On the topic of Coffee Day, if you’ve never been there it may be hard to imagine and if you have been there you know exactly what I’m talking about – what is UP with the music? First, each song gets, quite literally, only 1.3 minutes of play (if lucky) before we skip to the next track. Second, although the censors have been active on the CD’s they use, they insist on featuring Eminem and Fifty Cent heavily in their rotation - not only are the songs only given 1.3 minutes airtime but half the words are beeped out.
By the time we get around to their one, tired Backstreet Boys track I’m ridiculously happy to hear the strains of “I Want It That Way” because those Backstreet Boys are good boys. No cursing = an entire 1.3 minutes of uninterrupted music (maybe ;).
Sunday, June 29, 2008
my mysore
When I fell sick a few weeks ago I missed a meeting with my favourite rickshaw driver. He sent an sms wondering where I was and, after learning that I was sick, continued to check in by sms in the days that followed. Yesterday I saw him for the first time in weeks and caused him all kinds of concern over how “weak” I look and answered many questions about my medicine (none), food (lots now), and rest (no worries, I’m a sloth). A few hours after he dropped me off he returned with some food his wife had prepared. It was completely unexpected and I was absolutely touched; he didn’t have to do that.
Later that day I walked to Coffee Day to listen to overly loud music (but, inexplicably, only 1.3 minutes per song before we jump to the next one) while I worked. On my way, a woman waved goats off the road so I could pass, stopping when I stopped and laughing with me when I laughed at the smallest but loudest goat standing his ground (they really do say “maaaa” – who knew?). We had a “moment”.
Not long after I settled in at Coffee Day a trio of girls arrived and ordered a piece of chocolate cake. The cake arrived and one girl cut off a piece, approached me, and started pushing it towards my mouth explaining that it was her birthday. She resisted my attempts to take the piece and feed myself by stating “it’s my birthday, I must give to you”. It crossed my mind that she could be taking the piss but then, it was chocolate cake, and always I’m so ingratiatingly pleased to be included in any way, I acquiesced and let the strange girl hand-feed me chocolate cake. It was awesome (the cake, not so much the being hand-fed part).
So many people come to Mysore and everyone has their own, unique experience dependent on a million different factors but when I think of some of the things I’ve heard (or read in blog-land) about the country, the culture, the pollution, the people, the men…I want to go and take those people by hand and walk with them for an afternoon through my Mysore because my Mysore is a wonderful, wonderful place to be. Of course there are frustrations, bad days, monkey minded torments but above and beyond that, at all times, blessings abound, beauty surrounds, and kindness is everywhere.
Later that day I walked to Coffee Day to listen to overly loud music (but, inexplicably, only 1.3 minutes per song before we jump to the next one) while I worked. On my way, a woman waved goats off the road so I could pass, stopping when I stopped and laughing with me when I laughed at the smallest but loudest goat standing his ground (they really do say “maaaa” – who knew?). We had a “moment”.
Not long after I settled in at Coffee Day a trio of girls arrived and ordered a piece of chocolate cake. The cake arrived and one girl cut off a piece, approached me, and started pushing it towards my mouth explaining that it was her birthday. She resisted my attempts to take the piece and feed myself by stating “it’s my birthday, I must give to you”. It crossed my mind that she could be taking the piss but then, it was chocolate cake, and always I’m so ingratiatingly pleased to be included in any way, I acquiesced and let the strange girl hand-feed me chocolate cake. It was awesome (the cake, not so much the being hand-fed part).
So many people come to Mysore and everyone has their own, unique experience dependent on a million different factors but when I think of some of the things I’ve heard (or read in blog-land) about the country, the culture, the pollution, the people, the men…I want to go and take those people by hand and walk with them for an afternoon through my Mysore because my Mysore is a wonderful, wonderful place to be. Of course there are frustrations, bad days, monkey minded torments but above and beyond that, at all times, blessings abound, beauty surrounds, and kindness is everywhere.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
white people walking
At home there's an unspoken given that if you pass someone coming from the opposite direction when walking the trails, you generally smile and nod at them. It's a tradition I love - kind of an acknowledgment of a kindred spirit, someone else who could be anywhere but chose to be among the trees instead. Since arriving in Gokulam, I've joined the dozens of others walking around the lake at dusk each night and, as is the case with home, I smile and nod at those I pass. Unlike home, however, I restrict my smiling to the other single women walking.
It's taken me a few weeks to catch on but I don't think the whole "kindred spirit walking" thing flies here. Instead of smiling back, most just look at me perplexed and then we have this whole awkward moment when I pass them again on the other side of the lake - do I smile again now that I've set a precedent? Avoid eye contact altogether and pretend it never happened? What if they think I'm rude?
