Journey to the City of the Light

By Daniel Dorfman

When I returned from a journey to India, I was met with as many curious questions as befuddled faces. The most popular one was “why?” and while I often stood pontificating on an experience I had seen with my own eyes (a dentist pulling teeth in a street gutter), heard with my own ears (the unforgiving cacophony of car horns) and tasted with my own mouth (well, this one is really beyond words), I was reminded how far I had travelled , and how otherworldly India is when compared with home. The objective of the trip was to film a city called Varanasi, one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world and the holy site for more than three religions. The fact that I was a tourist in another country provided me the special privilege to gain a unique insight beyond those who have lived there since the day they were born. (Ever notice how few New Yorkers have actually visited the Statue of Liberty?) More than anything I remember, however, is how desperately I tried to remind myself that when I returned to New Jersey, India would continue to exist; the things that I saw would continue alive in memory. A young girl dressed in a ragged and torn ballerina tutu spots me in a passing crowd. She takes my hand and introduces herself. Her eyes are black but they glow like the Indian sun. “Hi,” she says and smiles. “I’m Muni.” “Hi,” I manage to say but struggle to find words that will break through this unusual encounter. She begins to walk. Pointing. Naming. She acts as if we’ve been friends forever. She pulls me into a labyrinth of dark alleyways that flood with sweet smells, frenzied clamor and gazing faces. The farther along we walk, the narrower the streets get and the tighter I hold her hand. Ordinary norms are quickly lost on me. I realize I am as far from home as I’ve ever been. When I begin to convince myself that none of it is real, a dream maybe, she pulls me out of the alleys and back into the light. The sun illuminates a landscape familiar of pictures in history books of a world that existed two thousand years earlier.


“Here,” she says matter-of-factly, “Ghat.” I was standing on the banks of the Ganges River 8,000 miles rom home. The sun burnt away the morning fog laying bare Varanasi, the City of Light. Our unlikely fellowship, a mix of Indians and Americans, ages ranging from 20 to 60, went off to capture the morning Hindu rituals along the banks of the holiest of rivers. There is little to compare with the splendor of the Ganges River in the morning. Bright rays of the rising sun spray across the glittering water and are met with a crescendo of drums and bells, prayers and salutations. Nowhere in the world is the sun received with such celebration as in Varanasi. It appears as though Hollywood (or Bollywood, really) spotlights illuminate the banks like a grand stage where ancient temples, shrines, ashrams and pavilions stretch along the river for as far as the eye can see. At the foot of these steps thousands of worshippers greet the rising sun with ritual bathing, the practice of yogic exercises, breath control, and conduct meditative disciplines. Along the quiet neighborhood Ghats, the women slap brightly colored fabrics against stone slabs with a rhythm that resembles a classical Indian dance. Enormous stretches of the riverbank are covered with the patchwork of elaborately colored saris. Holy men, or Sadhus, lift their painted faces to the sky and submerge themselves in the river, chanting Sanskrit mantras in deference to the gods.

It is in many ways a sight that is so removed from anything I’ve ever witnessed it resembles a beautiful, strange dream; a dream created when the brain cannot decide on one shade and so relies on an infinite arsenal of color and design. When Muni announces she is going swimming, she asks me to watch over her most prized and limited possessions. Before I can even question or caution that I saw a dead floating ox in the water just moments earlier, she hands me her watch, purse, and necklace. She undresses naïvely, takes a running jump and dives off the steps into the river. She swims underwater and waves. She could be any seven-year-old in the world enjoying the splendour of cool water on a warm day, but when I realize that just one hundred feet away the smoke of cremation pyres is rising and the ashes of the recently dead are swirling through the water, I see that this is no average little girl, at least no average little girl from my world.

By way of necessity, Muni has learned five different languages to be most persuasive when asking soft hearted tourists for rupees. The riverbank is her home, workplace and playground, as it is for thousands of other Indians who live sprawled along the river’s twisted ends. In the ancient days, Hindus believe, it flowed in the heavens as the Great White Milky Way. It is believed that the most revered of Hindu gods, Lord Shiva, was persuaded to catch the Ganges in her hair as she fell so the earth would not be shattered by torrential force. And so it is said she plummeted down from heaven to the Himalayas where she meandered in the tang led ascetic locks of Shiva before flowing out upon the plains of India. So too did Muni dive off the edge of the river banks into the water again and again, smiling and singing. In more earthly concepts, the river is considered a goddess and supreme mother. Devout Hindus on the banks of the river cup their hands and pour the water back into the river as an offering to ancestors and their gods. When we visited a hospice for those who plan to die in the holy city, a woman was brought spoonfuls of river water to quench her parched lips until the time that her body would return to ashes and be laid to rest at the bottom of the river.


