Livin' La Vida Baba

It was another chilly morning in Joshimath and it took quite a bit of prodding to get Girlface Buddha out of bed. Eventually, after being reassured that there was a perfect blue sky, she crept out onto the balcony with two entire quilts draped over herself and squinted towards the horizon. Just then, Santoosh pulled up in his car and shouted "Mr. [Ghost]! It is beautiful! Today we go Auli Gorson!" There were certain benefits to moving into Santoosh's own hotel, most notably that being greeted by his exuberant shouts were a more pleasant wakeup than peeking out the window and scanning for lurking Nepali perverts.

It was indeed a perfect day and we made quick time up the mountain above Joshimath to the ski resort of Auli. It isn't skiing season, but Auli doesn't look like that great a place to ski anyways, with just one rather easy-looking trail. The problem with skiing in India is that everywhere is either too hot for snow, too steep, or located within mortar range of Kashmiri militants, so for Indian skiers, Auli just has to do. Our interest was not skiing. There was no snow at that altitude, thankfully, and we merely were passing through Auli to go to the higher hill of Gorson. Gorson is a popular (i.e. easy) mountain to walk up, and at the top you are treated to a lovely green meadow with grazing sheep, donkey caravans, and an almost 360-degree view of the Garhwal Himalayas. Santoosh pointed them out to us: The Horse, The Elephant, The Black-Throated Shiva, and more.

He pointed to one and said "Look there, that is the Dunagiri. This mountain Hanuman carried all the way to Lanka to save Rama and Lakshmana." I recalled the episode vividly. I remember wanting to throw my copy of the Ramayana across the room when Hanuman had to go retrieve this mountain for the second time. Girlface's eyes lit up. Hanuman is much beloved in her family. "We should go there to a Hanuman temple!" she said. "There is no Hanuman temple," Santoosh replied, "The people of Dunagiri village hate Hanuman. They say he took their everything." At this point I burst into a snicker, tickled pink at the idea of this little Himalayan village holding a grudge against the monkey god for stealing their mountain.

Most awesome of all was the 7816-meter peak of Nanda Devi, the second highest mountain in India, which is worshiped as a goddess by the people in these parts, and you can see why. Santoosh and his neighbors are all deeply inclined to nature worship, which is not surprising given the beauty and life-determining power of the surroundings. Many a time on our travels, Santoosh would stop the car at a special bend in the river, or at the mouth of a valley leading to a sacred peak. In one of the numerous sops to orthodox Hinduism in this area, they say that Nanda Devi is an embodiment of the goddess Durga, but it is quite clear that most of the people have greater reverence for Nature itself.

Santoosh led us another way down the mountain, passing through an oak forest. We came across a flock of sheep, which I cheekily approached hoping to find some especially stupid-looking specimens. I caught a glimpse of a sudden motion, and soon realized I had pissed off the sheepdogs. They barked at me first, then inexplicably rushed at Girlface and Santoosh. Santoosh waved a tiny stick and I intercepted the dogs with kicking gestures. Santoosh gave me a knowing look; most men know the value of convenient and easy acts of "heroism" around women. Unfortunately, a knowing look was not enough and Santoosh, heedless of Girlface being right there, spent much of the descent making loud, ribald jokes about the benefits I would reap from my doggie-interdiction.

It was not to be.

Still having much of an afternoon to kill, we went off in search again of Joshimath's Narsingh temple, which we had failed to locate on the day we were asked to enact a softcore porn with boiled eggs at the nearby hot springs. We found the modest temple and admired it. As usual, Girlface went off in search of whatever priestly authority was about, and I went off looking for trouble. I found it just outside the temple door, in the form of about 25 saddhus gathering in Joshimath for the final hike to the formal opening of Badrinath in a few days. I made polite greetings as I usually do. Saddhus are usually treated warily or with intense, overbearing curiosity, so they often react positively to a friendly nod or "namaste". As I predicted, one cluster waved me over to sit down with them. "You want smoke?" they beckoned. Why, yes. Yes I would.

