The small dogs yip, big dogs woof, cicadas click, horns sound, palm fronds rustle gently in the breeze and the sound of metal dinner plates clanging floats up from below. From my rooftop I look down over palm trees, light spilling through windows, and the occasional pedestrian. The wind is soft tonight and mosquito's find me but it's magic to be sitting up here, lost in the dark. As always, I can't tear myself away.
4am tomorrow will arrive quickly but somewhere in the distance there's an explosion of fireworks, red and white bursts, I'll stay a little longer.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
philosophy
A few times a week I go to a philosophy class where I sit, cross-legged on a bamboo mat, and listen to my teacher speak words that blow the doors of my mind wide open. On several occasions he’s said something that resonated so strongly that I felt it physically – a deep, inner “clunk” as something connects, shifts and changes – and I take notes. I want to remember these words, come back to them, share them with others but the few times that I have returned to my notes to write about them I’ve stopped because I can’t. What I’ve written isn’t mind blowing, it’s simple. Perhaps because life IS simple, we just like to complicate it.
He asks very gentle questions and poses them from a place of curiosity instead of judgment, as if he genuinely wants to know your answer. He asks questions like “Does it make you happy? No? Then why do you keep doing it?” genuinely hoping you’ll have an answer because – really – why DO something that doesn’t bring happiness? I think it’s because his questions are so simple and straightforward that the pennies drop. A simple question deserves a simple answer; do we have one for why we do things that create unhappiness? Why we think in ways that harm us? Why we attach to our obstacles instead of choosing to overcome them? I don’t. My answers are long and convoluted and, in the end, aren’t actually answers at all. I don’t actually know why I attach to memories that hurt, keep asking "why" to things that aren't mine to understand, and choose to make some things so damn hard when, perhaps, it’s all very easy in the end.
It’s when I don’t have an answer, when I’m left with nowhere else to go from there, that I actually go places. Doors are blown open, thinking begins, new perspectives are allowed in, and shifts are felt. There’s no agenda, no curriculum, no textbooks; just the teacher sitting cross-legged also listening to our questions, telling stories, giving information and then batting a question back to us so gently that it takes a few seconds for it to sink in and take effect. It's awesome.
He asks very gentle questions and poses them from a place of curiosity instead of judgment, as if he genuinely wants to know your answer. He asks questions like “Does it make you happy? No? Then why do you keep doing it?” genuinely hoping you’ll have an answer because – really – why DO something that doesn’t bring happiness? I think it’s because his questions are so simple and straightforward that the pennies drop. A simple question deserves a simple answer; do we have one for why we do things that create unhappiness? Why we think in ways that harm us? Why we attach to our obstacles instead of choosing to overcome them? I don’t. My answers are long and convoluted and, in the end, aren’t actually answers at all. I don’t actually know why I attach to memories that hurt, keep asking "why" to things that aren't mine to understand, and choose to make some things so damn hard when, perhaps, it’s all very easy in the end.
It’s when I don’t have an answer, when I’m left with nowhere else to go from there, that I actually go places. Doors are blown open, thinking begins, new perspectives are allowed in, and shifts are felt. There’s no agenda, no curriculum, no textbooks; just the teacher sitting cross-legged also listening to our questions, telling stories, giving information and then batting a question back to us so gently that it takes a few seconds for it to sink in and take effect. It's awesome.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
routine
Day begins at 5.10. There are many that wake earlier to shower, meditate, take coffee before their practice which sounds so lovely, it’s what my ideal self does too – but only my ideal self. My real-life self hits snooze until the very last minute before leaving for the shala at 5.30 and stumbling onto my mat by 5.45. This morning I think I heard Sharath tell me to be there for 5am tomorrow but I cannot imagine a 5am start so I’m going to ignore the possibility until it’s an undeniable command.
Practice is finished by 7.30. I’ve started helping out as a server at one of the local breakfast spots, run by two Canadians, so if I’m working I speed home from the shala to shower before heading to my shift for 8am to bring food to hungry yogis. If I’m not working, I linger over my closing poses and take a long savasana before heading home to nap, meditate, or read.
