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News Updates - 11
January 2001 70 million Hindus wash their sins away (UK Telegraph/ Reuters/ New York Times/ Washington Post) A custom fit , a well-tailored price - New York Times
Allahabad - MORE than 70 million people, the largest gathering of humanity in history, are expected to attend an Indian religious festival which began yesterday when hundreds of thousands of Hindu pilgrims plunged joyously into the cold waters of the Ganges to wash away their sins. The 42-day Kumbh Mela, or Pitcher Festival, began near Allahabad, 500 miles east of New Delhi. Hindu pilgrims believe that bathing in the holy waters will break the endless cycle of death and rebirth and assure salvation. Ancient religious texts say that bathing at the spot guarantees immortality. Shortly after midnight, with temperatures hovering around three degrees Celsius, naked Hindu ascetics of the holy Naga warrior sect, with long hair, flowing beards and ash-covered bodies, led tens of thousands of devotees including women and children to the banks of the converging Yamuna and Ganges rivers. Chanting prayers they immersed themselves up to their waists in the river and poured chilly water over their heads. Saffron-robed priests carrying tridents, chanting and blowing on conch shells, accompanied the devout to the bathing area spread along five miles of river bank.
"I feel I have attained moksha [salvation] after bathing here today," Baba Mohan Bas, a sadhu or holy man from nearby Mirzapur, said. "There is little else left for me to achieve." Loudspeakers, located every 30 yards along the river bank, frequently interrupted their prayers with announcements of pilgrims who had got lost between taking the purifying dip and returning to their sprawling, tented encampment spread over 5,000 acres. The flow of arrivals continued into the night. "This is the ultimate journey for me," said 82-year-old Saraswati Devi, bent nearly double with arthritis. As darkness descended, the pilgrims' camp sparkled with thousands of their cooking fires. Soon afterwards, the river banks resounded with their lusty singing. The Kumbh festival traces its origins to a titanic battle between Hindu gods and demons over a pitcher containing the nectar of immortality. During the fight Garuda, the flying steed of Lord Vishnu, who was carrying the pitcher, is said to have rested at four places in northern and western India, spilling nectar at each spot. One of these spots is where the festival is being held. The last festival at Allahabad in 1989 attracted 15 million pilgrims and this year nearly five times that number are expected. To accommodate them the authorities have built more than 20,000 lavatories, erected nearly a million tents and put up 27 pontoon bridges. About 30 million people are expected to take the holy dip on Jan 24, the festival's most auspicious day. Other significant bathing days are Jan 29, Feb 8 and Feb 21. East and West unite at India's Hindu pilgrim city ALLAHABAD, India - Hundreds of people from around the globe have descended on the holy Hindu city of Allahabad in northern India, drawn by devotion and curiosity to what has been billed as the largest-ever gathering of human beings. Americans and Europeans, many of them ardent followers of sages, seers and yogis, were among the estimated 2.5 million pilgrims who took a dip at the confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers on the first day of the Maha Kumbh Mela (Grand Pitcher Festival). As dawn rose on the second day of the six-week event on Wednesday, Jaganath Das stood at a rickety tea stall, munching on a plain biscuit and clasping his meditation beads. Born a Jew and once known as David, Das is from Berkeley in California. Das, whose Hindu name means servant of god, rounded up more than 100 like-minded Westerners through a website he set up - www.kumbhmela.com. They will join him at his village of pavillion tents on the sandy banks of the river for the 42-day festival which is expected to draw 70 million people. "First I became curious about yoga and meditation, and I felt good about it, it all began to make sense," said Das, a middle-aged man with curly hair and a scraggly beard who sports a sticker of the Hindu elephant god Ganesh on his laptop. "It's changed my life radically." Some of the foreigners around Allahabad are backpackers who happened to find themselves in India at the right time. Others have made a special pilgrimage to wash away their sins, end the cycle of reincarnation on this earth and speed their way to nirvana, or the after-life. HOLLYWOOD STARS, HIPPIES AND HOLISTIC HEALERS There are psychologists, meditation teachers, holistic healers, hippies and university researchers. There is even a "cosmonaut" from Prague. Many are dressed in jackets and tunics of the traditional Hindu colour, saffron, and more than a few smoke marijuana. One academic from Cornell University announced herself as Sandra, but her e-mail address described her as "Chandra". Sean-Paul Cruz of Los Angeles, who plays the Australian wind instrument the didgeridoo and studies "alternative home building", is one of those who will live in spartan conditions at Das's canvas camp for most of the mela. "I waited 10 years to come to India and when I heard about the mela I knew it was my time to come," said Cruz, who took the name Gayatri Das after embracing Hindu teachings. Lisa, a holistic healer from New York city, said she had made the journey because she wanted to experience the world's largest spiritual gathering. College-leaver Esly of Ohio said he had come to study meditation. "My watch is broken so I have no concept of time any more," he declared. Across the dirt-track road on the riverside flood plain, 150 Westerners sat cross-legged in front of their guru, who is known as Swami to his followers. Swami, who lives in Vienna, spoke in English to his followers inside their tented enclosure and then led them in a brief yoga exercise, which ended with everyone chanting "Om". A mobile phone, a walkie-talkie and silver walking cane beside him, the Swami sat on a cushioned seat looking through a curtain of long black hair and a flowing silver beard. "I have hundreds of thousands of disciples," he told Reuters. "They are mostly inspired by me to the omniscient spiritual heritage of India. I do not believe in converting. I believe in convincing." WASH AWAY SINS Allahabad, in the Hindi heartland state of Uttar Pradesh, is one of four spots where Garuda, the winged steed of the god Vishnu, is said to have rested during a titanic battle with demons over a pitcher of divine nectar of immortality. Two of the other towns are on the Ganges, which stretches from a glacial cave in the Himalayan mountains to the Bay of Bengal. Garuda's flight lasted 12 divine days, or 12 years of mortal time, so the Kumbh Mela is celebrated at each city, alternating between each every three years.
