Saturday, July 8, 2006 Haridwar, Bathing in the Ganges
I had a dream where I woke up Chris Goodrich and he woke up and got mad and stole my glasses and white shirt, and wore them while yelling and banging on glass. Anyways, I was glad to be able to finally take a nice shower. There was even hot water (the pinnacle of luxury on my trip to India), but it was so hot in the room that I didn’t even use it. We got ready and headed out to see temples. We took a Vikram for cheap to the cable car at Mansa Devi. We had to pass a lot of streets and bazaars, littered with garbage, sewage, animals, and people. We stood in line for tickets. Indian people don’t get the concept of line, or queue, as they call it. They just try and go right up to the front, which makes me angry, so I end up putting my arm right in front of their neck similar to a Musketeer holding their enemy at bay with a rapier. They push you, and are touching you the whole time. No personal space. We had to wait for the cable car in a weird bay that remi
nded me of the line at Disneyland. The gondola took us up the hill into the clouds to Mansa Devi Temple. We walked in and had to remove our shoes and pay someone to take them. It was wet and muddy and gross to walk around in. There was a line even for the temple procession. It was like a museum exhibit, where there is a set path demarcated by ropes and fences, and little statues and prayer spots along the way. There were a lot of rich Hindus that gave money (in auspicious amounts, like 11R, 51R, 101R), prasad (including flowers, rice puffs, incense, garlands, ribbons, and flowers) to the priests that attended each statue. The statues were in little boxes that you are supposed to enter. Then you give your offering to the priest, who gives it to the statue, while tying a lucky string onto you, burning incence, giving you holy water to purify you, givng you a bindi, and chanting and praying. The statue is of a god, most commonly Santoshi Ma (new goddess from popular culture), Hanuman (the devoted monkey), Ganesh (the elephant-headed bringer of prosperity), Shiva (the blue untamed destroyer, and creator in linga form), Vishnu (the preserver in various avatars), the goddess (the wild destroyer Kali). The devotee is supposed to pray and look into the statue, and receive darshan, where the god is watching back via the statue, seeing you are offering to it and therefore will answer your prayers. I performed puja myself (one to Ganesh, one to Kali, and one to Shiva). I want what some of the gods offer, but I am not Hindu. This is for several reasons. I am not vegetarian (although I think it’s good for the environment and health if you are) and like beef, I think too much emphasis is placed on money at temple puja, and I hate how karma is the justification for suffering and misfortune. For example, if someone is born an untouchable female leper who begs and sweeps trash off the street and is shunned by society and beat by her husband, karma says that she was bad in a previous life to deserve this; and that is the justification for her suffering in this life; and by continuing to suffer she will not gain moksha (because she is not a Brahmin), but be born a Brahmin in the next life so she can ultimately gain moksha. I don’t follow any doctrine that religiously justifies the caste system and oppression of women. It creates and reinforces division and hierarchy among Indian society, instead of assimilation and inclusivity, like in other societies. I do, however, believe in reincarnation, I like how one can be Hindu and another religion, and how it actually condones this. For example, the Buddha and Jesus Christ are incarnations of Vishnu. Anyways, we took the cable car down and took a bus to Chandi Devi Temple. The bus stop had a lot of fat Indian ladies. There are some fat Indians (most likely rich ones), but the vast majority of Indians are short and really skinny and dark. The bus went over the foggy and misty Ganges. We took the cable car up to Chandi Devi Temple, on another hill overlooking the Ganges and Haridwar. There were a lot of begging lepers along the paths. It’s karma, right? The monkeys came up to us and took Jackie’s c
hips. We took our shoes off and walked in the gate, covered in Swastikas (which is a Hindu symbol). We went in the temple, pretty much the same thing; a procession of more little puja stations in an indoor temple. The priests all hassle you to come and perform puja (and donate). Even the temples seem commercialized. One of the priests thought Erin Eve was my wife haha. We went back to get our shoes and Erin’s weren’t there. So she walked all the way back to our hotel through puddles, dirt, mud, asphault, trash heaps, urine, and feces. Yum. I went to lunch with Jackie because Ajay took like 30 minutes to take a shower, and kept asking all day what our plans were. Aaah. Then I learned that Jackie didn’t know what “heinous”, “toasted” or “paneer” means, she forgot to get malaria pills and isn’t taking any, and she didn’t know the EAP program had the ILP in Mussoorie. Wow. And she doesn’t kill bugs, which made me angry because the chair I was sitting on was crawling with cockroaches from in the cushions. I had a thali meal and took a nap, but everyone slept for three hours while I got antsy and went out. I saw some dharamsalas along the river, where pilgrims go to stay. Then I watched this carpenter make tools, and a Sikh man approached me and invited me to sit down in his auto parts store and join him for tea. His English was good, and he said he was b
