Next morning we woke up early. We had to get ready and check out from the hotel. The cell phone rang. It was Chottomama, asking about our plan. I confirmed that we were planning to start for Rurkee at about 9 a.m. He suggested that we stop at Patanjali Yoga Pith, Baba Ramdevji’s Ashram at Kankhal. He assured us that we would like it.
It sounded interesting.
How far from Haridwar? I asked.
About 15 kms, somewhere midway between Haridwar and Rurkee
O.K. Chottomama, we will do so
We came to a way side restaurant for a quick breakfast but we had no luck as it was too early. The karigars had not arrived yet so we had to make do with whatever was available. Next we started for the prepaid taxi stand and hired a taxi with a two hours break at Kankhal. We had just started on our journey when the phone rang.
Have you started as yet?
Yes, we are on the way.
Patanjali Ashram will be on the right hand side. It’s a famous place and can be seen from the high way…
Yes Chottomama, we have arranged for a two hour’s halt at the Patanjali Ashram
Which means you will be here around 12.30 - and he hung up
I could feel his state of mind…restless…excited and perhaps a little childish.
I glanced at R. She was smiling with no trace of her initial tension.
It was a pleasant drive through lush green landscape and heavy construction work going on. I had read somewhere that the vicinity of Haridwar is going to become an industrial hub soon.
Baba Ramdevji’s Ashram is a sprawling establishment with world class facilities…well manicured lawns, flower beds, fleets of vehicles waiting to be pressed into service, waiting halls, restaurant, hospital and guest rooms for the relatives of the patients. Aayurvedic treatment is offered there. It is amazing how a person can do so much in a single lifetime. Perhaps that is why he has such a huge following in India and abroad. We bought a few souvenirs from the government antique shop and started on our onward journey to Rurkee. The phone rang…R was smiling,Chottomama again.
Where are you now?
We have just started from Patanjali Ashram, now entering Rurkee.
On the left hand side is Rurkee Engineering college, tell your driver to drive on towards Rurkee I.I.T. Enter the campus from the Eastern gate, after driving some distance you will see Saraswati mandir situated on a cross road, drive towards the staff quarters…
As we reached near Saraswati mandir, I spotted Chottomama standing under a tree.
Oi to Chottomama! Driver, stop here! I exclaimed.
The driver invited him to get into the taxi and we reached the professor’s quarters. My cousin brother was spending his summer vacations with his family in Paris. Mamima welcomed us with her usual exuberance. And kept repeating how happy she was to meet us after such a long time. When R bent to touch her feet she got a hug.
Ki mishti meye!
The next twenty four hours we only talked and ate the goodies, Mamima had been planning for the last two days. How wrong I was to think that Chottomama was a man of few words. He had so much to say about his new life in Rurkee, about his son and about his grand daughter, who is a very special child. And I had so much to ask about his March Hospital, founded and nurtured by him with so much of love and care at Tomluk, where he performed all types of surgery on rural patients at a nominal fee - where skill and experience were more important than modern gadgets - where Mamima helped him by multitasking as assistant, nurse, orderly, cook everything. How hard it must have been to leave his dream project in the hands of others.
What kind of world we are living in - where for doing good work one has to face so many hardships.
Mamima seeing no chance of getting me alone, took R with her into the kitchen and every time I looked in that direction, I found them engrossed in deep conversation, that aroused my curiosity.
Next day, while traveling back home, I asked R what was she and Mamima had been talking about.
It was R’s turn – she only laughed.
She is an overgrown child, that was her assessment.
It was my turn to smile
Monday, September 22, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Haridwar
I have been trying to conclude the last leg of our holiday excursion but lacking sufficient inspiration. The thrill of realizing my long cherished and somewhat manipulated wish of going to Haridwar is also eluding me.
It could not have been anything better, as we got a room in the OSHO Hotel, just facing The Ganga, giving the best view from the balcony. What else could we hope for, coming without prior booking? But we left Haridwar with a bitter feeling and rude shock not because my purse was picked - leaving me broke, for later I realized that such things are not uncommon in crowded places. The reason of my bitter feelings was about how Ganga is being commercialized by human intervention, exploiting the religious sentiments of the people, who come with their families and small children for the divine experience and educational and spiritual enlightenment.
The fabled sandhya aarati starts behind its scheduled time as the self professed custodians of Ganga make frenzied appeals to the people to donate money taking advantage of the huge number of people occupying the steps of the bank. Aarati is…when an image of Ganga Maiyya is brought out in a palki, for giving a wash with a much heard cassette playing in the background while the last desperate attempts to collect chanda or money continue…The aesthetic beauty of the much hyped aarati is lost in the crudeness of the atmosphere.
