I’ve been at the ashram for just under two weeks. It is tucked down a small lane off a hectic road: a collection of dusty-red buildings, with various rooms, a yoga hall, a small temple, trees containing fruit, birds, monkeys. It doesn’t seem big, but actually it could house quite a few people. I was met by small and lively Anuj- a 21 year old Brahmin ‘apprentice’, who is the guru’s right-hand man and budding yoga master. He was bright and welcoming and very helpful. He’s been here since he was 16, learning English, learning yoga, attending the guru’s classes (even when he couldn’t understand anything and was falling asleep), doing various jobs, and presumably helping out guests who turn up, like me. The only other people here at that time were a couple of other lads and a lanky, bespectacled monk in orange robes whose studiousness is belied by a jolly whooping laugh (comic in itself), plus some ladies in saris who do various jobs in the day to keep everyone fed and the place running smoothly- so thanks to the them (and guru’s mother who arrived last weekend) for the tasty, healthy meals.

The timetable I constructed for myself left me with around six weeks to fill, so it made sense to get a return flight from Australia to India and end up at the Retreat here, which I’d seen on their website after the yoga teacher in Hong Kong had recommended this place. Maybe I would’ve ended up in Rishikesh all those years ago had I come to the north, but I don’t think I had any intention of seeing such a ‘touristy’ (as I imagined it) place, without a spiritual to-do list. As it stands, it almost doesn’t matter where I go: the sensations of feeling tired/spaced out//uncomfortable would remain the same whether I was strolling on the moon or around Sydney harbour.

Thus, since my arrival I have been following a strict routine of doing almost nothing. There are small, fairly calm, cow-laden streets in the vicinity of the ashram which have been pleasant to walk around. And even a few hundred metres is enough to see quite a lot. It can help the photos to slow down and focus on some details. No tourists this end of town, so lots of people saying hello and joking around. A few impromptu shoots with people who randomly ask me to take their photo. I have ventured further out, going to the river, crossing the river to (what I thought was) the touristy area, but mostly I’ve been staying in the ashram. Only yesterday did I walk from the first bridge north to the second bridge- whereupon I discovered the real tourist zone, replete with all necessary paraphernalia: cafes, woven goods, pipes, cake etc. And of course every kind of yoga/spiritual activity advertised… I don’t want to know what I was in a past life. However, the setting of all this- on the banks of the Ganges- lends it a particular appeal, as does the history of the place, suffused with so much holiness and Beatlemania. There are, naturally, ashrams tucked away all over the place, lending the place are rather more majestic aspect than most towns.

I should explore a bit more, just to soak it up (the walk between the two bridges is very nice), as I’m sure there’s actually a lot to see and appreciate. My motivation to walk around has been limited, especially when I know the chances of having any satisfying interaction with humans is limited. Plus crossing the bridges (narrow footbridges) is annoying due to the motorbikes (infernally honking), treating the pedestrians (outrageously using their feet to cross the footbridge) as irritants to be honked at and squished. So I’ve been rather grumpy in this oasis of zen. But life at the ashram has been good. I’ve been the only guest. Which has somewhat confused my plan to come here, engage, talk, be involved. And the retreat I signed up for hasn’t happened. But I don’t mind that. The first week was very chilled: yoga in the morning with an excellent teacher and a small class (Indian guys who are pretty good), with Anuj teaching on a Wednesday. Three meals sitting on the floor in the kitchen, being served each time various dishes of vegan goodness. This is when I’ve sat (legs crossed and gently pulsating with pain) and talked with Anuj or the monk, but mostly I’ve been in my room, attempting to meditate, read, but often just falling asleep; it has been pretty hot, and I have been consuming rather large portions of food, and my new audio book (Bhagavad Gita) also puts me to sleep in about ten minutes.

I have weathered a few minor turbulences: An old leg injury flaring up and fading away, the dodgy back has handled the yoga well and a couple of days of on-off stomach pain. Since Sunday I have been attending classes given by the guru. I presume on the Retreat the classes would have been less orientated around Sanskrit Vedas and more a general philosophical chat, but I have been listening as attentively possible, nodding/smiling appropriately and gleaning the odd gem to carry with me on the forthcoming stages of my spiritual journey. There are a few others in the class, including a woman who tries to preempt his words under her breath as he produces them, creating a whispered, half-wrong echo. I feel a bit sorry for the studious monk, who always seems to offer up suggestions or answer questions in a way that seems to make the guru want to move swiftly on. I have decided not to follow suit and do the foot-touching thing; I think he is pretty cool with that. He is interesting to listen to: the Sanskrit recitations are rich and resounding, and his elucidations are eloquent and not without humour. So I feel that I have been in the presence of someone bright-minded and wise, from whom there is a great deal to be learnt (by someone who has read the texts and is less foggy-minded). He is both serious and light-hearted, kind and authoritative, with a voice grading from deep boom to light, simple chuckle. It was fun to watch him feed the two resident Afghan hounds (a young/timid/graceful female called Ira (Sanskrit not Russian) and a large/grumpy/racist/male called Carbon) small squares of cheese (the dogs are non-vegan). The dogs leapt into the air, the small one daintily, the large one crashingly, his massive paws scraping against the guru’s arms, gently nipping the cheese from his fingers.

So I feel mildly rested and ready for Sunday’s trip to Delhi, although whether I have the energy to bound around the city in the inevitable heat taking photos remains to be seen. At least I’ve read a few books, including a travel book by a famous author which is total crap… (I don’t know if that is pleasing or depressing), the first book of essays by Arundhati Roy and Nabokov’s autobiography- prose lilting airily on the fragrant breeze of an old Russian spring. And at least I have gone a small way to stretching out my pathetically un-elastic tendons. I hope I can keep up some kind of healthy routine but I’m not sure I’ve instilled the required motivation. I need to be seized by a intense desire to improve body and mind, otherwise I’ll just lie on the bed, staring at the fan. As I write, the daily meeting of a group of older ladies is taking place- I can hear the drums beating and the chanting. Seems like a pretty good community activity. I bet there would be less depression in England if there was a bit more group singing. Before dinner I’ve been going to the temple and sitting there (more crossed-leg pain) while a few people perform the ceremony- this involves a singing recitation of the Sanskrit prayers, sombre and joyous by turns.