The Call of the Sangam, Mahakumbh 2025 - A journey that was destined! Chapter 3: Wonders of Day 1 Part 1

Although this is my first attempt at describing the Kumbh Mela to you, dear readers, I feel compelled to begin with a confession: summing up this experience is an exercise in futility. The Kumbh Mela defies singular definition. It is exhilarating and exhausting, massive yet intimate, mind-boggling and humbling, wondrous and wonderful, scandalous and sacred, interesting and intriguing, satisfying and disturbing, impeccable and chaotic, calming yet overwhelming, spiritual and commercial, joyous and melancholic, expensive and frugal... and so much more that words begin to fail me.

The truth is, the English language—vast as it may be—pales in comparison to the enormity of the Kumbh Mela. My limited vocabulary and even more limited understanding of the Mela could never capture its essence. This gathering is a mirror; it reflects something different to each soul that encounters it. If Baba were to pen his memoir of these days, I suspect his account would bear little resemblance to mine. Such is the nature of the Kumbh—deeply personal, profoundly universal.

Initial Encounters

After we wrapped up our Fauji breakfast, Baba and I were buzzing with anticipation—ready to go-go-go, as they say! We made our way to the Sarvatra Dwar to exit the cantonment, eyes scanning for transport to carry us into the heart of the Mela. Fortune smiled upon us when we found a rickshaw wallah willing to take us for a mere ₹100—a price that seemed almost too reasonable for the distance. I later heard tales of how, as the crowds swelled in the days that followed, finding fair-priced transport became next to impossible. The city's pulse quickened with demand, and prices soared accordingly.

Our rickshaw dropped us at a rather nondescript spot—one where we had absolutely no bearing of where the Sangam might be. No signboards, no obvious paths, just... people. Lots of them walking. So we did what pilgrims have done for millennia: we followed the crowd along the main road.

At first glance, the scene reminded me of the Pushkar Mela—buses, jeeps, clouds of dust, and hordes of people milling about in what appeared to be organized chaos on a vast, sun-baked ground. But as we pressed forward, still a good 2 kilometers from the Sangam itself, the true character of the Kumbh began revealing itself to us, layer by layer.

Then we spotted them—handy little markings mounted on the poles, left by the administration. 

The Toilet Detour: When Wrong Turns Reveal the Right Scale

In our eager navigation toward the Sangam, we took what can only be described as a spectacularly wrong turn. We found ourselves in an unexpected wonderland—not of temples or holy men, but of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of portable toilets stretching as far as the eye could see. Row upon row of blue plastic sentinels standing at attention in the dust.

The sight was oddly amusing, almost surreal. Here we were, searching for spiritual transcendence, and instead stumbled upon what might be the world's largest open-air toilet exhibition! Yet this detour, born of confusion rather than curiosity, offered us our first genuine glimpse of the Kumbh's staggering scale. The sheer logistics of hosting millions of pilgrims became viscerally real in that moment. Sometimes the sacred reveals itself through the mundane. This was the first such site, but not the last. We came across several such sites in the due course. 

Realizing we'd wandered off course, we backtracked and wisely consulted our phone maps, charting a route toward the Bade Hanuman temple near the fort.

Gifts from Strangers: The Generosity of the Mela

As we walked ahead with renewed purpose, a volunteer materialized from the crowd and pressed a small booklet into our hands—an official publication from the Uttar Pradesh government. It felt like receiving a golden ticket. I suspect not nearly enough copies were printed, and pilgrims arriving after January 29th (Mauni Amavasya, when the crowds truly exploded) likely missed out on this treasure. I've kept this booklet as a cherished souvenir; its pages are filled with fascinating trivia about the Mela's history and the intricate organizing systems that make this gathering possible.

Just a few paces further, another volunteer appeared—this time from Gita Press Gorakhpur. With a warm smile, he handed us a beautifully printed 'Aarti Sangrah' (collection of devotional hymns), sponsored by the Adani Group. Six million copies, we were told, had been ordered and distributed across the Kumbh grounds. Six million! The number itself was dizzying. Free books, free blessings, free smiles—the Kumbh's generosity flows as abundantly as the rivers themselves.

