Get this: cows manage to steal food from fruit and vegetable stalls here.
This is practically the most hilarious thing I have ever seen, and my new my favourite thing. (It used to be cow-tipping, which I never excelled at, but there weren't many Moo moo creatures wandering about Etobicoke to practice on when I was a child. The Megatropolis of Toronto kept expanding, the farmland of Etobicoke and Mississauga kept reducing and shrinking. More skyscrapers = Less cows.)
I watched one cow yesterday, from my seat at the roadside cafe Funky Monkey - (Road side? Perchance do you mean, "on the road" Eufemia? As in, all the motorcyclists pass within 5 inches of you? Why, yes, dear astute reader, I do mean that) - come back twice and manage to chow down on some sweets used for temple offerings. It stuck it's great big head into a white burlap sack and munched away.
I mean, these are cows, for God's sake! (ha ha, me make funny funny with cow and idea of holy cow with 'for God's sake' get it? you like?)
You know as well as I do, even if you haven't spent much time around cows, they're not "quick like bunnies". They lumber around. Do-de-do, minding their own business.
Somehow, the next thing everyone knows, the cow has a whole cauliflower caught cleverly in it's massive jaws. Much the way humans end up with spinach caught in their teeth.
Then everyone's brandishing a stick or holding their hand up high, (in the way that for children of Europeans means "I gonna smack you so hard in the face, you gonna feel it in your foot") and yelling "Hi! Hi! Hi!" and chasing the cow away.
Oh yeah, that's a good one, like "the cow gave chase. Sorry chief, we lost 'im. We're putting out an A.P.B. but there's no telling how far he might have gone. That cow could be in Pakistan by now."
Late night TV folks, the influence is disturbing.
The cow trots away. Trots. Clocking in at a good mile per hour.
I had no idea it could be so entertaining to watch a cow, after having the Hollywood-fed existence I've had. I mean, one doesn't become such a skilled a mental escape artist without years of training in romantic comedies and a smattering of thrillers and action movies. (Yes, okay, you can call me Sensei if it pleases you all, little grasshoppers.)
Live and learn.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Same same but different
I love my early morning walk to yoga class.
Sadar Bazaar road is practically empty, except for the cows (smaller herd to pass than on the ghats in Varanasi, still disconcerting) sari-robbed street cleaners, a few chai stand operators and some restaurant owners setting up shop. Some small crowds along the way are heading for Pushkar Lake, to make their offerings.
Some times someone will call out "Chai?"
Me: "No, thank you"
Affable fellow: "Mountain?"
Me: "No, no, yoga,"
Affable fellow: "Yoga!"
One chai seller said "Morning, Madam, chai? Paani, water? vodka?" I try to say subh prahbat ji! (Good Morning, Sir!) to him every day, but he continues with "Morning!"
Today, walking back from yoga class and a young man falls into step with me.
Young Man: Which country?
Me: Canada
The young man produces a loonie and says, "from Canada."
Me: Yes
I keep walking. Let me tell you right now, if you make it to India and hand out coins from your country, and I find out about it, somebody gonna get hurt real bad. To solve the mystery right here and now, it ain't gonna be me.
Because here's the shakedown: I had kids from every state asking me for Canadian coins for their collection. I was on the verge of thinking that after cricket, coin-collecting is the national sport in India, when one kid in Varanasi shows me a Canadian quarter and asks
"How much worth?"
"Maybe ten rupees," I say
"You exchange, okay?"
"No, no exchange, no okay."
So this young man today says "How much worth?"
"35 rupees," I tell him.
"You exchange?" he says
"No," I say "I no exchange. I'm not a bank."
"I know you not a bank but this from your country," he tries again.
I keep walking, he keeps my pace.
"Your name?"
"Mia." (Babu decided I best ditch the moniker Maya, which means 'money' in Hindi and 'cosmic illusion' - how appropriate - for Buddhists and Hindus, and go back to Mia, which means Sir in Urdu. The latter turns out to be just as confusing but commands more respect I think. I want to learn how to say "When I say jump, you say: 'how high?' " Just so I can hear the reply, "yes, Sir!" which would be "Hah, Mia!" isn't that swell? Life is grand.)
