Let me be clear: today pretty well sucked, but looking back I’m not even totally sure why. The tentative conclusion I’ve come to is basically that the quality of my days depends on whether I’ve met another foreigner; even if we just have a short conversation it makes a big difference.
Other contributing factors: leaving Amritsar; having been away from friends and family for the longest stretch of time ever; knowing I’m kind of stuck here; getting assaulted today; being tired of dealing with beggars/children/stares/vendors; not being able to trust anyone
All right, let’s start from the beginning. I had a pretty nice night on the train, actually, and I slept through most of it snuggled in my blanket. When I finally got up about 9 hours later, it was green outside my window instead of brown! There were forests and even fields of bright green crops that were taller than me. The girl sharing my cabin was really nice and answered some of my questions about the area, but trouble began as soon as we hit the station.
Have I mentioned that they don’t tell you when you’re at the station you want? Well, I missed mine by about 3 or 4 stops. The trick is to know about what time you’re due to arrive at your station and start looking out the window for station names a half or so before that. Well, that didn’t work for me; I was told to get off because it was the last station, but when I tried to leave the station the Chief Ticket Inspector said my stop was about 40km back and won’t you please step into my office, madam? Oh dear god.
I try to explain that I had no idea I had missed it and that I had asked the conductor to tell me when we were in Raiwala (I’m now in Dehra Dun) and that he said the other person in my cabin was getting off in the same station yada yada. He says that it will be Rs500 for him to let me go and now I’m struggling so hard to keep from crying that I can’t even say anything, just nod or shake my head and open my wallet. Let me be clear: I’m not trying to pull the girly maneuver of crying my way out of a situation, I’m genuinely worked up here. Just because he happens to be a nice guy and agree to reduce the fee to Rs200 is his decision, I’m just grateful for it. So crisis averted, but not the best start to the day.
The good news is that Dehra Dun is well connected to neighboring cities via bus, so I’m able to get a ride to Rishikesh for Rs30. We bump our way through the countryside and I try to keep the ever-present clouds of dust off of my granola bar and peanut butter (one of my very few sources of protein on this trip). My auto-rickshaw drops me near the ferry that will take me across the river to the ashram I’m staying in and I get my first view of the Ganges.
IT IS BEAUTIFUL. BREATH-TAKING. INVITING. CALMING. A slightly milky sapphire color, it moves surprisingly quickly around and over the black boulders that poke their way out of the silky-smooth grey sand. Buildings and temples rise up dramatically along the banks as the mountains rise up sharply from the banks. No rolling hills in this valley, the river is bang-up-close to the mountains. I have been looking forward to coming to Rishikesh for the quiet and relaxation and chance to see the Himalayas all week, and now I’m here! Hallelujah!
So far it sounds like Rishikesh is pretty good, right? Maybe what I’ve needed after Delhi and a good follow-up to Amritsar? I’d say after the donut is when it went downhill. There are many more beggars here than any other place I’ve been, and, incidentally, a lot more cows, which makes it harder to dodge the two S’s on the sidewalks: spit and shit. Additionally, I’ve been traveling alone for a long enough period of time to really start missing having someone around to chat with and appreciate the sights with. I’d welcome a friendly face, even if just for a day.
One thing Rishikesh does have going for it is that it has the largest concentration of foreigners I’ve seen in India. This is very much hippy heaven and I feel super-comfy walking around in capri running pants, a blousy tank top and pashmina shawl. I also broke out my sandals for the first time this trip (mom: they’re my Nike sandals from our hiking trip in 1996. Still got ‘em!), so at least I’m physically, if not mentally, comfortable.