Photo-Op with the VIPs (Sort Of!)

After another ten minutes of walking, we were presented with an opportunity we simply couldn't pass up: a photo with Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath! 😜😜

Well... technically speaking, they were human-sized cardboard cutouts. But when life gives you life-sized political leaders, you strike a pose! We joined the queue of equally enthusiastic pilgrims, all eager to capture their "brush with power." It was delightfully absurd—a perfect blend of the Kumbh's spiritual gravitas and its unabashed embrace of spectacle and commerce.

Onwards to the Sangam Ghat

As we pressed forward, the imposing fort walls finally came into view. Both Baba and I exchanged knowing glances; the Bade Hanuman temple couldn't be far now. But just as our anticipation peaked, the crowd thickened considerably. What had been a brisk walk slowed to a shuffle, then nearly to a standstill.

The queue for the temple darshan snaked ahead of us—thousands of devotees, patient and determined, waiting for their moment with the deity. We assessed the situation with the pragmatism of travelers on a tight schedule. With a respectful bow from a distance and a silent prayer, we made the decision to bypass the temple and head straight for the Sangam Ghat.

Now, if you've been to the famous Ganga Ghats in Haridwar or Varanasi—with their grand stone steps cascading down to the river, their ornate temples perched above, their rhythmic evening aartis—you might picture the Sangam Ghat as something similar. Then you are in for a disappointment. Sangam Ghat is like any river bank with no permanent structure. One could see boats perched on the ghat with small pontoons used as steps and tight big ropes used for crowd control. 

Firstly, a geographical clarification for those who have not been to the Sangam: the Sangam Ghat sits along the Yamuna river, not the Ganga. And it's positioned roughly 400 meters South of the actual Sangam—the sacred confluence itself. Confused? Let's check out the map below, and the puzzle pieces will fall into place. 

You see that triangular wedge of land jutting into the water on the map? That's the Sangam—the actual, sacred confluence where two (plus one mythical) rivers embrace. Now slide your finger down about an inch on the map, roughly 400 meters in reality, and you'll find the Sangam Ghat—our current location and the departure point for pilgrims seeking a boat ride to the holy waters.

The scene at the ghat was delightfully chaotic. Boatmen lined the banks, calling out to pilgrims with the practiced enthusiasm of street vendors, each promising the best route, the fastest journey, the most auspicious crossing. I decided to deploy my secret weapon: my formidable size (quite impressive by average Indian standards, if I may say so) combined with a loud, husky voice that can cut through a crowd with ease.

"Do-sawari Sangam!" I bellowed—two passengers for the Sangam!

The effect was immediate. Within seconds, a boatman appeared before us, grinning widely, hand extended in welcome. "₹300 each, sawari, bhaiya, aajaao!" he announced.

The deal was straightforward: he would row us to the bamboo platforms constructed at the Sangam, wait while we took our holy dip (snan), performed our pooja with one of the pandits stationed there, and then ferry us back to the ghat. All in one boat, all for ₹600 total. There were other 6 passengers on there too, so we fitted their requirement of 8 passengers perfectly and that worked in our favor.

It seemed almost too easy. As we stepped toward our assigned vessel, we couldn't help but notice dozens of pilgrims around us—many who had arrived well before we did—still locked in spirited haggling matches with other boatmen. Sometimes, I suppose, a commanding voice and confident stride are worth their weight in gold. Or in this case, worth ₹300.

We will keep referring to this map many times! As I love maps 😆

Our fellow passengers had a family from Delhi and one lady who had come from Indore. She was there since 13th Jan and was visiting the Sangam for her daily plunges since then. She  gave us some good insights about the Mela. 

Both Baba and I had visited the Sangam before—more than a decade ago, during our SSB  days in Allahabad. Back then, we'd seen the boats, navigated the crowds, taken our ritual dips. We thought we knew what to expect. We thought we were prepared.

We were adorably naïve.

