Travelogue - Ganga Calling

This was the first travelogue I ever wrote, and it remains the craziest spur-of-the-moment trip I ever did. It was written way back in 2001, at the time of the Mahakumbhmela in Allahabad. Truly, this trip changed my life in ways I couldnt imagine at the time. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ganga Calling

I wanted to go to the Kumbh Mela. The Kumbh Mela was on same day as the Mahakumbh which happens only once in 144 years and the whole world seemed to be converging to it -- umpteen crore Indians, hordes of foreigners and an innumerable number of reporters. I had been watching the developments on the TV and press curiously. But when I tried researching it on the Net, I was really hooked. The best sites on the Kumbh Mela were by firangs, and the BBSs (Bulletin Board Service) were all about how so-and-so was planning to come to the Kumbh, and where they could stay, and some so-and-so saying that he had reached the Kumbh, and how he was totally overawed... I was getting more and more cheesed off… how come all kinds of firangs were able to go to the Kumbh, and I, as an Indian, couldn't. Bah! At that time, however, suddenly a lot of things fell into place. My great grand boss went on a long vacation, and my immediate boss was new. At the same time, I got an interview call from Nestle in Delhi, and so they were willing to reimburse the airfare. At that point the plan started crystallizing in my mind that Kumbh really seemed to be calling. I decided that Kumbh would happen. I tried to catch my old backpacking mate Chinmay, but he thought I was crazy. Then I tied up with another dude, but he ditched at the last moment.  To hell with it, I said. I'll go alone. On Friday, I took the morning Delhi flight, with some 2K in my pocket, a backpack and my trusty Lonely Planet. No reservations, no hotel bookings, no clear plans, nothing. Oh well! That's what real adventure is all about anyway. Landed in Delhi at about 12 noon. Called up the regional manager from the airport to ask about the Allahabad ticket, but got only cribs. No tickets, no room, all trains booked, huge crowds, no rooms in Allahabad, lawlessness, his own sales people had left Allahabad and were avoiding it as much as possible... and so on. Okay, Okay I said, forget it. I'll handle it myself. I got to Gudgaon by bus (an experience by itself) and got off at the required stop. A 2-minute walk, and there I was at the Nestle building. A huge place, positively awe-inspiring, new structure, new age architecture, very hep indeed. The lobby was totally pseud, marble and chrome, and a video wall continuously showed Nestle ads, various meeting rooms etc., very hep indeed. When I entered, I discovered a few things about Nestle: a) It's a very old, fuddy-duddy, hierarchy-conscious company. b) Full of formally dressed old guys in suits and tie. Hajaar firangs roaming about. c) Seemed to be a very formal stiff old organization. And me? I was dressed in a formal blue shirt and a formal black pair of pants. No tie. But, as I did not want to wear black leather shoes to the Kumbh, I was wearing a dirty old pair of sneakers. And I was carrying a bright red backpack. When the HR guy came down, he looked at me for a couple of minutes, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Then he came to me hesitantly and asked, "Ketan?" "Yes!" I answered enthusiastically, thoroughly enjoying myself. Words failed him for a minute, then he manfully mastered himself, and invited me to a conference room. As I was early I would have to wait. "No problem," I said and brightened up when he asked for my ticket. That was the reason why I was there anyway. Then he treated me to a hot chocolate from a really neat vending machine and left. I whiled away the time drinking hot chocolate, making phone calls, reading the Lonely Planet... In the meantime, the guy brought the money in lovely cold cash... ahhh, solved my solvency problems. After the interview (another story by itself), I left for Delhi station. The Great Train Journey The bus dropped me at the New Delhi railway station, and now being an experienced person, I went immediately to the ticket counter and bought an open second class unreserved ticket to Allahabad (Rs 142). Armed with the ticket I barged into the first platform. There was a train already standing there. "What train is this?" "Delhi-Patna express." "Allahabad jaati hai?” "Jaroor jaati hai." Very good, I thought, and went to the unreserved compartment. On seeing it, I recoiled... it was packed like a Bombay local in peak time, like a can of sardines. And it was full of weird characters -- normal guys, sadhus with tridents, some seriously warped looking characters -- no way I was going to travel like that for 12 hours, all night. Then I went up and down the train, generally checking it out -- it was quite full. Then I went to phase 2, the TC pleading phase... went and caught the TC -- saa'b jagah chaahiye -- berth, No.