Serving or my own breakfast, both are done by 11am and the day is mine. I have a contract from home due mid-July, if it’s a working day I’ll occasionally bring it to the pool but more often to one of the coffee shops where I get heaps of work done in between listening to top-volume Bollywood music and wondering about the cross-dressers who come in at 12.30 every day to demand a bribe from the employees in return for not harassing the patrons. I need to learn more about these people. If I don’t have work to do I head to philosophy class, wander around taking pictures, read or write. Either way, it’s all done by 3pm when I head home to make my dinner.
Dinner done, I go to the lake for a walk, socialize, or maybe head to Anu’s to check email. I’m home before 8pm to meditate and read on my roof where my roommate eventually finds me and keeps me awake laughing late enough to ensure that the next morning finds me groaning and pushing snooze until the very last minute and it all begins again.
Really. I could do this for a very long time.
Practice is finished by 7.30. I’ve started helping out as a server at one of the local breakfast spots, run by two Canadians, so if I’m working I speed home from the shala to shower before heading to my shift for 8am to bring food to hungry yogis. If I’m not working, I linger over my closing poses and take a long savasana before heading home to nap, meditate, or read.
Serving or my own breakfast, both are done by 11am and the day is mine. I have a contract from home due mid-July, if it’s a working day I’ll occasionally bring it to the pool but more often to one of the coffee shops where I get heaps of work done in between listening to top-volume Bollywood music and wondering about the cross-dressers who come in at 12.30 every day to demand a bribe from the employees in return for not harassing the patrons. I need to learn more about these people. If I don’t have work to do I head to philosophy class, wander around taking pictures, read or write. Either way, it’s all done by 3pm when I head home to make my dinner.
Dinner done, I go to the lake for a walk, socialize, or maybe head to Anu’s to check email. I’m home before 8pm to meditate and read on my roof where my roommate eventually finds me and keeps me awake laughing late enough to ensure that the next morning finds me groaning and pushing snooze until the very last minute and it all begins again.
Really. I could do this for a very long time.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Don the Dog
Don the Dog almost ate me today.
Ever since the break in at the old place I've been very grateful for Don the Dog. He's very big, very scary and very quiet which makes him an anomaly amongst Mysore dogs - he doesn't bark all night but everyone know he's there. No one would be foolish enough to mess with him.
There are a lot of big dogs around. Most houses have one in the way I imagine farms have dogs, more as workers than as pets. Except this isn't the country with heaps of surrounding fields, this is a town with very small plots of land. Instead of roaming around farms, the very big dogs here are kept in very small kennels all day until they're released to patrol their very small territories (the driveway) at night. Don the Dog is no exception.
It's little wonder he leaps after me, barking madly, each morning when I try to sneak out of my flat for yoga. I think he's been waiting for this moment his entire life; a chance to DO something. This morning he almost got me. He jumped up against the fence separating us, as he always does, but this time he got his front paw hooked over the wall. I'm not sure who was more surprised, he or I, but I could see the glee in his face and bloodlust in his eyes. He might. actually. get. someone.
Then his paw slipped and he fell back to the ground, barking even more madly than before and I passed unscathed. This time. But I'm afraid he may be working out a system for getting over the fence. Hopefully, I'll be gone before he perfects his maneuver.
Ever since the break in at the old place I've been very grateful for Don the Dog. He's very big, very scary and very quiet which makes him an anomaly amongst Mysore dogs - he doesn't bark all night but everyone know he's there. No one would be foolish enough to mess with him.
There are a lot of big dogs around. Most houses have one in the way I imagine farms have dogs, more as workers than as pets. Except this isn't the country with heaps of surrounding fields, this is a town with very small plots of land. Instead of roaming around farms, the very big dogs here are kept in very small kennels all day until they're released to patrol their very small territories (the driveway) at night. Don the Dog is no exception.
