from India: part 2
one year later: film photographs and words from my trip to India, February 2024
february 16th, 2024
last night, i went to an aarti on the Ganga. an aarti is a ceremony performed to connect to the divine and bring light into darkness. i was planning on going to one to meet Neelam and was on my way to walk there when a rickshaw asked if i wanted a ride. a group of people already in. i said yes. not realizing when the rickshaw went past where i was meant to get off. there was a young woman from Delhi (Tanya) on the rickshaw who said she was going to the main Ganga aarti at the Triveni ghat so i decided to go with her to that one. Tanya is here on vacation and said it is her first time going to this aarti, too. our rickshaw drops us off and we follow the group of people toward the river.
we leave our shoes at the stand and walk barefoot to pick a spot to sit. 4th row. the sun is low in the sky and the pollution makes the sun bright red. like a bindi on the sky’s face. imprinting its reflection on Ganga’s surface. a rippled mirroring. we put our feet and hands in the river to bless our body with hers. we take photos hoping they will capture the beauty that our eyes are drinking in. the big red sun slowly tucks itself in beneath the mountains leaving a dusty purple pink in its wake.
and then aarti begins. camphor burns as priests stand on tables conjuring up the blessings. the air is thick with chanting, perfumed smoke, and deep reverence. deep reverence for the divine and the sacred landscape that brings color and nourishment into these lives. the aarti is followed by music and dancing. prayer and love bringing us all together. i am flooded with the feeling of belonging. of community.
the rivers in India are life force. and the Ganga is the mother of them all. being in her presence in this way feels surreal. but i am here. being alive in the here and now as sacrament to life and to honor all that has died. the divine motion of energy flowing. like a river. and together, my new friend and i are clapping and singing and dancing to celebrate all that is holy. coming together as a family. the priests walk around to give blessings to everyone. we take blessings from the fire. we take blessings from the river. our father and our mother.
i put my whole body in her waters. and i let her wash away all that i hold inside that i no longer want to keep. i let her hold me. her waters are soft as i let my body be cooled by her touch. i let her play with my hair and stroke my back. i let my lungs breathe as she tells me it is okay to release.
february 21st, 2024
i arrived at the goat village last night, greeted by lightning and thunder. the Himalayan peaks at sunset.
the layers like collage. the thin air greets my lungs.
jai nag devta [victory to the snake god]
i visited nag tibba - the snake temple
not an easy feat, it consisted of an icy 7k trek uphill. a shiva temple resting at the top with his trident. the bell is rung. i bow down to shiva and i bow down to snake. i feel that kundalini energy as we snake our way up to the top. and i give thanks to the mountains, these gods all cloaked in oak and rhododendron. their shawl of snow draping over their heads and shoulders. each mountain looking like its own king. they remind me of elephants, a family of king elephants. as the sun gods peel away the clouds to kiss the top of their trunks. rolling curves of divinity.
each step up we ascend to shiva. each step down returns me to snake.
and i feel the devas amongst the trees as we spiral through. this is a land where the serpent energy is alive. the mountains, the trees, the rocks - all are sacred.
the colors of an Indian wedding:
the yellow of turmeric. the red of sandalwood. the pink of rhododendron. the purple of eggplant. i am in the process of forgiving myself. i put my hands on my heart and my belly and i breathe in forgiveness and breathe out bitterness. i hear the bells chime. the incense thickens the air. the spices of my ancestors: cumin, coriander, cardamom, fennel, ginger.
my ancestors - they eat with their hands. they walk ~ feet bare ~
does landscape remember? can i trace my veins back to the roots of the banyan tree? if i run my fingers along the mountain’s spine, will it awaken a remembering within my own? there is something i have not yet experienced until India - walking amongst people who look like me. it weaves within me both love and sorrow.
returning looks like eating the food touching the fabrics drinking in the nectar of life that is spiced in the form of rhododendron flower juice chai tea ginger tea lassi, badam milk i gather up the dhal and chickpea the aloo and fresh paneer with roti i bring in the food that nourished my ancestors food that grew on this land seeds forming seeds seeds coming from seeds connecting me to them my ancestors - taking these seeds to Guyana to continue their lineage continuing i have inherited their hair my eyebrows the melanin in my skin for all the seeds they planted i place my hands on the earth blessed with tears a present nourishing for future flowers