… seat, No... Attendant’s seat, No... anything at all -- No. Arre, what to do now? Then I went and spoke to the stallwalas out there. "Boss, I want to go to Allahabad, no reservation -- what to do?" The first person suggested waiting for the next train, so that I could get a seat in the unreserved compartment (ugh), but it was the next guy who really gave the jackpot suggestion. "Arre saa'b, just pile on to the reserved 2nd class compartment...TC thoda fine marega, wo bhar do." Yes! That is a good idea. The train was due to leave at 8 p.m. Two minutes before departure, I jumped into the train in the reserved compartment. Stood like a good boy until we were well out of Delhi, and then sat down. Ab main nahin uthne wala. There were many others like me, piling on to the reserved compartment, and willing to pay the fine, I suppose, if the need arose. But they weren't intending to pay anything. Soon enough a TC came along after a couple of hours, and asked to see my ticket. I showed it to him, and he stared at it owlishly. "Aap ko Rs. 132 fine dena padega." "Okay," I said, but I didn't make any move towards my wallet. He looked at me for a minute and walked away. Later the Bihari next to me asked, "What was he asking money for?" Some fine, I replied. "Tchah! No need." Arre wah! Sure enough, the TC came and went plenty of times, but he didn't ask for anything, and I didn't make any move to pay him either. Later I got screwed though; it was bloody crowded, couldn't even stretch out my legs -- first squatted, then sat cross-legged, then tried vajrasana -- was changing my position every 2 hours, as I got fresh cramps. I had to get up a couple of times, as we stopped at Aligarh, and some other place, and there I lost my newspaper on which I was sitting. Later though, some space was created as people got off, or went to other compartments. And it was getting colder and colder, and I was chilled to the bone. Luckily, I had worn my sweatshirt over my shirt, then I dug out my sweater and put it on, then I found a scarf and put it on, then I had nothing else, so I shivered through the night. A real tapascharya for a shore-dwelling softie like me. I finally reached Allahabad at six in the morning, and was really glad to get out of the train -- being half frozen and half dead. However, I had great entertainment watching various people get off, all of whom seemed to be people in various shades of ochre, with or without tridents, all bound for the Kumbh. Then I walked out of the station. It was cold and dark, and the city had not woken up as yet. Some pilgrims were sitting around a small bonfire under a shelter. As I was leaving the station, fumbling with my Lonely Planet, a cyclerickshawala approached me. "Saa'b, hotel chahiye?" I looked at him. Yes, I do want a hotel, but you will take me only to the place where you get your commission. "Nahin saa'b. I will show you as many hotels as you like. Only after you are satisfied, you pay me 5 rupees." And the very first hotel he brought me to was perfectly fine, though we had to wake up the proprietor. He just gave me a reassuring (though sleep bleared) smile, shouted for the flunky to show me the room, and went right back to sleep. The flunk showed me the room, and it was perfectly fine -- clean room, with clean white bed sheets, and an attached bath. Rate? Rs. 300. Inwardly I gave a big smile -- the net was talking about 1000 -1500 rates… but I frowned and said, "It's expensive." "Yes," he agreed, "don't want it?" "No, no -- I do want it. Definitely." So with no problem whatsoever, I got a nice cheap room -- others reported hunting high and low for a room, or paying huge rates. The Mela The first thing I did after checking in was slip under the two blankets on the double bed and get some sleep. I was totally zonked after that terrible freezing night journey. After an uneasy nap of a couple of hours, I woke up and left at about 10 o' clock. Went out and immediately went to a chaiwala to put some hot tea into my still frozen body. There I asked a passerby how to get to the Kumbh... "Catch an auto -- go to (some) place, catch a cycle rickshaw from there, go to (some) place, and then walk..." "Haan theek hai -- but how far is it from here?" "Oh -- about 8 km." Well, I was still cold, so I thought -- let's walk. I walked and walked and walked, and as I came nearer and nearer to the Mela, the crowd went on increasing. Soon it consumed the entire road and there was a mother-of-all-traffic-jams. Huge number of devotees, trucks, cars, tempos, buses and hajaar cycle rickshaws who were doing their best to screw up the traffic as much as possible. I went on walking; the bloody township was huge. Tents and people everywhere, lots of dust, janta around. The janta was basically of 4 types: a) Pure devotees: These actually impressed me the most. Tons and tons of these guys -- total dehatis, no possessions apart from the clothes on their back and a bundle of oddments on their head -- they had come from all over the country to take part in the Kumbh. Janta from Nepal, Himachal, Maharashtra, assorted south and large numbers from UP and Bihar. They had come out of