As our boatman began rowing us away from the ghat, he shared a statistic that made our jaws drop: "Bhaiya, do you know? Prayagraj has roughly two lakh boats right now—200,000!" He let that number hang in the air for dramatic effect before continuing. "Only 18,000 belong to us locals. The rest? They've all sailed in from Mirzapur, Varanasi, Patna, several village even farther—Bihar, Bengal, everywhere. Everyone has come for the Mela."

Two hundred thousand boats.

The number seemed impossible until we turned to look behind us, then ahead, then to both sides. And that's when reality struck us like a physical blow. Our eyes struggled to process what they were witnessing. Boats. Thousands upon thousands of boats. As far as the eye could see—and I mean as far as the distant haze where water met sky—there were boats. Wooden boats, small boats, painted boats, weathered boats, boats packed with pilgrims, boats being rowed, boats being paddled, boats nearly touching, boats stretching into infinity.

The sheer scale of it all was staggering, humbling, almost incomprehensible. Our decade-old memories of the Sangam suddenly felt like quaint postcards compared to this living, breathing, overwhelming reality. This wasn't just a pilgrimage. This was an armada of faith.

The Holy Plunge: Where Two Rivers Become One

As our boat nudged against the bamboo platform, Baba and I were ready—mentally, spiritually, and practically. We'd come prepared with swim shorts tucked into our bags, a decision that would prove wise given what lay ahead.

First things first: the ritual. Our boatman guided us to one of the pandits stationed on the platform—elderly men draped in saffron, their foreheads marked with vermillion, fingers moving through prayers with the muscle memory of a lifetime. We sat cross-legged as the panditji led us through a brief but heartfelt pooja. 

Then came the moment we'd journeyed so far for.

We changed into our swim shorts—modesty somewhat preserved, devotion fully intact—and without ceremony or hesitation, we jumped into the Sangam.

The water embraced us immediately. It wasn't as deep as I'd imagined; the confluence of two mighty rivers creates a fascinating phenomenon where sand accumulates from opposing currents, building up the riverbed. You can actually stand comfortably, chest-deep, right at the point where Ganga and Yamuna meet.

And oh, what a meeting it is! From the boat, we'd noticed the stark contrast: the Yamuna flowing grey and contemplative, deeper and calmer; the Ganga arriving swift and spirited, its waters a striking blue-green, almost defiant in their clarity. 

We stayed submerged for a glorious twenty minutes, dunking ourselves repeatedly, letting the sacred waters wash over us—body, mind, and whatever lies beyond. The cold was bracing but not unbearable. The current was gentle but present, a reminder of the rivers' power held momentarily in check. Every dip felt like shedding something—fatigue, worry, the accumulated dust of ordinary life.

When we finally emerged, we noticed our fellow boat passengers were still deep in their pooja. The pandit was showing no signs of wrapping up, and the devotees seemed content to continue for some more time if needed.

Baba and I exchanged glances. The universal traveler's telepathy: Should we?

We should.

Without a word, we turned around and jumped back into the Sangam for a second dip. Because when divine grace is quite literally flowing all around you, why settle for just one helping?

---

But alas, dear reader, all good things—even chapters—must come to a pause.

The day is far from over. The wonders are far from exhausted.

Part 2 of Day 1 follows soon. The Sangam and the Mela has much more to reveal. We are not making back to take another dip, we now proceed to where the buzz is all about- The Sadhus.

To be continued...

The Call of the Sangam, Mahakumbh 2025 - A journey that was destined! Chapter 2: The Prelude

Short Stay in Jaipur, Makar Sankranti - The Prelude to Kumbh Mela

My flight touched down in New Delhi around 2 PM on January 11th. A pre-booked taxi awaited me for the five-hour journey to Jaipur. What should have been a straightforward drive turned into a test of patience and nerves as we navigated through thick, unrelenting fog. The driver was seasoned and guided us safely although the visibility as low as 50 meters in some stretches. We finally pulled into my home around 9 PM, where Mumma and Papa greeted me with warm embraces and a light dinner that felt like comfort itself.

