Nikhil Stewart
A Prince Among Us
In the morning my cousin Arjo, his girlfriend Vedisha, and I walked across the street from our hostel to a cafe for breakfast. I had ordered a lavender tea that was presented in an oceany-deep translucent blue, but when a lemon was squeezed into it, it magically turned purple. Out of excitement I did a typical American manurism and asked our waiter about the tea and found out that he was in fact the owner and a chef in the restaurant. Arjo and Vedisha were at the time finishing their final exams for culinary school which I promptly shared with him and they started to talk with our waiter as well. We continued to eat during which, we noticed a math teacher tucked away in the corner of the shop nestled in by the window with his computer and microphone, he later joined us in this photo (reaching into his bag for some conversational enhancing herbs). When we were all finished the owner of the shop informed us that he would be taking a group (many from the hostel we were staying at but his friends as well) on a hike along the Ganges that evening to see the sunset and invited us to come along with him. We gave him our WhatsApp and told him that we were unsure how the day was going to go but we are most definitely interested. In hindsight, I am amazed that this photo was even taken as we had visited the Maharishi Beatles Ashram, and the primary Lord Shiva Ashram on the Ganges for Pujo, along with mopedding through a festival where my leg had gotten stuck in between two metal posts on a crowded bridge. Not to mention the heat and the Monsoon weather. IN any case, we got cleaned up and it was around 17:00. We then messeged the Cafe Owner we met that morning and headed across the street. It was raining, or should I say water was blanketing down on and off as if Rishikesh were a bed being made and god's sheets were being pulled on and off to get rid it of wrinkles. Cows, jeeps, people, pigs, dogs, and monkeys alike walked around as if it the one city village were a diverse metropolis. It was at this intersection of traffic and weather that keys appeared, and a question followed "Can you drive a scooty?" (A scooty is the name of a one person mopped) the cafe owner asked all three of us, and immediately Arjo eagerly replied "Yes I drove a scooty all throughout Uni" I asked nervously to Vedisha "Can he actually drive one? and how well?" Vedisha sighed and said, "Sadly these are not the worste conditions he has driven under, he can drive just fine."" Her judgment I trusted much more than mine in this instant so with that, the three of us pilled onto a one person mopped and followed a caravan of three scooties and two cars. We drove for nearly fifteen minutes in the downpoor until the buildings started to fade into forest, cars were no longer heard, and all that was, was the sun and its reflection on the wild raging Gangas. The power and gradeuous of such a body of water suddenly became realized, and we crossed this river on a bridge where what seemed fiftey monkeys all staired directly into my eyes, indescribable. Finally, we reached what seemed to be a broken-down bus stop, and nothing more. I asked vocally to Arjo, where are we? He as unsure as I just waited. Soon after our Cafe owner, chef, waiter, and now guide got out of his car and told the group of around 12 "Okay come this way" as he disappeared behind the bush on the highway. Soon after a path emerged, after that a few structures with grass roofs (as seen in the picture), and a view of the Ganges. We moved past these structures and trekked on the river silt and large bolders that formed the banks. We stumbled awkwardly due to the rain, improper shoes, and honestly just conversation and lack of care. A half mile or so into the hike, we noticed a huge, possibly 6-7ft long pig carcass rotting on the bank. One of the Cafe owners friend decided we should go back as if there is a carcuss, there might also be predators. So we went back to the grass hut. This structure was what the cafe owner called his cafe for "friends only" How he emmased such a liberal wealth I did not question, but was nonetheless grateful for. I struck up a conversation with the gentleman in the green scarf. He worked in forestry and we got into a long debate about forest geopolitics and wastefulness at large both east and west. It turned out that his sister went to UCLA, a strange connection seeing that I grew up 30 minutes from there. He was traveling to Rishi Kesh from south India. I was one of only two Westerners, there was an Irish girl to the right in an Orange jacket, it was her third day in the country. Bold, adventurers, perhaps naive, yet nonetheless impressive. Around this Time the math tutor from before asked if anyone would like to partake in the "conversational herbs" to which most abliged. I then struck up a conversation with the man in the black and red teashirt wearing olive pants. His name was Mahavir Singh. I asked simple, yet curious questions of him like "so how did you end up in this group" "where do you come from" What do you like/dislike etc. After a few of these back-and-forth proddings, he says to me "I like how you do not assume... you ask me how I am, who I am out of genuine interest not because you feel as though you have to." I nodded as he continued.. "Often when I go into villages people will bow to my feet saying praises and yet they do not know me, they will ask me how I am without any actual care," I said to him with a slight well meaningful but unsure smile "While I don't have that exact same problem of people bowing to me in villages, I can definitely appreciate genuine interaction" We somehow then got onto the topic of families and personal origin, he seemingly just as curious as I and eager to divulge the information that made both of us an "I". He told me "I come from a long Punjabi Royal line of Family." which undoubtedly explained the previous story of village bowing, and the strange, pointed, certain, and unwavering way in which he spoke. Yet for being a Prince, and to the contrary of having people bow to him. I could not detect a hint of pretense or conceitedness. We talked for what seemed an hour at the tea house for friends and witnessed some wrestling by a few of the other people in the group (just fun, harmless wrestling) before we left and headed back to Rishikesh. Mahavir then offered to buy me a cup of tea, to which I gladly obliged. The tea maker got word that I was foreign and asked if I knew how to make the tea. I said no, and he showed me the proportion of spices, milk, and small, subtle, yet important trade secrets. We talked for another hour or two before going back to the hostel "GOstops Rishikesh" to watch a movie. Rarely in my life have moments been so saturated with serendipity, the exfoliating of comfort zones, and depth of connection.