pure faith -- no other aim than to take a Ganga snaan and wash away their sins. Normally quite a cynical person, I was quite humbled by their faith -- no jokes. b) Sadhus: These were the most eye-catching. All kinds of them -- many real weirdos. Some were the standard ochre clad, trishul wielding, some were mendicant / beggar kind, some were proper tantrics, some Naga kinds with ash smeared and matted locks, some posh-looking fair-skinned silk adorned ones, kapalis holding skulls and so on. c) Indian tourists: Semi-devotional types, rich / semi-rich pot-bellied Punjabis en famille -- generally came in Sumos, made a lot of noise, took a bath and went off with huge 5-liter canisters of 'gangajal'. Also many poorer ones with smaller cars or none at all, making less noise, less irritating and carried smaller canisters of 'gangajal'. d) Firangs: Either the budget backpacker types, which can be further classified into 'devotional / discover myself types' and 'see the freakshow' types or the expensive 'package tour with European tent' types or of course the media guys with expensive camera equipment and with an eye out for the most 'happening' shots. Of course, there were the original Kumbh people -- the kapalwasis who stay by the riverside for the entire month, and bathe three times a day and spend the time engrossed in prayer, but to be honest, I didn't see them. And of course there were all those people who were making a living out of the Kumbh -- stallwalas, boatwalas, curio sellers etc., honest and dishonest in equal measure. I walked around in a daze... well... not quite in a daze, to be honest, but taking in the whole atmosphere and trying to absorb as much as possible. While I had read a lot about the Kumbh on the Net and in the papers, being part of it was quite an experience, which I cannot really recount. The collection of people around, though huge, was not really overpowering. For one thing, for Bombayites, crowds are not such a big deal, as we seem to be in one at any given time of the day. And secondly the area of the Kumbh was so huge (40 square kilometers) that the crowd was spread out. It was the composition of the crowd, which was really interesting. All kinds of people, as I said earlier -- all coming together, for a common cause, without any problem whatsoever. In a 10-minute walk you would encounter large numbers of dehatis / small towners, weird sadhus, who may or may not accost you for money ( generally not, to be quite honest), a couple of bemused looking firang backpackers, lots of stallwalas, and lots and lots of cops. That's one thing, which was quite impressive -- the government preparations. I really can't describe them all at once, but it was really impressive. Numerous tents, ropeways all across the river bank, information booths, lost-and-found booth, first aid tents, roads, sand banks, lighting, public conveniences everywhere, lots and lots of licensed stalls selling food and drink, PCOs... and a huge police presence. Thus there was no mara mari, no lawlessness, no wholesale ripping off of tourists, no harassment. Good show, hats off to the government. Well, anyway, getting back to the Sangam... I was generally roaming around finding my way to the actual Sangam... stopped at a phone booth (yes, there were STD booths aplenty right in the Kumbh area -- I told you the arrangements were good) to call Dad at home and reassure him that I was alive and well. He got damn excited when I told him that I was at the Sangam: "Took a dip, eh?" "Well no," I replied a little apologetically, "I am not actually at the Sangam, but in the vicinity." Finally (whew!) I came in sight of the actual confluence. Quite a sight -- the deep blue, cleaner, faster flowing Yamuna meeting the sluggish, muddy Ganga. Yamuna flows straight, with better formed banks, while the Ganga takes a huge loop around -- which makes it difficult to make out. The colour change is quite dramatic, the deep blue Yamuna combines with the muddy Ganga and you can clearly see the different colours and the third colour of the Ganga after the confluence. On the Yamuna, just before the Sangam, there is a huge fort that was built by Akbar, which dominates the surroundings -- even now it looks very solid and in excellent condition, very beautiful and scenic right on the banks of the river, the trees on the fort bending over the river and gently swaying... very nice indeed! It took quite some time to absorb all this (and to be perfectly honest, I didn't -- the whole thing sunk into me over the whole day as I was pottering around in the area). I had hardly walked five minutes when a boatwala spotted me as easy prey -- "Saa'b, boat ride?" Sure, why not. He took me to his boat, and in fact had some trouble locating it, there were so many boats on that blessed river! Thousands and thousands! Well... hundreds anyway. All dilapidated looking wrecks, but floated fairly well. We went over three boats until we came to his boat and headed out. Like all the people I met, he was mystified by the fact that I had come alone to Kumbh, all