There was something quietly symbolic about this trip. For the first time in twelve years of owning my trusty rucksack, I was traveling internationally with just that—no suitcase, no excess baggage. This was backpacking in its truest form, and I found myself appreciating the ruggedness and freedom it offered. It felt fitting for a journey that would soon take me to the sacred confluence of the Sangam.

The next day (12th Jan) unfolded and surprisingly there was no jet-lag. Honestly, I had no time to waste.  Errands at the bank, conversations with family, familiar greetings from neighbors completed the first half of the day. Lunch was a special treat—Undhiya, a traditional Gujarati delicacy lovingly prepared by Mumma. In the afternoon, I made the mandatory visit to my in-laws in Bapu Nagar, for their their blessings and warmth before heading back.

On the morning of the 13th, Papa and I ventured to Chaura Rasta, one of Jaipur's bustling markets, to purchase a Jaipuri Razai (quilt) to be sent to my sister. 

That evening was Lohri, the North Indian festival celebrating the winter harvest. Our dear neighbor, Babban Bhaiya, joined us to light a bonfire in our courtyard. It wasn't a grand affair, but it was deeply heartfelt. The crackling flames, the warmth against the January chill, and the spirit of togetherness made it memorable. The evening culminated in a sumptuous feast of Makki ki Roti and Sarson ka Saag with Meethe Chawal—rustic, earthy, and deeply satisfying. Earlier in the day, another thoughtful neighbor (Veenu Bhabhi) had sent over snacks, including my absolute favorite: chane aur gurr ki patti (roasted gram and jaggery brittle). She never forgets.

As the night deepened, Papa and I sat together preparing our kites for the next morning. The anticipation was palpable. Makar Sankranti—the festival of kites, the festival that marks the sun's journey northward—was upon us.

                    

Makar Sankranti: Flying High with Papa

The morning of January 14th dawned clear and crisp. I woke with the kind of excitement I hadn't felt in years. Kite flying in Jaipur is no casual pastime; it's a competitive, passionate affair. The skies become a battlefield, strings slicing through the air, kites tumbling in defeat, and victors soaring higher.

I hadn't flown kites since 2017, but muscle memory kicked in instantly. By my fourth kite, I had already claimed 12 kills—a strong start that filled me with quiet pride. The kill score of theday plateaued slightly after that, with each subsequent kite averaging around three to four kills. But the thrill never dimmed.

Around 11 AM, Papa joined me on the terrace, arriving with a platter piled high with Daal ki Pakodi (lentil fritters)—crispy, piping hot, and utterly irresistible. His start was a bit shaky, but he soon found his rhythm. Still, it was mostly me handling the kites while he cheered, strategized, and occasionally took over.

Post-lunch, my uncle 'Daddu Mama' arrived, adding to the lively atmosphere. But the highlight came just as dusk began to settle. I was flying the penultimate kite of the day, and it was unstoppable—27 kills. The terrace erupted in cheers. As darkness fell and customary fireworks began to light up the Jaipur sky, we called it a day. The spectacle was breathtaking—bursts of color against the violet twilight, echoing the joy and energy of the festival.

                  

Amidst the revelry, I couldn't help but notice something deeply moving. Scattered across the city were numerous bird rescue centers, entirely volunteer-run. During Sankranti, kite strings often injure birds in flight, and these compassionate souls dedicate themselves to rescuing and treating them. A local newspaper reported an estimated 4,000 such centers operating around Jaipur that day. It was a beautiful reminder of humanity's capacity for care, even in the midst of celebration.

The Final Day: Blessings and Farewells

The morning of January 15th—our wedding anniversary—began with an attempt to visit the Govind Devji Temple, a sacred site deeply revered in Jaipur. Unfortunately, we missed the darshan window by just a couple of minutes. Disappointed but undeterred, I spent the afternoon back at my in-laws' home, seeking their blessings and bidding them a heartfelt adieu.