"What is your name?"
"Giorgio Armani."
"Giorgio Armani?"
"Is Italian name."
"I know," I reply, with a tone like you have know idea who you've chosen to engage with buddy. Go ahead, make my karma. "If your name is Giorgio Armani, you don't need my 35 rupees."
"Need still need."
"Where do you live?"
"In the desert."
"I see."
"You change money."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, like I said, I'm not a bank. I can't."
"Change money."
"No, mafkeje, really, mafkeje." (That means I'm sorry. No one really uses thank you, please, sorry and excuse me here, you have to really want to learn these words and seek them out, and even then your Hindi teacher will tell you "We don't talk like that." No kidding? I hardly noticed.)
The young man corrects my pronounciation and then says "No say sorry, change money, not be sorry."
"Really, no, you don't understand."
"You not understand, I think-"
"Here's what I understand," I tell him, as I keep motoring along, "since I landed, everyone is following me and asking me and asking me for money. I've been really fleeced several times since I got here, and you don't see me. You see a walking bank machine. You and I are the same, the same, you understand? Atman, you and me, atman*. But you can't see me, you can't see this, and this way, here, I find hard to see you too."
*Atman is the eternal self, the soul. The same, same no different aspect of us all, according to Swamiji. Our bodies, our experiences, our childhoods, our backgrounds, our financial position, our income, our devastating consequences, our true loves, our preferences, our hatreds, our favourite pasta dish, all different. Our souls however, are the same, from the same source. So it has been, so it shall always be. I know it now, possibly knew it then. Even when I forgot, even when I didn't believe it, it was always the Truth.
He stops walking with me, "maybe later," he says, "you change the money."
It's very unlikely.
Sadar Bazaar road is practically empty, except for the cows (smaller herd to pass than on the ghats in Varanasi, still disconcerting) sari-robbed street cleaners, a few chai stand operators and some restaurant owners setting up shop. Some small crowds along the way are heading for Pushkar Lake, to make their offerings.
Some times someone will call out "Chai?"
Me: "No, thank you"
Affable fellow: "Mountain?"
Me: "No, no, yoga,"
Affable fellow: "Yoga!"
One chai seller said "Morning, Madam, chai? Paani, water? vodka?" I try to say subh prahbat ji! (Good Morning, Sir!) to him every day, but he continues with "Morning!"
Today, walking back from yoga class and a young man falls into step with me.
Young Man: Which country?
Me: Canada
The young man produces a loonie and says, "from Canada."
Me: Yes
I keep walking. Let me tell you right now, if you make it to India and hand out coins from your country, and I find out about it, somebody gonna get hurt real bad. To solve the mystery right here and now, it ain't gonna be me.
Because here's the shakedown: I had kids from every state asking me for Canadian coins for their collection. I was on the verge of thinking that after cricket, coin-collecting is the national sport in India, when one kid in Varanasi shows me a Canadian quarter and asks
"How much worth?"
"Maybe ten rupees," I say
"You exchange, okay?"
"No, no exchange, no okay."
So this young man today says "How much worth?"
"35 rupees," I tell him.
"You exchange?" he says
"No," I say "I no exchange. I'm not a bank."
"I know you not a bank but this from your country," he tries again.
I keep walking, he keeps my pace.
"Your name?"
"Mia." (Babu decided I best ditch the moniker Maya, which means 'money' in Hindi and 'cosmic illusion' - how appropriate - for Buddhists and Hindus, and go back to Mia, which means Sir in Urdu. The latter turns out to be just as confusing but commands more respect I think. I want to learn how to say "When I say jump, you say: 'how high?' " Just so I can hear the reply, "yes, Sir!" which would be "Hah, Mia!" isn't that swell? Life is grand.)
"What is your name?"
"Giorgio Armani."
"Giorgio Armani?"
"Is Italian name."
"I know," I reply, with a tone like you have know idea who you've chosen to engage with buddy. Go ahead, make my karma. "If your name is Giorgio Armani, you don't need my 35 rupees."
"Need still need."
"Where do you live?"
"In the desert."
"I see."