It's little wonder he leaps after me, barking madly, each morning when I try to sneak out of my flat for yoga. I think he's been waiting for this moment his entire life; a chance to DO something. This morning he almost got me. He jumped up against the fence separating us, as he always does, but this time he got his front paw hooked over the wall. I'm not sure who was more surprised, he or I, but I could see the glee in his face and bloodlust in his eyes. He might. actually. get. someone.
Then his paw slipped and he fell back to the ground, barking even more madly than before and I passed unscathed. This time. But I'm afraid he may be working out a system for getting over the fence. Hopefully, I'll be gone before he perfects his maneuver.
you can't always get what you want...
A few weeks ago I overheard someone comment that India doesn’t give you what you want, it gives you what you need. So true.
I was worried about coming here because what I wanted was to do the hard work. To come and get lost in my thoughts, to let the confusion of this last year fully settle, and to feel so very intensely sad that there could be none left when I was done. I’d be free.
It turns out, India knows better. I haven’t been given what I wanted, but I’ve very definitely been given what I need.
I needed time, to be left alone, to be free from everyone’s demands that I pop back into my usual fine, capable self now, now, now. I needed space to be whatever I was being without feeling like it wasn’t ok. I needed to let my soul catch up with my body. I needed to be free from the relationships of home. I needed to meet new people and remember what it’s like to introduce myself as me instead of the sad one, the one that was left, or even the middle one. I needed to stop demanding that all of it be such gut-wrenchingly hard work and I needed to have a good time.
I’m very much being given what I need, this trip has been wonderful so far. I feel like my soul has found my body again, I feel centered and I’m enjoying myself. I’m remembering past visits to Mysore but fondly and in a way that is very glad they’re in the past. I’m thinking about what happened at home this year and what I learned about my relationships but not with the hurt I felt when I was back in the thick of it. I’m thinking about what I’ve learned about myself but not in the ‘gut-wrenching’ way I expected. I’m realizing for the first time how small I’d become and with every passing day I feel myself grow bigger and bigger.
I’m remembering what it’s like to be me which is exactly what I wanted, it’s just that India knew better than I did what form I needed it all to come in.
I was worried about coming here because what I wanted was to do the hard work. To come and get lost in my thoughts, to let the confusion of this last year fully settle, and to feel so very intensely sad that there could be none left when I was done. I’d be free.
It turns out, India knows better. I haven’t been given what I wanted, but I’ve very definitely been given what I need.
I needed time, to be left alone, to be free from everyone’s demands that I pop back into my usual fine, capable self now, now, now. I needed space to be whatever I was being without feeling like it wasn’t ok. I needed to let my soul catch up with my body. I needed to be free from the relationships of home. I needed to meet new people and remember what it’s like to introduce myself as me instead of the sad one, the one that was left, or even the middle one. I needed to stop demanding that all of it be such gut-wrenchingly hard work and I needed to have a good time.
I’m very much being given what I need, this trip has been wonderful so far. I feel like my soul has found my body again, I feel centered and I’m enjoying myself. I’m remembering past visits to Mysore but fondly and in a way that is very glad they’re in the past. I’m thinking about what happened at home this year and what I learned about my relationships but not with the hurt I felt when I was back in the thick of it. I’m thinking about what I’ve learned about myself but not in the ‘gut-wrenching’ way I expected. I’m realizing for the first time how small I’d become and with every passing day I feel myself grow bigger and bigger.
I’m remembering what it’s like to be me which is exactly what I wanted, it’s just that India knew better than I did what form I needed it all to come in.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
coffee day
A dog sleeps, sprawled across the concrete steps leading up to the glass doors. Pushing open the doors brings me out of the 95 degree heat and into the air conditioned refuge of Coffee Day, the Indian equivalent to Starbucks. The doors swing shut behind me and the incessant cacophony of horns is replaced by the beat of Hindi music played at top volume. They’ve changed things since I was here last, the same “Coffee Day Newsletter” makes me laugh with it’s Bollywood interviews and enthusiastic reviews of “funky beats” music but the chairs have been replaced with deep couches. I sink into one and prepare to work.
