who needs dr. spock?

In my postings from India I referred a couple of times to the 'whirlywhirl bird', my favourite bird whose crazy (and non-stop) call puts me immediately in an India state of mind; well, it turns out that 'whirlywhirl' is less its actual official name and more the completely bogus name that I made up. In a conversation with the lovely Anu (of Anu's Internet Cafe) shortly before I left I learned that its real name is Koel, it looks like a crow, and it parents by sneaking into another birds nest, laying its egg and then leaving. Forever.

As someone who plans to be a mother someday, is it wrong that I think that last bit is absolutely freaking brilliant?

One website had this to say about the Koel's parenting style:
"The Common Koel is a brood parasite, that is, it lays its eggs in the nests of other bird species. A single egg is laid in the host's nest and once hatched the chick forces the other eggs and hatchlings out of the nest. When the chick leaves the nest it roosts in the outer branches of a tree, cheeping incessantly while the significantly smaller parents desperately search for sufficient food to satisfy the nagging youngster. This is a full-time job, as the young Koel will grow to nearly twice their size over the next four to six weeks."

'Brood parasite'? I think that's a bit harsh. Forget Dr. Spock, someone give this bird an award. Nipping sibling rivarly in the bud, nagging parents to provide food, refusing to leave the nest? Seems pretty ingenious to me. In fact, I'm quite sure I know a couple of human incarnations of the Koel ;)

www.amonline.net.au/factsheets/common_koel.htm

judging a city by its dogs

As I was telling some friends about my travels of the last few weeks, my recollections of each city visited invariably included an observation about the dogs: Prague, crowded, hot, all dogs met some unspoken prerequisite that they be a daschund (or some kind of mix thereof); Barcelona, really hot, fun, ‘real’ sized dogs; Salzburg, gorgeous, clean, dogs paraded as status symbols; and Mysore wonderful yoga, dogs that provide protection but rarely get walked.

I like dogs. They’re straightforward, honest, and genuine, whats not to love? I’m one of those idiots on the sidewalk who thinks its ‘nice’ to greet dogs as they pass so it’s not really a surprise that they factor so high on the list of things I’d notice about a city, I tend to interact more with them than with people.

After ten days of whirlwind travel with my mother and aunt, I’m back in Helsinki where the dogs have very long tails and the promises of April have been fulfilled: Helsinki is a gorgous place to be in the summertime. The transition from my very silent, hermit like existence in Gokulam to non-stop travel and the company of others in Europe was a bit rocky but they had the patience of saints in ignoring the fact that my every sentence began with the phrase “In India...”.

There is so much happening inside this head of mine. I’m striving to stay centered, to be where I am, and not let myself ricochet with sadness, anxiety, worry between past and future events without stopping where I am because right now, this moment, this is a good place to be. It is literally a second-by-second endeavour to remind myself to be where I am but so far, so good.

After 29 hours of travel and 40 hours without sleep I arrived in Munich, Germany to meet my Mother & Aunt. Air India decided to hel me overcome my sadness at leaving India by turning my departure into the most horrendous travel experience ever. I truly thought nothing could trump 12 hours as the only passenger on a pig barge riding downwind in a sweltering Laotian summer while fighting off the advances of the crew who, until I joined them, counted the pigs as their only company. I was mistaken. Congratulations Air India, not only did you make me desperate to get on with my journey but you've topped the pigs.

I've been in Europe for three days and have visited three different countries in as many days, pretty much the polar opposite of my two months rooted in sleepy little Gokulam. This, perhaps, is a blessing; I'm tired, my head is spinning and we're moving so fast that I can barely register which country I'm in let alone what I've left behind.

I'm a very bad tourist in that I consistently miss the biggest tourist attractions in favour of drifting through a city, sitting in parks, and returning to my hotel room to nap instead of making the most of my time there. After three days of travelling with my mother and aunt I now understand, I've been travelling Deeley-style. It's so nice to travel with others with as little inclination to visit the torture tower or whatever the 'big sight' is as I have.

