Last, I remember being there with John, and hold fond memories of a bongo drum that I, sadly, couldn't steal off a weed-smoking Sadhu Baba who lives in a canvas hut near the river (the whole plan was to get him high as fuck, then run away with the drum, but we were short of time on the last day).
Before that I remember spending mere hours in Rishikesh with Saurabh, on the last leg of our suicidal retreat from Dodital. We had Paranthas, then we rushed for our bus.
And on the visit previous to that, I had befriended a Solvenian soul-traveler - our soulful bond born of her thin appetite that always brought forth an invitation to share, which made for my primary motivation to stick around her, especially around the meals - who was a tolerable company, until she came to sharing her spiritual quotient. In the end she was overtly joyed with our time together, I was too busy identifying the last of that banana cake on my tastebuds.
I'm already sniffling. My (pocket form-factor) scribble-book has re-emerged from the depths of my drawers. Rishikesh mode seems ON.
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