Working from India has proved to be far more challenging than I ever imagined and I’ve sworn a million times never to do it again but today is one of those days – work is getting done. I duck my head and get lost in the details, forgetting where I am until I take a break and lift my eyes to women dressed in gorgeous, bright saris and red dirt roads busy with bikes, rickshaws, cars, cows, dogs, goats, and people. The scene is quite literally a feast for the eyes and food for the soul and I smile, nodding my head in time to the beat of the music, and think that I could do this for a very, very long time.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
hey, good job!
I’ve heard that you never know how you’re going to respond to a difficult situation until you’re actually in one. That being the case, last night I learned that I’m damn lucky to have made it to the ripe age of thirtysomething because, apparently, my survival instincts suck.
Last night, unable to sleep, I rolled over in bed to find a man’s face pressed to my window, his hands pushing and pulling on the bars as if to test their strength, and do you know what I did? I said “Hey” and clapped my hands. Yeah, that’s right, I greeted and then applauded the man trying to break into my bedroom. Good job, well done, pull a little harder, I’m sure one of those bars will give soon…it’s amazing I’ve made it this far in life isn’t it?
Thankfully, he was as surprised by my response as I was and took off, running up the stairs to the rooftop and back to where he came from leaving me all alone, in the dark, completely freaked out. I checked the clock, 12.57am. That left four hours until daylight, four hours to sit and stare at the window waiting for the would-be intruder’s shadow to reappear. Four hours, alone, in the dark, while freaking out is a very long time so I did what any independent, adult would do – I called my little sister who called the rest of my family who called me. In between phone calls, I had long conversations with myself to pass the time and to let anyone hanging around know that I was awake.
Interesting what comes up when you’ve four hours to talk smack. I dove into some issues, resolved some stuff, and surprised myself with the stuff I’d already resolved without even knowing it. When the sun rose I packed my belongings and left the flat but I left much, much lighter than when I arrived. What a blessing.
I’ve since moved into a gorgeous flat with a lovely family and a very big dog named Don. This is a house I’ve always noticed for it’s awesome rooftop terrace and wondered who got to live here. Now I know. It’s me. Very, very lucky person I am.
Last night, unable to sleep, I rolled over in bed to find a man’s face pressed to my window, his hands pushing and pulling on the bars as if to test their strength, and do you know what I did? I said “Hey” and clapped my hands. Yeah, that’s right, I greeted and then applauded the man trying to break into my bedroom. Good job, well done, pull a little harder, I’m sure one of those bars will give soon…it’s amazing I’ve made it this far in life isn’t it?
Thankfully, he was as surprised by my response as I was and took off, running up the stairs to the rooftop and back to where he came from leaving me all alone, in the dark, completely freaked out. I checked the clock, 12.57am. That left four hours until daylight, four hours to sit and stare at the window waiting for the would-be intruder’s shadow to reappear. Four hours, alone, in the dark, while freaking out is a very long time so I did what any independent, adult would do – I called my little sister who called the rest of my family who called me. In between phone calls, I had long conversations with myself to pass the time and to let anyone hanging around know that I was awake.
Interesting what comes up when you’ve four hours to talk smack. I dove into some issues, resolved some stuff, and surprised myself with the stuff I’d already resolved without even knowing it. When the sun rose I packed my belongings and left the flat but I left much, much lighter than when I arrived. What a blessing.
I’ve since moved into a gorgeous flat with a lovely family and a very big dog named Don. This is a house I’ve always noticed for it’s awesome rooftop terrace and wondered who got to live here. Now I know. It’s me. Very, very lucky person I am.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
grocery shopping in gokulam
The week's groceries for the low, low price of 64 rupees (just under $2.00)
hey western lady
This is a gorgeous time of year to be here. The crowds are small, people friendly and conversations intimate, it’s lovely but there’s a reason for these small crowds: it’s because it’s HOT. Damn hot. So a few of us hailed a rickshaw and took off to the pool for the afternoon.