"You change money."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, like I said, I'm not a bank. I can't."
"Change money."
"No, mafkeje, really, mafkeje." (That means I'm sorry. No one really uses thank you, please, sorry and excuse me here, you have to really want to learn these words and seek them out, and even then your Hindi teacher will tell you "We don't talk like that." No kidding? I hardly noticed.)
The young man corrects my pronounciation and then says "No say sorry, change money, not be sorry."
"Really, no, you don't understand."
"You not understand, I think-"
"Here's what I understand," I tell him, as I keep motoring along, "since I landed, everyone is following me and asking me and asking me for money. I've been really fleeced several times since I got here, and you don't see me. You see a walking bank machine. You and I are the same, the same, you understand? Atman, you and me, atman*. But you can't see me, you can't see this, and this way, here, I find hard to see you too."
*Atman is the eternal self, the soul. The same, same no different aspect of us all, according to Swamiji. Our bodies, our experiences, our childhoods, our backgrounds, our financial position, our income, our devastating consequences, our true loves, our preferences, our hatreds, our favourite pasta dish, all different. Our souls however, are the same, from the same source. So it has been, so it shall always be. I know it now, possibly knew it then. Even when I forgot, even when I didn't believe it, it was always the Truth.
He stops walking with me, "maybe later," he says, "you change the money."
It's very unlikely.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Vanity, thy name is Eufemia
For those who thought I was finished with talking about mosquitoes, I do apologise for the following post. Sincerely. I mean that from the bottom of my heart chakra. I thought I was done too, I swear!
It's a bug's life: Flies are in a state of Nirvana here, finding ecstacy flitting from cows to food to folks, mosquitos find me.
Last night, what do I hear but the dreaded sound of one buzzing in my ear. Possibly the one I had seen a day earlier, and yes, I had tried to squash out it's short, bloodthirsty existence. For all I know, it could be the same bug from the Star Travels/Money Changer/Internet site, the one I had so brazenly laughed and blogged out, as if I had acquired special superhero powers that allowed me to conquer my fear of an itsy bitsy mosquito.
No, that definitely hasn't happened. I just checked, and it appears, yup, fear still there.
I know, I have nothing to fear but fear itself. But I can't seem to bring myself to say "Malaria, Shmalaria," with any kind of devil-may-care attitude, yet.
Hang on, let's see, "Ma-lay-ri-ah, Shhhhhh -."
Forget it.
Though, truth be told, having enjoyed two and a half full weeks without a bite, what really got me upset at 3 o'clock in the morning, (minor insomnia problem, no need to dwell on it here)when that sonamagun came a skittering by, was the thought of how it would affect my current visage. You may be thinking "How vain!" But before you judge and condemn me, I understand Mother Theresa struggled in much the same fashion. What a dear saint she was, blazing the glamour path before me.
Here's the current situation: I am tanned by the desert sun. My face is wrinkled with laugh lines, and also looking bahut (very) filled out from a few too many chocolate croissants. Seeing my reflection, I thought, I don't think I've ever looked this happy or healthy.
And I didn't want I didn't want to lose that face. (Freud-wannabes, scratch your beards now: Ah, attachments issues)
And finally, an opportunity to insert a sing-a-long here: That face, that face, that Yoga Journal Cover girl face.
Hah (yes), I know, Mujhe pagallo. (I'm crazy)
On one hand, possible malaria, on other hand, I might not look purdy.
When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, who will I be, will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here's what she said to me: "If I have to come over there and pick up those toys you won't be able to sit down for a week."
So you see, I don't ask my mum the tough questions anymore. We mostly stick to the weather. Though these days, even that's an expensive and draining conversation. (Mamaji: "Really? Sunny? Oh, because you have desert there? Here is snow." Me: "I know, Ma, I know. You told me last time.")
(*I'm not sure anyone would appreciate the banter: "See you tomorrow-" "Not if I see you first!" so I haven't asked for a translation of the latter part. I have recently noted in my book that I need to learn the Hindi for: "Would you like it if someone said that to your sister, jerk?")
It's a bug's life: Flies are in a state of Nirvana here, finding ecstacy flitting from cows to food to folks, mosquitos find me.
