i'm the bear

First day back at work today. That's a good thing, I really like what I do.

I was excited to see so many familiar names in my appointment calendar. When I changed organizations a year ago one of the things that I missed most was the loss of continuity that comes from working with students from first year right through to graduate school. After a year in my current position I've had the opportunity to form relationships with the students I see: formerly scared first year students are returning as 'seen it all before' second years, I received Christmas cards from the most unexpected students, and alumni are coming back to let me know how they've fared. It's an honour to be let into their lives whether I see them once a month or once a year.

Which may make the rest of this post seem pretty confusing because as much as I love my job, my friends, my home - life in general - it's started to feel a bit small. This isn't new, this feeling has been following me for well over a year, what is new is the strength behind it. I feel like my elbows are bumping up against the walls of my life and that it's time to blow the doors wide open and see what enters. Scary because whatever changes I make will be based on intuition alone, at a purely rational level there's no reason at all to change anything, if it ain't broke, don't fix it and all that. What began as a vague inkling has developed into an all-encompassing drumbeat that won't be ignored. So, I've accepted that I'll be making some changes and moved from being scared by the idea to really exited. I'm giving myself a bit of time to let the ideas settle and become more comfortable with my plans.

Today, work offered some help with this: there's one part of my job that I find mind-numbingly boring, that provides minimal challenge, that I think is a poor use of my time and that I'm surprised is even in my job description. I returned from holidays to find that it's been put into my calendar for 10 hours a week through to the end of January. Talk about poking the bear in the zoo.....

pictures

My photographic ability is limited to point-and-click (see links to Mikko's site in earlier posts for some gorgeous pictures) but for those who've asked, here's a link to some of mine...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/bekasanahh/sets/

home

This morning I brushed my teeth with tap water and, when I realized what I was doing, winced and cursed inwardly, now I was going to get sick. That was before I remembered that I was home. I think that's the way it's going to go, this reintegration to life in Toronto, small, inane reminders catching me by surprise.

It's good to be home and surprisingly hard to admit it to others because, as I've noticed, the impression taken is that it wasn't good to be away. Not the case. My trip was perfect and it was wonderful to be in India but it's also wonderful to be here.

Last night I had fun rediscovering my apartment. It's big and cluttered. What do I do with so much stuff? I'd forgotten about how much I love my hardwood floors and the way I've placed my favourite picture so that it's the first thing I see when I wake up. I'd forgotten that my closet door swings open to block the entrance to my bedroom and walked smack into it a few times last night. I'd forgotten that my pillow and quilt are the closest thing I can imagine to sleeping on a cloud, this my 1year old neighbour gave me ample time to remember by waking me up with his shrieking many, many times last night. I'd hoped he'd outgrow that habit while I was away, not so.

On my way to yoga this morning I passed by the Inglis sign which, to me, is one of Toronto's best kept secrets. Placed along the highway, it tends to get lost in the visual assault of the other advertisements but the Inglis sign is different in that every day it sports a different quote. Today's quote was "Happiness is where you find it, not always where you seek it". I loved that this set the tone for my first day home. This was an important trip on many levels but impossible to discuss just yet. I expect that I'll process the experience slowly and I'm looking forward to being quiet and watching.

stats

from the last 24 hours:

total hours spent in travel - 28
hours spent in a plane - 20
hours spent waiting in airports - 8
countries visited - 3
inflight movies watched - 6 and a bit
airplane meals ingested - 5
coffees nursed - 5
hours slept - 4
fantastic family members that surprised me at the airport - 1 :)

am i really home?

feeling human again

I celebrated my first day of non-sickness by returning to yoga for the first time in a couple of days. Sunday's are led classes and I had been hoping that Sharath would be leading the class since he was away through December and this would be my last chance to experience one of his classes but it was Guruji who is known for his warp speed practices. Today was no exception but it was no matter, it felt great to be back on my mat and there will be many more chances to practice with Sharath but not nearly as many with Guruji.

