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The street from which you enter the Rajnish ashram in Puna is lined with merchants.

It's like stepping into a flea market from a bygone era.

Stoles lined up along beautiful high stone walls in amongst enormous trees with protruding roots,

as well as smaller trees with giant tropical leaves and vibrant purple red and yellow flowers.

We wound our way past the hawkers, ready to haggle with us spiritual tourists over their traditional wares.

Plentifully for sale at all of the stalls were the robes.

And I used that term loosely.

Robes which were required dress once inside that ashram.

Daytime robes were maroon. Nighttime robes were white.

They were dirt cheap, paper thin, designed to come down to about mid-shin and came in a small assortment of styles.

Short-sleeved or long, v-neck or round.

Perhaps some extra detail in the embroidery around the neck for a few rupees more.

The street t-boneed into another one at one end.

And at this intersection was the small German bakery, where some senyassins would gather to smilingly smoke

and partake in sweet pastries and bitter coffee in the late afternoon.

I noticed the customers at all the stalls on the street were European or American, mostly European.

The merchants, they're all Indian.

...