A Prince Among Us
In the morning my cousin Arjo, his girlfriend Vedisha, and I walked across the street from our hostel to a cafe for breakfast. I had ordered a lavender tea that was presented in an oceany-deep translucent blue, but when a lemon was squeezed into it, it magically turned purple. Out of excitement I did a typical American manurism and asked our waiter about the tea and found out that he was in fact the owner and a chef in the restaurant. Arjo and Vedisha were at the time finishing their final exams for culinary school which I promptly shared with him and they started to talk with our waiter as well. We continued to eat during which, we noticed a math teacher tucked away in the corner of the shop nestled in by the window with his computer and microphone, he later joined us in this photo (reaching into his bag for some conversational enhancing herbs). When we were all finished the owner of the shop informed us that he would be taking a group (many from the hostel we were staying at but his friends as well) on a hike along the Ganges that evening to see the sunset and invited us to come along with him. We gave him our WhatsApp and told him that we were unsure how the day was going to go but we are most definitely interested. In hindsight, I am amazed that this photo was even taken as we had visited the Maharishi Beatles Ashram, and the primary Lord Shiva Ashram on the Ganges for Pujo, along with mopedding through a festival where my leg had gotten stuck in between two metal posts on a crowded bridge. Not to mention the heat and the Monsoon weather. IN any case, we got cleaned up and it was around 17:00. We then messeged the Cafe Owner we met that morning and headed across the street. It was raining, or should I say water was blanketing down on and off as if Rishikesh were a bed being made and god's sheets were being pulled on and off to get rid it of wrinkles. Cows, jeeps, people, pigs, dogs, and monkeys alike walked around as if it the one city village were a diverse metropolis. It was at this intersection of traffic and weather that keys appeared, and a question followed "Can you drive a scooty?" (A scooty is the name of a one person mopped) the cafe owner asked all three of us, and immediately Arjo eagerly replied "Yes I drove a scooty all throughout Uni" I asked nervously to Vedisha "Can he actually drive one? and how well?" Vedisha sighed and said, "Sadly these are not the worste conditions he has driven under, he can drive just fine."" Her judgment I trusted much more than mine in this instant so with that, the three of us pilled onto a one person mopped and followed a caravan of three scooties and two cars. We drove for nearly fifteen minutes in the downpoor until the buildings started to fade into forest, cars were no longer heard, and all that was, was the sun and its reflection on the wild raging Gangas. The power and gradeuous of such a body of water suddenly became realized, and we crossed this river on a bridge where what seemed fiftey monkeys all staired directly into my eyes, indescribable. Finally, we reached what seemed to be a broken-down bus stop, and nothing more. I asked vocally to Arjo, where are we? He as unsure as I just waited. Soon after our Cafe owner, chef, waiter, and now guide got out of his car and told the group of around 12 "Okay come this way" as he disappeared behind the bush on the highway. Soon after a path emerged, after that a few structures with grass roofs (as seen in the picture), and a view of the Ganges. We moved past these structures and trekked on the river silt and large bolders that formed the banks. We stumbled awkwardly due to the rain, improper shoes, and honestly just conversation and lack of care. A half mile or so into the hike, we noticed a huge, possibly 6-7ft long pig carcass rotting on the bank. One of the Cafe owners friend decided we should go back as if there is a carcuss, there might also be predators. So we went back to the grass hut. This structure was what the cafe owner called his cafe for "friends only" How he emmased such a liberal wealth I did not question, but was nonetheless grateful for. I struck up a conversation with the gentleman in the green scarf. He worked in forestry and we got into a long debate about forest geopolitics and wastefulness at large both east and west. It turned out that his sister went to UCLA, a strange connection seeing that I grew up 30 minutes from there. He was traveling to Rishi Kesh from south India. I was one of only two Westerners, there was an Irish girl to the right in an Orange jacket, it was her third day in the country. Bold, adventurers, perhaps naive, yet nonetheless impressive. Around this Time the math tutor from before asked if anyone would like to partake in the "conversational herbs" to which most abliged. I then struck up a conversation with the man in the black and red teashirt wearing olive pants. His name was Mahavir Singh. I asked simple, yet curious questions of him like "so how did you end up in this group" "where do you come from" What do you like/dislike etc. After a few of these back-and-forth proddings, he says to me "I like how you do not assume... you ask me how I am, who I am out of genuine interest not because you feel as though you have to." I nodded as he continued.. "Often when I go into villages people will bow to my feet saying praises and yet they do not know me, they will ask me how I am without any actual care," I said to him with a slight well meaningful but unsure smile "While I don't have that exact same problem of people bowing to me in villages, I can definitely appreciate genuine interaction" We somehow then got onto the topic of families and personal origin, he seemingly just as curious as I and eager to divulge the information that made both of us an "I". He told me "I come from a long Punjabi Royal line of Family." which undoubtedly explained the previous story of village bowing, and the strange, pointed, certain, and unwavering way in which he spoke. Yet for being a Prince, and to the contrary of having people bow to him. I could not detect a hint of pretense or conceitedness. We talked for what seemed an hour at the tea house for friends and witnessed some wrestling by a few of the other people in the group (just fun, harmless wrestling) before we left and headed back to Rishikesh. Mahavir then offered to buy me a cup of tea, to which I gladly obliged. The tea maker got word that I was foreign and asked if I knew how to make the tea. I said no, and he showed me the proportion of spices, milk, and small, subtle, yet important trade secrets. We talked for another hour or two before going back to the hostel "GOstops Rishikesh" to watch a movie. Rarely in my life have moments been so saturated with serendipity, the exfoliating of comfort zones, and depth of connection.