My mother has surprised me with her penchant for window shopping and I've discovered that she's only escaped the teasing we heap on our father for his determination to conquer airports because none of us had ever travelled with her through a European train station. Until now. Yikes.

I'd been worried about how I would practice while sharing a room with others but mornings have emerged as one of my favourite times. When the alarm goes off at five, my aunt is usually already awake and leaves to explore the waking city while I practice (in the hall) and mom sleeps. After practice I return to bed to read and drowse for a few hours before breakfast. Today Gwyn returned from her walk with an apple torte and coffee enjoyed from a pile of thick down pillows and rich cotton duvets. Absolutely lovely.

It's the mornings I know I'll remember best in the years to come. That and the sound of the 'Deeley-cackle', the combined sound of my mother and aunt on a laughing jag, floating around European hotel rooms with dark wooden panelling and strange furnishings.

last day

Every night before bed I head to my roof where I lay and look up at the evening sky peeking through the palm trees; it’s one of my favourite times of the day and something I’ll miss most when I leave, this is my last day in Mysore. Last night as I lay listening to the unique Indian cacophony of barking dogs, tv’s, horns, neighbours’ voices and the rustle of palm fronds, a wave of anxiety washed over me as I asked myself whether I’ve accomplished what I came here to accomplish. And the answer is, I don’t know.

It's both a difficult question, I don’t really know what I hoped to accomplish while I was here, and an irrelevant one, I didn’t arrive with any expectations I just wanted to sit somewhere, practice, and see what came up. I did that, so, I guess the answer is yes, I accomplished what I hoped to accomplish ;)

It’s been a wonderful, wonderful trip. Yesterday during my last practice I stretched into upward dog, face turned up, shoulders pressing back, chest open to the room and felt such intense gratitude for this thing: this yoga. It truly is my teacher, my therapist, my religion and my well. Nothing has been the same since my last trip in December and, while I have no idea what will come in the aftermath of this one, I expect that it too will reveal itself slowly in the space of the months to come.

I leave for Frankfurt at 3am tonight to meet my Mother & Aunt for an impromptu (and whirlwind) tour of Salzburg, Prague and Barcelona before returning to Helsinki to see if the rumours are true; that Finland really does allow summer weather to grace it’s shores.

hey, you, step away from that counter!

This is me at Bombay Tiffany's, Mysore's best sweet shop:




See how I'm looking away from the counter all innocent like? That's because I'm not supposed to be there. Whatever you may have heard about travelling in India, dodgy food/water and and travellers who return home poor little skeletons - that doesn't apply to me. Maybe its the immense amounts of sweets, thick, rich dairy, and carb overload that comprises just about every meal; but each time I come to India I return home several pounds heavier.

This time I was determined not to let that happen and the first critical step in this plan was to avoid Bombay Tiffany's, home of Mysore Pak (or, in my case, better known as Mysore Crack). Mysore Pak is a sweet made from ghee (butter) and jaggery (sugar) with a bit of flour thrown in for substance - what more could I ask for in a food?

I did pretty well for a while, managed to delay the inevitable resumption of my addiction for about a week into my visit before succumbing, but all it took was one visit, one taste, and I was a gonner. All I can say about my complete lack of restraint is that its been sweet, very sweet :)

texts from the last few days

I've mentioned before the huge difference I've noticed in having a mobile with me this time around. The biggest difference being that there is no shortage of things to do here in Gokulam and, this time, I actually get to hear about them! Due to fatigue and in lieu of an actual posting (that would require actual energy), I present a sample of text messages received over the last few days:

"Mistress of Spices - english film - starring Ash. Rai sun @ 11 skyline talkies. meet there or @ kaveri lodge by 10.30"

"Samba & Dance party is on! SriVara Manor frm 19.00. Numbers r. tite"

"B-fast @ 9 @ s.star. Posso trip to Brind Gardens @11"

"Gokulam outdoor theatre presents 'dude, who stole my car' tonite, 19.15 at our place"

