It was synchronicity, just like it always is with places that are charged with deep, esoteric energies. I ended up on a impromptu trip to place never heard and known of . The story of the trip can however wait. The backdrop of this spiritual retreat deserves a poem of it's own.
The Nadia district may be famous for it's poverty and declining hand-loom industry. But much like the rest of the state of Bengal, Nadia has done it's part in churning spiritual leaders for our Age. At a time when the Indian middle classes were struggling with an identity crisis wrought by the British education and Victorian sensibilities cultural behemoths like Tagore, Raja Ram Mohun Roy came to their aid. And when the mainstream Hindu identity was starving for fresh perspective Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada, following on the trail blazed by Mahaprabhu Chaitanya of the this same region rose into prominence.
Our generation, for the most part is afraid of committing itself as religious for fear of sounding fundie and crazy, given the riots and crimes of irrationality we have seen in the name of religion. Then we are not really clear if agnostic what describes us because quite frankly, being Indians who will never give up on Ganpati Bappa and Diwali we are certainly NOT agnostics. And that dreadfully, dreaded A word. Atheism inspires about as much respect in our peer set and family circle as a bout of the measles. I don't know about you, but given the above conundrum we mostly mark the tick on quasi-pseudo-spirituality. Of course, our grandparents may think we are Kaliyug hippies but they don't know the confusion we deal with. Old school religion is out of the question. But we won't stop celebrating our version of Star wars meets Chinese New Year - by which I mean that festival when the great Saviour Rama won back his Queen from that Demon King Ravana. We spend the annual budget of Somalia on the crackers, diyas and festoons of Diwali alone. But we shy from identifying ourselves as hardcore Hindus because BJP made Hindutva a crazy word. Such is our malaise.
Commitment Phobia of the Spiritual kind.
Me, not of Hindu origins at all. But lustily desirous of all our multi-colored celebrations of human and divine adventures. A travel junkie with a serious fetish for .... well, pilgrimages to the oldest, holiest, culturally richest spots of our mad country. Believe me, until you have taken a boat trip down the ghats of Benares, taken a dip in the chilly Ganges at Hrishikesh and been a mad member of a party of clowns climbing up mountains for a nano-second darshan of a deity - you don't live in the real India. A lot of experiences can be added that laundry list, of course. About 1000 more such examples. But the fact remains my friends that REAL India, unspoilt by the influences of our Victorian past and post - Mughal dark ages is still breathing in it's silent corner. Waiting to be explored. And be amazed and disgusted by, simultaneously. No fancy, luxury trip to Thailand and Europe will ever meet the pulsating experience that real India offers. And it does not involve being a Hindu, I am not. One simply partakes a cultural experience, be it religious or not.
My trip to Nadia had it's share of highs and lows in balance. The excruciating heat that gave me a splitting headache. But the pure, green farmland that formed the backdrop of the Iskcon Mayapur facility was ethereal. And living in a straw hut, replete with spookiest forest sounds at night that made me wish I wasn't a lone sleeper. The barge I took down the Ganga to get across to Nabadwip - of all things in our country the Ganga is a ceaseless wonder of the ages. Somehow, sailing across the Ganga will put you in your place where nothing else can. You are sailing on waters that your own ancestors have both sailed and dissolved in. The narrow bylanes where saints, seers and poets of yore sang and danced with the intoxication of Krishna Bhakti.
To take a trip down the district of Nadia is to harmonise that spiritual vagueness within ourselves. And simultaneously absorb the soothing, mellow nectar of our cultural and religious beliefs devoid of doctrine, rigidity, casteism and creedism. Nothing but joy. If nothing else the ecstasy of the dreadfullly early 4 a.m. arati that draws devotees from across nearby villages to mirthfully dance in the temple can break the stifling big city drudgery we all long to escape.
A collection of Nabadwip/ Mayapur images.
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