Thanksgiving

By the Ganges, Rishikesh

I have now been in India for three months. There are only a few days more to go before I return home. Already, try as I do not to think about that, my thoughts are tending to that future and the business of gathering up the details of my usual life. It seems appropriate, then, to take stock of what I have lived over the last three months and, in particular, to note those things for which I am most especially thankful.

I organized this trip roughly around the idea of staying in several different intentional spiritual communities, of different styles and inspirations. What might I learn from them, good or bad?

Jama Masjid, Delhi

Delhi traffic

Presidential Palace, New Delhi

If that sounds a little too earnest, I did include close to two weeks of straightforward sight-seeing.  I’ve been fortunate to visit India twice before, but my travel was always restricted to the south of the country. I am thankful for having made the tour of the “golden triangle”: Delhi, Jaipur, and Agra. I’m glad to have done so. The taste of that huge sprawling wonder that is Delhi/New Delhi impressed me more than I’d anticipated. Between some of its very real beauties and its crazy, sprawling disorder, I got the sense of a vibrant city that is becoming increasingly proud of its capacities and willing to act on them.

Jaipur Street Scene

Like my ride?

Jaipur Palace Detail

 Jaipur stands out for its breathtaking Moghul history. And what a treat to get a ride on an elephant. My sympathies though lie with the people who are paid to “stoop and scoop.”

Misty morning at the Taj

Agra Fort

 Of the Taj Mahal, well, others have said it far better than I ever could. I like Tagore’s description: “a teardrop on the cheek of eternity.” The Agra fort is also a fine example of Moghul architecture. Apart from that, Agra holds few other charms. (pics) Staying one night in the Ananda Villa Hotel, possibly the dreariest hotel I have stayed in anywhere, ever, didn’t help. There was certainly no ananda (bliss) and the structure could hardly be described as a villa. I took it as a kind of mortification as it happened to be Ash Wednesday the day I was there. 

 I cannot omit Kerala (of which more below, as well). It was a joy to return to that lush, verdant state, truly “God’s own country.” The beauty and hospitality of Varkala are memorable. This town is perched on a dramatic cliff at the bottom of which a white sand beach extends to the Arabian Sea. It’s a great place for a beach holiday where you can combine yoga, shopping, and eating seamlessly. 

Kerala fishermen

Varkala Beach

Now, a list of those things from the spiritual communities for which I am thankful.

Auroville Guest House

Oblate Novices

Fr Joseph o.m.i.

Temple Priest, Kanchipuram (could I try this look at St. Matthew's, Ottawa?)

Out for dinner in Kollum

Along the Ganges in Rishikesh

Main studio, Anand Prakash

Garden at Anand Prakash

1. Auroville. I didn’t know a great deal about Sri Aurobindo and still less about the Mother, but their inspiration has given rise to something remarkable. While I don’t think the Mother was right about a new sort of humanity coming into existence through some inevitable process of spiritual evolution, what people have built there is nonetheless a real achievement. To create a working community out of the voluntary efforts of people from myriad different nations, to be able to maintain that community despite linguistic and cultural differences that remain, and to continue to aspire to a more than ordinary level of conscious communication and decision making is a hopeful thing in this world. Thank you to the Aurovillians.
2. Aanmodaya Ashram. Here the missionary charism of St. Eugene de Mazenod is being lived by his followers not in the sense of trying to convert anyone, but by a daring willingness to enter as fully as possible into the spiritual experience and commitment of others in order to find a deeper unity than differences would otherwise allow. Fr. Joseph’s deep knowledge and understanding of India’s spiritual heritage in particular has been inspiring and encouraging. For the beautiful worship, the spirit of prayer, and the astonishingly spicy food : thank you!
3. Kanchipuram. Aanmodaya sits in the “city of a thousand temples.” I didn’t get to more than a handful of them, but the ones I visited are stunning examples of Tamil temple architecture. They are an important part of humanity’s heritage of artistic and spiritual aspiration.
4. Kollum. I didn’t stay nearly long enough in this lovely little city in Kerala. The highlight was to be able to visit a former student, Fr. Robinson Melkis, who is now dean of studies at the Bodhi Institute of Theology, a Capuchin house of formation. Here I was welcomed into the ongoing life of that community. I am particularly grateful to have seen their gracious balance between a life of prayer and deep engagement with the people of the community around them.