Afterwards I continued my non-sick celebration by going to the Metropole Hotel where we've discovered one of Mysore's best kept secrets: an all you can eat, swanky hotel buffet for only 100rs. French toast, chocopuff cereal, hash browns...all of the things that don't even cross my plate at home but were really, really great here after a month of idlly and samba.

Furthering my 'woo hoo, I'm not sick' celebration I walked. I wandered down Deveraj Road, the 'shopping road', through the market with its rows of flowers, brightly coloured powders, bangles, bindis, fruits, and calls from vendors "hello madam, what country?" I had hoped to walk home but succumbed to the pollution which makes it quite literally impossible to walk and called a rickshaw to take me home where I sat on my roof and listened to my new Bollywood CD's and ignored the fact that half of the Finnish contingent here in Mysore (and there are a LOT of them) were also spread out on my roof.

Tonight, off to see Mysore palace. Tomorrow, pack.

quick update...

"There will be no extending of tickets madam" - so - I'll be home soon.

It's been busy here in Mysore doing all those things I didn't get a chance to do yet: an afternoon at the Southern Star pool, visits to the tailor, shopping for cheap yoga supplies, one last box of sweets...you can see how the days fill ;)

I've been sick these last 3 days, possibly my body's attempts to purge itself of the excesses of dairy, flour, ghee and sugar I've been overindulging in since arriving. For that reason, I'm keeping this short. I'm weak and sucky and it's been several hours since my last nap, I'm about done for the day.

Queasy stomach aside, much fun is being had (indiaspeak) and I'm disappointed not to be able to extend my stay longer. Still, I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, having a huge Juice for Life salad as my homecoming meal and I suspect I'll be back in Mysore in the very near future.

new pictures

Mikko has posted new beach pictures at:

http://mikkos.1g.fi/mysore/index.html



In other related news, I'm in the process of telephone negotiations to extend my plane ticket by a few days. I'll keep you posted...

new and improved routine...

6am yoga on the roof where the sun shines through the orange plastic cover making the room glow warmly. Back to my hotel where the shy, softspoken manager always makes sure there's a cup of chai waiting for me on my veranda when I emerge from the shower. Drip drying on my veranda enjoying my tea while I watch the birds and slowly move myself from from my yoga trance to that state that lets me actually navigate the world.

Breakfast at Suprablahblahblah (short for unpronounceable name), always a fruit salad with curd and always eaten outside. As in Mysore, breakfast seems to last for hours. Probably because it does. Then to the beach. The water is warm and shallow, the waves perfect for bodysurfing, and the pull of the tide just strong enough to remind me who actually has control - it's not me. At some point in time, I leave the beach, sit for a few more hours on my veranda daydreaming, eat lunch and do other things but I can't actually think of what any of them are.

It's been an unbelievably relaxing week. The shopowners are friendly and have long memories, there are many other yogi's wandering about, and the town is small so walks are usually puncuated by several pauses for conversation. The ocean commands my attention, when I'm on the beach I can do nothing other than sit, mesmerized by the crashing waves. The warm sea breeze provides relief to the power of the sun. The conversations of those I'm with are often carried on in languages other than English freeing me to lazily daydream without fear of being rude.

It's going to be hard to leave but I've already extended my trip by 3 days longer than expected and head back to Mysore tonight.

Kovalam

Kovalam is a wonderful beach town fronted by a boardwalk that curves to follow the shape of the beach and backed by narrow dirt paths that wind their way labryinth-like between the stores, cafes, and guesthouses. I have yet to make my way to any destination following the same path twice, they're very confusing. Instead, I've accepted that the best approach is to allow myself to get lost, enjoy the walk, and know I'll end up where I need to be eventually - it's a small town.

The boardwalk is a confusion of sounds: the ocean, excited shouts from the bodysurfers, and calls of the vendors. I can purchase pretty much anything I'd need from my place on my towel: sunglasses, mangopapayapineapplefruitsalad, and umbrellas along with many things I don't need but, inexplicably, are available in abundance such as maps, drums, and glow sticks. Wandering the back paths I'm met with the now familiar refrain of store owners: hello, please come in...more colours inside...looking is free...ok, maybe tomorrow...sure, sure...see you later...