We (all women) emerged from the change room to find that they’d put some lounges aside for us really, really far from the pool and from the other guests which was perplexing until the guy who was helping us pointed to the other guests and said “boys…many boys” then it was just sweet – and thoughtful. He followed this up by shaking his finger at us and saying “no boys…no making friends, no talking” and he hung around for the first little while holding the very curious boys (who weren’t boys at all but grown men) at bay. Soon, though, he had to leave and as soon as he did, I made a friend.
I was taking pictures of my feet, as I always seem to do, when one of the boys-who-wasn’t-a-boy approached and started talking to me. While I cringed under the far-off glare of the hotel man who’d warned me from such conversations, my new friend poured his heart out about his girlfriend. She’s from the west, he’s from the east, he doesn’t understand her but, since I’m a western lady, maybe I could help. Advice on cross-cultural relationships? Yeah. Seeing as I'm still trying to pick myself up from my own experience with it I'm the last one to ask for advice. Given my obvious lack of enthusiasm for being his relationship guru he stood up and demanded that I take a picture of him. I told him that if I took a picture I was going to put it online and many people would see it thinking it would deter him but it only sealed the deal. So. A picture was taken.
Here he is, my new friend who’s name I forget but, then again, he simply referred to me as “hey western lady” so we weren’t exactly on a first name basis anyway…
We (all women) emerged from the change room to find that they’d put some lounges aside for us really, really far from the pool and from the other guests which was perplexing until the guy who was helping us pointed to the other guests and said “boys…many boys” then it was just sweet – and thoughtful. He followed this up by shaking his finger at us and saying “no boys…no making friends, no talking” and he hung around for the first little while holding the very curious boys (who weren’t boys at all but grown men) at bay. Soon, though, he had to leave and as soon as he did, I made a friend.
I was taking pictures of my feet, as I always seem to do, when one of the boys-who-wasn’t-a-boy approached and started talking to me. While I cringed under the far-off glare of the hotel man who’d warned me from such conversations, my new friend poured his heart out about his girlfriend. She’s from the west, he’s from the east, he doesn’t understand her but, since I’m a western lady, maybe I could help. Advice on cross-cultural relationships? Yeah. Seeing as I'm still trying to pick myself up from my own experience with it I'm the last one to ask for advice. Given my obvious lack of enthusiasm for being his relationship guru he stood up and demanded that I take a picture of him. I told him that if I took a picture I was going to put it online and many people would see it thinking it would deter him but it only sealed the deal. So. A picture was taken.
Here he is, my new friend who’s name I forget but, then again, he simply referred to me as “hey western lady” so we weren’t exactly on a first name basis anyway…
Sunday, May 11, 2008
an apple-tastic home
A colony of tiny red ants has taken up home in my laptop. They scurry madly up and down the keys wondering what is happening as I type...disappearing below the "m" only to reappear somewhere around the "u" and so on.
Cute.
Cute.
mornings in gokulam
In the hours before sunrise even the dogs are quiet, a blessed respite from their never ending barking. For some time the only sound is that of the birds in a song that begins slowly before building to a crescendo of whoops and whirls that wakes not only me but the rest of the town as well. The dogs join in, barking, and then the humans start adding our sounds to the music of the morning.
Long sweeping strokes announce that the women of the house are awake and outside brushing the front walk, preparing the entry/exit point of the house for a good day. The sound of plastic being dragged across metal frees cars and bikes from their slumber and soon revving engines and tooting horns join the fray. Men clear their throats repeatedly and loudly in the shower, breakfast dishes clang against each other, and parents squabble with children all of this easily overheard given the close proximity of the houses and open windows. Children call as they make their way through the streets and their calls are joined by those of the canvassers pushing their heavy carts though the streets yelling the name of their produce every few feet “tomatoes….papaya….sopal….”.
Birdsong, barking, engines, horns, human voices – it’s a symphony that tracks the day as it moves from darkness into light and pulls me slowly from a deep sleep into wakefulness.
