Just another day in India

In the memory of a seeker who died before realization,while traveling in India looking for gurus.
His name was Michael.
--added by danny--

Michael (email 29 Aug 02 titled "Just another day in India"): On a bus to Rishikesh, on my one day off from a yoga course taught by a saintly old swami who was a colonel in the Indian army for 20 years . . . training commandos no less. As I wipe the sleep from my eyes and massage my yoga punished limbs it doesn't surprise me as much as when he first told me. I'm travelling past cows that compete with beggars for food in stinking piles of fly-blown garbage . . . straight-backed women in bright saris carrying impossibly large sacks of flour on their heads, mangey hairless street dogs who fight and rip the shit out of each other, pigs wallowing in swollen gutters full of green black slime . . . and all the while motorscooters swarm like termites on the way back to the nest before a storm. Suddenly the bus starts making a noise like a spanner dropped in a blender, and it comes to a grinding halt. "Shit" says the dude next to me. We're stopped next to a sort of shaded clearing with a water pump. There are 4 girls wearing saris while washing clothes as one pumps the water. Some old cows wander onto the scene and an old man squats Indian style in the background, smoking a biddi, and I think a more typical scene of rural India could hardly be found, so I whip out my camera and take a few shots. The driver has lifted the hood off the engine and is bashing away like a drunken gorilla, and it starts to rain. Really fucking rain. The washer girls barely bat an eyelid and continue their work with a few knowing smiles between them, and the scrawny old bull outside my window just stands there as the rain pelts its bony back, sending muddy streaks down its side. The drver starts a shoving match with one of the passengers who I think wants to leave. Suddenly, another bus pulls up in front of us and everyone starts fighting each other to be first off this bus so that they can be first on the other bus. I decide that this sort of childish behaviour is beneath me so I continue to read my book with a condescending smile as the passengers elbow and press each other. As a consequence I'm one of only 5 people left on the bus. 2 of them are the driver and conductor, one is an old blind lady, and the other is this beaming guy carrying half a truck axle who I don't think is completely with the program. I retain composure as I realise that this bus ain't going nowhere, so I flag down a rickshaw. "Rishikesh?" I ask. The passengers all say no, but the driver of course says "Yes! Yes! Come, come!" So I think what the fuck, at least I'll get to the nearest village where I can maybe hop on another bus. 10 km later the driver decides he isn't going any further and I find myself standing next to a giant rubbish pile and a little boy of maybe 8 with an open sore on his face is tugging at my shirt and touching my feet reverently and asking for one rupee. He ignores my angry "chello!" so I give him a light kick on the bum and he scampers off. After an hour or so I see a bus marked Rishikesh but it's not gonna stop, so I jump right in front of it thinking that this fucker is going to have to run me down if he wants to pass. So the ancient driver, with glasses like magnifying glasses, slows down just enough for me to take a running jump on the bus, and I see why he wouldn't stop . . . the bus is completely packed and my ass is literally flying in the breeze for the first 10 miles or so until some people get off and I can relax a bit. Get to Rishikesh and the rain just gets harder. There are whole streets that are 3 feet under water. Men are pushing scooters through streets that that are now rivers brown with mud, shit and god knows what else. Pigs and dogs compete for ever decreasing space under landings while locals crowd cheerfully under shop awnings. Sadhus squat Indian style, lost in their chillum smoke watching with amusement the few brave souls who dart out into the downpour.

So I hop onto another rickshaw that feels more like a speedboat as it cuts a path through the floodwater. It's only my head banging against the roof when we fall into unseen potholes that reminds me that there's any land at all around. I get to Vedniketan (ashram), my home away from home, feeling like I've just been chewed, swallowed and shitted out the ass of some unspeakably evil creature . . . only to find that no-one I know is there. A swim in the Ganges today is not even a remote possibility so I go for lunch at the posh Green Italian Restaurant. I'm in another world as I sit opposite some French wankers, listening to some pan-flute Kenny-G crap and watch cows, beggars and pilgrims file past in an endless multi-coloured stream. I just read my yoga book, and when my food comes I ask for a change of music and they put on Dark Side of the Moon, and it takes me back to when I first heard the album in Sydney, in the back of a mate's car on the way into the city to meet some girls on a clear, starry Saturday night. I feel like crying, and more French wankers pile into the restaurant, and I leave after eating. Go to do some internetting that fucks up 3 times before I get to read a message from a beautiful blue eyed Belgian babe who tells me she's in Gangotri on a fast for 3 weeks. I agree to meet up with whatever is left of her when she gets back. Walking back to Vedniketan I'm confronted with the usual moronic stares from the locals and cocky laughter. I ignore the thousand outstretched hands and "Hello sir . . . your country?" bullshit and sit talking to a few pommy guys for a while back at Vedniketan. Chill for a while and it's like old times. Go for a coffee and the locals stare and stare and stare as I play-fight with an Israeli girl. We stare back but they seem to like that more and as usual a crowd starts to gather so we leave. I decide to sit by the bridge that crosses the Ganges and watch the monkeys being fed and the constant flow of pilgrims heading up to Gangotri. Suddenly a huge red-faced monkey starts chasing a smaller one across the bridge, they both run over the backs of startled people, and the big one catches the smaller one and starts really tearing into him. The smaller one screams as blood flows from his head and he limps away after a minute or so while the big one sits like a newly crowned king, gently accepting any food offered to him from passers by. I'm filled with disgust and dread for this place and these people so I hop into a shared jeep for the ride home. It takes an hour for the driver to round up enough people to fill up the jeep and it's dark by the time we get going. We travel for about 10 minutes before we get to a long straight stretch of road that has thick forest on both sides. Up ahead there are about 10 cars blocking the road and a man flags us down to stop. He starts talking with the driver and pointing to a huge, eerie silhouette about 50 metres ahead. "Elephant" says the old police inspector sitting next to me. "Mad elephant. See?" All around us are uprooted trees.

The elephant is just standing there in the middle of the road, daring anyone to get close. So we sit for another 10 minutes before one brave rickshaw decides to head off, and we watch, holding our breaths and smiling at each other. The elephant decides not to flatten the rickshaw, and we all go home in one piece.

Just another day in India.