Morning Prayer at Aanmodaya Ashram

5. Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram. My final destination, one that I chose because I wanted to experience a community organized around a yogic way of life. I’ve rhapsodized in other blogs about the setting – Rishikesh, on the banks of the Ganges in the foothills of the Himalayas – and about the quality of the yoga teaching here. The nature of this place is that visitors come and go, some staying briefly, others for much longer stays. At the heart of the community is the family of Yogi Vishvketu, his wife Chétana, and their two young children. There are as well a number of permanent staff who are on site. Vishva and Chétana have created a growing international community of people who have been touched, inspired, helped, and challenged by their vision of a yogic lifestyle. I am thankful to be among that number.

I've never quite figured out how to make Google Blog work for me. The photos never wind up in the order I would choose. Nevertheless, thanks for the interest and patience of any who have followed along with these blogs.

I have to add a final note of thanks to another very important spiritual community that made it possible for me to spend these three months in India: the faculty of theology at Saint Paul University. My thanks especially to the dean, Andrea Spatafora, who supported my request for this time. My colleagues and students at Saint Paul are a beloved spiritual community of which I am proud and grateful to be a member. I will return to them all the more thankful and eager to resume our common work of study and formation for the good of God’s Church and God’s world.

One Happy Yogi

Upstairs Studio

Yes, of course Yoga can be practiced anywhere. It would be a counsel of despair to say that it could only be done in India. Nevertheless, just as pilgrims of all religions make their way to the primordial sites of their faith, so too Yogis and Yoginis in the West often head for India. Rishikesh, city of the Rishis, the inspired seers and mystics, holds a special attraction within India itself. It has sometimes been described as the “Yoga capital of the world,” though perhaps these days Mysore is vying for that title. Little matter. Rishikesh is a beautiful spot in the foothills of the Himalayas, with the Ganges flowing through its centre.

Rooftop View, Anand Prakash Ashram

Everywhere you turn in Rishikesh there is someone or some institution offering Yoga – classes, teacher training, therapies – not to mention Ayurveda, Yoga’s sister science. I have opted for Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram on the recommendation of friends in Ottawa who have known Vishvketu and his wife Chétana either there or here. Further, I have wanted to spend time in a Yoga Ashram that is run by a householder, rather than by renunciates. Much as I appreciate a monastic milieu, I think it is worth seeing how a family builds a life around the practice and teaching of Yoga.

Garden, Anand Prakash Ashram

So, how is it? This is where I start to gush. I have known many wonderful teachers over the years. Vishvketu is certainly in the first rank. Though small in stature, he has a large presence, though always one with warmth, humour, and ease. His classes are simply wonderful. We’ve been getting quite a range of styles of practice. All begin with chant and conclude with meditation. This morning, we had a Raja Yoga class. There is a sequence of fairly simple asanas (postures) but each is accompanied by brahmari, the “bumble bee breath.” That is made on the exhalation by placing the tongue on the roof of the mouth and humming like a bee. Its benefits are numerous, but I’ll just mention its powerful effect in refining, lengthening, and extending the exhalation. Indeed, whatever style Vishvaji teaches, there is always great emphasis on the breath. Pranayama is well and thoroughly integrated throughout the practice. (Among the other styles I’ve known him to teach this month are Yoga Nidra, Kundalini, and an intermediate Hatha flow.) This is in rather stark contrast to so many Yoga classes in the West. Years ago in Kerala a teacher with whom I studied named Binu said, “Ah, you Westerners, always wanting more and more asanas.” So true. Perhaps the quest for abs of steel and toned butts leads people to want a strenuous workout, but it’s often at the expense of attending to the breath and its possibilities. Not so with Binu; certainly not with Vishvaji. Of course, any competent teacher will remind students that without the breath they are only having a stretching class, not Yoga. What gets overlooked is the interplay between body and breath. A way of expressing the connection between asana (posture) and pranayama (breath) is to say that when the breath is at the service of the body it is asana and when the body is at the service of the breath it is pranayama.

Vishvaji’s well-structured classes, with their good balance between asana and pranayama, his sense of humour and spirit of encouragement, his insistence that we listen to our own bodies before all else, all of this combines to create experiences that are challenging, uplifting, and invigorating. What is more, they also lead you deeply inside where, whether you’re in India or Canada, the true Yoga must take place.