In other news, I've only 5 days left in Gokulam and have been blessed with the most gorgeous of weather for my last week - blue skies, hot sun and fluffy clouds. When not sitting on my roof soaking in the sun, sights, smells and sounds of India I've been busy stuffing myself with chikoo and mango which I will miss so very much when I leave. Otherwise, I'm still in no rush to leave and am very happily enjoying my remaining time in the Shala, in my flat and in Gokulam overall.

it's time to disco

Last night I rented Kal Ho Na Ho, a bollywood movie that spawned last years big hit "It's Time to Disco". Throughout the entire movie something was bothering me, niggling at the back of my mind, but it took me ages to put my finger on it. Then I began to piece it together: the CN Tower looming in the background, a sign for the St. Lawrence Market, the BCE Place posing as the leading man's very important workplace - the movie (set in NYC) was filmed in Toronto. So strange to be sitting in India watching a Bollywood movie, a genre so unique to India itself, only to be looking at the streets of my hometown.

When I was packing for my trip I included a couple of boxes of Ryvita bread and a bag of Fazer chocolates as a treat figuring that, with careful rationing, they would last me the duration of my visit. I'm just about done the last box of Ryvita, I've only a few chocolates left, and my remaining days can now be measured in single digets; however, I feel nowhere near ready to go. I suspect that this sentiment will be repeated fairly often in the days to come but promise not to harp on it, the weather has turned gorgeous, there's more to do than days to do it in, and I'm enjoying the time I have left here.

Notes from 10 years ago

Before I left for India I copied some of my journal entries from years past with the thought of turning them into something else while I was here. I haven’t quite gotten around to that yet but I have been browsing through them as I wait for the rain to stop and the series below made me smile. They’re from 1996, written during that very confusing year after I’d graduated from university and was trying to figure out just what I was to do with myself.

April 10, 1996
I got a job as an Assistant in a computer personnel company. Every time I tell someone about it I feel like crying. The part of me that dreams of saving the world, backpacking across Europe, living in another country, being a rehabilitation counsellor feels like it's being crushed by this permanent, full time, Assistant job. I’m afraid I’ll look back in 10 years and I’ll still be someone’s Assistant in some business. I was dressed for my interview this morning and I looked at myself in the mirror - this yuppie, efficient-looking assistant thing - and I felt such despair. I turned to my sister and said ‘I don’t want to be this person’. And I still don’t but, as of April 15, I will be.

April 16, 1996
I started my new job yesterday. I get up at 6am to catch the train in and wait until 7.05pm to catch the train home. Yesterday I got home at 8pm, ate two peices of cold pizza, went to the gym and was in bed by 10.30. I’m too young for this life.

April 24, 1996
I’m on the train on the way into work. Two girls who can’t be any more than a year older than me are are sitting beside me talking about their lawns and what fertilizers are best. A very detailed discussion about the dramatic difference noted when fertilizer X was replaced by fertilizer Y. Lord, if I ever reach the point where fertilizer becomes the most interesting thing to talk about at 6am in the morning please just do the merciful thing and strike me dead on the spot. Thanks, b.

Yesterday I was wishing I could skip ahead in my story right now to make sure things turned out ok. Obviously, can’t do that. But I can provide an epilogue to the entries above these 10 years later:

Quit the Assistant’s job within the year to backpack around Europe and never really stopped travelling, haven’t worked as anyone’s Assistant again (or in the for-profit world for that matter), did work as a Rehabilitation Counsellor and liked it, have never had a conversation about fertilizer - but the desire to own my own house with an actual lawn that I would actually have to fertilize is building.

well....

One of the things I love most about being here is that any line of questioning about what someone does at home is very often met with the kind of drawn out “Well....” that indicates there’s a long story behind the answer. Last visit I responded to questions about what I do with a firm answer, this visit I’m part of the “Well...” group. Mysore is the perfect place for transition, or rather, resting place for those in transition and this time, I’m no exception.

I leave Mysore in less than two weeks and I’m beginning to think about what comes next. Last night I dreamt that I stepped off the plane in Germany and started to cry because I realised that I was one step closer to returning home to a life that I haven’t missed once. Of course, there’s my family and friends but, perversely, I tend to be in better contact with them when I’m away than when I’m at home so, although I may miss their physical presence, they’re very much a part of my daily life.