oth a Hindu and a Sikh, worshipping a picture of Shiva and the ninth guru. This is possible, as there are a lot of Sikhs in Haridwar. However, all the Muslims live in a different town, where they can eat meat. His shop was in the family for three generations, and his son had died and as a result his wife was sick. He had a boxer dog, which is expensive and rare. I walked on, and heard chanting. In a hole-in-the-wall puja station, I found a group of old women sitting in the room and singing songs about Kali-Ma, and beating a drum and tambourine. They smiled and pulled up a bench so that I could sit and watch. I felt like I was a real Indian guest that afternoon. I gave money as a donation and went back to the hotel. We all got ready and went out via rickshaw to Har-Ki-Pauri Ghat again. I decided to go in the Ganges because 1) I want to be cleansed of my sins and purified, 2) I want to say I went in the holiest river in India, 3) I’m going to Varanasi but the Ganges there is: stagnant, in a more populated city, the receptacle of the remains of corpses, and literally 300 times more polluted than bathing water, and 4) I want a picture of it of course. So, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I don’t have any open wounds…which is iffy thanks to Jordan Bowman throwing my sandal across the courtyard during Serenades, thus making me walk barefoot and get glass stuck in my foot and having to go to Student Health the next day but they couldn’t f
ind any glass, leaving nothing certain except for a deep wound that may still be open. Well, I went in, anyways. I walked down the steps of the ghat into the holiest of rivers, the Ganges. It was freezing and moving quickly, and felt like I was swimming in milk with debris in it. There were flowers and prasad floating by, along with who knows what. I had to hold onto the rails to make sure I didn’t get carried away or fall. I dunked five times, which is supposed to be the auspicious number in order to be purified of your sins. A crowd of Indian tourists gathered around, and one Indian man kissed me on the cheek while taking a picture. Weird. It was awkward because they were all talking to me and laughing but I didn’t want to open my mouth. Then I I’m inclined to say that if I don’t get sick at all, I’ll actually believe in the purity and power of the sacred Ganges. If not, I’ll just be miserable, have a mile-long parasite growing in my intestines, and never even think of converting to Hinduism or giving any more money for puja ever again
. After that I put on my clothes. The River had some sediment that made my skin sparkle and glow...which was pretty cool and seemed divine. It was actually really refreshing from the humidity and heat. I watched the tail end of the Ganga Aarti ceremony again. Then we all ate at Chotiwala, a busy Indian restaurant, which was really bad but chances are it was safe, so it’s ok. Then we shopped at the bazaar. Common items were vials for Ganges water, brassware, carvings and posters of Hindu-pantheon gods, toys, sweets, water and snacks, and ‘Om’ paraphernalia. Haridwar is known for its Ayurvedic medicines, and there are lots of pharmacies. Every one had a big bag of Purina dog food on the front counter. If that’s their “natural” way of healing diseases, I think I’ll stick to my Immodium, Pepto Bismol, and Tylenol thanks. We walked through the crowded streets to the hotel, where we watched a Soap opera on TV in Hindi. Really corny.
nded me of the line at Disneyland. The gondola took us up the hill into the clouds to Mansa Devi Temple. We walked in and had to remove our shoes and pay someone to take them. It was wet and muddy and gross to walk around in. There was a line even for the temple procession. It was like a museum exhibit, where there is a set path demarcated by ropes and fences, and little statues and prayer spots along the way. There were a lot of rich Hindus that gave money (in auspicious amounts, like 11R, 51R, 101R), prasad (including flowers, rice puffs, incense, garlands, ribbons, and flowers) to the priests that attended each statue. The statues were in little boxes that you are supposed to enter. Then you give your offering to the priest, who gives it to the statue, while tying a lucky string onto you, burning incence, giving you holy water to purify you, givng you a bindi, and chanting and praying. The statue is of a god, most commonly Santoshi Ma (new goddess from popular culture), Hanuman (the devoted monkey), Ganesh (the elephant-headed bringer of prosperity), Shiva (the blue untamed destroyer, and creator in linga form), Vishnu (the preserver in various avatars), the goddess (the wild destroyer Kali). The devotee is supposed to pray and look into the statue, and receive darshan, where the god is watching back via the statue, seeing you are offering to it and therefore will answer your prayers. I performed puja myself (one to Ganesh, one to Kali, and one to Shiva). I want what some of the gods offer, but I am not Hindu. This is for several reasons. I am not vegetarian (although I think it’s good for the environment and health if you are) and like beef, I think too much emphasis is placed on money at temple puja, and I hate how karma is the justification for suffering and misfortune. For example, if someone is born an untouchable female leper who begs and sweeps trash off the street and is shunned by society and beat by her husband, karma says that she was bad in a previous life to deserve this; and that is the justification for her suffering in this life; and by continuing to suffer she will not gain moksha (because she is not a Brahmin), but be born a Brahmin in the next life so she can ultimately gain moksha. I don’t follow any doctrine that religiously justifies the caste system and oppression of women. It creates and reinforces division and hierarchy among Indian society, instead of assimilation and inclusivity, like in other societies. I do, however, believe in reincarnation, I like how one can be Hindu and another religion, and how it actually condones this. For example, the Buddha and Jesus Christ are incarnations of Vishnu. Anyways, we took the cable car down and took a bus to Chandi Devi Temple. The bus stop had a lot of fat Indian ladies. There are some fat Indians (most likely rich ones), but the vast majority of Indians are short and really skinny and dark. The bus went over the foggy and misty Ganges. We took the cable car up to Chandi Devi Temple, on another hill overlooking the Ganges and Haridwar. There were a lot of begging lepers along the paths. It’s karma, right? The monkeys came up to us and took Jackie’s c
