What Have You Done? You Made A Fool of Everyone.

April 14, 2010
Haridwar, India
Kumbh Mela

In the late '60s, the Beatles, at the recommendation of George Harrison, spent a few months in Rishikesh (about 20 km from Haridwar), hanging out with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in his ashram, palling around with Donovan and Mia Farrow, studying yoga and Hinduism, and writing the White Album. The story goes that Lennon wrote the song “Sexy Sadie” (said to have been originally called “Maharishi” until Harrison demanded it be changed) after the Maharishi exhibited some very unorthodox behavior towards the women in the group, as well as tried out his best extortion techniques. In India, then as now, spirituality has its price.

I awoke, a lot worse for wear, bitter and disgusted with myself for thinking this festival was something that I wanted to see. If we had been in a tolerable hotel, or if I'd at least been in a room with air conditioning, semi-clean towels and a TV, I would not have left. But at about 7AM, I found myself out in the worst chaos I've ever experienced. Our road was blocked off at both ends, and we had to pull the white man “my hotel is down there” card a few times just to escape (I was scared about being allowed back). I don't know what the barricades were for, maybe for crowd control, maybe for some other purpose. They didn't seem to hold very well and were only sporadically enforced. We were seemingly en route to the river, to try and at least catch a glimpse of it, when the police shoved (I was literally man handled by a whistle-blowing lady cop 4 times in as many minutes) us aside and I saw 3 passed out women, slung over the shoulders of police, being carried out (we later learned that we narrowly missed a stampede in which 7 people were killed). I was feeling frantic from being poked, pushed, shoved and deafened by the police whistles, when we saw an opening on the ghat and hurried down the steps to the river. I'm not sure why or how that break in the crowd happened, but Kurt, Mio and Stacy all found their chance, and on this auspicious bathing date, went into the Ganges. Maybe they thought I was being a bitch, but I wanted no part of it. Fast as that river was moving (and it was moving – there were chains hanging from the bridges for people being swept away to grab onto, as well as swimmers in life vests ready to dive after anyone unable to withstand the current), there were still millions of people bathing in it, and I'm sure millions of particles of their excrement bathing right along with them. I also am not Hindu, nor do I pretend to be. I don't take communion, I don't offer lotus flowers to the Buddha, and I certainly was not getting into the Ganges.

I am not on this trip for any kind of spiritual enlightenment. My views on organized (or in this case, disorganized) religion are pretty firm. I am happy to observe and respect peoples' customs and beliefs, but I don't expect to be converted to believing in anything but myself. After two days at the Kumbh Mela, my observations yielded little more than disgust.

In India, the Sadhus, or holy men, are revered. They take a vow to renounce all earthly possessions and physical desires (for the more extreme Naga Sadhus, this includes clothes), and on paper, only eat what people give them, taking alms. What money they receive that is not essential for food or shelter, they are supposed to give up. They ride free on buses and trains. Their lives are devoted to God, and they have been known to do things like hold their arms up above their heads for a year, or place a pinky ring around their penis to prove an existence devoid of sexual desire, or roll around in ash. They come to Kumbh Mela from beginning to end, and live in camps. It is in many parts their festival. And guess what? They are, for the most part, as far as I'm concerned, totally full of shit.

I've got a problem with all religious extremists, which is what I consider these guys. Their motives are supposed to be all for god. That means no possessions, only eating hand outs, etc. So, then, why did the first guy we tried to photograph hand the few rupee coins we offered back to us – stating that he only takes bills? What about the other one, who seemed fine enough, but after posing for photos and taking donations from not one but each of us, opened up his leather case to expose a handheld sony playstation that had video of HIMSELF? Why did he even have one? What about the guys riding around in cars? (We learned that the stampede was created by an SUV full of Sadhus. Godlike, don't you think?) What is possibly most infuriating is that many of these guys are from the Brahmin, or priest caste. It is the highest and most wealthy caste in India. These are educated dudes, calculating and conniving. They walk around like rock stars, because people treat them that way. Say you can lift 20 pounds of bricks with your balls for God? Good for you. That kind of “devotion” does not impress me. Its narcissistic, egomaniacal and stupid. I harbor far more respect for people such as Ghandi, who was also of a higher caste yet devoted his life to abolish that archaic system, or Mother Theresa who lived and died with lepers. The Naga Sadhus are opportunists, who sit around and get baked all day and talk about Shiva. They don't give back to the community, they take from it. And there we were, the white people paying them to take their photos and feeding their egos. I found the whole thing nauseating. If I could have found my way back to my hotel alone, I'd have gone.