Things REALLY get bad, though, when I round a corner and see a small Hindu temple open to the sidewalk. The priest sees me looking in from the road and gestures for me to come inside. He guides me from altar to altar, telling me the names of the deities, then asks me to sit down for a minute so he can bless me (yes, I’m already expecting to give a small donation). He puts a small orange dot on my forehead and neck then takes a long baton made of feathers, taps it on a statue then my head five times each. He asks for a donation and I give him Rs20, which he doesn’t seem to think is enough (500?! Yeah, right), but he really gets upset when I stand to leave. He begs me to wait one more minute and take a picture. I snap a couple then show them to him and he gets a bit, well, excited. He shakes my hand then gives me a big hug and then kisses me on the cheek.
Yes, I am starting to feel uncomfortable. I say thank you and that I must return to my hotel. Okay, now he’s getting desperate. He says, “No, no, please see altars” and grabs my wrist. I’m saying no no no, he says stay stay stay and then grabs me in a bear hug and starts trying to kiss my face. His breath smells like chewing tobacco and his scraggly beard scraping my face is making me cringe. Yes, I am mentally shitting a brick at this point. He’s a thin guy, but he’s got that wiry musculature that surprises you and I start yelling and pushing him away as hard as I can. As soon I see an opening I run out the door, grab my shoes, run up the road and burst into tears.
THIS IS NOT WHY I CAME TO INDIA. I was expecting it to be difficult, but not a flat-out in-your-face challenge to my view of humans as inherently good. I also mildly expected the desire to turn to a higher power for support and guidance, but so far I’ve felt about as spiritual here as an atheist at an evolution conference. Even surrounded by all of this religious iconography and teaching, I don’t feel an urge to pray or meditate. I can’t block out all of the disturbing images I’ve seen since my arrival and the commoditization of spirituality churns my stomach. I’m sleeping 9-10 hours a night, but I’m still so tired and overwhelmed. In the end, it’s not god I want to hear from, but my friends and family.
As I cross over the second pedestrian bridge, Lakshman Jhula, and take the beachside path back to the ashram, I’m amazed that so much beauty can co-exist with so much ugliness. The river and the sun setting over it are truly beautiful and the path is welcoming and quiet. I sit on a boulder and put my feet in the cold water and just sit for a while. I let myself have a good cry for the scare I had, for the dirty children living on the sidewalk, for the waste marring the beautiful landscape, for my loneliness…then drag myself back to the ashram. 
I make a couple of embarrassingly emotional phone calls to the US (man, I can already hear the “I told you so’s”) and go to dinner. This is when I meet Holly, whose conversation and encouragement put a patch on the flat tire that is my morale. She’s an American working for the ambassador in Bangkok and who came to Rishikesh to study yoga for a few weeks. She and I will be leaving Asia around the same time next year and both dream of living in London after that. She’s traveled India alone several times and thinks that I need to stick to my original itinerary and that I’ll be glad in the long run that I did. “You’ll hate Varanasi, but when you get home you’ll be so glad that you went.” As we chat about work, India and relationships over glasses of hot ginger lemon honey drinks, it feels like I’ve traveled 2000 miles to a café in the US. It’s a very welcome feeling, and the conversation warms my soul as much as the drink warms my hands.
A third of me wants to continue on my itinerary just to be able to say that I did it and so that I can really learn about resiliency, self-dependence, and, for lack of a better word, hutzpah. Another third of me knows that I have my bathing suit and could easily spend a week in a hut on a Goan beach and still pick up the last part of my itinerary. The final third thinks maybe I could get something good out of attending the beginner’s yoga course that starts here on Monday and runs for ten days. I’m going to have to give this some serious thought because I just don’t know what I want anymore, other than to go home, but I don’t even know if that means Singapore or the US at this point. I’ll figure it out tomorrow; now I’m going to bed.
Whoa!! after all this, you didn’t complain to the police!!.. i know the general perception is that the police is inefficient in these parts but trust me once a complain is filed, the police keeps a strict watch on such creeps.. at least this would have prevented the same thing from happening again to someone - trust me i am an Indian... And i feel i owe you an apology from behalf of that creep fellow countryman of mine. Don’t let it spoil your perception of India
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