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Kumbh Mela

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The sea of humanity that the mela resembles is surreal and spiritual.

When friends and well-wishers learnt that my wife and I were going to the Mahakumbh mela for Mauni Amavasya, they were aghast. Some shuddered at the prospect of rubbing shoulders with 30 million of the great unwashed. Others warned of how polluted and carcinogenic the once-pristine Ganga has become. A few were mortified that we would be staying in tents on the riverbank with no access to room service or a flat-screen TV. Some wondered why I, as a non-Hindu, wanted to visit the Mahakumbh at all. Everyone wished us well but confessed to being glad they weren't undertaking the expedition to Allahabad. I, too, was initially apprehensive about embarking on this mega pilgrimage, afraid, perhaps, of the unknown. The logistics of getting to Prayag were daunting. The trains were overflowing and the nearest airports were located several hours away. We decided to fly into Lucknow and then drove a harrowing six-and-a-half hours through "rururban" UP to finally reach the Sangam around midnight. Our tent, with an adjacent toilet, was basic but comfortable. An unseasonal downpour had, however, turned the chalky riverbank into a slushy mess. Mauni Amavasya is considered the most auspicious day during the Mahakumbh to undertake the Shahi Snan. Pilgrims were converging by the tens of thousands and the state administration had locked down vehicular entry into the city. Our neighbours, city slickers like us, had to walk 13 kilometres from the outskirts of Allahabad to reach the tent complex as their car wasn't allowed to proceed. At night, the temperature plummets and in the absence of heaters, we snuggled in a sleeping bag and used a blanket overlay to keep warm in our flimsy tent. The next morning, we were woken up at 4 am by a cacophony of loudspeakers, competing to be heard. Bhajans and pravachans from rival akhadas blared at full volume. Shouting above this din was a public announcement for family...