It was an unusual experience ufffd being at a place that I'd never liked, yet feeling calm and serene
It was an unusual experience ufffd being at a place that I'd never liked, yet feeling calm and serene. From a very young age I have had to tag along with parents and relatives to the holy Haridwar ghats on umpteen occasions. It might sound offensive, especially to the religiously inclined, but I always hated visiting the place.
This time it was a family tragedy that required my presence. I was quiet and bored as all the post-death rituals appeared too technical and elaborate to me.
India takes pride in being gaudy, and deaths and births bring out our best form. Har ki Paudi, the main Ganga ghat here, is the extended reflection of Hindu faith. It is marked by people ufffd nameless, faceless
ufffd all gathered in hoards to be a part of the scheme of the universe, life, guilt, all groping in the dark. Well, the place for some inexplicable reason is quite mysterious and peculiarly interesting. The entire space is littered, filthy, swarmed by flies, and identified best by gravely bearded sadhus and sanyasis robed in saffron. The pure current of the Ganga flows uninterrupted amidst all the muck.
The ghat, generally perceived as a sombre place, can provide you with some lighter moments if you are in the mood. A series of small clumsy barbershops, a cheerful man selling colourful plastic sunglasses on the stairs, and a few petite women doing a humble business in metal and silver trinkets are the usual sight. A cluster of self-proclaimed priests pounce upon you at the slightest pretext, forcing you into a pooja. What drives you crazy is that you don't have a say, don't understand the purpose; shelling out a few hundred bucks is your only significant contribution.
The flight of steps that leads to the Ganga is occupied by a variety of worshippers. A serene old woman folding her hands, her head bowed in prayer, an aged man washing his dirty linen in public, a bunch of children enthusiastically performing acrobatics in the water, a young guy rinsing off his orange-coloured toothpaste merrily in the holy Ganga. The calm river seems a victim of human baggage.
I finally decided to immerse my feet into the river and let a priceless bunch of flowers flow along with the tide. Though, I was hesitant to step into the water that was apparently dirty, it made me forget the immediate tragedy. It was a passive feeling and I could see myself thinking of things from a larger perspective. There is a bigger force and energy that rules faith, surrounded by so much grime. This time, it didn't feel all that bad.u00a0u00a0u00a0
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