Spiritraveller

There is a sketch that’s etched in my mind. It’s also reflected in the many narratives of India – in novels, essays, Hollywood movies depicting an Indian scene [before Slumdog Millionaire, I must admit]. There is a shrine, often large, sometimes smaller – shaded by a tree - by the bank of a river, a lake, a reservoir. This could well be the retirement vision of peace and calm for many – etched deeper by a constant exposure to such a place in life, or through art. I first came face to face with such a place, decades ago, in the shadow of a family tragedy in a small dusty town called Lalitpur. There had been a loss in the family and many rituals involved a river close by. There was a small temple built in the shadow of a large peepul . The reservoir channeled water into two small shallow pools where I swam with my cousins. A tragedy temporarily pushed back for a while as we jumped around in those pools on hot summer afternoons. A naughty uncle asked a bearded, mat lock hai...

I was born in a city situated on the banks of the river Ganges even as my grandfather was, in those very moments, paying obeisance at the source of the river – at Gangotri [praying, surely, in the interest of his grandchild’s gender selection]. The name he wanted for me had the river in it but that idea flowed, turned and dried up in a few family discussions. Millions of infants are delivered in cities along riverbanks - but you haven’t heard of Thamesson, Rhinebanker or Seineboy, though a few Hudsons do exist! This story runs a different course, though. I was born within smelling distance of the Ganges. Even then the Ganges had a strong smell but our family home really was quite close to the river. I am sure there exist words in holy tomes that certify that bathing in the Ganges cleanse you of sins of a thousand lifetimes but to be born on those banks, ah – that would cover for killing a 100 Brahmins and a minor genocide on the side. As I grew up, on our annual 30 day vacation vi...