I really don’t know anymore where I belong. Where I should be. What I should do. That’s more of a surprised observation than a complaint; I don’t really mind it all that much but I am a bit bewildered by it. Where do you go when you don’t know where you belong? What do you do when you no longer no what you’re supposed to do? How do you dream, plan and move forward when you don’t know where you’re going anymore?

I know. You just begin where you are and you pay attention. It’s just that when the ‘you’ I speak of is actually me, it’s that much more striking how disorienting change is. I have ideas of what form I’d like life to take and I know I'll end up somewhere different from where I started so my bewilderment is accompanied by excitement and, of course, an edge of uncertainty. No one can say what lies ahead. If this were a book I’d be sorely tempted to jump ahead to the ending to see how things turned out but, it’s not a book, it’s my life so I’ll just begin where I am and take it from there.

news from mysore

A few random updates:

The monsoon has settled upon us and our days are grey, rainy and cold. There's more than enough to occupy my attention so life carries on as always with the addition of careful laundry strategizing, an acceptance that I'll be wearing the same set of warm clothes for the next two weeks and a slight regret that I didn't take advantage of the sweltering weather with an afternoon at the pool when I had the chance.

I copied the following headline from the newspaper this morning: "Fraudulent Manure Seized". Someone was selling 240 bags of fake manure to agriculturalists. Given the contributions of cows, goats, dogs, pigs, and the occasional human to the cause, I'm stunned that someone actually thought it necessary to create fake manure. How lazy do you have to be?

The woolen blanket count on my bed has risen to four, it would have risen to five but I'm out of blankets. As it is, the combined weight of those already there makes it difficult to move once I've slid under the covers. Last night a very, very, very large coackroach sauntered across my chest and I couldn't get my hands free quickly enough to panic appropriately. The extra time served me well by giving me a chance to think about just how important it was to expend the energy to free myself, move the blankets, and try to find the bug. Turns out, not very, I turned over and went to sleep instead.

humpty-rebecca-dumpty

Last summer, at about this time, I was sitting in my overly-airconditioned office reading the blog of a woman who had come to Mysore to practice yoga for three months. I was envious and wanted that experience for myself. When I was trying to decide what to do this summer I couldn’t get that memory out of my mind: sitting at my desk, daydreaming through others’ blogged experiences, wishing I too had a flat in India and could bury myself in yoga-land. And so I came.

The writer of this same blog talked about the value of being here for three months because the first month you settle into your practice, the second month you fall apart, the third month Guruji puts you together again. Halfway through my second month, I can definitely identify with that.

The last two weeks were difficult and I really wanted to leave. Like any other community, the yoga scene can be tiresome at times with gossip, judging, and complaining but then added to that is the very gorgeous tendency yoga has to stir stuff up and bring it to the surface. These lessons truly are the reason I keep coming back to my mat but it can be a bit much when you’re trying to deal not only with your stuff but others’ as well. The energy around here can get a bit wonky at times.

My first month I was just glad to be here. Getting settled, rediscovering Mysore, and diving deeper into my practice. My second month, well, it’s been work. I’ve felt irritated, agitated, bored, and frustrated. Not with the practice, I love practicing here and wouldn’t change it for anything; but the hours the follow (you know, the rest of the day) have been trying. This week I gave up fighting it, gave up counting the number of days until I leave, gave up dreaming of leaving early, and gave in to the struggle because I had an epiphany: this is exactly what I came here for.

I could have travelled, moved around, explored new countries but I came to Mysore specifically to dive into my practice and stir shit up. That’s why I’m here, I can’t run away just because it’s getting hard. It’s amazing what a difference this insight has made. I’m happy to be here again because instead of getting stuck on the frustrations, irritations and agitation, my focus moves a step beyond to think about why, what’s happening here and what lies beneath?