Invocations of how the Indians consider the river Ganges as a divine force come from every direction up and down the river. Colourfully dressed pilgrims arrived packed in boats. They claimed to have been travelling for months in hopes of finally reaching the city and having the thrill of plunging into the river for a sacred bath. In this city every aspect of human life is brought into a religious arena. As quoted in the holiest of Hindu scriptures, “if only the bone of a person should touch the water of the Ganges that person shall be honoured in heaven and experience what is called Moksha or the freedom from rebirth. ” The steps that lead from the river to darkened inner streets are flooded with saffron-robed Sadhus, who roam free from material concern. When I looked them in the eye, I couldn’t help but get the sense that they were seeing me but not really seeing me. When I took photographs and they looked at the camera with an unwavering glint of humanity and blankness, this further proved it. They were living in another realm.



A pilgrim’s shelter that resembled what I recognized to be a public park was covered with straw and sleeping bags. Groups of pilgrims flooded the tent surrounded by a sea of odds and ends used mostly for marking the boundaries for their temporary homes. Some had just arrived with their families after travelling for weeks. Some were preparing to vacate and continue onto their final destination. The smells of incense, curry and cow faeces combined to fill the air. I met a man who introduced himself by two names, the second of which was Manohar Babaji. When I asked him why he had two names he said the first man was gone. Before making this journey, I could never comprehend the meaning of a single resource that ignites a sense of immense connectivity within the spiritual life of a cit y. Every person on the banks of the river Ganges is a fibre in a huge woven tapestry. Pilgrims come to bathe in the river; families come to spread loved one’s ashes. For an entire society, the river provides life, from the most mundane daily chores down to the awareness of the next life. It is a massive pipeline of energy that the whole city is tapped into. The rhythm of a little girl’s stride is captured in the eyes of a wandering Sadhu or reflected in the rhythm of a woman pounding her sari on the riverbed. The energy of the river that draws tens of thousands of pilgrims to bathe in its waters feeds the flames of the burning Ghats and the promise of an end to the cycle of birth and death.

The river is a place that opened up a singular awareness. For a moment, I was tapped into the pulse of the city and the river’s auspicious electricity, which powers the lives of millions of people who live through it. It is a notion of such elegant simplicity, and as I gaze out into the river, I can’t imagine anything as poetic or real existing anywhere else in the world. For a moment I began to feel the flow of the river pumping through my own heart and veins. On the plane ride home I reflect on how we did not reach all the places we had planned, and how special it is that within the city of Varanasi there is a sacred place at every step.

Daniel Dorfman is an English major at the University of Delaware. Apart from his college studies, he enjoys visiting places like Israel, Cuba and Africa, and writing about and photographing his travel experiences.

Exploring Kumaon Himalayas

By Shoba Mohan

A trip into the hills and valleys of Kumaon with two friends – a photographer and a retired diplomat, both from America was a quirky adventure I was looking forward to after a period of self-confinement.

Getting off the Ranikhet Express at Kathgodam railway station on a cool April morning, the drive to Fishermen’s Lodge Bhimtal for breakfast was planned many months in advance. Doing what I do, that is advising people about beautiful places to visit and stay, when I see brochures that tell me lot but images that say too little, I just have to see the place. And Fishermen’s Lodge was being chanted to me from all quarters……

Driving along the lake, the first glimpse of the building, a grey stone cuboid with broad white lines did not stop my breath, what did was the skimming view of the lake from the deck, built right at the entrance. Shown to the rooms for a quick “wash and change” – I was IMPRESSED.