the way from Bombay and had no interest in bathing! We finally got into the river, and luckily I was the only one on the boat, so I was very comfortable and had a 360-degree view. (Not so lucky perhaps, as I had to pay for the whole boat by myself.) We floated down to the Sangam point, and what I earlier thought was a rocky promontory, jutting out into the water -- turned out actually to be a long, long line of boats anchored at the Sangam point, with hajaar janta stripped down and taking their holy dips. Everyone was busily scrubbing away with soap -- why soap? I wondered. The water is too dirty for the soap to make any difference -- you would probably come out dirtier than when you went in first, and whatever positioning statements we marketers make, nobody has appropriated the 'good for soul' segment yet. I wanted to take photos of that line of well-scrubbed holiness, but my boatman cautioned me, "No saa'b. Very strict rules against taking photos of people while bathing saa'b." Probably, the furore of our moral guardians after the press guys went wild taking photos of some firang babe bathing in the nude. I looked around desperately for that babe, but she seemed to be as invisible as the Saraswati river. Out there again my boatman asked me, "Saa'b, Sangam nahaaenge nahin?" He was quite foxed as to why one should take the trouble to come all the way, and finally not take the obligatory dip. But seeing the general condition of the river, I politely refused, though I did fill some Sangam water in a plastic bottle. Finally the boatman was satisfied -- something as per tradition finally. Then, to assuage his feelings rather than mine, I cupped up some water in my palm and poured it on my head as a token bath. (Some thing which was to become famous later as the 'Sonia' bath.) After the Sangam, I told him to take a general chakkar of the river and take a long route back. An amusing thing I saw on the river was a floating post office -- a boat painted red and actually a fully functional post office -- I was impressed. After the boat ride, I did the usual tourist thing and visited the fort. There's a 1000-year-old 'akshay vat' in a temple full of rapacious priests demanding money at every step (not getting much though) and a Hanuman temple, which had a two-kilometer line in front of it -- so I did not enter it. I spent the rest of the day roaming about the Kumbh area -- paid a long visit to the Sangam shoreline, watching people take holy dips. As today was not a particularly auspicious day, people were able to take dips without any hassle. One sight that I remember very vividly was seeing two huge police dogs frolicking about like puppies -- a very cute sight. On the ghat, I had a chat with a policeman, asking him about his experiences with the Kumbh, and congratulated him on the excellent arrangements. In turn, he was impressed that I had come alone, all the way from Bombay to the Kumbh. Later I went across to see the famous 'Naga' sadhus -- they were in a separate enclave the other side of the Ganga -- a very reasonable walk. How much I walked out there, must have walked 25-30 km everyday. I did see a few of them -- naked, smeared with ashes and smoking pot, and doing some sundry yagnas, but very frankly, didn't see it worth pursuing much. I saw some, got bored after some time, and then left. Taking photos is actually not allowed, but I did sneak a photo. Spent time till nightfall, then walked back. Blessed with a sense of direction, which, if it was present in birds, would help them migrate to a different place every year, I naturally walked confidently in the wrong direction, got lost and had to double back and walk nearly twice the distance required. Was dog-tired when I reached the hotel and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next day, I went to Anand Bhavan -- the ancestral house of the Nehrus. Being on my macho walking kick, I eschewed autos and walked all the 8 km there and back. Anand Bhavan was OK, quite a well-maintained house, with beautiful lawns. The interior has been maintained as it was in Jawaharlal Nehru's time, and looks like the dwelling place of very serious-minded people -- all dark mahogany furniture and loads of serious books. I came back to the hotel, and then walked back to the Kumbh. There was nothing much new there, except that I got lost yet again and was totally fagged out when I reached the Sangam, having had to walk double the distance. Listened to the evening pooja and walked back, being careful to ask directions this time. Kashi Benares When I came back, I had enough of the Kumbh, and decided to go to Benares (Kashi / Varanasi) the next day. I checked out the next morning, and got a bus to Kashi. Bus was cheap, but bloody crowded, and left us quite some distance away from the city. Again, being on my walking kick, I walked all the way to the river side -- the Dasashwamedha Ghat. This time, it was not quite so enjoyable, as I had a heavy backpack on me. Anyway, I finally reached the ghat and took my bearings from the map in the Lonely