Far from counting the days until I leave, I’m startled to realize that I only have two weeks left. I’m going to miss that third month, the one where Guruji puts me back together, but I’m back to feeling greatful that I’m here and I’m pretty confident that I can put the pieces back together on myself without the help of all the kings horses and all the kings men ;)

camping in mysore

My family and I spent the better part of our summers camping. To this day my daydreams lead me down dirt paths marred by tree roots, through northern Ontario forests, and along sparkling pink granite rock when I’m in need of a mental escape. Like every family, we had our traditions and when it came to camping, our tradition was rain. We camped, it rained. That’s just the way it was.

We learned to cope, stringing tarps up across every square inch our campsite was as natural a part of setting up camp as putting up the tent was. Even now, whether I’m car camping or tripping, a ridiculous portion of my gear is dedicated to army green, blue and orange plastic tarps because, hey, you never know when they might come in handy. My affinity for doing absolutely nothing, in its own way, helped cope as well. Memories of camping include the usual swimming and campfire scenarios but also the sound of the wind in the trees, sight of grey skies, and feeling of cold feet tangled in my sleeping bag as we whiled away the rain; spending hours in our tent reading, writing and irritating each other.

Today is a camping day in Mysore. Warmth has given way to cold weather, the wind blows strongly shifting rain clouds across grey skies, and my jeans have that clammy feeling that comes when a cold body is poured into clothes that feel permanently damp. So I’ve spent the day hibernating. Whiled away the miserable weather from the comfort of my bed buried beneath a tangle of blankets, under the makeshift tent of my mosquito net and reading trashy books. It’s been a strangely familiar, at times the sound of the wind in the trees has tricked me into forgetting where I am, and an entirely lovely way to spend this day.

pictures

Last time I was here I was able to link to the pictures of Mikko, photographer exraordinaire, instead of inflicting my crappy-400-speed-for-all-occasions-take-the-picture-quick-before-someone-sees-you pictures on you.

This time, you're not so lucky. But don't worry, the camera I've borrowed uses a lithium battery which has since died, all requests this far for 'a lithium battery' have been met with the infamous wobble sans replacement battery so I suspect my crappy-picture taking days are over. Have fun. r.

crappy-400-speed-for-all-occasions-take-the-picture-quick-pictures

the love affair resumes

Just a quick update: our spat is over, India and I are in love again. With the grace of a few days distance, I can admit it, I may have been in the wrong. I should have known better than to write anything for public consumption after a sleepless night, nothing good can come from zero sleep. Which reminds me, although the love affair between India and I is alive and well, no such love exists between me and my 'begin socializing at 10pm' neighbours. They can go.

overheard in the shala this morning...

Guruji has a fondness for children. Parents practicing here often usher their kids into Guruji’s office to say hello and the kids come willingly because Guruji’s got something fabulous in that office: he has chocolate.

Today during a particularly exhausting practice I could hear Guruji teasing the two children in his office bellowing “Yes? What you want?” and the kids replying “Chocolate, we want chocolate”. I was distracted by an all consuming yearning for chocolate. Forget driste (focusing the gaze), breath and my bandhas, all I could think was “Oh God, me too. I beg of you, some chocolate”. Alas, none came my way.

when can i leave?

I spend more money on India tourist visas than I do on rent so, please don’t take this entry the wrong way, but, right now, I really can’t wait to leave. Yesterday was one of those days. It’s hard to put just how horrible a day it was into words as the nature of its crappiness exceeds any crappity-crap scale I’ve ever seen. It was that freaking crappy.

Given the runaround by the same rickshaw drivers I use every day; isn’t there a point where they match the smiles on their faces and happy greetings with the inclination not to jerk me around? Conflicting fees at the Southern Star until the final price quoted was far higher than either of the first two quotes, the employees feeding off of each other’s ridiculous estimates and combining forces leaving me with little bargaining power. Returning to pick up clothes left a week ago at not one but two separate tailors to find that neither had been started yet, come back next week. Cat calls, kissing noises, swerving rickshaws, hit by a turning scooter; all seemed more prominent than usual, although it’s more likely that my foul mood just lent itself to noticing these things more than I would normally - frustrating, all of it.