And as I explored and was shown around, the thoroughness of Bindu and Bunti’s maiden endeavor to emulate one of the Irish bed- breakfasts in India’s ‘lake district’ was laudable . The rooms in colours teal and mauve , the quiet and trained service, small details - white baskets to roll your comforters into, tiny balconies overlooking the lake, a add-on pantry ( god ! she did think of everything ) for young nervous mums , a table on the deck heaving with breakfast, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and, I was tempted to stay on for a nice long vacation ! For those unfamiliar with Kumaon, Bhimtal is one of the many lakes that dot this region of the lower Himalayas. http://www.thefishermenslodge.com/

Almora is alleged to be the first hill station that the British discovered to this side of the north, it was also a popular hangout of the flower power era in the sixties and to this date you will find some returning to explore or couples who met then having stayed on to make Almora their home. Deiter and Geeta, who own and run Kalmatia Sangam are one such couple. With 10 cottages named after Himalayan birds that frequent the Kali-mat estate - Scarlett Minivet, Himalayan Magpie etc. Built in the typical sloped roof cottages typical to mountain resorts, Ka Sa’s cottages are scattered on a sloping pine grove overlooking breathtaking views of the western Himalayan ranges ( on a clear day). Dieter walked the trails around Almora, exploring villages for years and the Kali-mat village treks which is what we did for the next five days are a result of his innumerable explorations.

The three village house are set at about 5-6 hours walking distance from each other and as you walk, across valleys, dive into clouds, ascend terraces, skid down slopes, catch your breath in fields, stop at ridges for a leisurely picnic lunch – I felt I could walk for ever. Fresh air, villagers with face splitting grins, going about their chores, thumping grain , rocking babies, drying millet……. it all seemed so simple, life and living, working and laughing, praying and waiting. Piping hot meals – local vegetables, rice and coarse bread ( rotis ) quickly rustled up by Yoginder our trek guide and his team of two. Sometimes like in Jawalbhanj ( the last village house ) we always dined to our cranky host’s commentary on the rising prices and diminishing fire wood ! Yoginder our hearty trek guide was always ready to arrange tea or to regale us with stories of semi-divine kings of the region. In the village houses, restored to its traditional form and space, beds were comfortable and inviting after a day’s walk, warmed up to a toast by the bukharis and sleep was effortless as was the waking to bird song.

There were some “readers digest” moments too when we were caught in a frightening storm, wind and icy cold rains hitting at us as we shivered up a steep hill to seek refuge in a Shiva temple midway between Kalmatia and Deora. Shelter in a low stone hut around a fire of pine needles could not have been more welcome. There were some “ I give up “ moments too, trying to maneuver a tricky slope on the Binsar walk. We did cheat a bit and drove a stretch, but never gave up on the walking – a minimum walk of 4 hours per day or a maximum of 6 hours was accomplished effortlessly and our gift was the spectacular sunrise vision of the Himalayas on the last day. Only to find that on return to Kalmatia the rains had driven the haze and views of the Vanilla tops from Kalmatia Sangam seemed close enough to touch.

Post all the walking two things I welcomed - a sunset drink with Dieter and friends and Imogen’s massage the next morning. For small pleasures like these I could walk to the very ends of the earth !

The euphoria of the walks dimmed a bit thanks to a confusing drive to Corbett – and Jim’s Jungle Retreat and safari lodge style luxury awaited us. My travel companions couldn’t wait to jump into the pool and I couldn't wait to set off into the Corbett Jungles. Walking on the pebbly bed of Kosi acquainted us with the tiny call of the Copper Smith bird and we saw pug marks of the resident male tiger all along the river bed.
However my wish to see him at the next turn the river took remained unfulfilled. Drives with a disinterested Forest official into the Corbett National Park yielded the rare ( so he said ) sighting of a yellow throated Martin, langurs, spotted deer and birds - a family of wooly necked cranes, a Himalayan flame back, jungle owlet, Shikara etc. What I particularly enjoyed was riding the temperamental elephant Kaleena in the Corbett Jungle. She would stop for her friends, refuse to take a slope, shower us with a stream of saliva……. but as she swayed and rolled amidst the forest trees and thicket….. you are lulled by the quietude, the emerald green of the jungles, vague smells of rotting flesh - may be a tiger kill lying somewhere, informs our Mahout, Afsal. We see nothing….. but the afternoon sun and Kaleena’s rolling gait has already rocked us to contentment.

Christmas at Dharamsala Dec 2008

By Shoba Mohan

The colloquially correct way of saying Mcleod Ganj is “ Mcload Ganj” . That’s what people call this tiny little hill town granted to the Tibetans as their haven by the Indian Government. Dharamshala in the Kangra region of Himachal is divided as upper Dhramshala and Lower Dharamshala. Hundreds of migrants forced out of Tibet have settled around Upper Dharamshala at a height of 1700 mts , a virtual relocation complete with a government in exile, secretariat , monasteries and flourishing businesses. The main town is a series of criss-cross sloping streets that extend from the Temple and Residence of HH Dalai Lama to the main chowk ( square ) right at the beginning of the town. From the square the roads also extend out towards Naddi and Bhagsu on one side and down to the Kotwali Bazaar and lower Dhramshala on the other.