Now that I've clued into the lack of smiles in return I'm wondering what it is they're thinking. Here I think I'm being polite and they're probably preparing posters warning innocent walkers of the weird white girl who hangs around the lake at dusk each night trolling for women. I do have competition for weirdness though, it's the other westerner who's always there jogging laps around the lake while dressed in jeans, button down shirt, belt and dress shoes.
Between the two of us I'm afraid we're not doing very much to further the acceptance of white people walking...
It's taken me a few weeks to catch on but I don't think the whole "kindred spirit walking" thing flies here. Instead of smiling back, most just look at me perplexed and then we have this whole awkward moment when I pass them again on the other side of the lake - do I smile again now that I've set a precedent? Avoid eye contact altogether and pretend it never happened? What if they think I'm rude?
Now that I've clued into the lack of smiles in return I'm wondering what it is they're thinking. Here I think I'm being polite and they're probably preparing posters warning innocent walkers of the weird white girl who hangs around the lake at dusk each night trolling for women. I do have competition for weirdness though, it's the other westerner who's always there jogging laps around the lake while dressed in jeans, button down shirt, belt and dress shoes.
Between the two of us I'm afraid we're not doing very much to further the acceptance of white people walking...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
big city brothel...i mean bangalore
The days before I left for Bangalore were filled with people giving me the low down on what to expect: pollution, traffic jams, just another big city. That's cool, in fact, that's why I wanted to go. I craved being in a city with shopping malls, noise and too many people. I looked forward to going and I looked forward to how happy I knew I would be to come home.
I’d planned on making a nice breakfast to eat on the train but, instead, overslept by an hour and had only minutes to wake up, wash and pack before I had to leave. The train ride started with a disagreement over the fare during which my friends argued with the Conductor while I writhed in my seat with discomfort and tried to make myself invisible. The Conductor won, the fare was paid and the train ride was awesome. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can top sitting in the open door of a train car, wind in your face, and the country side slipping by. It was heaven.
Bangalore was Bangalore. A big, dirty, noisy city. I loved it. We shopped, coffee-d, and chilled in our hotel room before meeting my roommate's parents (who had just flown in that day to work), for dinner. While relaxing in our room we marveled at the very low hotel rate. Sure, we had to use our flip flops to turn the water on and off or we were electrocuted each time we touched the taps but we had towels – big, fluffy white towels. Score! It was only later that night that we understood the low rates and the purpose for the benches we’d admired so much lining the hallways. Turns out, we were in a “working” hotel of sorts, the benches were for the girls waiting for some business to turn up. While they waited they gossiped, argued and yelled loudly into their cell phones. Not much sleep was had but damn I enjoyed drying myself off with that big fluffy towel after I’d finished electrocuting myself in the shower the next morning.
In our search for food we stumbled upon “the” breakfast spot which was fun seeing as I never know where those places are in my own city. The restaurant was packed with locals happily enjoying combinations of eggs, baked beans and toast while I churlishly drank my coffee and made frequent references to the idly I’d expected. Breakfast said and done, we wandered around and drank more coffee before checking ourselves out of the brothel to catch a bus home. The bus was quick, the ride smooth and the homecoming very lovely. I headed straight up to my roof where I breathed clean(er) air, looked up at the stars, and anticipated a business-free sleep.
Breakfast of champions, train coffee and biscuits - the ones that proudly proclaim "Now with GLUCOSE" on the wrapper. Is glucose a good thing?
Scenes from the train...
LOOOOVING the train ride. Very happy.
I’d planned on making a nice breakfast to eat on the train but, instead, overslept by an hour and had only minutes to wake up, wash and pack before I had to leave. The train ride started with a disagreement over the fare during which my friends argued with the Conductor while I writhed in my seat with discomfort and tried to make myself invisible. The Conductor won, the fare was paid and the train ride was awesome. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can top sitting in the open door of a train car, wind in your face, and the country side slipping by. It was heaven.
Bangalore was Bangalore. A big, dirty, noisy city. I loved it. We shopped, coffee-d, and chilled in our hotel room before meeting my roommate's parents (who had just flown in that day to work), for dinner. While relaxing in our room we marveled at the very low hotel rate. Sure, we had to use our flip flops to turn the water on and off or we were electrocuted each time we touched the taps but we had towels – big, fluffy white towels. Score! It was only later that night that we understood the low rates and the purpose for the benches we’d admired so much lining the hallways. Turns out, we were in a “working” hotel of sorts, the benches were for the girls waiting for some business to turn up. While they waited they gossiped, argued and yelled loudly into their cell phones. Not much sleep was had but damn I enjoyed drying myself off with that big fluffy towel after I’d finished electrocuting myself in the shower the next morning.