Anand Prakash Ashram, Rishikesh

Entrance to Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram

The road from Haridwar to Rishikesh rises steeply. To one side, can be seen the Ganges pouring down from the Himalayas out to the Deccan plains. On the traffic is steady in both directions. From time to time there are signs reminding drivers that “Elephants have the right of way.” Slightly more alarming is a sign further on which reads, “Beware of wild elephants.” On the sign is a picture of a large bull elephant shouldering a car off the road. In the event, my ride to Rishikesh is uninterrupted by elephants wild or otherwise.





I’ve come to my final stop on this three month trip to India. Apart from a section of sightseeing in Delhi, Jaipur and Agra, I’ve organized my time around visits to various intentional spiritual communities. The final one is the Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram. Despite years of yoga practice, I’ve never actually stayed in an ashram organized around the principles and practice of yoga. Some yogic traditions are handed on through a monastic lineage. Examples of this are the Sivanada tradition and Swami Rama’s Himalayan Institute. There is also a tradition of yoga as taught by householders, that is teachers with families. Having spent time at Aanmodaya Ashram in Kanchipuram, and being familiar with monastics generally, I’ve opted for an ashram led by Vishvketu who is married with children. He lived and taught for a while in Ottawa as well. Although I didn’t know him then, I know enough people who practiced and trained with him and who have given him the highest recommendations.  Anand Prakash and its founder are entirely worthy of the praise.

Laxman Jhula

Rishikesh itself has been described as the world capital of yoga. The Beatles made their way here to sit at the feet of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and learn transcendental meditation. The Maharishi has since died and the ashram itself is a deserted ruin (though something of a tourist attraction for Beatle fans). There are plenty of other ashrams however. It seems as though every second building has a sign offering yoga or Ayurveda. Central Rishikesh is not particularly interesting, but as you go further up the mountain the yoga studios, ashrams, and markets become more numerous and livelier. A central focus is Laxman Jhula, the Lakshmi Bridge, a great pedestrian suspension bridge that crosses the Ganges. On the far bank the Shri Trayanbakshwar temple rises up like a tiered wedding cake. As the wind moves down the river, it sets the temple bells ringing, their music joining in with the sound of devotional chants from CDs, merchants calling out to prospective customers, and warning honks from motor scooters that weave through the narrow streets of the market below. Monkeys treat the bridge like another set of trees, without the leaves.

Sri Trayanbakshwar Temple

Anand Prakash is a good place for Lent. The fare is vegetarian, meditation and other spiritual practice is encouraged. I do lack a Christian community with whom to gather on Sundays, but I pray the Daily Office and so feel still connected to the worship of the Church. I also have the opportunity to share in other devotional practices.

One of those devotions was a 24-hour fire puja, a prayerful honouring of that primal element fire. In the ashram yard is a kind of hut with a fire pit in the centre. Each morning fire arati is offered here as the new day is greeted with prayers for illumination. This case, however, is a day-long marathon of chanting around the fire. The chant is the Gayatri mantra, often considered the first and greatest of all mantras in India.

Om Bhur Bhuvah Swaha

Tat Savitur Varenyam

Bhargo Devasya Dheemahi

Dhiyo Yo Nah Prachodayat

Oh God, the Protector, the basis of all life, Who is self-existent, Who is free from all pains and Whose contact frees the soul from all troubles, Who pervades the Universe and sustains all, the Creator and Energizer of the whole Universe, the Giver of happiness, Who is worthy of acceptance, the most excellent, Who is Pure and the Purifier of all, let us embrace that very God, so that He may direct our mental faculties in the right direction.

 People sign up for shifts around the fire. I take my turn as well. At the end of each recitation of the Gayatri everyone throws in a pinch of fine wood shavings to add to the fire. At the same time, two people seated on either side ladle in a small amount of ghee. The slightly hypnotic effect of the chanting could keep me there without boredom, but my hips and legs start to protest loudly at being seated cross-legged on the floor. After about 45 minutes handling the ghee, thoroughly imbued with wood smoke, I creak up to standing and make my exit.