My hotel is away from the ocean, deep in the woods and faces a small body of water that I'd like to call a pond but, really, it's a swamp. Pond or swamp, it doesn't really matter as I've spent many happy hours on my balcony, chai in hand, looking at the floating flowers, tall trees and flying birds as I let myself get lost in the soothing white noise created by the sound of the ocean mixed with the rustle of the palm fronds and calls of the crows.

Indian Christmas

My very Indian Christmas followed a busy schedule comprised of eating, good company and bad traffic - in that order.

The Christmas lunch at the Metropole Hotel on Christmas eve day was a huge buffet affair held outside under a large striped awening with low tables and chairs scattered about. Most people took advantage of the day to wear their 'Indian' clothes, the women dressed in saries, salwar kameers and kurtas and the men in outfits whose name escapes me but they looked great. There was an unbelievable amount of food including fresh bean salad, crisp vegetables and lettuce - oh my! I was so excited to see uncooked, un-curried, un-oiled vegetables that I pretty much ignored the rest (except, of course, for dessert of which I had thirds).

On the way home I stopped at Bombay Tiffany's, the best sweet store in Mysore, and picked up sweets, one box for my landlady and one for the party at 'party Louis''. Despite having the sweets in hand, my shyness took over and I wasn't sure about the party but I talked myself into going and I'm glad I did - I had a wonderful time. The house was covered in small christmas lights, the rooms, paths and roof were lit by candles and the rooftop covered in small gatherings of pillows where everyone sat and talked in between dancing. It was a great Christmas Eve.

Christmas day was driving day. The day to head 650km south to Kovallum - the beach. We had been told the drive would take 10 hours. It didn't. After driving 14 hours we still had 4 to go and our driver was getting tired. Actually, he was tired (understandably) after 12 hours but was opposed to stopping. After nervously watching him, the road, the other drivers, and our speed for an additional 2 hours, we insisted on stopping and got a hotel for the night. We arrived in Kovallum the next day making it about a 16 hour drive and a 26 hour journey.

It was a fun trip. Beautiful countryside of lush greens and bright bursts of flowers, people everywhere and masses of christmas lights with large paper stars decorating the entrance of each house. As if that weren't enough, the company was good and I learned to count to 9 in Finnish - sort of. Numbers 1 and 9 begin with wonky sounding 'u's so, really, I learned to count from 2-8 in Finnish.

I'm sure that's a phrase I will never again be able to use when describing how I spent my Christmas!

Christmas

Hi everyone,

I wanted to send out my best wishes for a happy, restful Christmas.

The strangeness of being away for Christmas is alleviated by the fact that it's very easy to forget that it's Christmas at all in a few days. The shala is closing for the week and 5 of us have rented a van to head south to the beach. We leave Christmas day after practice and will be driving for ~10 hours so I may not have a chance to call home but I'll try.

Tomorrow is Saturday, no practice, and there are a few celebrations planned. 'Mr. Josef' is hosting a lunch at the Metropole, a swanky restaurant, and there is a party in the evening at 'party Louis'' place so I'll be well taken care of.

Most of my family is about to scatter about on various trips themselves. Safe travels to all of you. Ekah, my sister, sent out a message earlier commenting on how blessed we are and she's right. Relaxing moments and fun shopping trips aside, nothing is more evident from travelling here than the fact that we are blessed with our health, happiness and opportunities so, I wish you continued health and happiness over this Christmas season.

much love, b.

the dealer on the corner

I had heard about this man, the guy with the duffle bag, and had been looking for him without much luck until yesterday when my fortunes took a turn for the better. Leaving the shala after practice, I noticed a blue duffle bag sitting, unattended, on a low wall. I walked past slowly, making my interest obvious and, before long, a man separated himself from a larger group and walked over. "You are wanting something?" he asked. I replied in the affirmative but added that it depended what he had. He opened the duffle bag to show me his goods and I felt like a kid at Christmas.

