Indian miracles

My first impression of India went a little something like this -
‘Get me the hell out of here.’
To me, the country felt like a wartime horror movie, with some cows thrown in. However, I managed to discover one particular place that restored my faith in a country that is, in a word – nuts.

I was walking aimlessly down a mud-filled lane. It stank of piss and shit, but that’s nothing strange in India. The river Ganga gushed only a hundred metres away, and despite it’s holiness, it didn’t smell much better.
I must have looked lost then, as I pondered which smell was worse, because a pair of travellers walking my way stopped me.
‘Are you looking for the Beatles Ashram?’ the lady asked.
I stared blankly.
The guy smiled,
‘Just follow this path then turn left. There’s a couple of Indian guys charging ten rupees entry at the gate,’ He paused there, looking me in the eye, ‘I guarantee you it’s absolutely worth it.’
Why not! I thought, and picking up my pace I walked past some kids playing cricket with an apple for a ball, and a branch for a bat. They looked more professional than Ricky Ponting. I turned left and behind layers of bushes branches and birds, was an iron gate with two Indian men sitting beneath its padlock.

Ten rupees later (nothing’s free in India), I stepped into an abandoned oasis. It was silent and people-free – And Indian miracle! All I could hear was birds and the whisper of chanting from the temples in town.
It was like a deserted hobbit city, with tiny stone huts dotting the hill. Vines had swallowed the place, inking everything blotchy green. I took my shoes off, like a hobbit should, and climbed the stairs that had been built into the earth. The steps were cool and excrement free (another miracle) and I went from hut landing to hut landing, crawling through the dwarf sized doors, and seeing all the things that were left inside each one – cups, saucers, paintings other travellers had made.
I heard music then, and followed it to an abandoned hall. Faces of the Dalai Lama, Maharishi and Ananda Ma inhabited the walls in paint. The musicians stared at me – I seemed to have interrupted a jam session.
‘Hi,’ I said, suddenly shy, ‘Sorry I was just looking.’
They smiled, ‘It’s okay - we were just rehearsing.’
I was ushered to sit. They played a simple song that made me feel drunk – the good kind, I promise. I looked outside into the magnetic green. I was Giddy from walking, the music, the pure air, and this place. Maybe India wasn’t so bad.