Last night, what do I hear but the dreaded sound of one buzzing in my ear. Possibly the one I had seen a day earlier, and yes, I had tried to squash out it's short, bloodthirsty existence. For all I know, it could be the same bug from the Star Travels/Money Changer/Internet site, the one I had so brazenly laughed and blogged out, as if I had acquired special superhero powers that allowed me to conquer my fear of an itsy bitsy mosquito.
No, that definitely hasn't happened. I just checked, and it appears, yup, fear still there.
I know, I have nothing to fear but fear itself. But I can't seem to bring myself to say "Malaria, Shmalaria," with any kind of devil-may-care attitude, yet.
Hang on, let's see, "Ma-lay-ri-ah, Shhhhhh -."
Forget it.
Though, truth be told, having enjoyed two and a half full weeks without a bite, what really got me upset at 3 o'clock in the morning, (minor insomnia problem, no need to dwell on it here)when that sonamagun came a skittering by, was the thought of how it would affect my current visage. You may be thinking "How vain!" But before you judge and condemn me, I understand Mother Theresa struggled in much the same fashion. What a dear saint she was, blazing the glamour path before me.
Here's the current situation: I am tanned by the desert sun. My face is wrinkled with laugh lines, and also looking bahut (very) filled out from a few too many chocolate croissants. Seeing my reflection, I thought, I don't think I've ever looked this happy or healthy.
And I didn't want I didn't want to lose that face. (Freud-wannabes, scratch your beards now: Ah, attachments issues)
And finally, an opportunity to insert a sing-a-long here: That face, that face, that Yoga Journal Cover girl face.
Hah (yes), I know, Mujhe pagallo. (I'm crazy)
On one hand, possible malaria, on other hand, I might not look purdy.
When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, who will I be, will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here's what she said to me: "If I have to come over there and pick up those toys you won't be able to sit down for a week."
So you see, I don't ask my mum the tough questions anymore. We mostly stick to the weather. Though these days, even that's an expensive and draining conversation. (Mamaji: "Really? Sunny? Oh, because you have desert there? Here is snow." Me: "I know, Ma, I know. You told me last time.")
O Blessed Mosquito, here to test my attachment issues, and another opportunity to practice non-violence. Clearly, I need to make an offering to the saint in charge of mosquitos. I know Saint Ambrose was the patron Saint of beekeepers and a fat lot of good that bit of knowledge does me here. What a waste, and it's taking up much needed space in the 10% of my brain I'm using.
This is a test. This is only a test. If this had been a real emergency, I would have been instructed where to go and what to do. Right?
As Swamiji says on many occasions, "Who knows? Who understand? Know self. Make self. Not smoking, injurious to health, say so on package there, why for people smoke? they make sick them self and loose money too so no, please! Yes, please practice yoga. Know self, Make self. And then self love, then love to each other. No difference. We same. God is love, love is God."
Kal phir milenjhee* (see you tomorrow)(*I'm not sure anyone would appreciate the banter: "See you tomorrow-" "Not if I see you first!" so I haven't asked for a translation of the latter part. I have recently noted in my book that I need to learn the Hindi for: "Would you like it if someone said that to your sister, jerk?")
The Dark Side, part 2
Use the force.
Something I forgot to mention, because, well, I was unnerved enough yesterday with what happened with the kid, I left out the fact that there were 2 recipients of my 'You'll wish you were dead before I'm done with you' glare yesterday.
Perhaps that sounds like a harsh name for "the look", but let me just repeat, it was inspired by my mother, and I think once she even verbalised the glare with that expression so, the name kind of stuck, y'know? Like gum in your hair or on your favourite cashmere sweater, it stuck.
Two death glares in one day. That's kind of a big detail to leave out, huh?
Oops. To be fair, it took me awhile to put that last post together, now that I learned how to save these pieces and edit them when I could return to the internet with my journal. My dear, tear-stained journal. (Okay, it's really chai stained. Go ahead, I can hear you all already from over here: liar, liar pants on fire)
I'm thinking I will never be invited over for dinner or out for coffee again. (Coffee? Real coffee? Not Nescafe? NOT CHAI? Seriously I could just weep to show you my gratitude but then again, I just remembered, you won't be inviting me. Who wants to 'chill out', as they say, with a person who can give "the look"? Sometimes, I had to admit, that looked popped out when I was simply perturbed. Disturbing? Definitely.)
