Cold, wet, minging...but purified

My crusty brown bedfellows were still snoring soundly when I leapt up and onto the mat at 4.30am to welcome the day and prepare myself for my trip to Ramesvaram. All I can say is, on some days I just know I will need my yoga practise. I might not know what the day has planned for me, but somewhere in there I can just sense I'm gonna need every ounce of patience, energy, groundedness and balls. This was one of those days. From the minute I got myself onto the but at 7.30am it was a day quite unlike any other.

From the word go I hit it off with the uber friendly and helpful driver who was damned if he was going to make any effort to help me understand a word that he said or anything that was on the agenda for the day. Not that I expected any special treatment, being the only non-Indian on the bus, but a friendly smile at the very least never goes amiss. Not to bother, though, I found a companion in the extremely reserved, recently retired businessman sitting next to me with the most mesmerising chin and nose profile that, try as I might, I couldn't take my eyes off as he munched his way through one baby Indian banana after another (the small things, eh?). No, we didn't have a lot in common, but i appreciated his help in pushing me off the bus and around the rather nondescript temples that we stopped off at en route. When, 5 hours later, we finally came onto Ramesvaram 'Island' over the amazingly long Pamban Bridge (2.5 Kilometres), we were once more turfed off the bus, only this time told not to bother taking out shoes with us. Apparently we really weren't going to need them where we were going.

So we trudged through the gorgeous piles of general rubbish and mud and unthinkables that is the 'holy' beach of Ramesvaram to dip our toes in its sacred waters. And from there onto the temple, the centre of this apparently poverty-stricken and waste-strewn town. As I tiptoed in zigzags down the street, trying not to unwittingly pierce my feet on whatever might be lurking in the depths of an enormous cowpat, and trying to fathom the logic in allowing these grimey slimey feet to walk the holy temple floors (how can this be respectful when shoes are not?), one young lad who was excorting his mother in this pilgramage finally plucked up the courage to ask me something that appeared to have been playing on his mind. With a face expressing utter bemusement plus a touch of amusement, he said: 'Why on earth have you come to Ramesvaram?' Somewhat stunned, I think I gave some nondescript reply about being interested in Hinduism. But it was becoming painfully clear that Western tourists don't come here. I most certainly was the odd one out. Laugh and point. And hold your head up high Arianna, because you are here for the day, and the bus has just driven off with your shoes in it.

Going into the temple, I made two friends a pair of young Indians on my bus who spoke great English and could clearly recognise a young white girl way-out-of-her-depth. Before I knew it, under their instruction, I handed over 100 rupees to the Brahmin priest who greeted us and, without knowing what I was in for, was ushered along the stone floor, noticing that it was particularly damp in here. Soon standing in a queue I noticed the people coming back towards me were rather....in fact, very....wet (and still staring at me). Slowly approaching the front it dawned on me that I was indeed about to have a large bucket of well water dumped on my head. Screaming from the inside - 'no! I didn't bring a change of clothes!' all I wanted was to run pretty darn fast in the other direction. But, slowly coming around (as people do), I realised that I couldn't possibly be such a spoil sport. I couldn't come all this way and turn down my holy dip. This could be life-changing. How regrettable would it be to pass this up? With which I fully embraced an entire bucket over the head, all the while thanking myself for choosing to wear heavy cotton yoga clothes that take hours and hours to dry. Bring it on. Om. I must have looked like I really enjoyed it as our lovely Brahmin priest felt the need to bless me twice. And I took it in good spirit, knowing I wouldn't be doing this again.

And so we walked on, me thinking maybe we'd be heading into the main shrine or something. Not so, another queue. For another well. Oh yes. In fact, as my jaw fell open, my two young Indian friends spilled the beans that that had been well number one of a total of twenty two. People come to Ramesvaram for the 22 Holy Dips. Didn't I know? (...erm.....)

Some (intelligent) people bring a change of clothes.