In our search for food we stumbled upon “the” breakfast spot which was fun seeing as I never know where those places are in my own city. The restaurant was packed with locals happily enjoying combinations of eggs, baked beans and toast while I churlishly drank my coffee and made frequent references to the idly I’d expected. Breakfast said and done, we wandered around and drank more coffee before checking ourselves out of the brothel to catch a bus home. The bus was quick, the ride smooth and the homecoming very lovely. I headed straight up to my roof where I breathed clean(er) air, looked up at the stars, and anticipated a business-free sleep.
Breakfast of champions, train coffee and biscuits - the ones that proudly proclaim "Now with GLUCOSE" on the wrapper. Is glucose a good thing?
Scenes from the train...
LOOOOVING the train ride. Very happy.
Friday, June 13, 2008
scratchyourassana
I forgot my yoga gear outside last night and this morning while practicing discovered that I quite literally had ants in my pants.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
stuff
4 hours of practice + 5 hours of serving breakfast/lunch + work work from home + daily life stuff which seems to take a lot more energy here than at home is taking its toll. After my second practice this afternoon I made it as far as the couch just inside the front door before I fell asleep, my backpack still attached to me.
My morning practice is vigorous and physically intense while my second practice is more static, comprised of holding asansas for 9-12 breaths with several repetitions. This practice is a personalized one, targeted to work on the area I need it most which, for me, is my lower abdomen. It's physically the area that's the weakest but yogic philosophy (and common sense, really) reasons that the reason the physical aspect has been compromised is because the emotional/mental aspect has been compromised as well. The lower abdomen is the home of emotions, sexuality and, by extension (though to a limited degree), loving relationships. It is the seat of creativity, inspiration, openness; the place of holding on or letting go.
This is the place I carry my "stuff", I've written about it before, so spending two hours each day specifically focusing on this area is emotionally intense as well as physically intense but it's so very perfect. The first time I came to Mysore I fell in love and lost myself, this time I came expecting to feel sadness but instead ended up finding myself again. I still miss my friend and feel the sting that there's someone out there that doesn't want to talk to me, but I don't hold onto it, it is what it is, and more and more I feel like what it is is his loss. It took someone else to act as the catalyst for a lot of hard lessons this year about myself, my family, my relationships, my attachments, fears and insecurities. It was too much, I became small and scared under the weight of it all but with time, distance, and space I find myself growing large where I'd disappeared and dreaming big for a future that, a few months ago, consisted only of what I wouldn't have.
Finding my afternoon a teacher is like finding the missing puzzle piece that puts the emotional and physical work to the place I need it most. It's wonderful beyond words and leaving now would feel like walking out of a surgery only half completed. Good things are happening, more time is needed, I'm staying longer.
In other news, this morning while I was walking home from the shala a boy (and I mean boy - 11 years old tops) rode by me on his bike and said hello. I didn't really answer, it's inappropriate, and as he continued on his way he said something that took me a few beats to catch but eventually it sunk in; he followed his hello with the words "I want to f*ck you".
Well. It's good to know a girl has options...
My morning practice is vigorous and physically intense while my second practice is more static, comprised of holding asansas for 9-12 breaths with several repetitions. This practice is a personalized one, targeted to work on the area I need it most which, for me, is my lower abdomen. It's physically the area that's the weakest but yogic philosophy (and common sense, really) reasons that the reason the physical aspect has been compromised is because the emotional/mental aspect has been compromised as well. The lower abdomen is the home of emotions, sexuality and, by extension (though to a limited degree), loving relationships. It is the seat of creativity, inspiration, openness; the place of holding on or letting go.
This is the place I carry my "stuff", I've written about it before, so spending two hours each day specifically focusing on this area is emotionally intense as well as physically intense but it's so very perfect. The first time I came to Mysore I fell in love and lost myself, this time I came expecting to feel sadness but instead ended up finding myself again. I still miss my friend and feel the sting that there's someone out there that doesn't want to talk to me, but I don't hold onto it, it is what it is, and more and more I feel like what it is is his loss. It took someone else to act as the catalyst for a lot of hard lessons this year about myself, my family, my relationships, my attachments, fears and insecurities. It was too much, I became small and scared under the weight of it all but with time, distance, and space I find myself growing large where I'd disappeared and dreaming big for a future that, a few months ago, consisted only of what I wouldn't have.
Finding my afternoon a teacher is like finding the missing puzzle piece that puts the emotional and physical work to the place I need it most. It's wonderful beyond words and leaving now would feel like walking out of a surgery only half completed. Good things are happening, more time is needed, I'm staying longer.
In other news, this morning while I was walking home from the shala a boy (and I mean boy - 11 years old tops) rode by me on his bike and said hello. I didn't really answer, it's inappropriate, and as he continued on his way he said something that took me a few beats to catch but eventually it sunk in; he followed his hello with the words "I want to f*ck you".