Sigh.
Second Death Stare Prize Winner is the man I now refer to as "Mr. Show Me the Rupees" - after he felt pressed to show me his armpit problem. 'member him?
On my way back to the hotel after the kid swore at me, and before I came to an uneasy chocolated peace about it all, I was walking back to my room, saw Annu and her husband and said "Namaste."
Annu tried to draw my attention to a keychain, and since I'm now wary of her- polite, but wary- I said, "Yes, that's called a keychain," and kept on walking, momentarily saved by another staff member coming round the corner.
I hadn't gone more than 10 feet when her husband ran after me saying "Excuse me, excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Me tomorrow Ajmer going. 200 rupees need." So the price had changed, but my heart had not melted one iota. In fact, having come from the little kid minutes before to this, my heart felt like it was made of sulphuric acid. I felt like a bomb in one of those bad but good made-for-TV-movies, about to be detonated.
I fixed him with my stare and said, "I'm sorry."
He repeated again "Tomorrow, Ajmer going, 200 rupees need," but thankfully did not attempt to lift his shirt, or I would have committed a crime for sure.
I said "I'M SORRY-" in a way that, I'm sure you can tell by reading it I didn't really mean.
Like those annoying people who apologise for upsetting you by saying "I'm sorry you're choosing to get upset," instead of saying "I'm sorry I behaved like a complete jerk and subsequently, by my ignorant actions, caused you to feel such pain. Please accept my humble apologies, I will endeavour to be a better human being, having learned from this experience."
He said "okay, okay." Fortunately, he also backed away slowly.
No doubt, by that point, I was resembling a mangey, possibly rabid dog, like the ones I try to avoid on my early morning walk to yoga class.
Later still, as I decided to go back out, Annu cornered me, showing me the keychain again and pointing to me saying "How much?"
I said "I don't know? How much?" Not entirely clueing in because I was at my wits end. Admittedly, that is not a long journey for me to make but still, I got there rather quickly yesterday.
"No, you, how much pay?"
"For the key chain?" I asked slowly, and she nodded. "Nothing. I don't want it. I don't need it."
No need to add Comprendez? My tone was enough. I did not employ the look. Only the tone. The tone can some times do the trick all on it's own. Learned and mastered from the same source, I've used the death tone more often. (No need to wonder why my relationship history has been what it's been then, right? Change is the only constant: I am not my thoughts. I am not those thoughts. I am not that look. I am not that tone.)
"Okay, okay," she says.
Later, much later, today in fact, I was swapping stories with an Australian woman who showed up in Yoga class right after I blogged the comment about 'I'm Canadian, not Australian'. She tells me, she's mostly met Canadian women travelling around on their own. I have to laugh.
The other stuff she mentions, about coming back to Pushkar to specifically study Yoga with Swamiji, I also appreciated. Because sure enough, I was, that night before she showed up, thinking "Why have I done this? I'm all alone here. I could have gone on to Darjeeling with Rich. What am I doing?"
Serendipity, some might say. I prefer to think of it as God having a sense of humour, and an ability to grace our lives in ways I can't even begin to imagine.
Also, I prefer to think that rather than needing another's approval, it's just my overwhelming self-doubt that I keep tripping on. Sigh. Stupid thoughts here, stupid thoughts there. Stupid thoughts everywhere. I am not my stupid thoughts.
As we were walking out of my Hotel, on our way to meditation, Annu points at the Australian woman and asks, "Massage?"
"No!" we both said, in stereo.
You can't step in the same Ganges twice. You can't kill two birds with the same massage. Though I think some people have proved, and I count myself among them, you can be the same fool twice.
Use the force, feel the force.
Never abuse your power.
Something I forgot to mention, because, well, I was unnerved enough yesterday with what happened with the kid, I left out the fact that there were 2 recipients of my 'You'll wish you were dead before I'm done with you' glare yesterday.
