Fire and illusion

Spiritual hype in a faraway land

Tapovan near Rishikesh, the Birthplace of Yoga. Taxis and tuk-tuks swerve around cows calmly lying on the street, unphased by the chaotic traffic around them. Caravans of Westerners slowly walk on the side of the road. Drenched by the warm showers of the Monsoon rain, they wear tight yoga clothes in bursting neon colours — retro synth-wave fashion in faraway Uttarakhand. The Yoga disciples walk barefoot; little streams from the monsoon rain flow around their ankles.

Locals do not walk barefoot except for a few old sadhus in orange robes with grey hair who turned their backs on their previous lives. Some found a new profession in professing to Western seekers, while others seem at peace with themselves. Youth convoys, black caravans of pumpin’ motorcycles with orange Hanuman flags, take up the road. They blast techno music that thumps through the valley.

Western commercialism created a parallel universe of flashing lights in this holy place. Tapovan has Yoga school signs galore, mixed with Ayurveda clinics and hippie-run hostels. Only when walking deeper into the back alleys, away from the tourist hustle and bustle, do we see the picturesque side of this place: distant sounds of a puja, a group of school children playing in the garden of an ashram, a shrine on the corner of the road. Noise and peace are all around.