Well. It's good to know a girl has options...
rickshaw litmus test
Whatever grand notions I might have about becoming a kinder, calmer person are easily tested by a quick visit to one of the local rickshaw stands. There are two main stands in Gokulam both of which are well-accustomed to working with tourists and by well-accustomed I mean they pull tricks that they would never, ever try with anyone else. Through every visit to Gokulam it's interactions with drivers taking the long way around or the mysterious "broken meter" replaced by outrageously inflated prices that are the quickest to push my buttons and show me just how much further I have to go to that kind, calm self.
There's a hierarchy to the stands that I don't quite understand but when I insist on a rickshaw with a working meter I'm often passed from driver to driver until I reach what I assume is the lowest guy on the totem pole - the one that gets stuck with me. That's also usually the most run down rickshaw that plugs along the road slowly giving me plenty of time to enjoy the ride and studiously avoid thinking about the black exhaust making its way directly from the bus in front of us to my lungs.
Yesterday it also gave me time to take random, blurry pictures on the way from Mysore back into Gokulam.
TAA DAA - the elusive working meter :)
There's a hierarchy to the stands that I don't quite understand but when I insist on a rickshaw with a working meter I'm often passed from driver to driver until I reach what I assume is the lowest guy on the totem pole - the one that gets stuck with me. That's also usually the most run down rickshaw that plugs along the road slowly giving me plenty of time to enjoy the ride and studiously avoid thinking about the black exhaust making its way directly from the bus in front of us to my lungs.
Yesterday it also gave me time to take random, blurry pictures on the way from Mysore back into Gokulam.
TAA DAA - the elusive working meter :)
yogis night out
Last night was yogis night out. Indiana Jones hit the Sterling Theatre this week so we took advantage of the fact that there was no practice this morning to go to the late show which started at the very late hour of 8.30, the same time I'd normally be crawling into bed.
It's been ages since I've seen a movie and even longer since it was a big Hollywood blockbuster so it was such good fun. We got there early and headed to a chai stall to inhale a few rounds of sugar-packed tea to help us keep our eyes open. While we were there we played with the chai stall owner's kids Tesha, the baby and Apu, the little boy. The same dog with half an ear was outside the theatre, the loveliest dog ever but also the jumpiest. At one point she got overexcited so I raised my voice and said "down" loudly, just as I would to any dog, forgetting that dogs are sometimes roughly treated here - the effect on her crushed me. Where a dog at home would maybe sort of kind of stop jumping, at the sound of my voice this one made herself very small and fell to the ground looking up beseechingly. Ouch.
As we were waiting a shiny SUV drove up and a truckload of yogis piled out so there was a heap of us piled into the front row of the balcony hooting and hollering along with Indiana Jones. The movie came complete with an intermission, of course, and ended late. Thankfully the SUV folks (who also came armed with a bag of homemade popcorn) offered us a ride home so we played "how many yogis can fit into an SUV" and discovered that the magic number was 11.
Apu playing coy with the camera. He loved having his picture taken and seeing the results
Tesha the baby and Apu the little boy. Apu was down with the camera but Tesha seemed a bit confused about why her dad kept plopping her in the lap of this big, bald man.
Teaching Apu how to take pictures. This one was a joint one, taken of the bakery across the way from the chai stall
Come on - who could resist this face?
Aw yeah, Indiana Jones :)
It's been ages since I've seen a movie and even longer since it was a big Hollywood blockbuster so it was such good fun. We got there early and headed to a chai stall to inhale a few rounds of sugar-packed tea to help us keep our eyes open. While we were there we played with the chai stall owner's kids Tesha, the baby and Apu, the little boy. The same dog with half an ear was outside the theatre, the loveliest dog ever but also the jumpiest. At one point she got overexcited so I raised my voice and said "down" loudly, just as I would to any dog, forgetting that dogs are sometimes roughly treated here - the effect on her crushed me. Where a dog at home would maybe sort of kind of stop jumping, at the sound of my voice this one made herself very small and fell to the ground looking up beseechingly. Ouch.
As we were waiting a shiny SUV drove up and a truckload of yogis piled out so there was a heap of us piled into the front row of the balcony hooting and hollering along with Indiana Jones. The movie came complete with an intermission, of course, and ended late. Thankfully the SUV folks (who also came armed with a bag of homemade popcorn) offered us a ride home so we played "how many yogis can fit into an SUV" and discovered that the magic number was 11.
Apu playing coy with the camera. He loved having his picture taken and seeing the results
Tesha the baby and Apu the little boy. Apu was down with the camera but Tesha seemed a bit confused about why her dad kept plopping her in the lap of this big, bald man.
Teaching Apu how to take pictures. This one was a joint one, taken of the bakery across the way from the chai stall
Come on - who could resist this face?
Aw yeah, Indiana Jones :)
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