Perhaps that sounds like a harsh name for "the look", but let me just repeat, it was inspired by my mother, and I think once she even verbalised the glare with that expression so, the name kind of stuck, y'know? Like gum in your hair or on your favourite cashmere sweater, it stuck.
Two death glares in one day. That's kind of a big detail to leave out, huh?
Oops. To be fair, it took me awhile to put that last post together, now that I learned how to save these pieces and edit them when I could return to the internet with my journal. My dear, tear-stained journal. (Okay, it's really chai stained. Go ahead, I can hear you all already from over here: liar, liar pants on fire)
I'm thinking I will never be invited over for dinner or out for coffee again. (Coffee? Real coffee? Not Nescafe? NOT CHAI? Seriously I could just weep to show you my gratitude but then again, I just remembered, you won't be inviting me. Who wants to 'chill out', as they say, with a person who can give "the look"? Sometimes, I had to admit, that looked popped out when I was simply perturbed. Disturbing? Definitely.)
Sigh.
Second Death Stare Prize Winner is the man I now refer to as "Mr. Show Me the Rupees" - after he felt pressed to show me his armpit problem. 'member him?
On my way back to the hotel after the kid swore at me, and before I came to an uneasy chocolated peace about it all, I was walking back to my room, saw Annu and her husband and said "Namaste."
Annu tried to draw my attention to a keychain, and since I'm now wary of her- polite, but wary- I said, "Yes, that's called a keychain," and kept on walking, momentarily saved by another staff member coming round the corner.
I hadn't gone more than 10 feet when her husband ran after me saying "Excuse me, excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Me tomorrow Ajmer going. 200 rupees need." So the price had changed, but my heart had not melted one iota. In fact, having come from the little kid minutes before to this, my heart felt like it was made of sulphuric acid. I felt like a bomb in one of those bad but good made-for-TV-movies, about to be detonated.
I fixed him with my stare and said, "I'm sorry."
He repeated again "Tomorrow, Ajmer going, 200 rupees need," but thankfully did not attempt to lift his shirt, or I would have committed a crime for sure.
I said "I'M SORRY-" in a way that, I'm sure you can tell by reading it I didn't really mean.
Like those annoying people who apologise for upsetting you by saying "I'm sorry you're choosing to get upset," instead of saying "I'm sorry I behaved like a complete jerk and subsequently, by my ignorant actions, caused you to feel such pain. Please accept my humble apologies, I will endeavour to be a better human being, having learned from this experience."
He said "okay, okay." Fortunately, he also backed away slowly.
No doubt, by that point, I was resembling a mangey, possibly rabid dog, like the ones I try to avoid on my early morning walk to yoga class.
Later still, as I decided to go back out, Annu cornered me, showing me the keychain again and pointing to me saying "How much?"
I said "I don't know? How much?" Not entirely clueing in because I was at my wits end. Admittedly, that is not a long journey for me to make but still, I got there rather quickly yesterday.
"No, you, how much pay?"
"For the key chain?" I asked slowly, and she nodded. "Nothing. I don't want it. I don't need it."
No need to add Comprendez? My tone was enough. I did not employ the look. Only the tone. The tone can some times do the trick all on it's own. Learned and mastered from the same source, I've used the death tone more often. (No need to wonder why my relationship history has been what it's been then, right? Change is the only constant: I am not my thoughts. I am not those thoughts. I am not that look. I am not that tone.)
"Okay, okay," she says.
Later, much later, today in fact, I was swapping stories with an Australian woman who showed up in Yoga class right after I blogged the comment about 'I'm Canadian, not Australian'. She tells me, she's mostly met Canadian women travelling around on their own. I have to laugh.
The other stuff she mentions, about coming back to Pushkar to specifically study Yoga with Swamiji, I also appreciated. Because sure enough, I was, that night before she showed up, thinking "Why have I done this? I'm all alone here. I could have gone on to Darjeeling with Rich. What am I doing?"
Serendipity, some might say. I prefer to think of it as God having a sense of humour, and an ability to grace our lives in ways I can't even begin to imagine.
