Last weekend was another cottage weekend. Hours and hours spent staring at the water. So relaxing even the dog got in on the 'zenning out and staring off into space' action...or non-action as the case may be.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
hours and hours
The news keeps talking about the "extreme heat alert" we are under. Cautions about air quality and sun exposure, tips on how to stay cool during this supposedly insufferable time, it's been going on for days and it's getting irritating because I'm pretty sure that this phenomena we call "extreme heat alert" used to just be called "summer". It's hot, it's gorgeous, I'm in heaven.
Last weekend was another cottage weekend. Hours and hours spent staring at the water. So relaxing even the dog got in on the 'zenning out and staring off into space' action...or non-action as the case may be.
Last weekend was another cottage weekend. Hours and hours spent staring at the water. So relaxing even the dog got in on the 'zenning out and staring off into space' action...or non-action as the case may be.
Friday, August 27, 2010
friday
Practiced, assisted, and basked in the sun over coffee before heading south to hang with my favourite boy. Beach time, nephew time, hammock time.
I couldn't wait to get on the mat this morning. Thinking about my practice. Growth in India, restrictions at home, chafing a bit. That's all.
I couldn't wait to get on the mat this morning. Thinking about my practice. Growth in India, restrictions at home, chafing a bit. That's all.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
happiness is...
Cottage behind, stars above, lake ahead, best friends to my left and right, a bonfire in the middle and love all around.
Friday, August 6, 2010
7 hours in the Bangalore airport?
Sure. Why not...
We were talking about airports over breakfast, my contribution to the conversation was how much I loved them. The transition, that period of being inbetween, of being somewhere but nowhere, the movement, the possibility, the endings and beginnings, I love being in the middle of it all. Good thing, my flight out of Bangalore was delayed, I arrived at 2am to find that my flight had been delayed until 8.30. Between my book, writing, music, daydreaming and people watching the time passed quickly.
It's a three+ hour drive to the airport from Mysore, my driver made it in just over two. He picked me up at midnight, yawned uncontrollably and eventually nodded off waking up only to my increasingly loud stammers of "um..um..UM...WHAT THE FUCK" as I watched the headlights of a large truck bear down on us. He'd drifted into oncoming traffic.
So, yeah, sitting for seven hours in the airport versus what might have happened? Absolutely. Yes please.
We were talking about airports over breakfast, my contribution to the conversation was how much I loved them. The transition, that period of being inbetween, of being somewhere but nowhere, the movement, the possibility, the endings and beginnings, I love being in the middle of it all. Good thing, my flight out of Bangalore was delayed, I arrived at 2am to find that my flight had been delayed until 8.30. Between my book, writing, music, daydreaming and people watching the time passed quickly.
It's a three+ hour drive to the airport from Mysore, my driver made it in just over two. He picked me up at midnight, yawned uncontrollably and eventually nodded off waking up only to my increasingly loud stammers of "um..um..UM...WHAT THE FUCK" as I watched the headlights of a large truck bear down on us. He'd drifted into oncoming traffic.
So, yeah, sitting for seven hours in the airport versus what might have happened? Absolutely. Yes please.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
a day
A practice that didn't hurt so much I wanted to cry, my first in quite some time. Breakfast in the city at Indra Cafe where after weeks of smiles over dosas I finally broke the mean cashier man down and we're now fast friends. A tailor made skirt that actually turned out beautifully. Philosopher Narasimhan was pure magical gorgeosity today, perfection. A latte in town at Coffee Day talking to my favourite waiter followed by a rickshaw ride back home with a driver who actually offered to use the meter (insert *gasp* here). Practice with Bharath followed by a conversation where he indulged my questions about the meaning of life and all that it contains. Fruit dinner, candy of the Gods, with a smoothie at Anu's for dessert and a fix of my 'family away from home'.
People have started leaving, lots of departures over these last few days. Warm goodbyes, long hugs, certainty that paths will cross again. My turn comes soon. I'm going to miss the myriad of people who make up my days here, the waiters who take care to make sure I'm not put in the inappropriate situation of sitting with a lone man, Raju the rickshaw driver who is very protective of where I go when and whether I'll be safe, the teachers who are so tireless in answering my silly questions, the people of Gokulam and the yogis themselves, there are many layers of community here that I'll miss dearly when I leave. In the meantime, I'm here and I am happy.
People have started leaving, lots of departures over these last few days. Warm goodbyes, long hugs, certainty that paths will cross again. My turn comes soon. I'm going to miss the myriad of people who make up my days here, the waiters who take care to make sure I'm not put in the inappropriate situation of sitting with a lone man, Raju the rickshaw driver who is very protective of where I go when and whether I'll be safe, the teachers who are so tireless in answering my silly questions, the people of Gokulam and the yogis themselves, there are many layers of community here that I'll miss dearly when I leave. In the meantime, I'm here and I am happy.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
random rickshaw pictures
I keep trying to get a picture of the "Fertility Clinic and Semen Bank" building because it makes me laugh like a 12 year old but something always gets in the way. Today it was the great tower 'o' pretty coloured crates. In the first picture below, though, you can see the source of one of Mysore's biggest mysteries: how on earth do they get the whites so white when they're hung to dry along the side of the busiest road in the city? Makes for a pretty drive in though...
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.
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