HARIDWAR, GANGE AND INDIAN MOTHERS

January the 4th

It is 4 a.m. as we arrive in Haridwar. We had phoned the hotel to be sure they would be open at that time. We walk as proudly as we can from the railway station to the hostel through gloomy streets. We refuse several offers from anbody who seems to be nice. We are girls who just know the word « no » after the Delhi experience. We reach the hotel and it is closed we chains and lockers, big iron doors and alarm clock ringing. We walk backwards as proudly as we can, followed by a rickshaw man who steps in every hotel before we do to say we are coming and he should get a commission. Finally we get a room from a very funny and bad cheater (he wanted his karma)

At 5.30 we finally get some sleep. We reach 21 and a half hour of sleep in 6 days, meaning 3 and a half hour of sleep in average. We are a bit tired and decide to go out of the city life and sleep in an ashram, a peaceful harbor.

We awake from the sounds of the ceremonies in the temples around. Life is spiritual in this city. All soundscape is a mixture of traffic horns and religious bells and voices.

And we see for the first time the Ganga. 

Haridwar, main ghat

This river is not comparable to anything. It has no color, but mystical colors. The fog wraps all surroundings, the landscape is washed away by the air and the Gange flows. Pilgrims belong to this shores where they sit, wash, gaze, absolutely present to the place. They are magnificent, dressed poorly or richly. Orange strikes the eyes, a pure orange from curcuma dyes. Striking.

After 5 km of walking, because neither of us dare to take a rickshaw, we reach the ashram, leave our bags for the first time and take a nap, enjoy a cheesy-Bollywood movie about love stronger than fear and sleep in a very peaceful place. Maybe it is too brutally peaceful after all the hassle we had gone through. But it feels quite good.

January the 5^th

We discovered during our stay in the ashram what is essence of Indian manhood. They are mothers. In a country where women are hardly seen as they spend mostly time in the houses, hidden, men are everywhere. They are washing clothes, cooking, make business, tailor, prepare the tchai (tea), iron… We have 5 mothers feeding us in this ashram, 4 times a day. Caring that we eat enough, filling up the plates way before they are empty, smiling when we eat well, nodding the head in contentment. 5 tiny men, teasing each other regularly, proud to serve 2 white girls and to check we do small things properly. Cécile is nicely scorned for not putting her shoes tidily outside of the eating room.

We spend the afternoon in the streets of Haridwar, between the Gange, the bazaar and the temple. The bazaar is hectic, life is buzzing, people flow between the stalls in narrow streets. Thousands of objects are placed and we don’t have any idea about their office. A ritualistic object is so hermetic to those who do not share the cultural background, yet they are fascinated, and drag the attention. They seem as many golden gates to an unknown realm. 

As we walk up towards the temple, on top of a high hill, in the midst of believers while the sun is setting down, we are taken by the soundscapes. A group of Hindu women behind us is chanting, and we take the same pace as theirs so that we don’t loose the sound of their voices. We stop here and then to have a look on the city from above. The fog is taking it little by little in his arms. The shapes are melting into each other and yet still visible. The city sounds up to  us and it has nothing to do with the image we have under the eyes. It is chaotic, in full effervescence, a mixture of urban and religious sounds. It resonates of the density of population. The diversity of the horns comes bright and clear to shake the continuous buzz of a busy city. 

Haridwar, a soundscape

And the moon! In India the moon is upside down. She lies on her back, rests, lazy, waiting to  get full. A peaceful moon, in a surprisingly peaceful country.