Day 5 - Alka and the Nicest Cheese

On day five, the entire group met with Alka, the Assistant-to-the Guru (not Assistant-Guru) and she planted seeds in our minds about what to expect from our time at Parmanth Niketon (the name of our Ashram). She was dressed in all white and covered from head to toe; all you could see was her beautiful face and wide brown eyes that were reflecting the ecstasy of this spiritual place. When we told her we were preparing for cleansing the next day (we would have to fast until dinner and drink castor oil after our massages), she told us that we were going to be experiencing things we've never felt, and that we should just release everything to the Mighty Ganga, the River Mother who flows over every rock, obstruction, or person who enters her in the same way, revealing her unconditional love. She said whenever something came up, we should just offer it to her.

Alka also told us her story. She grew up in San Francisco in a Hindu family, and on her first trip to India, she landed in this Ashram and knew she had to give up her life in America and move here. She told us about how she got off the plane in Delhi and immediately started speaking broken-Hindi even though she had never learned Hindi in her past. When she stopped by at this Ashram on her way to four other holy sites, she met the Guru (who is ironically in the US right now, so we can't meet him), and immediately started weeping. She wept and wept all the layers of her outer self away and found true peace in his presence. From that moment, she begged him to let her stay but he refused. He told her she needed to go home and finish her karmic duty there (she was in med school at UCSF). After being home for 9 months and sending weekly emails and calling crying hysterically, he allowed her to come back. She left her family (who did not understand why she needed to be here, why she could just open an Ashram in SF) and came here and has not left since. That was six years ago.

She explained that all the "stuff" we accumulate in the West to make us happy is really just distracting us from our inner intelligence, our inner voices. Coming to India, she let go of things like a salary, car, tv, and nice shoes and she has started to connect with her inner divinity and her desire to serve others. (She has not, however, given up her cell phone, which rang three times while she was talking to us). The Ashram also houses a school for young boys (the ones next to us at Aarti, who are always immaculately dressed in saffron clothes and are very respectful), where they learn both academics and spirituality; along with the school, the ashram also provides outreach programs for Women's empowerment and environmental protection. I was sad to see that there were no girls in the school, but Alka explained that there had been girls but it caused too many complications with mixed genders, and that they were building a site for girls in the coming years. I felt a bit better knowing that.

As I reflected on Alka's story, I thought about how it was truly her destiny and her calling to be here in India, and I envied her ability to follow her intuition so courageously. How many decisions have I made where I let my mind take over my intuition!? Always with disastrous results: being with the wrong person (intuition says: I'm not happy with him; mind says: you should be in a relationship), depression (intuition says: I want to paint, dance, and sing; mind says: you don't have time) or a stuffed belly (intuition says: I think I'm done; mind says: I want chocolate!).

I stayed after her talk to speak with Alka one-on-one. She could sense some longing in me for something more in my life, and though I thought I was just telling her how much I enjoyed her talk, she heard that I needed encouragement. She gave me a hug and said, "It's okay, just give it to the Ganga." I felt a sensation as if tears were going to well up in my eyes, but immediately shrugged it off. I don't really cry, unless I'm in a lot of physical pain or deep in self-pity. But small things, like a heart-warming climax to a movie or a thoughtful gift or a sad story just don't make me cry. I wish they did. I actually feel bad about not crying -- like the time my students in Springfield read their memoirs about the pain, the abuse, and the hopelessness they experienced, and they were all crying, but I just couldn't; or the time when I was with my Freedom Writers' cohort at the Holocaust Museum in LA, and everyone, I mean everyone, was crying, and I just couldn't.

Feeling her words resonating within me but not quite sure what to make of them, I went with my group to dinner at a local storeowner’s house. The man, Madhav, and his two brothers, Govind and Sunil, have become friends with Soni and David and helped us with transportation to Rishikesh. They invited all 11 of us to their home, where all their families live on the multiple floors. This dinner was the epitome of selfless giving. Upon our arrival, they donned us with leis made of marigolds and gave each one of us a rose. Then they gave us each cold bottled water and served a fabulous meal of daal, potatoes, the MOST delicious paneer and peas I’ve ever had, and chipatis (all served beautifully as you can see in the picture below). They kept coming around and giving us seconds and thirds until we had to be forceful and proclaim “Nei! Baas!” (“No! Enough!").

After the dinner, Soni and David reciprocated by giving them t-shirts from their yoga studio and shirts that represented Boston, in case they ever came to visit: a Patriots shirt, a UMASS shirt, and a BC shirt. When were all set to leave, they said, “Oh, one more thing…” and presented us each with a beautiful journal made of recycled paper with flowers and cilantro embedded within the pages.

Their generosity was too much for me. On the walk home, I said to Liza, one of my compatriots here, “And now they’re going to ask us for money,” and she said, “Doubt it,” but I wasn’t convinced. I mean, who is that nice? We walked home, they said goodbye, and we went to bed. I guess they are that nice.