Friday, July 30, 2010
new pets
I'm surrounded by cuteness and my will is weak. I want one of each. Please can I have one? Please? Pleeaasssse?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
teachers
Sharath and Saraswati (astanga), Jayashree and Narasimhan (philosophy), Bharath (hatha, I don't yet have a picture of him but he is all that you imagine a teacher to be and more, he rocks my world). These are the people that bring me back to Mysore time after time.
Before I ever travelled to India, the idea of bowing at someone's feet was unthinkable, strange. Being here, in this context, with these people who so fully dedicate their lives to sharing their knowledge - the simple act of bowing hardly seems enough. I'm humbled by the opportunity to learn from them. There are no words.
Before I ever travelled to India, the idea of bowing at someone's feet was unthinkable, strange. Being here, in this context, with these people who so fully dedicate their lives to sharing their knowledge - the simple act of bowing hardly seems enough. I'm humbled by the opportunity to learn from them. There are no words.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
hitting refresh
Today as I walked into town a boy approached on his bike. I could tell from his direction and demeanor that he was coming my way with something to say and began to brace myself for the requests "one country coin...baksheesh...can I come home with you...do you want to fuck?" none of which are unusual questions to receive on a daily basis. The fact that they aren't unusual doesn't make them any more welcome and I was dreading whatever was to come until he drew up beside me, said "Hello Aunty" and carried on his way. I melted with gratitude, it made my day.
Yesterday I was to pick up something from the pharmacists. After days of promises, they guaranteed that it would be there by 12. I gave them until late afternoon and stopped by on my way home from the city weighed down with bags, hot and sweaty and needing the washroom that very second. Although I've been there for three days running for the same reason, talking to the same people, they had no idea what I was talking about. None. They made big fanfare about how I should stop by in an hour, guaranteed all would be ready, but I live nowhere near them and wasn't coming back into town. So frustrating. I turned and started stomping down the steps thoroughly irritated when two things happened: the paper bag I was carrying started to tear and I heard someone calling my name. Raju, the most wonderful man in the world, was driving by in his rickshaw when he saw me and stopped to give me a ride home. For free. Perfect timing.
This is why I love India. It hits my 'reset' button and reminds me that at the same moment that something goes wrong, something also goes right. I know it also happens at home but maybe it gets lost in the rush, or the familiar, or the safe routines that put me on autopilot. Things seem to be sped up here, no lag time between cause and effect or irritant and awesomeness.
In India with the unfamiliar and the extremes plus the added bonus of time to actually pay attention, it's easy to experience the benevolence surrounding me and notice the way that every single little thing works out, even when it doesn't look like it's going to. I'm a bit ashamed at just how much this isn't the worldview I carry at home and I'm unspeakably grateful for the chance to step back and refresh. I quite literally feel like the luckiest person in the world.
Yesterday I was to pick up something from the pharmacists. After days of promises, they guaranteed that it would be there by 12. I gave them until late afternoon and stopped by on my way home from the city weighed down with bags, hot and sweaty and needing the washroom that very second. Although I've been there for three days running for the same reason, talking to the same people, they had no idea what I was talking about. None. They made big fanfare about how I should stop by in an hour, guaranteed all would be ready, but I live nowhere near them and wasn't coming back into town. So frustrating. I turned and started stomping down the steps thoroughly irritated when two things happened: the paper bag I was carrying started to tear and I heard someone calling my name. Raju, the most wonderful man in the world, was driving by in his rickshaw when he saw me and stopped to give me a ride home. For free. Perfect timing.
This is why I love India. It hits my 'reset' button and reminds me that at the same moment that something goes wrong, something also goes right. I know it also happens at home but maybe it gets lost in the rush, or the familiar, or the safe routines that put me on autopilot. Things seem to be sped up here, no lag time between cause and effect or irritant and awesomeness.
In India with the unfamiliar and the extremes plus the added bonus of time to actually pay attention, it's easy to experience the benevolence surrounding me and notice the way that every single little thing works out, even when it doesn't look like it's going to. I'm a bit ashamed at just how much this isn't the worldview I carry at home and I'm unspeakably grateful for the chance to step back and refresh. I quite literally feel like the luckiest person in the world.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
the chocolate man
Obviously, India has chocolate. Chocolate bars can be picked up at the checkout counter in supermarkets and at the corner store just like at home but, unlike at home, chocolate here...uh...sucks. It's far hotter here and air conditioning (plus consistently working electricity) far less common so chocolate has a lot more 'stuff' in it to prevent it from melting. This way, stays in solid form it's just not very good.
There's a small shop run out of a family's garage at the top of our street that everyone knows, loves, and frequents because in addition to the usual necessities, this store also houses "The Chocolate Man". Imported chocolate transformed into your choice of chocolate bar by request. Ginger, cardamom and dark chocolate? Toffee and peanut butter milk chocolate? Chocolate covered biscuits? Sure, stop by tomorrow, it'll be ready. In a town full of people who are, first, on vacation and, second, doing intense physical work we're convinced we deserve this chocolate - we've earned it.
We stopped by for some things last night and happened to arrive at the apex of some strange cosmic sugar rush, there was a crowd of westerners outside clamouring for chocolate before the store closed for the night. Funny.
There's a small shop run out of a family's garage at the top of our street that everyone knows, loves, and frequents because in addition to the usual necessities, this store also houses "The Chocolate Man". Imported chocolate transformed into your choice of chocolate bar by request. Ginger, cardamom and dark chocolate? Toffee and peanut butter milk chocolate? Chocolate covered biscuits? Sure, stop by tomorrow, it'll be ready. In a town full of people who are, first, on vacation and, second, doing intense physical work we're convinced we deserve this chocolate - we've earned it.
We stopped by for some things last night and happened to arrive at the apex of some strange cosmic sugar rush, there was a crowd of westerners outside clamouring for chocolate before the store closed for the night. Funny.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
fathers day
Finally downloaded pictures from the small camera, I forgot that there were pictures from Fathers Day on here. My heart melts...
Saturday, July 24, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, July 23, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, July 19, 2010
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.
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, July 17, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, July 16, 2010
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.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
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.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
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.
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.
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