My angry friend assaulted me with the following question and continued with these observations:
“Why did you have us come to this place?
It is like Disney land: there are junkie trinkets everywhere, the stalls all sell plastic objects and low quality clothes. I saw a pair of pants which were identical to some that my son bought in the Carribean. Probably they were made in China.”
“The roads are filthy and narrow: cows, vans, and motorbikes leave no room for pedestrians who shove and push. On the foot bridge motorcycles think nothing of using this as a short cut. There is no respect for any kind of order.”
“I was expecting things to be quiet here but the honking of horns and the hot sun are driving me crazy.”
“They are selling Yoga. Anywhere you look, there is an ashram offering special courses or teacher training. It has all been turned into a gigantic business.”
“Where is all the spirituality that Rishikesh is supposed to be famous for?”
Undeniably, all of these observations carry a ring of truth.
Magic India is filled with the inexplicable.
It is a combination of the possible and impossible, the pure and foul, beauty and tragedy, contrasts and contradictions – with no explanations offered.