24-hour fire puja

What is perhaps most striking about this event is not the participation of Vishvketu, his family, and other resident Indians, but that of the visiting Westerners. When I arrived a 200-hour yoga teacher training course was drawing to a close. The participants all appeared to be in the 20’s. Those who have stayed on after the course took part in the fire puja, many spending almost 24 hours at it. Rarely have I seen Christians expend so much effort on their spiritual life. This is perhaps one of the great differences between Christianity and yoga. Christianity emphasizes grace and faith, while yoga emphasizes effort and practice. I don’t know what Church connection, if any, these young people may have back home. If they are like most people of that age in Canada and the United States, it is likely minimal or non-existent; yet their thirst and enthusiasm for spiritual practice is apparently boundless. Perhaps we err in not asking too much of people, but too little.

We had quite a different experience of worship when a group of us accepted the invitation to go a few kilometres down the road to the Hare Krishna temple. While much of philosophical Hinduism stresses the impersonal, formless nature of the divine, there is another tradition which encounters God as personal. This bhakti yoga is a yoga of devotion, love, and delight. When we arrived at the very beautiful temple, the place was already full of ardent devotees, both monks and lay people of all ages. While statues of Krishna were being honoured, the devotees poured out an endless stream of kirtan, call and response singing to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals. The chant would start slowly, but would quickly build in intensity and speed. People standing around the sides of the temple danced and leaped with joy. A group of men pulled me into their circle dance, spinning and crying out “Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!” The only comparable worship I’ve known among Christians is found with some Pentecostal and other charismatic groups. It certainly bore little resemblance to the rather staid, even phlegmatic Anglican tradition! After the singing, the head of the temple sat down to address the congregation. I can only assume it was a good sermon – it was all in Hindi – as people were nodding, laughing, and apparently attentive throughout the half hour he spoke. What certainly seemed familiar was being taken downstairs to be given dinner, rather like many a church basement supper, albeit with much spicier food.

 

Haridwar

Haridwar is one of India’s holiest cities. It is located at the point where the Ganges leaves the Himalaya and enters the great Deccan plain. It is there that Vishnu is said to have dropped some heavenly amrit or nectar, as well as leaving his footprint. Har-ki-pari or Footprint of God is now the site of a large ghat where thousands of devout Hindus go to bathe and wash away their sins.



Sadhus sharing a chillum



The bazaar runs south from Har-ki-pari. Woolen wares, food vendors, vegetable stands, beauty goods, souvenirs …. the variety is stupendous. Orange-robed sadhus mingle with families, pilgrims, young people and old. Motor scooters and bicycle rickshaws noisily assert their way through the throng. In one group of sadhus I spotted a member of one of the most ascetic of all renunciate groups. He was virtually naked and smeared from head to toe with cremation ashes. He looked cheerful enough as he shared a chillum with the other sadhus.  

In the bazaar

Preparing flowers for puja

Each evening the area around Har-ki-pari becomes alive with light as people gather along the ghat for Gaanga arati or worship of the river. As dusk falls, the river is honoured with fire in the temples, along the banks, and by individual worshippers. Many place offerings into the river -- little boats made of leaves filled with flowers and other gifts. Each bears a tiny light. Scores of these floating lights rush down the fast flowing waters. Devotional music sounds from loudspeakers and periodically a roar goes up from the crowd in response to the urging and call of a priest. It is impressive and moving as this ancient faith finds expression today.

Delhi/New Delhi: Some First Impressions

I didn’t think anything could really persuade me really to like Indian cities. In my experience they are noisy, dirty, and frenetic. Each may have its charms or interests, to be sure, but overall …. Then I came to Delhi. One of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world, Delhi has gone through many changes.  I’ve had just a brief encounter of the old and new cities with an expectation of several more days later in my trip.

The flight from Trivandrum was tedious. I’d had to get up around 3:00 a.m. to make my way from Kollam to the airport in time. Jet Airways made a stopover in Bengalaru, meaning that I had my knees pressed firmly into the back of the seat in front of me for just over four hours. Like other carriers these days, they require you to pay for the “refreshments” that come around. Once landed, however, all resentment was gone as I entered the enormous, modern domestic terminal of the Indira Ghandi International Airport. My ride to the hotel was on hand and we sped off down the highway into the city. Driving in India is worth a separate account of its own. See the relevant blog.

I’d come to India prepared for the almost tropical climate of the South. Delhi was rather cooler, with temperatures in the teens. No more sandals and t-shirts for a while! My hotel was located in what seemed to be a major shopping area for clothes, so after unpacking, I went out to find some sweater or jacket. I’m not an enthusiastic clothes shopper at the best of times, so the array of choices was almost too much to bear. Store succeeded store along the streets. In front of most of them were yet further stalls offering marked down versions of what was inside. There was everything from the most sumptuous wedding garments for brides and grooms (at least in India the groom can look just about as resplendent as the bride. What’s more, he gets to show up at the wedding on horseback) to the latest Levi and Gap products. I bought an unimaginative sweater and then just wandered the streets, taking in the sights and sounds.