Before me were all of the things I had heard about but didn't dare believe in case the rumours were nothing more than a Mysore urban myth: tofu, peanut butter, tahini, carrot cake, banana bread and sourdough bread. So excited, what to get? After much deliberation I selected a loaf of banana bread knowing that I was a goner, I'd be back for more.

Surprisingly, he didn't charge me. I guess even in the case of organic spreads and baked goods the dealer's rule of thumb holds fast: the first hit is free.

my routine

Alarm goes off at 6am and, just like at home, I press snooze until 5 minutes before I have to leave my flat. Yoga, for me, begins at 7am. There's a bit of a hierarchy where the earlier your start, the more advanced your practice. 7 is the latest you can possibly start and I love it. I can do with the 'shame' of being a beginner for more time to sleep and a quieter space to practice. At the shala I sit quietly with the others, knees pulled up to my chest, the cloak of sleep still heavy about me, waiting for a spot to open up in the practice room. I like those moments: sitting in companiable silence, watching the others practice through the open door, daydreaming, waiting for shouts of 'one more' from inside to let me know a space has opened up.

My practice is long and slow, I usually finish around 8:30. Once home, I turn on the water geyser and sit, staring out the window while I wait for the water to heat up. It's a wonderful part of my day because there's literally nothing else I could possibly be doing, other than letting myself get lost in thought while I wait for hot water.

By 10am I'm finished and headed to Tina's or Kevin's for breakfast . Tina serves breakfast in her backyard at low tables flanked by cushions under the protection of brightly coloured blankets strung across tree branches. Kevin's is also outside at but at proper tables, no cover. If I feel like basking in the sun, I head to Kevins; if I feel like lounging about for a few hours I head to Tinas. Either way, breakfast usually takes me to 11:30 or so.

After that, it depends on the day. A few days ago I gave in to my inner sloth and sat on my roof reading a book all day; yesterday I headed into town to go to the place with the awesome coffee, let myself get lost for a few hours, and shop.

Whatever the afternoon brings, I usually plan to be done by 6pm so I have time for dinner before bed which is pretty early. It's lovely. I can't believe that we have hot water available 24/7 when it can be ready in only 15 minutes using much less energy. I can't believe that it takes me 1.5 hours to finish my tea and toast where at home I eat breakfast in the car while rushing to work. I can't believe there aren't any moments at home where I feel like the only possible thing I could literally be doing at any given moment is sitting, lost in thought. I'll have to make sure to create some of those when I return.

getting walked all over

Today I paid good money for someone to walk all over me! It was so great that it was all I could do to leave without making an appointment for the same tomorrow but I decided I should pace myself.

The 3 Sisters. I like their name and would have visited them for that alone but, really, I went because Harini, the youngest sister, is known through the yoga grapevine for her amazing massages. I'd been reading about her on various yoga sites for months before I even left Canada and knew that one of her massages had a definate place on my 'to do' list.

Harini learned to give a massage from her grandmother, who learned from her grandmother and so on and what's different about their massage is that it is given primarily using the feet. The room looks a bit dodgy: debris packed high along one wall, thatched roof with the sky peeking through, large red plastic mat in the middle with a rope suspended from the ceiling running its length. I knew what to expect from the various accounts I'd read before so I was well prepared for the room and the feet (I hate feet) but none of the descriptions I'd read mentioned the loincloth. That was a bit of a surprise.

After instructing me to strip, Harini tied a string around my waist and tore a strip of cotton from a large sheet which was secured, one end in the front and one in the back - kind of like a sumo wrestler. I suspect that it was meant more to protect my uptight Western sensitivities more than anything else because as soon as I lay, face down on the mat, off came the loincloth and I was left in all of my naked glory.