We began passing around a chillum that was repeatedly refilled with either ganja or a tobacco-hashish blend much favored by this huddle of babas. They introduced themselves to me, rattling off their colorful "baba names", which I have sadly forgotten. Forgetting things is often a risk when hanging with saddhus. We discussed the breadth of my travels in India, and I am proud to say that I have amassed such a list of sacred sites that the saddhus called many of their fellows over to tell them about it, and they offered me a type of blessing that seems roughly equivalent to Mad Propz. One saddhu, who I started to think of as Monkey Baba tried to sell me a statue of Hanuman lifting Dunagiri mountain, claiming it would give me great strength. With a very silly look in his eyes, he also gave me a large, knobbly stick to pound on the floor, which everyone agreed would also give me great strength. Monkey Baba rolled up his sleeve (such as it was) and revealed a tattoo of a mountain-lifting Hanuman. "Very strong!" he said, flexing his baba biceps.

At this point Girlface found me and looked at our little cohort very sceptically. "Are you coming?" she asked. The saddhus began to protest. Seeking to mollify both sides, and having the misfortune of the chillum being thrust in my hands at that moment, I offered "I'll come when when we're finished."

This was a mistake. Babas never finish smoking weed.

Girlface huffed off and the conversation turned to the urgent matter of chai. Eventually I caughed up a dollar or so for a big tub of tea, regarding it as an interview expense. One saddhu who I thought of as Toothy Baba explained the centrality of tea to the baba life. "We have no money. We just get little money from person. Here twenty rupees. Twenty rupees, five babas, chai... chillum....twenty rupees, chai, chillum. Chillum, chai, chillum, chai. Baba life." He illustrated his point by drinking chai and smoking from the chillum.

Smart Baba chimed in. "Baba life no father, no mother, no wife, only God." I nodded understanding, but before I could speak another saddhu chimed in "No father, no mother, no wife...five children!" I decided this one was to be Dirty Baba.

Not all saddhus take vows of celibacy, but Monkey Baba had, and pointed towards his genitals saying "Bramicharyi!" and looking smug. He then pulled up his loincloth and began poking and rubbing the small cloth around his package, and indeed, the small bulge thereunder remained remarkably placid.

As the chillum passed around again and again, the saddhus would recite popular praises to Shiva before their monstrous inhalations. "Shanti om. Om namo Shiva. Hai Ram. Sitaram. Ram ram ram. *shhhhhuuuuuwwwwwfffff* *cough**cough*." There are many types of saddhus. Some are hardcore mystics, some are just complete raving lunatics, and some are just free-spirited types who like to wander around India smoking weed every day. Most of those in our circle seemed to be of the latter category. "1 2 3, everything India free!" a saddhu cackled. The rest joined him in laughing. "1 2 3, India free!" Smart Baba clarified for my benefit. "Baba no work. Everything free. Chai...chillum..."

It was time for chai again. I took a few sips and thought something was a little off. Raising an eyebrow I asked "This is...special chai?" "What?" was their response. There was then some discussion in Hindi and Smart Baba interpreted "Yes, yes, this is special chai." I have enough experience with these matters to know the evening was going to take some unexpected turns.

More and more saddhus were trickling in to the temple area from the path up the mountainside. Joshimath was becoming a veritable saddhu camp. One stranger in a bright white loincloth and turban sat opposite us. "This man magic man..." a South Indian saddhu said, "...in desert he is pouring water then pouring again same water and water is never empty. Yes, look at him... magic man."

At this moment a cow strolled by. Really Stoned Baba rocked back and forth and said in Hindi "Coooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww". Monkey Baba and some of the others who were particularly happy starting repeating "Yes! cow. Cow." Some of them offered gestures of prayer. Monkey Baba and Southern Baba grabbed me and began prostrating themselves, saying "Mother holy cow. Praise cow, praise cow!", encouraging me to do the same. This is where I draw the line.