The next morning I had arranged for a driver and guide in order to maximize the time. It was probably lucky that it was Sunday. Traffic and crowds were less than usual. Going by the Red Fort, we went to the Jama Masjid, or Friday mosque, built between 1644 and 1658. This is the third largest mosque in the world, following the one in Mecca (not one I’ll ever get to see), and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. It can hold a staggering 25,000 people. You exchange your shoes at the entrance for some white slippers. Women are given a kind of voluminous, padded nightgown which covers them from neck to foot. The mosque’s design incorporates clues about Shah Jahan’s religiously tolerant views. The domes include the lotus flower, symbol of Hindu religion.

Jama Masjid
 

I decided to climb the narrow, winding staircase up the southern minaret. 121 steps later I had a magnificent view of the city. It was well worth the climb. On the main level, the white and black marble inlay of the floor sets out the precise space for prayer mats. The architect wisely provided spots for those who are either extra-long or extra-wide. Would that airlines could be as prescient!

Places for Prayer Mats

At Prayer

From the mosque I took a bicycle rickshaw through the narrow streets of old Delhi. I imagine only someone born and raised there could ever really come to know the way around. The streets we took were narrow enough, but running off them was a spider web of still smaller lanes and alleys, disappearing into shadows and turnings. Overhead was another web of wires, either an electrician’s nightmare or an ingenious, if dubious-looking solution to providing power to every part of the lattice-work of streets.

Electrician's Nightmare

Gandhi Memorial

From the tangle of old Delhi’s streets, we sped down the Rajpath or King’s Way. I’d seen this imposing boulevard on television where the country’s Republic Day celebrations made full use of its grand design. The English architect Edward Lutyens designed and built New Delhi between 1914 and 1931 when the British moved their capital from Calcutta. The design was intended to be a monument in stone to the British Raj. In the event, the British were gone by 1947 but the new republic has made the most of Lutyen’s work. The departure of the British was brought about in large measure by Mohandas K. Ghandi, the Mahatma. His memorial is eloquent in its simplicity, a fitting tribute to his own ability to speak truth peacefully to power. 

The Rashtrapati Bhavan or President’s House used to be home to the Viceroy of India. Apparently Earl Mountbatten employed hundreds of servants, including fifty boys whose task was to scare away birds from the gardens. There was no sign of any such servants, but bands of roaming monkeys seemed to have taken their places.

Presidential Palace

Monkey Patrol

After doing some shopping for gifts for people back home, my guide dropped me off at a restaurant for some lunch. This was a place offering “mixed” cuisine, i.e., served Western as well as Indian food. I can never seem to convince people here that I really do like, even prefer, Indian food , and the spicier the better. To get to the washroom, I had to pass from the main dining area through a section that was almost stygian in darkness, dominated by loud, pulsing techno-music. I could dimly discern young couples sitting in booths around this area, snogging furiously. I expect the music and especially the darkness are the draw for those who would not otherwise be able to engage in such public displays of affection. Even married couples do not embrace or hold hands in this conservative culture.

Humayun's Tomb

The highlight of the tour after lunch was Humayun’s Tomb. The tomb was built in the early 16^th century by Haji Begum, the Persian-born wife of the second Moghul emperor, Humayun. The design is a kind of proto-Taj Mahal, but it possesses its own striking beauty. Red sandstone and white marble combine to form a squat building with a bulbous dome. The tomb area is found on the upper level, reached by high, steep steps. Light filters in through high, arched entrances and latticed windows. There are several other tombs within the precinct, including one of Haji Begum herself. The lawns, trees, and fountains around the tombs provide a restful, well-proportioned, and pleasing park. Truly, a beautiful place.

Dome above the tomb

Floor detail

Couple visiting the tomb

Not just your usual walk in the park

This is a brief account of a brief visit in which the city revealed some of its most attractive features to me. I plan to be back towards the end of March before going home. I’ll look forward to seeing more of this great city, as well as having a tour of some of its sad and difficult slum areas, for the reality of Delhi includes both.