Mcleod Ganj especially during milder winter months upto December end and early January is a coveted holiday destination for many Indians as well as foreign visitors. For Indians the climate of Mcleod Ganj in the vicinity of the Dhauladhar ranges of the Himalayas make it an ideal vacation while the westerners come here seeking the presence of HH Dalai Lama , monasteries and Tibetan learning centres. For all visitors the rows of books shops, cafes and restaurants are great places to hang out. There is a certain trance like element walking those lanes in and around the Dalai Lama’s temple. Cafe’s playing music, Tibetan women chatting away, momos steaming by the side of the road, a huge brown woolly dog flopped below the popcorn cart, monks in animated conversation under the suns lengthening shadows, the prayer wheels spinning in slow motion till another reverent hand passes over .......

A three day trip to Mcleod Ganj was accomplished with the primary intent of attending the mid night mass on Christmas eve at the Church of St.John’s in the wilderness. On a previous visit in August with a friend , we imagined how it would be to be a part of the Christmas eve celebrations. And lo ! something planned that long back was actually put into action and we boarded the Jammu Mail on the Dec 23 in good time for Carol singing at St. John’s on the Dec 24. The biting cold weather of Mcleod Ganj would not allow for a mid night mass in the real sense so Father Kunjumon called for a more appropriate Mass at 7 in the evening. The church was packed to capacity with people from all nationalities, infact the choir group was a wonderfully varied group who passed out the candles and photo copies of some popular carols. To the accompanying notes of a violin they sang beautifully, beginning with “Silent Night “. In between the local choir group joined in with a few songs in Hindi. Biting cold with the anticipation of snow, a quick tea and biscuit was to be our after-mass treat and we made it back through the winding roads back to Glenmoor Cottages.

Glenmoor Cottages is a short distance from the main square of Mcleod Ganj and through the dense well preserved deodar forest you would walk 15 minutes uphill right up to your big cottage behind Om Villa – the owners residence. A compact estate spread along the mountain side, Glenmoor is Dharamshala’s best accommodation if you are not too caught up about wanting to stay in town or by the temple. 3 Small cottages ideal for a couple with small children and 2 large cottages best if you have grown up kids and a couple of beds only with bathroom to share for those looking for a deal is the limited accommodation that Glenmoor provides. Rooms are neat and correct, I mean a small sit out, curtains, attached bathrooms, piping hot water, carpeted ( not the fluffy smelly kinds that you so often find in hill hotels but a thin red layer to keep the chill off the floors ) , table, chairs, bed side lights, extra blankets....... and anything you want is just a phone call away. What’s more it is wi-fi enabled but I recommend you strictly keep that laptop away and enjoy the beautiful outdoors – the sunrise and sunset over the lush deodars..... its seems so far away from city dust, that you should savour the moment.

In the end the trip turned out to be a “chiller” – hours of badminton outdoors , listening to fabulous hill stories from Ajaiji ( who owns Glenmoor ), living from meal to meal and coffee to coffee while we discovered one restaurant after another – Jimmy’s ( Italian ) , Moonpeak and Sambhala ( cafe ) , Pemathang ( pizza’s and salads ) , Lungta ( for a Japanese thali and snow ball cookies ). The one day we decided to do some sightseeing ended up to be another culinary visit to Taragarh Palace where the boys got hooked to hill country cricket with the staff of the hotel. By the time they were threatened out of their game to visit the Sarin’s at Tara Villa and drive back to Glenmoor, the stars were out. A moment that thrilled us ( amateur photographers and enthusiastic explorers ) is a forced stop at a Kangra Railway Crossing – the toy train emerging around a bend in the middle of a field with the vanilla ice cream topped mountains in the background. The best photographer amongst us ( armed with a near professional camera and eye for frames ) got some memorable shots.

And then the drive back to Pathankot railway station stopping by at Kotwali bazaar to pick up a CD of ‘Dostana’ and we “shut up and bounced” all the way back to the station, warning the driver to take it easy time and again. I must mention here that most mountain drivers drive like crazy – having travelled alone, in groups , with fellow women travellers I am still to find one who is not winding down the convoluted roads as if his tail is on fire. Anyway we reached safe, well in time to have a fulfilling dinner at the “Khalsa Hindu Dhaba” – I did mention we lived from meal to meal on this trip !

