fathers day

Finally downloaded pictures from the small camera, I forgot that there were pictures from Fathers Day on here. My heart melts...

the tailor

The dress didn't turn out in any salvageable way but I really didn't expect it to and it really is about the experience. 250 rupees for the sari ($5.50) + 150 rupees for a tailor made dress = a good time. Louise had the right idea, put the dress on, discuss the alterations to be made, sit and chill while they make the changes - repeat. They went through that cycle about 5 times, I made it as far as one before I pretended the dress was great and called it finished. I don't like shopping or clothes enough to go through the dance any more than that.

Dress-making is where cultural differences I might not normally catch come through. In the land of scooped necks, the deeper v-neck that we tend to prefer is an uncomfortable one, particularly for tailors who tend to be men. When we discuss it at the design stage there's always some convincing to be done "yes, yes, I really AM going to show that much of my chest" and when the finished product is produced it almost always has a line of stitching that turns that 'v' into a scoop-neck anyhow. Although the tailor never says anything, I always feel vaguely guilty - even trampy - when I have to ask them to unstitch more...yes, more please.

My tailors often make the aesthetic decision to attach borders of another colour the the sleeves, neck and trim of the dress and seem a bit incredulous when asked to remove it. More than once I've found myself explaining that I come from Toronto "...very boring...black only...no colour is there". They also automatically use the remaining material to create a shawl to match which is par for the course here but always strikes me as a fun, unique thing to have. Then there's the waist, or rather lack of it. It takes some convincing, and a lot of revisions, before a waist is allowed to make an appearance and, again, there's that sense of discomfort directing the tailor to make it tighter...yes...more tight please.

Given that I gave up well before I got to any of these things, you can imagine what I'm coming home with. A lovely mumu will be accompanying me.

green hotel

Apparently when my alarm went off this morning at 4am I told my roommate it was Christmas and I was giving myself the Christmas present of skipping practice to go back to sleep. I don't remember any of that, all I remember is waking up to daylight and an empty flat. Tired bodies, stealth illnesses, and long weeks - enough with yoga-land, time for fun.

No practice tomorrow meant tonight was for eating so we headed to the Green Hotel to stuff ourselves silly. The Green Hotel is an old British empire-type hotel with expanses of green lawn dotted with wrought iron chairs. I've been looking forward to sitting there as dusk turned to night for ages, the calm of their gardens creating a bubble around the chaos of traffic and high pitched horns that waits on the other side of the bushes. It was perfect.

I was tempted to order a gimlet because that sounds like something one drinks at tea time in an English garden but I don't exactly know what that is and I don't take alcohol so I refrained. The only restraint I showed all night. One order of masala fries turned into three, banana pancakes mixed with palak paneer mixed with spring roles, one order of dessert turned to three with extra helpings of ice cream please; it was quite a scene. Surrounded by greenery, the cool monsoon breeze blowing, horns creating a symphony, enough sugar to keep me flying for days, enough laughter to feed my soul for weeks and my favourite rickshaw driver out of the hospital and back to showing me what genuine goodness feels like with every interaction. Life smiles.

Hotel, dinner and rickshaw pictures.

monsoon

I keep hearing about the heat back at home. To be here is wonderful but heat...oh heat, I miss it. Monsoon is damp and cold. Nothing like the hot, humid, gorgeous mess that is summer in Toronto. I do love it.

Pants, long sleeves and scarves are worn. Woolen blankets have been purchased for evenings. Rain comes quickly, sticks around for a half-hour to an hour and passes. This happens a few times a day, but conveniently so; we can usually assume there will be rain around 9am, 3pm, and just after dusk. Knowing this, my laundry still gets caught in the storms and is drenched a few times a day. I just leave it outside knowing it'll get there eventually. Average drying time lately is three days.

sick

If I were to post a picture of what I've been up to these last few days, it would have to be a picture of my bed; other than practice, that's the only place I've been recently.

Nowhere near as sick last time, just some kind of stomach something or other, but I'm sick and weak and vacant. Laying in bed breathing takes about all the energy I have so never mind a picture of anything, way too ambitious. Instead, a picture from the tailor's last week.

saturday

More sari shopping today, these ones to take to the tailor to be turned into dresses that we will probably never wear but will love for the memory of the experience. Our eyes filled with brilliant colours, we retreated to Indra Cafe for chai, chat (snacks) and to talk to the two young women beside us who wanted to clarify a) where we were from and b) whether we were spinsters also.

Refueled, we went to the tailor who made Louise's dress last year to be told that what we wanted was impossible and couldn't be made. Louise was wearing the dress bearing the tailor's tag so we were able to show him that it could be made and that he was the one to produce this miracle but still, it was apparently impossible. We found another tailor happy to take on the challenge, we'll see what we get when we return to pick them up next week.

Quick trip around KR Circle past sidewalk traffic, busstop lineups, marveling as always at the women riding so gracefully, sidesaddle on the back of motorbikes, and we were home.

lucky

Sick yesterday and today. Skipped all of my practices and spent the day in bed. Sometime in the late afternoon I left the house for a quick trip down to the corner for a coconut, I worry about getting dehydrated when I'm not able to keep anything in my body. As I was walking, I saw the scene in the picture below and was reminded, yet again, of how incredibly fortunate I am. I might not be feeling well but at no point in time during the course of today's events was I required to hang over the edge of a very very tall building suspended only by a fraying rope held in place by what appeared to be a very slight man. Gastro-intestinal problems and all, it's a blessed life that I live.

oranized disorganization

When I leave the suburb that I'm staying in to head to the city I feel like I could live here forever. Tossed about in the rickshaw, wind blowing, exhaust flooding in, motors revving as cars, bikes, trucks and other rickshaws gun for position, looking left to see a mother, father and sleeping child piled onto one motorbike, looking right to see a rickshaw full of schoolkids waving and giggling....it's pure chaos and I love it.

