Weekend Getaway

It was wonderful to get away from the unforgiving Delhi summer heat.

The four of us, once again a family on a weekend trip, got up at 6am, stumbled into our travelling clothes, packed the car and headed to Rishikesh. Getting there took much more than the 5 1/2 hours the book warned us about. The view on the way was not scenic. We took turns napping and trying to get back the sleep we had lost the night before trying to get organized.

Rishikesh is a lively town full of people in the streets purposefully heading somewhere. Men, women and children all come as pilgrims for their cleansing dip in the Holy Ganga. We walked the length of the amazing suspension bridges, the Lakshman and Ram Jhula. In addition to the bridge congestion from the throng of people walking to the ashram and from tourists like us, the bridge also had rather aggressive motorcycle traffic! One can't truly escape from the 1.2 billion Indians, not even on a bridge high above the Ganga!

The next day, we drove through Dehradun seeing the town's famous clock tower from our car. We did not sample the famous Kwality Toffee of the town as we wanted to hurry and see Mussoorie.

Mussoorie was a wonderful surprise. Temperatures were in the 20s, oh what a blessing! Situated on the top of the foothills of the Himalayas, the views were spectacular, the clouds seemed ever so close and one could almost feel heaven. The air was cool, crisp and clean.

Down below however, the teeming mass of people still filled the streets. We walked up and down the winding streets each side full of merchants of all sorts. There were bangle shops, fruit stalls, handicraft emporiums, clothing stores, you name it, the streets of Mussoorie have it! As expected, the undisciplined traffic was both annoying and intimidating at the same time. On a short stretch, David, Daniel and Rachel had to get up on the narrow bridge sidewalk to avoid being crushed by the oncoming traffic. These drivers allow themselves no margin of error. Just as in life, they seem to be fatalistic, and squeeze their little Marutis and big Scorpios through the streets.

Each corner of each street of India and perhaps particularly Mussoorie holds a photograph. It is hard to miss women colorfully clad in their everyday sarees sitting together just endlessly waiting, or the women clothed in utilitarian cottons carrying piles of plants or stones, or bags on their heads walking towards some unknown destination. It is common to see children riding carriages pushed by hired young hands while their mothers and fathers stroll and shop unencumbered. Smiling children enjoy their horse rides on the main roads. Yogis roam the streets, dressed in the barest local shirt and "diaper pants", walking stick in hand and carrying the most meager of possessions. Long white beard, bandana-ed head, piercing eyes, slight frame, one asked us for money. For an extra 5 Rupees, he allowed me to take his photograph.

I am most tolerant of the way people choose to live their lives. However, seeing people begging the streets in dirty clothes, with no apparent purpose in their aimless walking, I am confused about the validity of their beliefs. Surely the asceticism and meditation supposedly giving the yogi profound understanding into the nature of existence must come after his basic needs are met? What about food and shelter before all the meditation? Or perhaps personal sanitation?

The mass of Indians is overwhelming. It is suffocating to have so many people around, always pressing onto me whether I am on the streets, in a car, or even at home. Moments of quiet and aloneness are very hard to come by in India. It is a world where loneliness exists in a crowd. A friend once told me, "only the tough survive India." Each day, I believe him more and more. I am almost sure I can't change India to suit who I am; I had better face up to the task to living with India the way it is. But I will never give up trying to carve my own space....

True to its reputation for contradiction this India that so oppresses me is full of wonder I am eager to discover. I have only seen the close environs of Delhi. Perhaps there is a chance that India's magic will transform me into a lover of this nation forever precariously perched on greatness.