Thanks to India's wide availability of prescription drugs, I was able to buy some Valium at the pharmacy, which I took and stayed in my room (they moved us to a smaller slightly cleaner room with a tv and a/c) for the rest of the day and night. I had seen enough humanity to last me a lifetime. It's a shame, since I had really been enjoying India up to this point. I just did not need to see all of India at the same time, crowded into a town half the size of Hoboken.

The next morning a miracle happened. I was awoken from a Valium induced sleep at 7am by the bell boy, who told me we had a phone call. It was Arun, our driver, who I thought we'd lost forever. We had been calling him since we left him in the parking lot and his phone was dead. I was in a state of panic over how we'd ever get out of town, and this news was most welcome. He said he'd get to us by 10 AM. I told him to try hard, though did not believe it would happen. Sure enough, at 11 AM, there was Arun, waiting to take us back to Delhi. He'd managed to borrow a bicycle after sleeping in his truck for two nights and going one day without food. I could have hugged him. We knew it would be hell to get back though, and we gave him the key to our room and insisted he nap for awhile. Knowing that I would not be trapped in Haridwar with all of India, I braved the streets again. The crowds were a bit thinner, but the Sadhu bullshit no less thick.

Part of the Naga Sadhu life is to smoke charas, or hash, from a chillum. The vessel, as well as the smoke and the weed are all part of the ritual. It must to take them to another level or whatever. My friends were all into meeting and hanging out and getting stoned with these dudes; for me, the idea held about as much appeal as sticking my hand into a pot of boiling oil. I don't really smoke pot anymore; don't like what it does to me. But hash, well that's an entirely different story. So it was, on my second morning in the worst place on earth, I found myself rolling a couple of hashish and tobacco joints and heading for the baba camp. I was in better spirits than the day before, knowing that I'd be leaving soon, though kind of just going through the motions to go with the flow of my friends. If I had my way, me and Arun would have been hitting the road, 12 hour traffic jam or not.

We wandered into what looked like a private ghat for Sadhus. Immediately a youngish guy, definitely not a baba – he was rocking a loincloth and some beads and long black hair like he was Cassanova- walked up to Mio and she and Kurt followed him into a corner. Stacy had been talking to an older, bona-fide ashen covered naga, who invited the two of us to smoke from his chillum, which we did. The slick son of a bitch also saw that I had transferred a piece of hash from my purse to my pocket and refused my offer of a pre-rolled joint (such arrogance) and kept pointing at my pocket and demanding it. So I broke off a piece and gave it to him, and in return he surprisingly gave me some of his (which has since been flushed). While this was going on, there was major commotion to my right. Kurt had their “friend” up against the wall and was screaming and cursing like mad in his face. Apparently, this young poseur in what is surely a rehearsed move, put his arm around Mio and KISSED HER. All I could think of was what a vain, opportunistic bastard: our very own Sexy Sadie. Kurt should have decked him and split his face all over his ashen friends. He didn't, which is probably for the best, but how still I wish he had. Because here was where I really drew the line – these “holy” men, devoted to god and of the highest religious order and above all sin and guaranteed moksha and bla bla bla, did not a goddam thing when a young impostor compromised their beliefs . He made them all look like fools by using their mystique to 1)get free drugs and 2) make a hugely unwanted pass at a woman and 3) largely offend her husband. This behavior supposedly goes against everything the Sadhus vow stands for, yet not one of them lifted a finger in Mio's defense, or raised a voice in their own to ask the guy to leave their sacred camp. Maybe they were too baked or maybe they didn't give a shit. Either way, it solidified my opinion. John Lennon was right. Their whole self important existence is a sham.

We parted ways with Kurt and Mio in Haridwar. Stacy and I were able to ride via cyclo rickshaw most of the way back to Arun's car, and took off for Delhi at sunset, 48 hours after we arrived. I was drained and sick and had a couple of serious India moments in one of the grottiest roadside squat toilets I've ever seen. I tried to sleep most of the ride home, despite traffic. It was uncomfortable at best. At 2:30 AM, Arun dropped us off at a clean, semi-well appointed hotel in Delhi. The air con was pumping and the towels were devoid of stains. A twin room was unavailable and although I was too tired to care, the bed was giant and round. After our ordeal, I'd have slept on the marble floor as long as it was clean. I never thought I'd be so happy to be back in New Delhi.

So much for the holy Ganges. Smell ya later (eh, probably sooner considering the way stenches linger in this country.)