Long sweeping strokes announce that the women of the house are awake and outside brushing the front walk, preparing the entry/exit point of the house for a good day. The sound of plastic being dragged across metal frees cars and bikes from their slumber and soon revving engines and tooting horns join the fray. Men clear their throats repeatedly and loudly in the shower, breakfast dishes clang against each other, and parents squabble with children all of this easily overheard given the close proximity of the houses and open windows. Children call as they make their way through the streets and their calls are joined by those of the canvassers pushing their heavy carts though the streets yelling the name of their produce every few feet “tomatoes….papaya….sopal….”.
Birdsong, barking, engines, horns, human voices – it’s a symphony that tracks the day as it moves from darkness into light and pulls me slowly from a deep sleep into wakefulness.
ch-ch-ch-changes
Today was my first led practice since arriving. Different. I’d been dreading the stampede into the shala, such a horrible way to begin the day, and I’d been dreading the fast-forward count which turns the beauty of the practice into a rushed, vacant affair. I was surprised on both counts. The stampede was decidedly un-stampede like and the count was steady, consistent and, in some asanas, agonizingly slow. It was good but halfway through I felt myself wondering what the point was. Don’t write scolding me, I do know the point, overall, I’m speaking on a personal level, in terms of my personal practice, what was the point?
This is something I’ve avoided talking about since my arrival partly because it’s early days yet, partly because I don’t want to come across as criticizing this practice which I love so very much, and partly because I don’t have the words to describe what I’m feeling. I’m afraid if I try and talk about it I’ll chase it away. Suffice it to say, I’m learning that my practice changed more profoundly in the years since I was last here than I understood. I sense my practice on the verge of a transformation, one that will diverge slightly from this form I’ve committed to for so many years and it’s scary.
Will nothing stay constant? No, of course it won’t; that’s part of the lesson, but it’s always been my hardest lesson – particularly now. Everything has changed so much this last year, I’m not sure I can bear more change, particularly not in my practice - my well. Although I knew this visit would be about closure and transformation, I never expected that to extend to my practice as well but here I am. There’s a softness, a playfulness that wants to come out and while I can see this as healthy, organic and mature a transformation as the personal one I’m making, it’s still change. Ties to the past, both the pleasurable and the painful, are hard to break but I’m learning that the transformation on both counts has already happened, I’m just figuring it out after the fact.
This is something I’ve avoided talking about since my arrival partly because it’s early days yet, partly because I don’t want to come across as criticizing this practice which I love so very much, and partly because I don’t have the words to describe what I’m feeling. I’m afraid if I try and talk about it I’ll chase it away. Suffice it to say, I’m learning that my practice changed more profoundly in the years since I was last here than I understood. I sense my practice on the verge of a transformation, one that will diverge slightly from this form I’ve committed to for so many years and it’s scary.
Will nothing stay constant? No, of course it won’t; that’s part of the lesson, but it’s always been my hardest lesson – particularly now. Everything has changed so much this last year, I’m not sure I can bear more change, particularly not in my practice - my well. Although I knew this visit would be about closure and transformation, I never expected that to extend to my practice as well but here I am. There’s a softness, a playfulness that wants to come out and while I can see this as healthy, organic and mature a transformation as the personal one I’m making, it’s still change. Ties to the past, both the pleasurable and the painful, are hard to break but I’m learning that the transformation on both counts has already happened, I’m just figuring it out after the fact.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
here
A taxi, a plane, and another plane which was really just a teaser as we were asked to disembark moments after boarding due to technical difficulties. Technical difficulties led to a 5 hour wait which led to an unplanned stop at a hotel for the night followed by a coach ride, another plane (this one operational), and another taxi the next day. 38+ hours after leaving home, I’m here.
We landed in Bangalore at 10.45pm, 18 hours later than scheduled and my luggage didn’t emerge until 12.30am by which point I’d swallowed my separation anxiety, said goodbye to my Guardian Angel, Mike (whose luggage had arrived immediately, yet another business class perk), and was feeling lost and alone. Just as I began envisioning waiting the two hours for the 3am flight back to London and begging to be added to the damn flight, my luggage appeared freeing me to head outside and fall in love with India all over again.