It turns out that Smart Baba had lived in Joshimath without interruption for 25 years, dwelling in a small cement "cave" on the hillside right under the temple. I was about to ask him some questions since he was the best conversationalist when a large group of Hindu pilgrims walked by and the whole gathering of saddhus erupted in pious appeals. They were poor pilgrims, and in the end only five rupees were given. The saddhu with the five-rupee coin beamed "Chai!"

It then occurred to me that I should leave, because I was getting the munchies and it was clear that the babas were quite serious about consuming nothing but chai and cannabis that evening. As I began my slow departure, the saddhus blessed me with various sticks and other implements and guaranteed me that my extensive holy wanderings would bestow great providence on my family, friends, and future wife, and would ensure that my next life will consist of a long spell as a heavenly being. A "minor demigod" as they put it. Well, well, well.

I recalled I was supposed to meet Girlface for dinner, but she is a strict vegetarian and I was craving a succulent meaty dish, so I hatched a plan of sneaking off on my own, eating dinner, and then relying on my baba-incited stomach cravings to get me through a second dinner with Girlface. This would have all been well and good had I remembered the plan while I ate the first dinner. As I tore into a plate of chicken momos, I looked up and saw Santoosh and a friend of his settling down at a table with a bottle of whiskey. It was that kind of eatery. Rather than do the sensible thing and walk across the street to the hotel, I ended up downing two tall glasses of whiskey. This was followed by a plate of fried goat intestines, proving better than the neglect of my girlfriend that intoxication really does impair a man's judgment.

I then remembered I was supposed to have a second dinner, because the place we were in gave up all pretense of being a restaurant and ran out of food, or whatever you call fried goat intestines. I did not, however, remember (being now quite drunk as well) that this second dinner was supposed to be accompanied by Girlface. I shuffled into the restaurant down the road, peered in cautiously, and was relieved to see that Old Pervy wasn't waiting for me. I ordered a potato dish and sat down next to a harmless-looking urbanite finishing his meal. We chatted for a few minutes, and then without warning he said "I have my own guru... he has many mystical powers." My ears perked. Though really quite amused I put on an air of bored skepticism. It was the perfect provocation.

"He can know everything, even the most intimate secrets like between man and wife. Also he can know everything from a distance. I can call him right now and he can say 'You are wearing blue sweater and black pyjama and next to you is sitting a foreigner who is eating zeera aloo.' The whole universe is open to him."

"These babas...they have many powers. Some of them live in the most remote places and never leave. Even on top of Himalaya in winter they just stay in trance with no eating. My guru can do some of these things."

"My guru, he can take any form. Like one time me and friends ask him to transform into cock and he transform into cock right there."

"He can be in two places in same form at same time. One time he is with us and we ask him to show it and he say call these people so we call them and they say 'Yes he is here with us last three days.'"

"He know all the facts of my previous life. He tell me in past life I was a schoolteacher who come to India and fell in love with country. So I prayed to the God and told him please let me be born in India."

"You know the Jesus? My guru tell me that in Jesus lost years he come to Kashmir and learn the meditation and the yoga. Then when he is crucifixion he go into a trance. After three days, two yogis go to his cave and take him out of his trance. They say to him special yoga words he know and he come out of trance. Then after he show his disciples his wound, then he go back to Kashmir. He live there fifty more years. You can see he have his tomb in Srinagar. He has Muslim grave. They revere him also, like Musa is Moses."

"He will also know which girl is infatuated with you. He can find all your most love girl in the whole world." Fascinating, I thought, now here is a power with some useful application, girl-finding....OHHHH SHIITTTTTTT.

I hurried over to the hotel. I knew I reeked of smoke and Girlface was not happy. She was made even less so by the evidence of Santoosh's whiskey on my breath. I can't be sure about this, but the goat intestines probably didn't help either. Between Girlface and the whiskey I spent the night nursing more headaches than one.

At least when I get reborn as a demigod I won't have these problems.