ALLAHABAD, India - Millions of Hindus, hands clasped in prayer, plunged into the icy Ganges River hoping to wash away their sins at the opening of a festival that falls every 12 years - and is especially auspicious Tuesday because of the lunar eclipse. "I have come here to get a new life, to wash away the sins I have committed in the last few years,'' says Pratap Garh, a teacher wearing only a loincloth as temperatures dropped to 38 degrees F. Millions flocked Tuesday to a sacred riverbank on the first day of the Kumbh Mela festival -- and as many as 65 million are anticipated to dip into the river's chilly waters for a holy bath during the 43-day celebration. "I was very close to god. I was totally away from the world, life and everything,'' Garh said after wading into the river, his 11th sacred bath. ``This water is nectar; nothing can spoil it.'' While the cities alternate holding Kumbh Mela, the festival in Allahabad, 360 miles east of New Delhi, is considered the most blessed because it lies near the confluence of rivers considered sacred by Hindus: the Ganges, the Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati. Worshippers raised their hands to the skies, chanting prayers. Others bent and dunked their heads in the water. Most dipped their hands in, washing water over their faces and bodies. Some brought metal pails to take home some of the sacred water. Others soaked pieces of clothing. Commercial activity, except for vegetarian food, was prohibited, but vendors were doing brisk sales of flowers for temple offerings, vermillion for daubing on the forehead and a watch that purported to reveal the best bathing times. "Most of the people think that the sins we have created are washed away here," Mohan Sharma said as she stood in the water, fully clothed in a bright sari. The crowds were still surging at sunrise, with nearly 2 million people estimated to have bathed in the waters during the first six hours of Kumbh Mela and 2.2 million more expected by the end of the first day, Nandan said. The festival ends Feb. 21.
Ash-smeared sages and their saffron-clad apostles headed for the confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers before dawn to immerse themselves in the holy water during the full eclipse of the moon, an auspicious moment of the 42-day Kumbh Mela festival. One man who did make an appearance Wednesday was holy sadhu Sri Swami Vasu Dev Anand Saraswatiji Maharaj, who may not have quite the following of Western screen icons but caused enough of a stir to snarl traffic in Allahabad. Led by four elephants, the sadhu's procession of at least 5,000 people, consisting of fabulously decorated disciples, brass bands and admirers, snaked for 1 1/4 miles along the road leading down to the sangam, or confluence of rivers. A loudspeaker on one of his floats, which carried people dressed as gods, blared out a well-known line from a 1950s Hindi movie hit: "You are the Ganges and I am the Yamuna, and we are sure to meet some day." Hindus believe that bathing in the Ganges during the Kumbh Mela cleanses them of sin. Click here to read more about the Kumbh Mela A
Custom Fit, a Well-Tailored Price IT could be that we got a little carried away with tailoring in New Delhi. My boyfriend, Harry, got 2 suits and 10 shirts made and I got 6 shirts, 3 skirts and 2 pairs of pants. This endeavor in February took us to three different tailors, in three different parts of town and involved four fittings, countless phone calls and mad taxi rides to pick up clothes on the way to train stations and parties. One might wonder why we embarked on such an ambitious project during what was supposed to be our vacation. But for some reason I loved it. It made me feel as if I were living in New Delhi and participating in its domestic life. After all the startling sights — monkeys draped across government buildings, cows wandering serenely through traffic, mirrored palaces, entire families piled onto single motorcycles — it was almost relaxing to have a mundane task to concentrate on. One of Harry's well-dressed Indian friends recommended Vaish at Rivoli, near Rajiv Gandhi Chowk (more commonly known as Connaught Place), next to the popular Rivoli Cinema, for suits - one of the most upscale tailors in the city. There was a guard by the door, and Ashok Vaish, a dignified looking man with a receding hairline and a gray pinstripe suit, was presiding over shelves of tweeds and wools. He has a framed 1970 diploma from a London cutting and tailoring school on the wall right next to his father's identical diploma from 20 years earlier. Several affluent looking Indian men drifted in and out, caressing and scowling at bolts of fabric. The only thing detracting from the masculine atmosphere was the Renoirlike fresco of women with flowing hair on the ceiling. Harry looked at bolts and bolts of fabric, which were ceremoniously unfurled before him and then unceremoniously put aside. He finally settled on an Italian navy-blue windowpane and a gray herringbone cashmere. Within moments, tailors descended on him. There were charts made, measurements marked