When I Became a Beatle
An unexpected musical adventure with my daughter at the Beatles Ashram in Rishikesh, India · January 30, 2019
January 30, 2019 — Rishikesh, Uttarakhand
For a few minutes in January 2019, I became a Beatle.
Actually, I became all four of them.
It happened in a rather unlikely place: an abandoned ashram on the outskirts of Rishikesh, India, where John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr had spent several remarkable weeks in 1968.
There was no audience, no recording contract, and certainly no screaming fans.
But I had a photographer, a willing accomplice and, for a brief moment, an imagination that transported me back to the 1960s.
My photographer was my daughter Jennifer.
Our adventure began that morning beside the Ganges, where we were staying during the final weeks of my three-month journey through India.
Jennifer had already attended an early-morning yoga class. I had remained in bed.
After breakfast, accompanied by the music of two Indian flute players at our hotel restaurant, we collected our helmets and climbed onto a rented scooter.
Jennifer was driving.
I was the passenger, which, given my limited confidence in her scooter-riding experience, required a certain amount of parental courage.
Our destination was the former ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, now popularly known as the Beatles Ashram.
The Beatles had been an important part of my teenage years. Their music was the soundtrack to friendships, youthful adventures and a period of my life that I still remembered with affection.
I had listened to their albums throughout my travels in India, sometimes finding myself transported back to those carefree days.
Now I was going to visit the very place where they had meditated, explored Indian spirituality and composed some of their best-known songs.
I was looking forward to it.
After crossing the Ganges and travelling along a winding road through forest, we reached the entrance to the ashram, within the Rajaji Tiger Reserve.
Admission was 600 rupees each.
I remember wondering whether we were about to get our money's worth.
Our first impressions were not particularly encouraging.
There were unusual conical stone meditation huts scattered among the trees, several old buildings and a few painted walls. The grounds were interesting, certainly, but hardly overwhelming.
I had imagined that visiting such an important place in musical history might produce an immediate sense of excitement.
It didn't.
Then we found the gallery.
Inside were photographs of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and the Beatles, along with images of other famous visitors, including Donovan, Mia Farrow and Mike Love of the Beach Boys.
On one wall were metal plaques displaying song lyrics.
Among them was Donovan's Hurdy Gurdy Man.
I began singing.
The room had a wonderful echo. At least to my ears, my voice sounded surprisingly good.
Jennifer suggested that we sing Across the Universe, whose lyrics were also displayed.
What a splendid idea.
We launched into a duet.
We even recorded our performance, just in case Apple Records happened to be looking for new talent.
Jennifer then sang part of the song on her own. She has a lovely voice, and hearing her sing in that room was a particularly special moment for me.
When she was growing up, we sometimes sang together while I played guitar. On family holidays we occasionally entertained ourselves with karaoke. But it had been years since we had shared a musical performance.
And here we were, father and daughter, singing a Beatles song in the very ashram where the group had once sought inspiration.
Something about that moment made me feel young again.
Then I had another idea.
Why not have Jennifer photograph me as a member of the Beatles?
Better still, why not photograph me as all four Beatles?
We decided to use the panoramic feature on her iPhone. As she slowly moved the camera across the room, I changed positions and pretended to play the different instruments associated with the band.
Four performances. One photograph.
For those few moments, I was John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Jennifer then performed her own photographic experiment, appearing in four different yoga positions within another panoramic image.
By now we were laughing, improvising and having far more fun than either of us had anticipated.
And the best part of the ashram was still ahead of us.
Leaving the gallery, we followed a path past abandoned buildings and came upon a remarkable mural of a bearded yogi.
It was painted by the artist Miles Toland.
The scale, colours and detail were extraordinary.
We photographed each other in front of it.
Then we began exploring further.
The abandoned buildings, which had initially seemed rather unremarkable, suddenly became fascinating. Their weathered surfaces were painted in shades of turquoise, sea green, blue, mustard, maroon and brown.
What might ordinarily have been considered decay had become a wonderful setting for photography.
Jennifer became my model.
Everywhere we turned, another doorway, wall or building offered an unexpected composition. We took pictures of each other, experimented with poses and wandered farther into the complex.
Eventually we entered a large building whose walls were covered with spectacular paintings.
The artwork was astonishing.
Some murals celebrated the Beatles. Others depicted spiritual figures or scenes inspired by the people and culture of Rishikesh.
We learned that artists were continuing to add to the collection. During our visit, we saw work attributed to Chris Dyer that, according to my notes, had been painted only the day before.
We continued to explore the former living quarters associated with the Beatles and other celebrated visitors, the yoga and meditation hall, and even the rooftops of buildings where more painted meditation huts awaited us.
By this time, the ashram had completely won us over.
The place that had begun as a rather disappointing tourist attraction had turned into the highlight of our stay in Rishikesh.
We took so many pictures that our iPhone batteries were nearly exhausted.
Eventually, we returned to our hotel, recharged our phones and set off again on the scooter.
This time we were heading to the Beatles Café, near Laxman Jhula.
It was the sort of place that immediately reminded me of the coffee houses of my youth in Winnipeg during the late 1960s.
Young travellers, relaxed clothing, music and an atmosphere of cheerful informality filled the restaurant.
I felt a little like a visitor from another planet, but I enjoyed every minute.
Jennifer ordered a vegetable burger, and I had spinach and vegetable lasagna.
As we sat overlooking the Ganges, I thought about the unexpected pleasure of our day.
I had gone to the Beatles Ashram hoping to reconnect with music that had meant so much to me as a teenager.
Instead, I had found something more personal.
For an afternoon, Jennifer and I had rediscovered the pleasure of singing together, being silly together, and sharing an experience that neither of us could have planned.
The Beatles had come to Rishikesh in search of something profound.
I had come because I loved their music.
I left with a photograph of myself pretending to be all four of them—and a memory of my daughter that I would treasure considerably more than any recording contract.
Perhaps I never really became a Beatle.
But for one afternoon in Rishikesh, I certainly felt like one.