The evening was quiet and reflective. I sat with my parents, chatting about everything and nothing, savoring these last precious hours. As I packed trusty my rucksack for Prayagraj the next morning, I felt the pull of two worlds: the warmth of home and the call of the Sangam. The prelude was complete. The pilgrimage was about to begin.

Train to Prayagraj: Meeting Baba and the Army Mess

On the afternoon of January 16th, I hailed an auto-rickshaw to Gandhi Nagar station to board my train to Subedarganj in Prayagraj. As I settled into my seat, a delightful realization dawned on me—this would be my very first First Class AC experience on Indian Railways. After years of traveling by train across India, somehow this luxury had always eluded me. The universe, it seemed, was aligning everything perfectly for this pilgrimage.

Better still, I had the coupe entirely to myself until Aligarh. The solitude was welcome. I watched the landscape shift outside my window—the familiar plains of Rajasthan giving way to the heartland of Uttar Pradesh—and felt the journey deepen with every passing kilometer. This wasn't just a train ride; it was a transition from the warmth of home to the sacred unknown.

The train ran slightly behind schedule, but there was no anxiety. Baba had already reached Prayagraj on time and was comfortably settled at the Officer's Mess, well ahead of my arrival. By 8 AM on the 17th, I stepped off the platform and made my way to Trishakti Cove Officer's Mess in Prayagraj Cantonment.

The reunion with Baba was effortless. We had both managed to catch up on sleep during our respective journeys, and the energy was high. After a quick shower and change of clothes, we headed to the dining hall for breakfast.

What greeted us was the quintessential military hospitality. The duty JCO (Junior Commissioned Officer) served us with precision and pride—piping hot Aloo Paranthas, perfectly crisped on the edges, accompanied by steaming chai. And, of course, a crisp salute. It was a small gesture, but it carried the weight of respect, discipline, and camaraderie that defines the armed forces.

We ate heartily, fueled by anticipation. Day 1 of the Kumbh Mela awaited us—and little did I know, it would be the day my fitness band would go absolutely bonkers counting the steps walked....

The Call of the Sangam, Mahakumbh 2025 - A journey that was destined! Chapter 1

For many who grew up in India, particularly in Hindu families, the concept of pilgrimage is woven into the fabric of our identity. We hear stories of sacred journeys from a young age—to the Char Dham, the 12 Jyotirlingas, or the powerful Shaktipeeths. But among all these, the Kumbh Mela holds a unique place. It’s more than a pilgrimage; it’s a spiritual phenomenon. We know it through headlines: the world’s largest gathering of people, a spectacle visible from space, a confluence of sadhus from ancient akharas. Yet, for me, it remained a distant legend—until it became a personal calling.

The Seed of an Idea

My first conscious awareness of the Kumbh Mela’s pull came in 2013, during the Maha Kumbh at Prayagraj (then Allahabad). As a 28-year-old, I felt a spark—a pure, quiet intuition that I would attend a Kumbh one day. The "when" and "where" were unclear, and the impulse wasn't strong enough to act upon immediately. Through subsequent editions in Nashik, Ujjain, and Haridwar, the feeling lingered, a gentle but persistent idea at the back of my mind.

Working in the tourism industry, I’m conditioned to track major global events, assessing their impact on travel. So, when I noted the dates for the 2025 Maha Kumbh Mela in early 2024, that dormant spark was ignited. This wasn't just another event on a calendar; it was a deadline for a dream. I knew, with sudden clarity, that I had to be there. I was randomly asking my acquaintances in Vancouver, if they know about the Maha Kumbh and if anyone is thinking of attending it. 

The Practical Dilemmas

However, reality quickly introduced its complications. I was already planning a trip to India in May 2024 for my son’s Mundan ceremony. A second trip within eight months, especially during a peak event like the Kumbh, is a significant financial undertaking. Flights and accommodation prices soar, making it a substantial investment.

Yet, the timing was also deeply alluring. The Maha Kumbh was scheduled from Makar Sankranti (January 14th) to Mahashivratri (February 26th). This meant I could potentially celebrate the kite-flying festival in my hometown of Jaipur with my father—a cherished annual tradition—before journeying to the Kumbh. The thought was incredibly powerful, a chance to weave together familial joy and spiritual quest. Little did I know it would be our last kite festival together.

