Ashram

The next day, the Ganges, which divided Rishikesh into two banks,
drank up a cool, steady rain. I walked, arms akimbo, across the
grounds of the ashram concentrating on every step to keep from
slipping on the slick tile walkways. Over email, I had enrolled in a
two week beginner's yoga course at the ashram taught by an American
woman. The course seemed to be a full-service operation including
meditation, asanas, chanting classes, and tutorials in the
Bhagavad-Gita (one of India's most holy texts). That rainy morning I
asked four different ashram people about the "Beginner's Yoga Course"
and was told three different start dates, and, from one particularly
confused fellow, that there was no course at all.

That was off-putting, but not surprising—in India there's often a
different answer to the same question depending on who you ask.
However, I was repelled by something else, as well: "obsessive
Swami-worship." Many ashrams are started and led by a guru of some
sort. And, I have been warned that some ashrams focus on the leader
more than their mission. My ashram was led by a long-bearded,
orange-clad guru whom everyone seemed to adore.

But, over breakfast the first morning, I observed several guests being
shushed. A pleasant looking Indian man told them that silence was to
be observed until 10 AM, because "the Swami is meditating!" One
couple, a newly married Asian bride and groom, both dressed in
spectacular silk clothing, sat in the front office outside the
breakfast area waiting to meet His Holiness, perhaps to have their
marriage blessed. I kept overhearing conversations about how
"impressive He is in person," and how "He doesn't say anything, but
you can just feel His power." I reflected for a moment, over my bowl
of steaming sweet wheat porridge, and then quietly tiptoed back to my
room to pack.