And then the final denouement to my crappity-crap-when-can-I-get-out-of-this-country day: the neighbours. The same ones who let me blissfully fall asleep each night thinking ‘this will be the night, tonight, I sleep’ only to wake me up at 10-10:30 for several hours of entertainment courtesy of them, their guests, their guests children etc. I’ve been informed by my landlords that this is to be expected, they’re not from this area but I really don’t care where they’re from, I need to sleep. Last night they didn’t let me get a moments sleep. At 12:30 one of the kids had a temper tantrum which, instead of being met with, oh, you know, bed, was the source of great mirth for the adult section of the party. By 2:30am I started crying myself, big, self-pitying alligator tears. At 3:00am the guests departed leaving the hosts free to have a viscous (and loud) fight which ended with the woman growling and snapping at the man who retreated to the rooftop to sob (also loudly) to himself. By 4:00am I turned on my light, pulled out my book, and started reading. The alarm was set for 4:30am anyway.

Although I’m currently wondering how I’ll possibly last the 23 days I have left in this country, rest assured that by the time you read this I’ll have swung to the opposite end of the spectrum and will be exploring options to extend my ticket because I can’t imagine not being here. It’s just one of those days.

an apple playground

My last visit to Mysore served to teach me what a techno idiot I was. A stranger to my mobile and ancient PC user at home, I arrived in Gokulam to the land of the hooked up and was very much out of my league. I met requests for my mobile number with instructions to "Just stand at the gate of the yellow house on the road parallel to the shala & yell, I'll come out". Understandably, no one took me up on this.

This visit, I've arrived armed with a borrowed mobile (that actually works) and my apple ibook purchased because I got hooked on the little suckers after borrowing one through my last visit. I'm in good company. Apple seems to have a stronghold among the yogi population here, each time I visit Anu's internet cafe I'm met by several other little apples glowing in the evening light. File swapping, networking, music sharing, you name it, I've been doing all kinds of fabulous things that, while very cool, I'm completely unable to reproduce myself.

Below is a picture of lovely Abby and myself taken & networked to me courtesy of Les' iBook.

overheard in the shala this morning...

Guruji gently scolding someone "Head down ALWAYS. Why you lift your head?". This last part spoken with genuine bewilderment, as in, 'What could you be thinking?'.

Also overheard, Sharath saying "You stand up from backbend". This was directed at me and I responded by stopping what I was doing and laughing, expecting Sharath to join in at any moment, yeah...stand up...good one Sharath. Turns out, he wasn't joking. Instead he repeated "You stand up from backbend" and added "It is possible". Yes, it is possible (and getting closer) just not quite yet.

Mysore, strangely, has been feeling a bit like Club Med as of late with so much talking, planning, scheduling, doing, moving etc. but when I think about moments like these, those silly, random impressions that leave their mark, I know that I love being here and love practicing here.

hey look - a cow!

You know, this is my fifth trip to India. You'd think I'd be over the excitement of cows by now but, no, I like cows. I also like pigs, dogs, horses, and geese. I know this because I just got my first roll of film developed and that's pretty much all I've taken pictures of so far. Just like my first four trips.

Below, the prerequisite cow picture but also a few others. I wish I could blame the poor quality of the pictures on the developing, a poor choice of film speed, etc, but the blame lies pretty squarely on me. I take a bad picture, usually mid-stride which makes for things like composition, framing, and whatever else I should be considering pretty difficult.

bovine friend at the top of my street


my lovely flat (the door on the left), the pink palace


Waiting around the Bangalore railstation


this movie poster is everywhere. Inexplicably, the catchphrase (in white) "When God is silent, he is violent" makes me wince everytime...


Finland, Estonia, Latvia & hopefully better India pictures are being developed. Maybe I'll have something more impressive to post shortly.

sleepless in mysore

When I secured my flat, I was excited about two things: that I was on the same street as my last visit just two houses down from my old flat and that I had escaped the neigbours with the three dogs that barked allll night, every night.

Yeah. Have you already picked up on the idiocy of my reasoning? Given that my lovely, pink flat is just two doors down from my last visit, the irritating neighbours with the yappy f’ing dogs are still my irritating neighbours with the yappy f’ing dogs. I’ve just changed sides.

I remain yours, sleepless in Mysore - r.