Snow

Well, now I can die happy, because I've seen snow on the Himalayas. I don't know why, but THE HIMALAYAS seem mystical to me, so right now, I'm in heaven. I took the bus last night from Rishikesh to Dharamsala (10 hours, arriving at 4:30 AM), and here I am.

Which reminds me, now that I've had the plane experience, the train experience (both deluxe class and standard class), the autorickshaw experience and the bicycle-rickshaw experience, and I've done the taxi thing and the bus thing - I can state with complete confidence that, although I am deeply in love with India, the people, the atmosphere, etc. (to the point of looking around for a place to settle down and set up house-keeping) - traveling in this country is about as close a version to hell-on-wheels as I ever want to be. Seems to me that the best idea is to pick a spot, and stay there.

I don't have to much to tell you about Dharamsala yet, because I've hardly seen anything yet. (Actually, it's not even Dharamsala, but Macleod Ganj, a smaller village farther up the mountain, and the first impression is that it is very different from other Indian cities I've seen.) But before I forget, there are a couple more things I wanted to mention about Rishikesh.

First of all, I never told you about Mr. Nair, and he definitely deserves mention. The first day I was in Rishikesh, I took a walk from Laxman Jhula to Ram Jhula (which are the two suspension bridges I told you about). Anywhere you walk in India, everybody and his uncle wants your attention. Either they are begging, or they are selling something, or else they want to shake your hand, or they want their child to shake your hand (don't ask me why), or get their picture taken with you, and a few of them really and truly want nothing more than a smile and a "good morning". So you get used to smiling and saying hello every 90 seconds or so. This one appeared to be an energetic old man, and he attached himself to me and carried on an hour-long conversation, ending in bringing me to the guest-house where I ended up staying for a week. This guy, 73 years old - has more energy than any 18-year-old I've ever met (or anyone else I've ever met). He sleeps about two or three hours at night, and then he's up, running up and down the mountain-side, or riding his bike in every direction. He will collect your paper, buy your groceries, take you on tours, cash your travelers checks (not necessarily legally), and do anything else for you, including asking you for money occasionally, and inviting himself to lunch at your expense whenever he can. No matter what you want, he'll arrange it for you, including bringing flowers every morning. Our Soviet swami had a habit of asking him where the flowers were from, because if they'd been stolen (and you never know with Mr. Nair) – he couldn't take them. The man is a dynamo, and he will also treat you to his personal version of spiritual truth, whenever he is in the mood. He took me to the nearby town, put me on the bus to Dharamsala (after he stood in line to buy the ticket for me), and asked me for cab-fare for the ride home. He actually saved me quite a lot of money, getting "Indian" rates on whatever I was doing, and then proceeded to ask me for just as much money, for cigarettes, or for various beggars he knew personally. I dare you to wander around Rishikesh and not bump into him.

The other thing I wanted to tell you about was the Aarti by the Ganges. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, aarti is a ceremony of worship that devout Hindus do every morning and evening. Basically, it involves singing devotional songs and waving a dish of flaming camphor around. I didn't like it much at the ashram, although one of the songs did appeal to me. At Rishikesh, it turns out that one of the major ashrams conducts this ceremony every sundown on the banks of the Ganges, open to the public, and it is very different from what I was accustomed to.

For one thing, the people who lead the singing are actually capable of carrying a tune. I don't remember if I said this before, but the swamis from the ashram I was staying at - couldn't carry a tune between them if you put it in a bag with handles. Now add in the fact that the ashram inmates, while enthusiastic, had no sense of rhythm at all - which did not hinder them from clapping their hands along with the singing – and you may begin to see why these chanting session were sometimes pure torture...

On the other hand, the aarti by the Ganges had different singers, complete with microphones and musical accompaniment, and a big group of boys in bright orange outfits (the only color swamis wear), clapping hands IN TIME, and a different song. All this, with the background of a beautiful sunset, with the river rushing by, with various devotees kneeling on the steps by the river to get their head wet, or to collect some holy water in a plastic bottle, and the occasional leaf-boat floating by, complete with flowers and burning candle - I was enchanted. To the point where I bought the cassette of the ceremony (although I guarantee that no-one else who hears it will see what the big fuss is about). It almost made me feel ready to convert to Hinduism, just to have an excuse to sit there every evening.

And one more item, which continues to fascinate me. It is - literally - bullshit. When I was riding around the countryside in a hired taxi (and again on the bus), I first noticed how many uses there are for cow-dung. At the ashram, they built the platform by the lake out of it. I have been told that it is anti-septic. In the country-side, people create little pancakes out of the stuff, evidently to use for feeding fires. They will plaster these pancakes on the walls of their homes and on anything else available, until they are completely dry. Then, they collect them and build huge mounds, as big as straw huts, out of the dried pancakes. Or they put them in a basket and sell them at the market. You can pass by houses that are completely surrounded by mounds of the stuff. I took a whole series of pictures of it. What can I say? I'm pre-occupied with bullshit.

Several people I've spoken with have said that India will bring out your own inner nature. If this is true, then I am in serious trouble. Other than showing a marked tendency to write endlessly about nearly nothing, the nature that is appearing before my very eyes, is one of making absolutely no plans or preparations for the future whatsoever, and then making spot decisions and acting on them immediately, trusting to providence that things will turn out well.

For instance, I was ready to leave Rishikesh as soon as the decision was made (I had to wait one day for the ticket, sadly) - but I didn't bother to find out what time I would arrive in Dharamsala, or (heaven forbid) make any kind of arrangements for what would happen upon arrival. This simple-minded trust of mine that things will just work out has actually worked so far - I think, because this is India, where people seem to be basically straightforward, and while they will cheerfully overcharge you as much as they can, they will not deliberately cause you harm. Anyway, I suppose I will have to wait and see what kind of person comes home next month.

Well, from snow to con-men to ceremonies by the river to bullshit to spot decisions, I think I've written enough for now. For those of you who are keeping track, just in case I disappear into thin air (do you know that I've taken off at least 10 kg since arriving in India) - I'm staying at "Home Holidays Hotel" in Dharamsala tonight, and tomorrow I'm transferring to "Green Hotel" in Macleod Ganj, where I will probably be staying for about one week. After that - another spot decision.

Enough bullshit...