Also, I prefer to think that rather than needing another's approval, it's just my overwhelming self-doubt that I keep tripping on. Sigh. Stupid thoughts here, stupid thoughts there. Stupid thoughts everywhere. I am not my stupid thoughts.
As we were walking out of my Hotel, on our way to meditation, Annu points at the Australian woman and asks, "Massage?"
"No!" we both said, in stereo.
You can't step in the same Ganges twice. You can't kill two birds with the same massage. Though I think some people have proved, and I count myself among them, you can be the same fool twice.
Use the force, feel the force.
Never abuse your power.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
The Dark Side of my Form Emerges
This is definitely it. Time to confront my dark side. Welcome, everyone to the Hotel Eufemia, you can check out any time you like but you can never leave. Ordinarily, I go to great lengths to avoid my shadow side.
"Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of Eufemia?" I'll tell you who, the Shadow knows.
This is the part of me that often wakes up cranky, frustrated, annoyed, tired, bitter, shallow. The part of me that wakes up thinking "so what?" or "why bother?" or "I don't feel like doing anything" or "I'M STILL HUNGRY! I don't mean here, in Pushkar, now. Though, I have had some of those days here too. Dang, I meant to be someone else by now. New, improved, stop with the barbed wire, sharp internal commentary Eufemia! Did she miss her connecting train in Jaisidhi? I'm waiting for her to show up, soften me up, so I can stop sharpening this knife I'm using to operate on myself. No anaesthestic, thank you very much.
Everybody now, repeat after me: What do you want Eufemia, a medal, a badge, or the yogic chest to pin it on?
The sharp edged part of me that I want those chocolate croissants to smooth over.
Oh I could go on and on with what I notice about my dark side: spoiled, selfish, stupid, ignorant. Unrepetant.
Ouch, that last one hurts.
Stop me any time.
But wait, you haven't heard the full story.
There's these kids, you see. They'll follow you where ever you go. I've had them in Bodhgaya, in Varanasi, in Agra. And now, the Pushkar lil' rascals. I have sometimes bought them chocolate (okay, I only did that once, and then got surrounded by two other boys immediately wanting candy, chocolate, biscuit, please friend, please? To them I said "Go ask that kid, make him your "friend, friend!" I'm sure he'll share." See, I would like to lie and tell you I'm feeding the kids here biscuits every day. Or I'm handing out rupees willy nilly. Ah, no, that is not happening. Not that I couldn't add liar liar pants on fire to my Shadow self-made, checked and accounted for list, just didn't feel like it today, alright?)
I am only being a little bit harsh. Rich did mention one day, when I was going on ad naseum (poor guy) that I seem to pick out people to help out in each location, and do what I can, "Pawan in Bodhgaya, those girls in Varanasi." Essentially he was saying quit being so hard on yourself.
Oh, what does he know anyways? Has he discovered the Fountain of Youth? Re-arranged the Time-Space continuim? Found a cure for cancer? No? I rest my case.
Today, this one rascal follows me for quite some time, saying "Biscuit, please madam, hungry, please, no money, only biscuit, please?" He kept grabbing my elbow, pulling on my shirt sleeve. Then he surprises me and says it in Italian "Biscotto, favore, biscotto, ho fame -" but I keep walking, thinking, this kid likely also knows how to say this in French, Spanish, German and Korean.
"Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of Eufemia?" I'll tell you who, the Shadow knows.
This is the part of me that often wakes up cranky, frustrated, annoyed, tired, bitter, shallow. The part of me that wakes up thinking "so what?" or "why bother?" or "I don't feel like doing anything" or "I'M STILL HUNGRY! I don't mean here, in Pushkar, now. Though, I have had some of those days here too. Dang, I meant to be someone else by now. New, improved, stop with the barbed wire, sharp internal commentary Eufemia! Did she miss her connecting train in Jaisidhi? I'm waiting for her to show up, soften me up, so I can stop sharpening this knife I'm using to operate on myself. No anaesthestic, thank you very much.
Everybody now, repeat after me: What do you want Eufemia, a medal, a badge, or the yogic chest to pin it on?
