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I was sipping chai and observing passersby at Sai Ghat, a peaceful spot in Rishikesh along the Ganges River, when a shrill scream pierced the soft sound of flowing water. I looked up just in time to see a group of giddy young people sling-shotted through the sky. They were strapped into a giant swing, dangled from a crane that read Thrill Factory. As I did a triple take, I wondered: how did this ancient yogic haven become an adrenaline junkie’s playground?”
For centuries, Rishikesh has served as a spiritual abode and a pilgrimage site for yogis. I was drawn to do fieldwork here not just by the rich culture of yoga and meditation, but also by the stunning natural beauty. The city is nestled in the lush foothills of Uttarakhand, atop the banks of the Holy Ganges River. Spiritual masters have long sought solace here, stopping to enjoy the region’s temperate climate and the river’s crystal-clear waters before they ascended into the mountains for months of meditation. Thus, Rishikesh earned its nickname: the “Gateway to the Himalayas.”
In modern times, Rishikesh has blossomed as a popular tourist destination for Indian travelers and foreigners alike. Newly rebranded as the “Yoga Capital of the World,” this city enjoys traffic from spiritual seekers as well as adventure enthusiasts and spring break vacationers. Now, it is not just austere yogis who travel here, but a full spectrum of householders – many of whom have little interest in meditation. They tend towards daytime activities like ziplining, trekking, white water rafting, and bungee jumping… and they spend their nights smoking, drinking, and partying in open-air venues. These tourists seem to defy the city’s yogic reputation as they indulge their senses and spend lavish amounts of money in upscale boutiques. Is yogic discipline in the room with us now?
Many visitors to Rishikesh are spiritual, to be sure. They come here to participate in yoga teacher training programs and spiritual retreats. The demand for wellness activities has skyrocketed since the Indian government inaugurated the International Day of Yoga in 2015, and especially since the COVID-19 pandemic. Yoga schools, studios, and shalas now crowd every gali, oftentimes stacked on top of one another to maximize space in this modest mountain town. Though Rishikesh still retains its quiet, peaceful ambiance – a real treat compared to most Indian destinations – rare is the day without sounds of drilling and jackhammering: the unsettling soundtrack of urban development.
The general sentiment is that Rishikesh is growing – both in popularity and in infrastructure – TOO fast. Through my research, I have found that many locals lament the amount of construction needed to accommodate the huge influx of tourists in recent years. Or, perhaps more accurately, they mourn the erosion of nature that results from such development. One gentleman bemoaned the near-constant construction: with the ruination of nature, he said, the spiritual atmosphere of Rishikesh would soon dissipate. He expressed these concerns to me seriously, sadly, even as he promoted his new business venture: a ten-unit apartment building, which offers easy access to major yoga schools and a homely environment for foreigners. He had only moved here himself a few months prior, and he did not seem to recognize the irony of his complaints – that entrepreneurs like him are prime enablers of these counter-spiritual schemes.
Indeed, outdoor activities are not just lucky bonuses in this yogic city, but in fact the very reason for its spiritual heritage. The swamis and monks of yore once congregated here precisely because of its pristine natural location. This is something of a Catch-22: people flock to Rishikesh to immerse themselves in its spiritual ambiance, but their presence paradoxically erodes the beauty and tranquility that make the city sacred. By visiting Rishikesh en masse, we encourage this destruction of nature. And by destroying nature, we are devastating the city’s spiritual core.
Of course, I am equally guilty. I am here, just as other outsiders are, enjoying amenities that are solely enabled by development. Worse, I spent the first month of my grant in a less-touristed part of the city, and I found myself frustrated, cooped up – I admit that in the absence of Wi-Fi cafes, I wondered how I would survive an entire year. Yet, since moving to Tapovan, the commercialized center of Rishikesh, I have delighted in my proximity to jungle trailheads, mountain vistas, and sunset river rides. I have also been able to engage much more heartily with the local economy and with the local people, who offer a diverse blend of yogic teachings from across India and around the world. Were it not for the widespread reputation of this sacred geography, Rishikesh would not exist as the prosperous global hub it is today – nor would it draw so many people into the sublime folds of yoga.
In the past, yogis would leave behind the trappings of the material world to commune here with Mother Earth. Rishikesh may not be the place that it once was, uncorrupted by manmade invention, but these spatial imaginaries from ancient times persist today. At Sai Ghat, people of all ages and nationalities still come to meditate. They perch on rocks rubbed smooth by the river’s rugged froth and breathe deeply in the sweet, clean mountain air. Between disruptions from the Thrill Factory, these modern yogis find inner peace on the beaches of the Ganga.
It may not always be this way, as my respondents warn. Rishikesh may soon succumb to the vacuum that is neoliberal development. But for now, so long as we relate to the land with reverence and deference, this place remains sacred.
