range of motion but also boost our karma points. We very soon discovered that karma yoga turned out to be marketing trickery, a way to attract hopeful newbies and guilt them into cleaning the Ashram. We were each handed spray cleaners and sent to work. However, I wasn’t to be dissuaded, like a chore from Mr. Miyagi I was determined to turn this into a lesson. Bending down and wiping tables turned into the forward fold and mopping the floors turned into sun salutations. Besides, it always feels pretty good doing something for someone else other than yourself. So if you ever see the words karma and something combined, don’t fall for it. It’s a damn dirty trick. Unless you want to actually do something nice for someone else then it’s not so bad.
The next day we walked up to the local waterfall. It was hot, so it promised to be worthwhile and full to the brim with cheerful Indians. Sadly, we encountered a group of drunk Indian men, who easily fell into the the sexist Indian stereotype by treating Richelle more like an object than a human being. It started out friendly, but their selfie attempts became overbearing and we had to tell them to politely fuck off. Although the day soon improved when we extracted ourselves from the situation and found a quiet nook to appreciate the finer points of nature. It was a beautiful place, where gravity presented its full power. The unrelenting whittler of rock and earth, water his tool of choice. The continuous, repetitive task that accompanies any pursuit of perfection. A million year partnership that will outlive our race without ever noticing that we were there.
And just like that, our time at Rishikesh was swept into memory as we sought a new reality in another place an time.