off, drawings sketched, notes taken. Mr. Vaish's son took down specifications: straight pocket, double vent, single pleat. The price for stitching a suit is around $87, and the price for fabric ranges from $100 a suit for domestic wool to $200 for cashmere, with fabrics imported from England and Italy costing more. You can also bring fabric from home. When it comes to the actual cutting and tailoring, Mr. Vaish delegates. Around the corner, through an alley filled with rubble and boys playing cricket, is the workshop where the clothes are made. Up a flight of stairs, seven men sit on the ground in a room with fluorescent lights, disembodied sleeves and pockets strewn across the floor like in a Dali painting. Later, when we came back for the first fitting (it takes at least two fittings to make these suits), Mr. Vaish drew various arrows and markings in chalk on the navy suit as Harry stood like a plaster model. Mr. Vaish spoke rapidly in Hindi to the tailor who wiggled his head, which means yes. They scribbled more markings on the suit until it looked like the blackboard in a 10th-grade calculus class. Five other men hovered around, pulling and stroking and prodding the fabric. When Harry complained about a bump in the shoulder (admittedly a bump that didn't seem visible to the naked eye), they ripped off the sleeve to redo it. Our next tailor was slightly harder to find. To get to Tanzeb Tailors and Drapers, a dark, jumbled shop near the Ambassador Hotel, we climbed through a gate designed to keep the cows out. The shop was nestled in a pink housing complex, Sujan Singh Park, with laundry hanging everywhere, children running around and a woman in a fuchsia sari selling vegetables on the ground. Tanzeb himself is Samiuddin Siddiqui, a tiny old man in a Nehru jacket and shearling hat. He welcomed us into the store with a big smile that revealed his few remaining teeth. Although his clients include ambassadors from Kuwait and Italy, Indian government officials and descendants of maharajahs, he runs a slightly less formal operation than Mr. Vaish does. Above the store is his workshop, which he climbs up to by ladder. The ceiling is too low to allow standing, so everybody sits. Mr. Siddiqui took my measurements for two pairs of wool pants with linings, copying the style of those I was wearing by eye. It would take him a week and one fitting, and each pair cost around $40. He showed me a rumpled album of photographs of women's jackets he had made based on the "latest Paris fashion." I was not adventurous enough to try one. Once on a previous visit, he had raised Harry's price midjob. "Sahib is very exacting, " he explained. And it's true. Sahib can be so exacting that he has had tailors redo buttons because he didn't like the style of stitching. I, on the other hand, am so enamored of the whole process that I forget to scrutinize the details. It turns out the camel-colored wool I chose has a sickly greenish tint in daylight. But I don't really care. The other pair came out beautifully. And for me it is enough to feel that my favorite clothes have reproduced overnight. Our last tailor, Dular Barua, is in the back of a store called Krishna Cloth House, among its many competitors in Delhi's upscale Khan Market. Mr. Barua is best for shirts and skirts. I gave him my favorite fitted wool skirt from agnès b. to copy in spring fabrics. I picked out heavy cottons in apricot, pink and sky blue, and he made exact copies of the original, with white linings, for $11 each. Then Harry and I spent a lot of time choosing from colorful, boldly patterned shirt cottons, blue stripes for him, pink checks for me. And Mr. Barua copied my cotton button-down shirt from Bergdorf Goodman with three-quarter-length sleeves in six different fabrics, each shirt costing a little less than $10. We did have a little organizational trouble collecting our clothes. When our tailors said something would be ready at 11 a.m., that could mean 5 p.m. or it could mean the next day. The Vaish suits were not ready until 7:30 on our last night in Delhi, so they kept the store open late. When we pulled up on our way to the airport, there was a little suspense about whether the suits would actually be ready. But the tailor brought them out in their full glory — gorgeous and fitting perfectly. The irony is that our Indian friends love Polo, J. Crew and Banana Republic. To them, it is exotic and desirable to walk into a store and buy something off the rack. For us, all of the time and work and hassle is somehow appealing. The sheer energy of creation is the point. The feeling of having clothing pinned and sewn and adjusted, and torn apart and resewn, is what makes the whole process especially luxurious and old- fashioned. It feels as though the suit or shirt or skirt has found you, and molded itself to your desires. And now that we're back I'm especially glad to have our made-in-India clothes. When Harry goes off to work in the morning in his blue-striped Barua shirt, it's as though he has a thin layer of our trip hidden under his suit. |
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