I have arrived to Sivananda Ashram* run by the Divine Life Society. It is located in Rishikesh, a well-known spiritual center of India and the world, and where the Beatles wrote the White Album. This place was even recommended by Lonely Planet.
I have discovered that Eat Pray Love is deceiving.
Elizabeth Gibert's chronicled ashram experience was, I'm quite convinced, unique. Not because of her post-divorce self discovery, but because her unnamed place of spiritual retreat sounded rather nice, and dare I say expensive, in retrospect. I haven't read the book in a few years so don't quote me on that. But any ashram where you can get promoted as a greeter must be something special, considering Liz and I couldn't even find the reception, or anyone to inquire to, as we roamed our ashram upon being dropped off. Eventually we did find reception, across the road, and I awaited instruction while filling out the usual paperwork. Ashrams have specific guidelines and programs to be honored by guests, and a serious-looking list of the former hung on the wall behind the desk. However, these were left entirely unexplained, and I received instead a room key and a dining hall voucher.
What I really wanted to ask was, "Why am I here and what do I do?" I didn't, of course. But in a slight panic I asked the man some questions like, "Are there any mandatory ashram activities?" (Whereupon he dug out a schedule for me.)
"No, but we encourage you to come to Bajan and evening satsanga." He pointed to them on the paper, and crossed out a few of the activities that were no longer offered as an afterthought.
. I looked at the schedule. I had vocabulary questions.
"What is Bajan?"
"Singing."
"Kirtan?"
"Chanting."
"Ganga Arati?"
"That, you will have to see when you get there."
I never did get there, as you will find later in the story.
Liz and I walked up many flight of stairs and up through the empty ashram complex to our room. It was pretty spartan. They had even gone the extra mile to impose simplicity by shoving the colorfully patterned blankets on the twin beds into white duvet covers. Swami Sivananda hanging in a frame was the only decoration. I can't make too much of a fuss about the room, though, since we stay in pretty budget accommodations everywhere. It wasn't so bad. If you ignored the decidedly prison-cell feel...
We checked out the schedule. I was mainly interested in the yoga. Bummer, because the cancelled activities happened to be all the yoga classes. "Looks like 4 days of singing, chanting, and worship." (We didn't stay 4 days, but that will come later as well.) The schedule paper had a new list of instructions to visitors. Sample:
2. You are expected to participate in ALL the spiritual programs of the ashram.
6. Use of electronic gadgets is prohibited. (Liz hides the ipad)
8. An atmosphere of peace should be maintained at all times.
Confusion and the feeling of being out of place are good at dashing the spirit, but I remained open minded and hopeful. I went to the first activity I could: tea. It took place in the dining hall, an enormous and empty cement room. At meal times, long rugs were unrolled for everyone to sit on, so after I filled my metal cup with chai from a giant dispenser, I made for least crowded rug, where only a few men were sitting. As soon as I sat down, they got up and moved. Men and women do not eat together there, and seeing as I was the only woman present, I drank my chai alone. Eventually an older woman came in with her husband, and she sat with me. She wasn't any Richard, and she spoke only a little English, but she was very nice. The kindest soul I encountered, in fact. I appreciated our small talk.
I went to the room after tea. The whole ashram complex was quiet and I didn't know what else to do. Liz and I set out when we could to the next activity offered, women's singing and chanting in the library. It, too, was cancelled, apparently because too many members were sick. Once again, back to the room. I was getting discouraged. Sitting in a barren room when you're a little homesick is not ideal, and meanwhile a downpour of rain commenced outside. Rain and hail continued until 5:30, when we were supposed to attend our next activity next to the Ganges river. We reasoned that we would be the only ones to show up in the horrid weather, if it wasn't cancelled already, so we remained indoors. (Plus we don't really have proper rain gear anymore.) We did wander the street along the river when the rain slowed to a sprinkle, and then we went to dinner in the dining hall.
Dinner began promptly at 6:30. It was surprisingly delicious, too, though it went by so fast I hardly remember it. We sat with all of the women sat along the far wall, and everyone sung a meal blessing. Dinner was served onto our round metal plates (men always first) by a guy who ladled scoops of rice and a veg curry out of large buckets. Like I said, I was pleasantly surprised, but everyone in the dining hall started shoveling in the food so fast that the whole process - singing, serving, eating, and dish washing in the next room - was over by 6:50 flat. That's faster than the speed of light for a slow eater, and especially so in comparison to the lengthy European meals we had just been reminiscing about.
Dinner was our second to last programmed activity of the day, and soon we were walking in the drizzling rain to evening satsanga, an experience I will never forget. If you've read Eat Pray Love, you'll remember Elizabeth Gilbert's struggle with the Bhavanagita. Richard calls it "The Geet." It is the bane of her existence during her time at the ashram, and I can understand why after a two-hour nonstop session of that and other devotional songs. There are times in India when you feel like you will never reach your destination. First, your vehicle is bound to get in an accident considering all of the chaotic driving. But mostly, there are no promises of punctuality, detour and stop free journeys, and clarity of direction. Your train might stop in the middle of the desert for an hour without explanation, and your rickshaw driver will have to stop and ask 10 people for directions even though he said he knew where your hotel was. Sometimes you have to adopt a sort of transcended state, entering the limbo of Indian journeys and surrendering the majority of your instinct to react or complain, when it will do absolutely nothing.
This is how I felt in the shrine for the two hour program. I sat on the floor absorbing the prayers, music, devotional singing. I sat with my thoughts and I attempted to maintain good posture. I discovered a clock on the wall and that was a mistake. When the whole thing was over I felt like I had just run a marathon. Happy that I did it, happy it was over, surprised I made it.
At the end of the day, we concluded that it was just not our time to be in an ashram. "I'm too young for this." "There's no yoga." and other reasons could be listed. But the truth of the matter is that you get a new feeling every time you arrive somewhere new, and this feeling/vibe takes precedence over all plans, intentions, and impressions you had. It's like visiting a college campus in person when you're deciding where to go to university - suddenly none of the prestige, academics, or logistics matter. You just love it or you don't. And we didn't, and the vibes were off. I don't believe in "toughing out" a place that gives me bad vibes. That's pushing your luck.
We left the ashram in the morning. Maybe when I'm recently divorced I'll give it another go.
With our new time and breathing room in Rishikesh, we found a guesthouse situated in the forest a bit, that had gardens and a pleasant outdoor restaurant. We went on a waterfall hike. We explored the town, which spans both sides of the Ganges and is connected by the famous Laxshmi Jula, a foot (and motorcycle) bridge with temple views. We ate at a treehouse style restaurant enjoying the river view, and had tea by candlelight at night when the power at the hotel ran low due to the recent rains.
We managed to get back to Delhi early, and via India's nicest train at that. They fed us about every 5 minutes, and we were back in the familiar hold of Paharganj that same night. We spend several days returning to our favorite spots and visiting some unexplored corners, like the upscale and artsy Hauz Kauz village. The days slowed down a bit, being back on our old stomping grounds. But, hey, we're in Nepal now; objects in motions once again.
Namaste,
Alexis
*An ashram is a place of spiritual retreat.
*Fun fact! I just wikipediaed "ashram" and the one we stayed at is featured in the article.
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