I didn't have too much time to wonder about the picture I presented because four hands began smoothing oil over me and, after that point, I really didn't care. I spent the next two hours naked as a jaybird and happy as a baby being pushed, prodded and suspended. It's amazing what exquisite pain was wrought by those two feet but the experience was fantastic and fueled my 'I'm not coming home' fire ;)

For those of you reading from India, the directions are a bit vague for first timers (lavender door near the Kavari Lodge), the contact number is 2522788

Pictures of Mysore

These were taken by Mikko from Finland. In addition to rescuing me, exhausted, in the Bangalore airport by offering to share his taxi, he takes beautiful pictures.

www.iki.fi/seppinen Click on 'Mysore'

One day in Mysore

A little boy walking, one hand holding his mother's and the other a homemade paper Christmas tree; a paper laying in the ditch bearing the words 'I made a snowman out of cotton' in a child's writing; an older man riding his bike, sinewed legs turning the pedals slowly down a red dirt road; a group of schoolgirls showing off for the camera, one dressed in bright green standing out among the blue and white uniforms; scenes from the Karma Sutra carved into the walls of a 750 year old temple, our guide explains that temples acted as educational institutions for all parts of life; a large petrol truck bearing the warning 'Highly Inflammable'; dogs sleeping by the roadside not even flinching when our Ambassador taxi passes just inches away; a motorbike weaving between potholes, a stack of eggs piled high on the back wheel wavering precariously; dinner by kerosene light, a wonderful mix of accents; the moon shining through the palm trees as seen from my roof...

the best day ever...

...and I'm not coming home.

Today is a moonday and, since there is no practice on moondays, I had a long and leisurely sleep in. When I finally roused myself from bed I took a slow walk to watch the town wake up and I ran into Mikko (Finland), Dan (USA), and Yuri (Tokyo). While that may make it sound like I actually know people here, don't be fooled - I don't. They happen to be three of the few people I know and I was so glad to run into them.

We had breakfast in the sun together and when they left I spent an extra hour reading and enjoying the warmth. I made my first trip into Mysore (I'm staying in a small town just outside the city) and had a rickshaw drop me off in the middle so I could wander around. It was so much fun. I loved being in a big, busy Indian city again. The mish mash of cars, cows, bicycles, rickshaws, scooters, vendors, grand stores, small stands, sweet shops, bracelets, vegetable market, bookstores...you name it.

After wandering, lost and having fun, for a few hours I caught a rickshaw to Coffee Day, a coffee shop chain. I enjoyed a cappucino beneath the neon-pink tubing decorating the ceiling, surrounded by very hip, rich Indian teens comparing holiday spots (London vs. Hawaii) in English, listening to bollywood disco. From there I went to the supermarket (that's right, for those of you who've been here before, a supermarket) where I bought things I don't need just because it was so fun to wander through the store. I interrupted my walk home with a stop in a posh beauty salon where I had my eyebrows threaded for 10rs (~30 cents).

I was hoping to catch up on email but won't have time tonight. It's already 6pm and things here close down early, bedtime is usually 8pm and I'm already really late to find dinner so I'm off to stuff myself.

my flat

There is an entire industry built around the yoga crowd that travels to Gokulum to study. One of the oldest, most established services is that of Shiva who is generally known as a 'fixer'. Upon arriving, he is very often the first step to getting settled since a key part of his role as fixer is to find accomodation. Recently, a young guy has been elbowing his way into Shiva's empire. He is so new and so young that no one knows his name, he's simply called 'the young guy'. I began talking with Shiva but ended up finding my flat through the young guy and I've been avoiding Shiva's street ever since.

Having shared my requirements (some furnishings, roommates ok, access to a roof) the young guy showed me a few places - each which left me more depressed than the last. Most buildings in India are built from cement which, to me, is such a cold, unwelcoming material. Accordingly, all of the apartments I saw consisted of a chain of cement blocks: bedroom, kitchen, sitting room, other room all completely bare. Attention to furnishings in India is very different from that in Canada, many houses are sparsely furnished and those that do exist are often mats on the ground covered with pillows. Would be comfortable if surrounded by other comforts of home, pictures, familiar clutter etc. but when the only item in a room it struck me as sad. I had visions of myself rattling from room to barren room sad and depressed.

My flat was the last to be shown as it was only one room, no kitchen, no roommates - the opposite of my specifications. The first thing I saw when I walked into the room was a built-in wooden bookcase with a desk overlooking a window: the heavens sang. I forgot to barter over the price and took it right then and there.