The first words spoken to me were of my driver who led me through the throng of people, put my bags down and asked me to “please be waiting here”, and I was, I was so pleased to be waiting there. Every time I step out of the Bangalore airport it’s the same – it’s the smell that lets me know I’m here. Some mixture of rubber and exhaust and dust, which may not sound great but it’s gorgeous. It’s India. I sat, eating cookies stolen from the business lounge in Heathrow (thanks Mike ;) and felt gorgeously happy and calm amidst the chaos. The taxi came round and we were off. I rolled down the window to lean my head against the frame, let the wind push my hair off my face, and smiled. I’m here.
We landed in Bangalore at 10.45pm, 18 hours later than scheduled and my luggage didn’t emerge until 12.30am by which point I’d swallowed my separation anxiety, said goodbye to my Guardian Angel, Mike (whose luggage had arrived immediately, yet another business class perk), and was feeling lost and alone. Just as I began envisioning waiting the two hours for the 3am flight back to London and begging to be added to the damn flight, my luggage appeared freeing me to head outside and fall in love with India all over again.
The first words spoken to me were of my driver who led me through the throng of people, put my bags down and asked me to “please be waiting here”, and I was, I was so pleased to be waiting there. Every time I step out of the Bangalore airport it’s the same – it’s the smell that lets me know I’m here. Some mixture of rubber and exhaust and dust, which may not sound great but it’s gorgeous. It’s India. I sat, eating cookies stolen from the business lounge in Heathrow (thanks Mike ;) and felt gorgeously happy and calm amidst the chaos. The taxi came round and we were off. I rolled down the window to lean my head against the frame, let the wind push my hair off my face, and smiled. I’m here.
looking forward
Tina’s millet bread, mysore pak from Bombay Tiffany’s, chikoo, the finicky musical soundtrack at Coffee Day that never settles on any one song for more than 60 seconds, a scalp massage at Sudha’s, an ayurvedic massage from Kumar, walking red dirt roads, looking up through palm fronds at the stars, walks in the park at dusk, waking early on Saturday morning to walk to the Metropol Hotel for a quiet coffee on the veranda, colour – bright colour everywhere, 5 minute waits that turn into 2 hour delays, being surrounded by daily rituals of thanks, reading by candlelight during brownouts, peaceful moments waiting for the water to heat up after practice…ah…the practice, the practice, the practice. There are no words for what it is like to practice in that place, with those people, with those teachers.
Mysore holds some ghosts, that's for sure, but this trip is about something completely different and I'm feeling less and less like looking back when there is so much to look forward to. Yes. Now I’m excited.
Mysore holds some ghosts, that's for sure, but this trip is about something completely different and I'm feeling less and less like looking back when there is so much to look forward to. Yes. Now I’m excited.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
random (and completely un-ready) stuff
The first time I went to India it was with a disposable camera, a walkman + two tapes, and a kazillion packages of instant oatmeal. I'd listened to all of the stories and I was scared, convinced that I was going to get food poisoning at every turn. The oatmeal was my protection against dodgy food and my insurance policy against starvation. Silly girl.
Many trips later I return with a proper camera, a fancy iPod that I don't really understand, and a loving gastronomical history with India that includes heaps of dodgy food but no food poisoning**. With each trip the technology I travelled with grew increasingly sophisticated (for me) and the list of things I really need but never would have known grew increasingly eccentric. This only recently occurred to me as I prepare for this, my sixth visit. Instead of running around purchasing oatmeal to stave off starvation, I've been slowly gathering:
->vitamin/mineral salts - the ones everyone else uses for hangovers but I use because I can't seem to drink in as much as I sweat out when in India in May
->photocopies of my passport - there's not one trip yet that hasn't found me running from store to store looking for a working photocopier for one reason or another. I've decided to cut out the middleperson and just bring my own
->passport-sized photos - see above
->my favourite incense - instant home for those moment when I need it and the only place I've found it in Mysore is at the Three Sisters which, in itself, isn't a bad thing but I find it impossible to visit there without eating and eating and eating and maybe arranging for a massage before eating some more
->ryvita - yeah, stupid, but I miss crispbread when I'm away and crispbread + ghee + honey = happiness on a plate
->pumice stone - to counter dusty roads and flimsy sandals and to foil thoughts of "geez, my feet are lookin' pretty bad" when in paschimotasana etc (what? don't say you've never done it!)