Planet. Located some cheap hotels nearby (as nearby as possible, I was close to collapse). The first one was full (I asked him whether he had any problem with Indian tourists), but the second had room. It was more expensive than my Allahabad room, but was a good deal nicer, being directly on the river side, so you had a beautiful view of the Ganga from the gallery. And being a LP recommended hotel, it was mainly firangs all the way. And indeed the owner had put in all the possible things that a firang crowd could want -- rooms, river side café with Indian and continental food, cyber café, STD/ISD booth, travel agent and money changer, some reading material for sale, and even a music class, teaching Indian classical music. The only thing missing was a yoga class. In fact, later I got chummy with the owner and asked him why there was no yoga class. He replied that the owner of the nearest yoga class was a friend of his, and so he did not want to hurt his business! The owner himself was an interesting character -- hardcore UP-ite, but very smart-looking. He had converted his ancestral house into his hotel. In fact, it was hilarious when he started pointing out rooms to me… "See that room -- our cow used to live there -- now I rent it out for 500 rupees per day. The cow's hay used to be stored in that room -- I rent it out for 400 rupees per day." He had certainly done a good job of building up his hotel's equity, and had a reasonably good review in the Lonely Planet as well. Also, he had somehow patoed a Spanish babe and married her, and now he had a shop in Spain, where he sold Indian curios at exorbitant prices. In fact he lived half the year in Spain, as he claimed he couldn't bear the heat in India. Enterprising fellow! Anyway, I spent the afternoon lazing around in the hotel, and went for a dusk river ride across the Ganges. A very beautiful experience indeed to float across the Ganga in the failing light. The boatman pointed out all the ghats on the river -- including Mankramanika Ghat, the funeral ghat where pyres burn 24 hours, and Harishchandra ghat where the king served as a servant to the king of the 'Doms' (funeral workers), and Dasashwamedha Ghat, supposed to be the oldest ghat in Kashi. This is really the heart of Kashi, and of Hinduism too, in a way. There were a huge number of devotees having their holy dips (and a lot of people like me -- spillovers from the Kumbh). For a single person like me, who was having pleasure cruises on the river, there were a hundred pilgrims for whom this trip on the river was the fulfilment of life itself and were singing hymns and doing aartis, or deep in prayer and meditation. The rationalist in me scoffs at such superstition, but the human in me salutes such faith and devotion. I myself desisted from bathing -- the water was filthy. As we came back, the light was failing and my boatman proudly showed me a really jhatak aarti on Dasashwamedha Ghat, with some 20-odd priests swinging their diyas in tandem and a fearful racket of cymbals and ghantas and other instruments. The devotees seemed to be in good spirits, and all the firangs were photographing and camcording away to glory, but I was not very impressed. After some more relaxation in the hotel, I set out for the Kashi Vishwanath temple. The Vishwanath temple was the focal point of Hinduism, and so to cow down the populace, the fanatic tyrant Aurangzeb had it razed to the ground, and a mosque raised on that spot, breaking the hearts of Hindus all over the nation. The current temple was one built by our fellow marathi, Rani Laxmibai, and the gold canopy on the top was provided by Ranjeetsingh of the Punjab. Lately the VHP has been making threatening noises about breaking down the mosque and rebuilding the temple (and after seeing the spot, I must say that I sympathize with them) -- so the police have cordoned off the place in a rather ham-handed way, and an easy entry into the temple has been made rather difficult. Anyway, I went to the temple and had a long and comfortable communion with the deity for nearly half an hour. After this, I had enough religion for a day, so I decided against going to the Gyaan Kupoor (the well where the original shiv linga is supposed to be hidden) and chose rather to wander through the amazing gullies of Benares. Small labyrinthine gullies with shops selling all kinds of stuff from paan, to bhaang to pickles -- lots of mithai outlets, religious artifacts etc. I spent nearly two hours generally roaming about -- absolutely fascinating. (If I was fascinated, I can just imagine how overwhelmed the firangs felt.) Going back to the hotel, I felt a bit lonely, but later started chatting with the owner till bedtime. The next day, I got up bright and early for a dawn river ride on the Ganga, equally enjoyable, but nothing very new, except the exhilaration of the dawn over the river. Then I went back to the hotel and decided to go to the Buddhist relics of Sarnath, where the Buddha preached his first sermon. The owner's cousin offered me a lift, and it nearly gave me a holy