Journey down the not-so-straight and not-so-narrow

This is a chronicle of a trip I took to Hardwar, Rishikesh and further down to a camp at Jayalgarh – it was the quintessential lazy stag holiday. 3 men, music, books, no agenda (spiritual or otherwise) and 3 days.

First stop – Hardwar (or is it Haridwar? Apparently there is a huge controversy on the name between the Shaivites and Vaishnavites… with each claiming it for their own)

The most enjoyable moments spent were 1. sipping sugary hot tea watching the crowds milling by in a tea shop just outside the station 2. a dip in the Ganga holding on to the chains by the banks to keep from being swept away while clutching on to modesty in the form of a towel with the other hand. A leisurely afternoon at Har ki Pauri and loads of puris and lassi later, we started off for Rishikesh.

After haggling with a clutch of jeep and taxi drivers, we decided to take the bus. A rickety ride on a hot summer afternoon worsened the mood of one of us – he decided to stay grouchy through the ride… very reminiscent of Groucho Marx minus the humor Of course besides me, the other member of the team was a Twice-born (with delusions of being an alpha male) who took it all in his stride

Next stop Rishikesh after a short bus ride.

Rishikesh is almost like a small town amazingly commercialized – very disappointing at first sight. I guess the fault was mine – I had romanticized the place in my imagination to be a sparsely populated place where one could wander around in peace. The reality is that wandering around in Rishikesh is like wandering around in a Bombay local train – except that here most people have teekas on their foreheads…

It’s only when you walk to the outskirts that the famed serenity hits you giving a glimpse of how it would have been once upon a time… Anyway, it was a quick adieu to Rishikesh for us since we had to get to a river-side camp in a place called Jayalgarh, further up. This time we acceded to the grouchiness of not-so-young Groucho and took a cab (cost us a fortune). En route was one of the best experiences of the trip – a stop at a dhaba in the middle of nowhere (actually somewhere). Owned by this amazingly cordial villager who insisted on cooking fresh for us (since he was in the process of shutting when we popped in). And guess what – our driver joined in to help the gent cook! 3 stunned and very impressed city slickers awed by the cordiality and helpfulness of the locals sat on a bench by the road-side in the dark night and enjoyed a fabulous meal – roti, dal, sliced onions served with dollops of friendliness.

Next stop – Camp at Jayalgarh

Pitch black is the first impression of the camp; gurgling waters the only sound. And then the mind forms the first question – where the hell is the camp? Well, 2 young men with lanterns suddenly materialize from the shrubs by the road and take us through the trees and down a fairly steep slope – which would have been an ordeal with sunlight especially in the Hawaii slippers that I had thoughtfully worn. In the light of a lantern, it seemed like a stroll in the park. Of course Groucho had a tough time – he is as blind as a bat at night…

There was no electricity at the camp though the Ganga gurgling very near made up for it. The tents are right on the banks of the Ganga! What a place! A tent for sleeping and another smaller tent outside for your ablutions…

Yours truly and the Twice-born decided to partake of some liquid refreshment, while Groucho fell into the bed and went off like a light. The dark night, the sounds of the river, the darkness, the pool of light made by the lantern, the promise of the sights waiting for us in the morning and the peaceful sounds of Groucho snoring demurely lulled us into sleep…

Nothing could have prepared us for the beauty of the morning… There we were outside a striped tent bang on the banks of the meandering Ganga which looked at this point like a small placid stream. The placidness was just an impression as we soon realized when we quickly hopped over the rocks to the banks.

Well, I will not attempt to describe the beauty of the place – I know I will fail miserably in the attempt… The day dawned extremely hot and unbearable. A long day spent with books under the shade of trees and music for Groucho. By now of course Groucho was in his elements and we had a game of cricket in the hot Sun at his insistence. The Twice-born had to leave for attending to some of his amorous pursuits back in Delhi - Groucho and I stayed back.

We were joined soon by a bunch of young people out on a company ‘bonding’ trip. This night was hence spent to the strains of Punjabi songs, Bhangra, the latest Bollywood hits and wild dancing by a bunch of inebriated youngsters… around a campfire (in the heat of May - can you beat that?). Groucho got Grouchier and even yours truly started hoping for a temporary loss of hearing and sight…

The morning dawned as usual like something out of a picture postcard… This time we were prepared for the surprise that we knew would be sprung on us by the heat of the afternoon – we beat it to a place called Deoprayag. This is the place where the Bhagirathi and Mandakini rivers meet to form the Ganga as we know it in the plains… Another sleepy small town with a temple at the meeting point of the two rivers (Prayag-sthan). Again absolutely breathtaking… Again no words to describe… Spent a long time in this place just staring at the river… Groucho decided to have a hair-cut in a small shack. And even convinced me to have a head massage done by the barber… A few well aimed blows at my head and shoulders later, I managed to escape… To a long conversation with an old priest of the Badrinath temple who gave us a download on the myths and lore surrounding Deoprayag.

By evening we took the bus back to the camp and thankfully no campfire and naach-gaana. More hours spent by the river the next day and then back to Rishikesh, Hardwar and Delhi.

All in all, a great holiday – no schedules, no rafting, no trekking, no nothing… just good old fashioned sitting alone by the river reading, listening or staring at the water and mountains. And of course the best part of it all was lots of talking with the locals – a fruit seller who described his business and its economics, a rafting guide who described his life and its course, an out-of-work priest (he works only when the Badrinath temple is open in winter), a dhaba-owner, a boisterous one-liner spewing bus-conductor who unfortunately one could not interact with much… the simplicity of thought and life, the minimal needs, the happiness shining through and the total acceptance of life and circumstance is what struck one in all of them…

And of course in stark contrast, one encountered a chest-thumping travel agent from Delhi guiding a group of Americans and a bunch of young girls from Delhi in the Shatabdi on the way back who chattered incessantly about boys, their conquests and ways to conquer… As Groucho, quoted from a recent Akshay Kumar film ‘Socha milega mashooqa di dupatta… mil gaya piyu da lungi’…

Hey by the way, in all this staring at the river and soaking in the people, realized one great truth – Life is like the Ganga… One has to keep going on without knowing the purpose. Fast and furious in the initial stages of life, slower and rambling as one proceeds… All the while drawing inexorably closer to the end – the union with the sea. The movement is to that one goal – the union with the ultimate. The path is strewn with smooth and rocky terrains both – all one needs to do is focus on the one certainty which is movement towards the ultimate. And that is the essence of the simplicity of the lives of the mountain people – ‘nishkaama karmam’… I wish I could be like them…