There's probably more but I should get going because you know what I'm not doing? I'm not packing, not clearing out my apartment, not finishing up the work contract I promised to have done before I leave - and I leave soon. Really soon.
**save for one time in Dharmasala which doesn't count. If I can look at a dirty, crusty mug filled with off-tasting chai and think "boy, if anything is going to make me sick, it's this" and then proceed to keep drinking - well - I deserve to get sick.
Many trips later I return with a proper camera, a fancy iPod that I don't really understand, and a loving gastronomical history with India that includes heaps of dodgy food but no food poisoning**. With each trip the technology I travelled with grew increasingly sophisticated (for me) and the list of things I really need but never would have known grew increasingly eccentric. This only recently occurred to me as I prepare for this, my sixth visit. Instead of running around purchasing oatmeal to stave off starvation, I've been slowly gathering:
->vitamin/mineral salts - the ones everyone else uses for hangovers but I use because I can't seem to drink in as much as I sweat out when in India in May
->photocopies of my passport - there's not one trip yet that hasn't found me running from store to store looking for a working photocopier for one reason or another. I've decided to cut out the middleperson and just bring my own
->passport-sized photos - see above
->my favourite incense - instant home for those moment when I need it and the only place I've found it in Mysore is at the Three Sisters which, in itself, isn't a bad thing but I find it impossible to visit there without eating and eating and eating and maybe arranging for a massage before eating some more
->ryvita - yeah, stupid, but I miss crispbread when I'm away and crispbread + ghee + honey = happiness on a plate
->pumice stone - to counter dusty roads and flimsy sandals and to foil thoughts of "geez, my feet are lookin' pretty bad" when in paschimotasana etc (what? don't say you've never done it!)
There's probably more but I should get going because you know what I'm not doing? I'm not packing, not clearing out my apartment, not finishing up the work contract I promised to have done before I leave - and I leave soon. Really soon.
**save for one time in Dharmasala which doesn't count. If I can look at a dirty, crusty mug filled with off-tasting chai and think "boy, if anything is going to make me sick, it's this" and then proceed to keep drinking - well - I deserve to get sick.
Monday, April 28, 2008
maybe that explains it...
Following my physical a few weeks ago, the Doctor's office called me in to talk about my results - something they don't usually do. I'm the cleanest living person I know (or the most boring - whatever - why play with semantics) so I couldn't have much to worry about but I'd been tested for every possible thing under the sun and one never knows...
Turns out she wanted to talk about my iron levels. They're low. At 5 when they should be at 50. What a relief, not because I was worried about the other possibilities but because I've been so. freaking. tired lately. Actually, tired doesn't even cover it. Listless, drained, empty is closer. I thought maybe it was the season, my mood, the rush of finishing up work - any number of things but I didn't even think about my iron.
She proposed a supplement, one comprised of bull's blood. Uh, no. Even if I weren't a vegetarian, no. Instead I went to the health food store to buy a natural supplement. Unfortunately, stores confuse me, there's just so much stuff in them, and while I was drifting around the aisles I forgot what I was there for and I emerged half an hour later without iron but with chocolate.
If chocolate contained iron I'd be SO set.
Turns out she wanted to talk about my iron levels. They're low. At 5 when they should be at 50. What a relief, not because I was worried about the other possibilities but because I've been so. freaking. tired lately. Actually, tired doesn't even cover it. Listless, drained, empty is closer. I thought maybe it was the season, my mood, the rush of finishing up work - any number of things but I didn't even think about my iron.
She proposed a supplement, one comprised of bull's blood. Uh, no. Even if I weren't a vegetarian, no. Instead I went to the health food store to buy a natural supplement. Unfortunately, stores confuse me, there's just so much stuff in them, and while I was drifting around the aisles I forgot what I was there for and I emerged half an hour later without iron but with chocolate.
If chocolate contained iron I'd be SO set.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