death in the holy city. Rushing about on a bike in those narrow gullies had me scared stiff -- and sure enough we slipped on a glob of cowdung on a steep turn and took a cropper. I was unhurt, but 6 inches further, I would've split my skull open on a stone step. Flustered by the fall, the guy drove a little more safely, but as soon as we emerged on the main road, there were a hundred two-wheelers as reckless as him, and we promptly banged into another lunatic coming from the opposite direction, breaking somebody's clutch lever (I saw the piece fly in the sky). Anyway, he dropped me at a point where I could get an auto, and in due course of time I landed up at Sarnath. Very beautiful place. The local temples are sponsored by Buddhist nations like Japan, Sri Lanka, Thailand etc., while the actual archeological site is maintained by the ASI, and indeed, is the first time I have seen any good work done by the organization. Very beautifully laid out site, with well marked excavations and lawns, and even a deer park with very tame deer. I was approached by a very good and knowledgeable young guide who showed me the birthplace of the Jain tirthankara as well as the Buddhist relics. He was an employee of the local Buddhist refugee organization, which teaches the locals to form cooperatives to make and sell Banarasi silks without getting jacked by middlemen. So I went and saw a real traditional silk handloom, and later bought a couple of silk sarees (very reasonable) for mom. When I came back in the evening, I had another interesting experience. In the evening I had again gone to roam about in the gullies, when I suddenly felt like having hot milk from the corner doodhwala. (After all, this is the USP of the region -- hot milk in winter.) I was standing there and chatting with the doodhwala, when an acharya also came along to chat with us. He told us the significance of the Mauni amavasya, and then told me about the Vichalaxmi mandir nearby. (I later found out that it was one of the major Devi temples in India.) Suddenly one jhund came our way. I was wondering what this crowd was all about, when suddenly I saw a familiar face. "Arre...Ravishankarji!" I blurted out, as he passed on, and somebody in the crowd said "Yes, yes" and hurried on. It was Sri Sri Ravishankar, the new famous Guruji of 'Art of Living' fame, teacher of my cousin Abhay (and Rhea Pillai). I finished off my doodh and the acharya offered to show me the Vichalaxmi mandir. Ok, I said and we went there, only to find that the entire jhund was there. This seems to be fated, I thought, and stood there. One beautiful aarti happened... not the sukhkarta dukhkarta type, but some beautiful devotional songs, sung extremely well... After 15-20 minutes they came out, and suddenly I came face to face with Guruji. "Pranam Ravishankarji," I said. He gave me a smile and hurried on. I thought of saying 'main Abhay Joshi ka bhai..." but desisted. Abhay was really impressed that I had the good fortune to meet the Guruji, even before doing the 'Art of Living' course. Meanwhile, the acharya had given me a solid dose on 'Mauni amavasya' which was the next day. He praised the holiness of the day to the skies, and gave me a detailed SOP on how to take the bath. (Wake up before dawn, keep silence (maun) until you take the bath, take achaman from a brahmin and give dakshina and I will get maximum moksha.) Well, I thought, why not -- I was in Kashi on such a holy day, and right on the river side. I went back to the hotel, and chatted with the owner's cousin (another very interesting character) till bed time. The next day, I duly awoke before dawn and took my holy bath, which I hope has blessed me and erased my former sins.  After coming back, I checked out of the hotel and asked the owner what I could see in the town until my flight later in the day. He gave me some directions. Given the adventurous nature of the trip, it was only fitting that it should also end in a thrilling fashion. I had just finished seeing the new Vishwanath temple on the Benares Hindu University campus, when I heard someone shout out for me. Turning to see who this could possibly be -- it was my host, the hotel owner. Apparently my flight had been advanced, and this guy had run after me, checking at all the places he had advised me to see. We had a rushed trip to the hotel to pick up my luggage, to the travel agent to pick up my ticket and then to the airport, where sure enough, the plane was delayed so there was no more tension. A smooth ride back and I was at home-sweet-home, with another backpacking vacation concluded. Mom met me at the door and touched my feet, as befits the first of the Joshi clan to do a pilgrimage of the Mahakumbh and Kashi. PS: Something interesting -- my aunt checked out the sample of the Kumbh water, and found it to have 2500 times the acceptable level of bacterial and faecal count. Only real faith would prevent you from contracting some disease or the other. The very fact of the low level of epidemic and disease at the Mela shows the high level of faith!