Rishikesh Beyond the Usual: Stories in Silence, Art on Walls

On my recent trip to Rishikesh, I went in expecting just the usual—some good food, thrilling rafting, and temple darshans. But what I experienced was far beyond what I had imagined.

Instead of renting bikes, we decided to walk. That’s where the magic began.

The moment we stepped into those narrow lanes, something shifted.

There was a calm in the air… like the city was moving slowly, breathing gently, letting you breathe with it.

On one side, you’d hear people chanting softly in ashrams. On the other, someone pouring fresh chai into tiny glasses.

The sound of the Ganga wasn’t loud, but it was always there—steady, like background music you didn’t know you needed.

Every now and then, we’d come across groups sitting together, singing bhajans. No microphones, no cameras—just devotion.

And even though stopping wasn’t part of the plan, I did.

Sat down for a while. Just listened. Chanted.

It felt... grounding. Like something inside was quietly recharging.

And then there were the walls.

Not just painted—but alive.

One moment you’re walking past houses, bridges, ashrams, or even parking lots—and the next, Shiva’s eyes are looking right at you—fierce, still, powerful.

Further down, there’s Lord Ram, calm and focused.

And then Hanuman ji, caught mid-air, full of movement and energy.

These weren’t just graffiti.

They felt alive—like the city was speaking in colours.

That’s what Rishikesh is. A place where peace and adrenaline live on the same street.

You can do yoga by the river in the morning and be bouncing down rapids by the afternoon.

It’s spiritual and artistic, noisy and quiet—all at once.

This wasn’t just a trip. It felt like the kind of experience that stays with you.

And I’ll say this—some of the most meaningful stories aren’t spoken.

They’re painted. Quietly. On walls most people walk past.