I've purchased candles, incense, new sheets to replace the camphor-saturated ones that tried to smother me my first night there, and a gallon of water so I can refill my plastic bottles instead of adding to the plastic piles in the ditches. I love it. The roof is lovely and I've found my corner where, if I place myself properly, a palm frond from one of the huge trees flanking the house brushes against me when so moved by the breeze...

made it

Walking out of the Bangalore airport, the first thing I did was take a deep, deliberate breath. India has a smell: exhaust, burned tires, and dust, with sandlewood incense dancing between each of those unique odours. It's a great smell, one that maybe shouldn't be pleasing but it oh-so-totally is. It's a smell that lets me know I've arrived, I'm here.

Our plane landed at 5:30am and customs was surprisingly quick as was baggage claim; very different from my last trip here in the middle of the SARS outbreak where each of us was pulled aside for a 'medical check' (a form filled out on the spot attesting to my good health). The noise, given the early hour, was slightly subdued, limited to calls for taxi fares, car horns, and crows. I'd forgotten about that - the crows.

The trip here was uneventful. I didn't allow myself to get distracted by books or movies, my job was to sleep - something I excel at - and I managed to sleep most of the way here. Boarding the plane in Heathrow I discovered that the guy behind me was headed for the same destination but had the foresight to arrange a taxi. When we landed in Bangalore he offered to share the taxi to Mysore; I think he was happy for the company and I was happy for the organization.

We arrived in Gokulam by 9:30am and I had my first cup of chai by 9:45am. I also discovered coffee that tastes like chai and the local sweet, Mysore Pak. Given that yoga is done by 9:00am and there is little else to do in town, I suspect that this trip will revolve around meals. Despite this, it's taken me days to get to the internet. I seem to have dropped that Western need to fill my days with 'stuff' fairly quickly. All the same, emails are welcome: rebecca_markey at hotmail dot com and I'm sure I'll post again soon.

culture, language and temper tantrums

Yesterday I picked up my visa from the Indian consulate. I didn't realize how anxious I was about getting that sorted until I had my passport in hand and felt real excitement for the first time. I stopped by the pharmacy afterwards and picked up stuff to help me sleep/keep me awake, keep food down/help food move out...all the extremes that, knock on wood, I won't need.

The consulate was, as expected, chaotic. The lineup started in the middle of the room amidst the waiting room chairs and followed a drunken path weaving its way between chairs, around rows, and finally tracing the outskirts of the room before leading to the one open service window. I attached myself to a few nice, assertive people who could also speak Hindi and made my way to the front pretty quickly where I was duly chastised for my stupidity in allowing my name to be recorded incorrectly. Whatever.

I had ample time to enjoy the confusion, nod and smile at ridiculous but well meant travel advice, and think about how important travel is. About the mediating effect that experiencing other cultures first hand has had in helping me understand the scene at the consulate. That the yelling, pushing, budding, confusion, misinformation, intrusive questions had nothing to do with rudeness or incompetence and everything to do with context. In context they made perfect sense (that context just happens to be in India ;)

On the subway heading home the older man beside me spent the entire 40 minutes studying a page of exercises practicing the different uses of "either, neither, and both". The sheet was covered in eraser marks where he had changed his answers to the fill in the blank questions. I could feel him working beside me, intent on working his way through the difference between the three terms - so focused. I had to think twice about some of the answers myself, they made such intuitive sense to me. One of his answers read "Neither of them isn't going to the game". I could see why the "isn't" made sense to him to accompany the "neither" and I was reminded again of just how difficult a language English must be to learn.

Imagine learning a new language well into your adulthood. I don't mean picking up French as a a hobby or a fun thing to do but learning a new language as a matter of necessity, because you're immersed in a culture where you simply can't get along with out it. Sometimes the tenacity of others humbles me.


As an aside, the baby living below me hasn't stopped crying, shrieking, and temper tantruming since September. At which point am I allowed to stop being understanding?