Just as I was reconciling the costs, a second family commitment arose. My sister was planning her son’s Mundan ceremony for 2025. After much coordination, the date was set for March. My heart sank. Traveling to India twice in two months was simply not feasible. With a heavy heart, I accepted that the Kumbh was not destined for me in 2025. I let the dream go.

The Rekindling Flame

Couple of months later, in early October, during a birthday conversation with my childhood friend, Baba, I shared my disappointment. To my surprise, he was immediately captivated by the idea. "If you decide to go," he said, "I'm in."

His enthusiasm was contagious. I revisited the idea with my wife, and with renewed hope, I reached out to a friend in the Indian Army. I recalled the serene Allahabad Cantonment from my past SSB visit and wondered, almost impossibly, if accommodation might be found there. To my astonishment, the answer was a tentative "yes." They just needed dates.

The plan crystallized instantly: celebrate Makar Sankranti with my family in Jaipur, then take a train to Prayagraj with Baba for a three-day immersion in the Kumbh Mela.

From Dream to Reality: The Execution

What followed was a whirlwind of divine coordination. I called Baba with the tentative dates of January 17th-19th. His answer was an instant, unwavering "Yes."

The logistical pieces fell into place with surprising ease. I secured our train tickets from Jaipur to Prayagraj and back to Delhi, booked my international flight from Vancouver, and, most miraculously, received final confirmation from the Officer’s Mess in Allahabad Cantt. Within a week, a dream that had flickered for over a decade was suddenly, tangibly real—a testament to both meticulous planning and the incredible camaraderie of 111-Nirantars and of the uniformed forces.

My journey to the Kumbh was no longer a distant legend. It was an itinerary, a promise, and a pilgrimage finally coming to life.

Pre-preps and the itinerary

Although everything was falling into place very quickly, it was still 2 months for me to leave for India. A lot of preparation had to go into how my work will be handled and how the household responsibilities will be taken care of back in Canada. All kudos to my boss- Santosh for being most accommodative. He was aware that I am travelling again to India in March and yet he approved this leave knowing how dearly I wanted to be at the Kumbh Mela. 

My friends in the army, shared numbers of the mess JCO and NCO who spoke to me with utmost respect, knowing that their CO (super boss) is my course-mate from the NDA.

Baba was moving a bit slowly thought. Eventually, by early December his tickets were booked too. He was flying from Hyderabad to Lucknow and then taking a train to Prayagraj. Baba's train was due to reach at 4 Am and mine at 6 Am on the 17th of Jan. I mean what an immaculate plan! 

My flight to India was booked for the 10th of Jan arriving in New Delhi on the afternoon of 11th. I was to spend 11th to 16th Jan in Jaipur with my parents and take a train to Prayagraj on the afternoon of 16th, thereby taking a train to New Delhi on the evening of 19th. 

All this was happening between 15th Nov and 20th Dec 2024. I was doing a side gig at my friend Ankur's pet food business to fund some part of my last minute trip to India. I used the festive deals to upgrade my phone, so that I can get the best shots from a phone camera whilst avoiding the need to carry a larger one. I thought a bit ahead and purchased two waterproof and airtight phone pouches. This product certainly made my life easier when I took a holy dip in the Sangam. 

The day of travel was nearing and while that was to happen my little one was to join his new daycare. We were concerned that, him being just a 3 year old might take a little more time to adjust to the new place and my timing of travel to India might be a hinderance to this. I really appreciate my wife who lived up to the occasion to let me travel worry free for something that comes once in every 144 years. Yes, this was the exact time, when the news buzz picked up around the Kumbh Mela talking about its significance. I had known this fact for almost a year now, but this was now getting mainstream and picking up steam. More people were searching about the Mela and I was feeling really proud about confirmed train tickets, confirmed officer's mess accommodation and a chance to fly kites with my father. 

Story continues in the following chapters....