I faced my grief by the Ganges

After losing both of his parents, Hugh Harris, guitarist with The Kooks, escaped to an ashram in Rishikesh

Ifelt like I was in a sci-fi film as the taxi meandered through the foothills of the Himalaya. Ribbons of amber embers snaked along the jungle ways on either side, keeping tigers off the roads. Four hours later, I had arrived at my destination: Rishikesh.

It was 2017. I’d had a fairly tumultuous few months. My parents had died within 18 months of each other; my mother after a two-year battle with cancer and my father unexpectedly from an aneurysm. In the midst of this, I had also become a father to my beautiful daughter, Sapphire.

My sister, Emma, had gone to Phool Chatti, an ashram in Rishikesh, the year before and spoke about how helpful she found it, just to find space with her thoughts. I was in a place where I had to confront a lot within myself, such as how I felt about life and death and what my future was going to look like. I had been seeing a therapist prior to these tragic events, but I think what I was looking for was a very immersive therapy and a space to process my feelings that was physically removed from London, somewhere without the noises and social groups: it can be so easy to be susceptible to other people’s projections. I wanted to confront those feelings somewhere safe; it could have been anywhere, but it was quite a spiritual place I was seeking.

I flew into New Delhi, a city where the frenetic energy was a slap in the face, every sense catapulted to full operation. I spent a night or two there as a stopover and then got on a fourhour flight up to the foothills of the Himalaya. When I arrived in Rishikesh, I stayed at a hostel, which was fun as I had never done the gap year thing. Touring with The Kooks, we’d always stay at smart hotels, but here I was at 30 years old, chilling on beanbags, drinking beers and chatting profound nonsense.

The next day, I arrived at the ashI’m ram, which was built like a fort with rooms and communal areas connected by Escher-like staircases shooting off to unknown heights and dilapidated roof terraces speckled with candlelight. The sound of a distant kirtan rang from one of the basement rooms. I was shown to my room, where a window opened out on to the Ganges. I had a torch, some books and toilet paper.

The silent nature of the retreat was awkward for me at first. Sitting next to a woman at lunch, I felt like I couldn’t not talk, so I ended up writing “hello” in okra on my plate. She just kind of smiled – well, more like smirked – at me, but looking back I realise that readiness to engage in small talk can be such a waste of time. It’s just a disarming thing and, while it is necessary in society, it was not the reason we were there. I spent two weeks in total at the ashram. You’d wake at 5am and go to bed at sunset. We’d meditate first thing in the morning, then there would be a yoga practice, followed by breakfast and a walk. Then we’d break for lunch. I ate curry practically three times a day but they grew everything on site and you know when someone has put love into food, that magic ingredient.

Up until Phool Chatti, I was aware that I had been backlogging feelings; I think deep down I was saving them for a confrontation one day. In the afternoons, there were philosophical discussions, where topics such as love, death, loss, and tragedy were discussed openly in a kind of group counselling style, made all the more explosive by the otherwise silent aspect of our time there. My friends and I talk about feelings and emotions, but only to the degree where it is possible to escape the conversation very quickly with a joke, or with an exit plan. I think as a culture we are pretty uncomfortable with the whole thing, which is why we have to spend loads of money on therapy instead.

One day, I was sitting by the Ganges and it made me think of my mum. Ganges, or Ganga, means mother in Hinduism [mother Ganga is a goddess of Hindu worship and culture]. I had been so angry and sad after my mother’s death, mourning the time that was taken from me, and the fact she never got to meet her granddaughter. But staring into the depths of the Ganges, I resolved to take control of my pain and sadness. Rather than see it as a weakness, I could turn it into a greater gratitude of the time I spent with her.

It’s a well-trodden path, the path to self-realisation, and I think a lot of musicians and artists have the luxury to tread it. I was only 16 years old when The Kooks became successful, and I hadn’t really formed who I was. But after my time in Rishikesh, I became noticeably more relaxed. I managed to integrate certain things I learnt from Phool Chatti into my life in London, although I can’t do yoga any more because of an injury. Whereas previously I had a sense of panic around socialising and entertaining others, I now don’t feel that overwhelming need to be a peoplepleaser. Meditation helps a lot with that, but also, by getting a hold on an inner narrative, I’ve got much better at just being myself.

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As told to Aisling O’Leary