. . Baba . . .I
on the sidewalk beside the man on the left, who they called Baba. The other
man is his companion. We have no common language except grunts and gestures.
He seems to be a saddhu, a man who has fulfilled his family obligations,
now lives as a holy man, praying, bathing in the river, begging. I decide
to join them. I put my backpack and all possessions in storage at a cheap
hotel, and return wearing my Bangladesh lungi (skirt), sandals, a shoulder
blanket, and a metal bowl, no money.