Half an hour later, completely soaked through to my very bone marrow, as we approached well number 22, I confess I was beginning to dig deep in my own well of carefree joy to find the fun and sponteneity in the occasion. I knew it was in there somewhere, but I confess it was pretty hard to ward off the general feeling of being completely cold, wet and, rather than cleansed and purified, utterly manky. I was just soooo looking forward to the next 7 hours of lunch and bus travel in heavy, wet, smelly clothes, the situation not even slightly eased by the option of stripping off any layers, this being Hindu India. Mmmmmm. In the company of noone that I felt I could particularly relate to. Boy, did I thank myself for reading the smallprint. Nonetheless, even though I tried to get past the final well with just a sprinkling, I failed. They seemed to have it in for me, let's give the little white girl a day to remember. And, after all, well number 22 is the holiest of them all, equal to Ganga water. Well (ha ha ha), there you have it.

Before I knew it I was in ANOTHER queue, this time for the main Siva shrine. At first the Brahmin priest said I, being a non-Hindu, couldn't go in. But with the help of my two friends, 100 rupees, very little say in the matter and a bold mass of yellow and red paste slathered across my forehead, I swiftly became a Hindu ("you are Hindu now") and was pushed forward into the sea of over-excited people (who said money can't buy faith?). Yet another Indian party queue, the fact that we were penned in like cattle (and no doubt smelling just as bad) buoyed up by people continuously breaking into chant, keeping the energy at fever pitch as we all inched our way towards the Siva lingam (the erect penis that is the most commonly worshipped symbol of Siva). Just as we were getting close and the atmosphere seemed almost at breaking point, lunchtime temple closing bells began to toll. As the general panic set in I became one with the mass of bodies surging forward, desparate for a moment's gazing on beloved Siva before being pushed out the other side of the shrine. All the while my Indian friends were frantically telling me to quickly 'pray, pray, for someone you love'...I did my very best to be sincere despite the alien environment of organised religion and pressure, but as always in such situations I couldn't help feeling that my efforts were somewhat tainted by the shadows of falseness.

Ejected out of the other side, we finally had a few minutes to catch our breath and some photographic evidence of the wet t-shirt competition (coming soon!). When we finally managed to find our bus, I hopped aboard, ready to leave, only to wait and watch as every sensible and well-prepared other bdy in our group fetched their fresh, dry clothes and, one by one, freshened up and changed, ready for lunch and the afternoon ahead. Lucky them. I sat and prepared myself for 7 more hours of sogginess. Om. Having already popped into the lunch place to check out their glorious Indian toilet, and in the process having brought the entire place to a hushed standstill as everybody gawped in my direction, I took a rain check on lunch that day. Perhaps stupidly (in retrospect) but humanly, after the morning's antics I felt somewhat lacking in any more caution to throw to the wind to get me through a lunch of being stared at by an entire room like a circus freak on show, and I confess I went and hid on the bus with a bag of nuts. Had I known the afternoon I was in for I might have made another choice, but I didn't. An hour later, with everyone aboard once more, we set off....but, to my surprise, not in the homeward bound direction of Madurai. No, this bus was going to Kannyakumari..for the night. A rather unfortunate situation seeing as, not only had I had already been there, but I was sat here, soaked to the skin, with all of my belongings in Madurai, a five hour drive in the other direction. Perfect. The one real blessing here was that my two Indian friends were also going in my direction, and so although I never quite figured out how and why this confusion happened, I did manage to get back to Madurai (some 6 hours later). Our lovely bus driver, the epitome of friendliness and service, evidently felt himself free of any responsibility to help us get the ride back to Madurai that we had paid for, but with a good amount of prodding from my Indian friends he finally struck up some kind of deal with the owner of a smaller bus. In true Indian style this came with its own complications, largely involving us having to wait for a further two hours as some others went and did their temple dunking rounds. Oh well (ha ha ha), more time for me to dry out. Om. I simply didn't believe it when we finally set off from Ramesvaram at about 4pm, lesser still when, after what seemed like the longest journey on earth, I finally walked through the door of my cell, welcomed by my crusty brown roommates, at 9pm. Has a cold bucket shower and a belly full of lentils ever felt so good? Maybe after that day I was truly purified... but far more importantly it taught me the value of the simple things in life.....and of reading the small print.