Next day I was stunned to find my purse had been cleaned of all its paper notes. Fortunately R’s money was intact so there was nothing to worry about. R was proving herself superior in every respect, bringing the rude realization that with her around I tended to loose my guard. R wanted to have a darshan of Mansa Devi situated on the top of a hill but we had fallen in a trap by paying advance money for two day’s stay in the hotel. So we had one more day in Haridwar.
Next day we selected a secluded bank avoiding the sandhya aarati. Time just goes by like the running water singing, dancing, rippling and sprinting gleefully. So many old memories were coming to mind. A poem learned from mother in praise of Ganga. It ran like this…
Devi Sureshwari Bhagwati Gange,
Tribhuwana Tarini Taral Tarange,
Shankar Mouli Niwasini Vimale,
Mama Mati Rastang Tava Pada Kamale,
Bhagirathi Sukhadayini Matah
Tava Jala Mahima Nigame Khyatah
Naham Jane Tava Mahimanam
Trahi Kripamayee Mamagyanam
Sitting on the banks we tried to imagine Ganga emanating from the jata of Lord Shiva, led by Raja Bhagirathi to liberate the cursed souls of the 60,000 sons of Raja Sagar (Mahabharat). The evening had set in. It was time to leave and we got up much against our wishes. We used to buy our evening meal from the hundreds of stalls that prepared the most delicious vegetarian dishes. R would make me stand at a spot like a statue while she sprinted around in search of the best Rabri that we had got addicted to.
Ganga is the life line of North India. I wish it is left alone and hundreds and thousands of sal leaf baskets with flowers and earthen lamps are not floated by way of offerings to Ganga leaving Ganga pollution free of all kinds. That would be our best offering and way of worshiping her (hope I have not stirred a hornet’s nest).
To be concluded…
It could not have been anything better, as we got a room in the OSHO Hotel, just facing The Ganga, giving the best view from the balcony. What else could we hope for, coming without prior booking? But we left Haridwar with a bitter feeling and rude shock not because my purse was picked - leaving me broke, for later I realized that such things are not uncommon in crowded places. The reason of my bitter feelings was about how Ganga is being commercialized by human intervention, exploiting the religious sentiments of the people, who come with their families and small children for the divine experience and educational and spiritual enlightenment.
The fabled sandhya aarati starts behind its scheduled time as the self professed custodians of Ganga make frenzied appeals to the people to donate money taking advantage of the huge number of people occupying the steps of the bank. Aarati is…when an image of Ganga Maiyya is brought out in a palki, for giving a wash with a much heard cassette playing in the background while the last desperate attempts to collect chanda or money continue…The aesthetic beauty of the much hyped aarati is lost in the crudeness of the atmosphere.
Next day I was stunned to find my purse had been cleaned of all its paper notes. Fortunately R’s money was intact so there was nothing to worry about. R was proving herself superior in every respect, bringing the rude realization that with her around I tended to loose my guard. R wanted to have a darshan of Mansa Devi situated on the top of a hill but we had fallen in a trap by paying advance money for two day’s stay in the hotel. So we had one more day in Haridwar.
Next day we selected a secluded bank avoiding the sandhya aarati. Time just goes by like the running water singing, dancing, rippling and sprinting gleefully. So many old memories were coming to mind. A poem learned from mother in praise of Ganga. It ran like this…
Devi Sureshwari Bhagwati Gange,
Tribhuwana Tarini Taral Tarange,
Shankar Mouli Niwasini Vimale,
Mama Mati Rastang Tava Pada Kamale,
Bhagirathi Sukhadayini Matah
Tava Jala Mahima Nigame Khyatah
Naham Jane Tava Mahimanam
Trahi Kripamayee Mamagyanam
Sitting on the banks we tried to imagine Ganga emanating from the jata of Lord Shiva, led by Raja Bhagirathi to liberate the cursed souls of the 60,000 sons of Raja Sagar (Mahabharat). The evening had set in. It was time to leave and we got up much against our wishes. We used to buy our evening meal from the hundreds of stalls that prepared the most delicious vegetarian dishes. R would make me stand at a spot like a statue while she sprinted around in search of the best Rabri that we had got addicted to.
Ganga is the life line of North India. I wish it is left alone and hundreds and thousands of sal leaf baskets with flowers and earthen lamps are not floated by way of offerings to Ganga leaving Ganga pollution free of all kinds. That would be our best offering and way of worshiping her (hope I have not stirred a hornet’s nest).
To be concluded…
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