The colours, the smells, the sounds, the people, the upside down when I'm used to rightside up, the getting my receipts stamped four different times before I'm allowed to leave a store, the wobble, the food, the 'hello, what is your good name?', the power cuts throwing wrenches in plans, the badass cows taking their sweet time to cross major roads, the exuberance and vitality and ritual of everyday life...really, I could stay forever.

3 seasons

Was staring blankly into the fridge today wondering what to eat (choices: honey, spirulina powder, potato, expired soy milk, you can see why I was stumped), when I noticed the temperature settings. Sometimes it's the silly things that catch me by surprise and remind me I'm somewhere else.

Yesterday while I was waiting to register for practice at the main shala I realized that it was my first time there since Guruji had passed. I was surprised at how strongly I felt his absence. I was also surprised at how wonderful it felt to be back there again. I knew it without knowing it - that is my home. I didn't fully experience just how much until I'd left to return.

There is nothing in the world like the energy of that room, absolutely nothing. I'm unspeakably happy and grateful to be back.

words to live by

to market, to market

cows

shawl shopping

I always feel slightly guilty when I shop for a shawl, or any other kind of fabric for that matter, here. All it takes is a hint of interest or an offhand mention of a favourite colour and piles upon piles of shawls are pulled down and unwrapped before you. By the end of the expedition, the tables are a mess of fabric that some unlucky person has to clean up.

Everyone was in a playful mood today, shopping was a lot of fun. We drank chai as every colour, print, and fabric was laid before us laughing, pretending we knew more about fabric than we did, teasing the owner, and exchanging numbers, he scribbling on a pad of paper and we using our phones to calculate the difference and offer our own numbers in response. In the end an unholy mess was created, a small Bollywood dance break was taken, and a gorgeous brown pashmina found it's way home with me.

friday

Friday was dancing on my mat in the morning and collapsing on it exhausted in the afternoon. In between was a long walk with my camera, a visit to the tailor followed by a visit to the chocolate man, happy hello's to friends recently arrived from NYC, Copenhagen and Milan, a long and gorgeous nap, home cooked veggies, skyped hellos home, and hibernating on the roof. Gokulam is busy, my roof was not.








My roommate keeps forgetting and speaking to me in Danish, I keep pretending I understand and replying with my only Danish word"tak" (thanks), it seems to do the trick. The thread of life is strange, she and I know the same people in different capacities. Talking to her has been enlightening and I now understand the repeated delays in my departure, they were, in part, so I could meet her. Sometimes I wonder that I ever doubt that the universe follows it's own, mysterious logic. Being pulled out of my comfort zone and tossed into the unfamiliar where I have no choice BUT to trust and relax into the flow, I'm certain this is a part of the addiction India holds for me. I trust life here whereas at home I work so hard to influence it. Wasted energy.

Lots of rain today, it brought out the crickets in the empty lot beside us. I'm looking forward to falling asleep to the symphony of chirps...and barking dogs, clanging dishes, other people's TV's, horns, rickshaws and trains...those too make up the symphony that is Gokulam. My own Mysorian lullaby.

two more

The usual 8pm power outage. Sitting on the roof in the very dark night with the wind listening to the barking dogs and the car horns and the cicadas, watching light grow and fade as cars pass and pretending not to know that the things flying around are bats because bats...ugh. I'm obsessed with the roofs, always have been; I spend a majority of each visit here upstairs, outside and it's this I miss most from home.

4.30am wakeups and two practices a day have caught up with me. Rest day Saturday is just two practices away, relieved, I'm beyond physically exhausted. People are flooding into town and there are plans to catch up with old friends but I have a feeling I'll skip most of them to do nothing but a whole lot of roof sitting, reading, chilling and sleeping. Happiness is a Gokulam rooftop.

random

Rain tonight. Went for a walk after meditation, dark and moist, the air smelled wonderful and I was happy be wandering alone. There aren't many streetlights and most streets are very, very dark. I had my head down texting and became aware that something had been walking beside me for quite some time. When I looked down I saw that it was a large, brown pig. Sometimes I forget where I am.

Yesterday I mentioned the chaos of the streets, the mess of vehicles, animals, people and absence of discernible road rules - and yet no accidents. This morning on the way to yoga at 5am, the streets quiet and no one around, I watched as a car and a rickshaw collided. Not a thing on the streets and the only two moving vehicles managed to find and crash into each other. That takes skill.

rickety rickshaw pictures

Roads are shared with cars, bikes, pedestrians, carts, trucks, cows and dogs. There are traffic rules but I can't always tell just what they are other than do whatever you want but honk first. If you honk, nothing is wrong. We careen around obstacles, jerk to full stops, and the rickshaws themselves are in pretty crappy condition so even if we were on a smoothly paved road, we'd arrive at our destination well shaken anyway. So you can imagine that taking pictures en route can be a pretty futile endeavour. But it's fun so, here are some roadside pictures....









That last picture? Mysore's urban myth proven to be true. At home we have an albino squirrel rumoured to live in Bellwoods Park but neither I nor anyone I know has ever seen it. I'm not exactly sure said albino squirrel actually exists. The equivalent here is the one female rickshaw driver said to rule the streets of Mysore. Over a period of several visits I'd heard about her over and over but, again, neither I nor anyone I know had ever actually met her. Until this trip. Behold Mysore's sole female rickshaw driver. She's badass for sure.