hips. We took our shoes off and walked in the gate, covered in Swastikas (which is a Hindu symbol). We went in the temple, pretty much the same thing; a procession of more little puja stations in an indoor temple. The priests all hassle you to come and perform puja (and donate). Even the temples seem commercialized. One of the priests thought Erin Eve was my wife haha. We went back to get our shoes and Erin’s weren’t there. So she walked all the way back to our hotel through puddles, dirt, mud, asphault, trash heaps, urine, and feces. Yum. I went to lunch with Jackie because Ajay took like 30 minutes to take a shower, and kept asking all day what our plans were. Aaah. Then I learned that Jackie didn’t know what “heinous”, “toasted” or “paneer” means, she forgot to get malaria pills and isn’t taking any, and she didn’t know the EAP program had the ILP in Mussoorie. Wow. And she doesn’t kill bugs, which made me angry because the chair I was sitting on was crawling with cockroaches from in the cushions. I had a thali meal and took a nap, but everyone slept for three hours while I got antsy and went out. I saw some dharamsalas along the river, where pilgrims go to stay. Then I watched this carpenter make tools, and a Sikh man approached me and invited me to sit down in his auto parts store and join him for tea. His English was good, and he said he was b
oth a Hindu and a Sikh, worshipping a picture of Shiva and the ninth guru. This is possible, as there are a lot of Sikhs in Haridwar. However, all the Muslims live in a different town, where they can eat meat. His shop was in the family for three generations, and his son had died and as a result his wife was sick. He had a boxer dog, which is expensive and rare. I walked on, and heard chanting. In a hole-in-the-wall puja station, I found a group of old women sitting in the room and singing songs about Kali-Ma, and beating a drum and tambourine. They smiled and pulled up a bench so that I could sit and watch. I felt like I was a real Indian guest that afternoon. I gave money as a donation and went back to the hotel. We all got ready and went out via rickshaw to Har-Ki-Pauri Ghat again. I decided to go in the Ganges because 1) I want to be cleansed of my sins and purified, 2) I want to say I went in the holiest river in India, 3) I’m going to Varanasi but the Ganges there is: stagnant, in a more populated city, the receptacle of the remains of corpses, and literally 300 times more polluted than bathing water, and 4) I want a picture of it of course. So, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I don’t have any open wounds…which is iffy thanks to Jordan Bowman throwing my sandal across the courtyard during Serenades, thus making me walk barefoot and get glass stuck in my foot and having to go to Student Health the next day but they couldn’t f
ind any glass, leaving nothing certain except for a deep wound that may still be open. Well, I went in, anyways. I walked down the steps of the ghat into the holiest of rivers, the Ganges. It was freezing and moving quickly, and felt like I was swimming in milk with debris in it. There were flowers and prasad floating by, along with who knows what. I had to hold onto the rails to make sure I didn’t get carried away or fall. I dunked five times, which is supposed to be the auspicious number in order to be purified of your sins. A crowd of Indian tourists gathered around, and one Indian man kissed me on the cheek while taking a picture. Weird. It was awkward because they were all talking to me and laughing but I didn’t want to open my mouth. Then I I’m inclined to say that if I don’t get sick at all, I’ll actually believe in the purity and power of the sacred Ganges. If not, I’ll just be miserable, have a mile-long parasite growing in my intestines, and never even think of converting to Hinduism or giving any more money for puja ever again
. After that I put on my clothes. The River had some sediment that made my skin sparkle and glow...which was pretty cool and seemed divine. It was actually really refreshing from the humidity and heat. I watched the tail end of the Ganga Aarti ceremony again. Then we all ate at Chotiwala, a busy Indian restaurant, which was really bad but chances are it was safe, so it’s ok. Then we shopped at the bazaar. Common items were vials for Ganges water, brassware, carvings and posters of Hindu-pantheon gods, toys, sweets, water and snacks, and ‘Om’ paraphernalia. Haridwar is known for its Ayurvedic medicines, and there are lots of pharmacies. Every one had a big bag of Purina dog food on the front counter. If that’s their “natural” way of healing diseases, I think I’ll stick to my Immodium, Pepto Bismol, and Tylenol thanks. We walked through the crowded streets to the hotel, where we watched a Soap opera on TV in Hindi. Really corny.
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