The train ride back was uneventful except for the usual attempt at juggling seats with fellow passengers so that our group could have berths together. This time we were lucky, a young couple willingly gave up their bay seats in exchange for the two seats we had at the end of the coach. And yes the train was a few hours late and when we finally slid to a halt at Old Delhi Railway Station it was close to noon.

Jungian Experience - A Spiritual Travelogue

By Mohan

Let me start this travelogue with a story that I heard one evening over Dinner recounted by our guide Srinivas who was escorting the 4th Jungian Journey organized for the members of the Carl Jung Foundation New York.

One day in the heavens, a debate ensued between Goddess Lakshmi (Symbol of Prosperity and Wealth) and Goddess Saraswati (Symbol of Knowledge and Wisdom). Lord Narada , the trouble maker instigated this debate for supremacy. The story of the poor Brahmin settled the dispute by affording equal status to both the goddesses.

A poor Brahmin had a large family but did not have the means to support them. He had heard about King Bhoja Raja ( the king of plentiful ) and went to seek his help. The king upon hearing him asked him to return the next day.

When the Brahmin returned to the court the next day, the King ordered that a Pumpkin be given to him. The Brahmin disappointed at being given a pumpkin did not have the courage to say anything to the King. His Dharma (duty) prohibited him from cursing the king and he left the court carrying the pumpkin on his head.

On his way back home he traded the pumpkin with a person of the Vaishya Community (a trader) and took whatever money he got in exchange. The Trader on the other hand went home and gave the pumpkin to his wife who cut it and found it full of precious stones .

Moral of the story : The Brahmin had the wealth but did not have the wisdom to find it. The ideal situation in life is when you have both wealth and wisdom by your side.

The Jungian journeys through India followed the footsteps of Carl Jung who traveled extensively in India and wrote several books analyzing the Indian and Western Philosophies. Meticulously researched by Regine Iyer from Mindful Journeys, USA and lead by Ashok Bedi, a Jungian expert and a psycho therapist, the group on their 14 days program began their journey at Bangalore, and covered Sravenabelgola, Chikmagalur, Mysore, Nagarhole, Tellichery and Neeleshwaram. Overnight stays at Shreyas Retreat ( Bangalore ) , Metropole ( Mysore) , Cicada ( Nagarhole ) and Neeleshwar Hermitage were combined with sessions with Ashok Bedi and sightseeing and cultural insights.

I was fortunate enough to be with this year’s Jung group for a few days and hear Dr. Ashok Bedi lecturing on various topics. I joined the group at Cicada in Nagarhole, five hours drive from Bangalore and headed directly to the conference hall where Ashok’s lecture was in progress.


Sessions at Cicada Resorts, Nagarhole :















The Flower and the Thorn in a rose bud represent the TOTALITY of life, the positive and negative, the good and evil – a duality and a choice that we are constantly faced with in our day to day life.

Life’s journey towards the ultimate is manifold and there are many paths to this. Jesus represented the Path of Sacrifice while Buddha chose the Path of Wisdom. One’s path is entirely an individual choice but it must be remembered that as every path begins with the sacrifice of the EGO.

For a first session it was a soulful connect for me. All the pressure of work, life and living was set aside and to be able to do this even briefly is wellness as one experiences inner healing.

Our second session with Ashok was on analyzing the Jungian Philosophy with the the Hindu Epic RAMAYANA. It was an amazing session and an eye opener of sorts for me . Using the character of Lord Rama as the archetype, Ashok expertly defined the use of archetypes from a religious point of view. How one can adopt certain traits for their personal growth but trying to completely emulate them can be detrimental. He also delved deeply into myths of Indian Goddesses. Words flow out of Ashok and one gets so engrossed in his lectures that you do not want the session to end.


Session at Neeleshwar Hermitage, Dist Kasargod, Kerala :














The DREAM GROUP session was a first for me. One person shares his or her dream with the group and the rest of them discuss that dream and come up with their own interpretations or experiences related to a similar dream that they might have had. The session ended as we lit a lamp for world peace, held hands and offered a prayer.

To wrap up my experience I would say that the three days spent with Dr. Ashok Bedi and the group were small blessings I always feel that power my life as I travel either on work on leisure. The retreats and destinations – Shreyas Retreat, Cicada and also Neeleshwar Hermitage lent themselves superbly to the theme of the journey, and enhanced the experience for the group.