The sharp edged part of me that I want those chocolate croissants to smooth over.
Oh I could go on and on with what I notice about my dark side: spoiled, selfish, stupid, ignorant. Unrepetant.
Ouch, that last one hurts.
Stop me any time.
But wait, you haven't heard the full story.
There's these kids, you see. They'll follow you where ever you go. I've had them in Bodhgaya, in Varanasi, in Agra. And now, the Pushkar lil' rascals. I have sometimes bought them chocolate (okay, I only did that once, and then got surrounded by two other boys immediately wanting candy, chocolate, biscuit, please friend, please? To them I said "Go ask that kid, make him your "friend, friend!" I'm sure he'll share." See, I would like to lie and tell you I'm feeding the kids here biscuits every day. Or I'm handing out rupees willy nilly. Ah, no, that is not happening. Not that I couldn't add liar liar pants on fire to my Shadow self-made, checked and accounted for list, just didn't feel like it today, alright?)
I am only being a little bit harsh. Rich did mention one day, when I was going on ad naseum (poor guy) that I seem to pick out people to help out in each location, and do what I can, "Pawan in Bodhgaya, those girls in Varanasi." Essentially he was saying quit being so hard on yourself.
Oh, what does he know anyways? Has he discovered the Fountain of Youth? Re-arranged the Time-Space continuim? Found a cure for cancer? No? I rest my case.
Today, this one rascal follows me for quite some time, saying "Biscuit, please madam, hungry, please, no money, only biscuit, please?" He kept grabbing my elbow, pulling on my shirt sleeve. Then he surprises me and says it in Italian "Biscotto, favore, biscotto, ho fame -" but I keep walking, thinking, this kid likely also knows how to say this in French, Spanish, German and Korean.
Then he stops and says, "No good fucking girl."
Just a side note, I really dislike when this type of word is everyday language, or every second word in a person's vocabulary. Writing it down is something I've been trying to get around. This time, just so you feel the impact too, it's here. I've lost my PG-13 rating.
So I stopped, turned around and glared at him. I wanted to grab him, slap him and shake the living daylights out of him.
My sense of humour, the only shield I really have, was nowhere to be seen. My patience deserted me somewhere between the cold shower that gave me this persistant bronchial cough and that guy on the bus ride.
I wish I felt like saying "Scram, kid, you're bothering me, throwing me off my Shanti, Shanti vibe," or even "GIMME GIMME GIMME NEVER GETS!"
No, I felt like I was physically capable of wringing his little neck. So I walked on, back to the hotel. I lay down under my sleeping bag in the cold, frigid room and thought "I can't stay here any longer." Meaning, not just Pushkar, but India.
(Please note: About that cold, frigid room. Yes, I've heard it's snowing in Vancouver, and most of the time, I see this trip as my dream come true. A manifestation of work, thought, some sporadic single-mindedness and an opportunity presented itself and here I am, practicing Yoga in India, a dream come true. 99% of the time I see that, I know it. The other 12% - I get cranky and upset. That's my math for you, I still can't calculate GST and PST. Just ask my dad, he'll tell you how embarrassing it is that he's a math prodigy and I have to take my socks off to count past ten)
In the moment, instead of thinking about how this kid does look tiny and malnourished and has to be hungry in a way I've never experienced - even when I have stupidily uttered the words "I'm famished!" - I looked at him like I wanted him dead. Sure, he was looking at me the same way, but he's a kid.
It's an ugly look. I think of it like Kryptonite, it's disabling. It shouldn't be used at all. It's a look that can only be used for evil, there is no other way to describe it.
There is Karma after all, cause and effect.
Once, I gave this look to an elderly fellow who had befriended me. I treated him like my grandfather, giving him the same respect. For months, I was happy to see this ol' guy amblin' along on his cane to see me, come meet me for coffee break or lunches at work. Then, one day he made a pass at me. I was 26, he was 67. I had heard of father figures, but not grandfather figures. I rebuffed him, pretended that I didn't understand him or what he meant, and the next time I saw him I had "No time for coffee or lunch," and I gave him that look.
He called me, at my place of work, very upset and said "Please don't look at me like that. There was so much hatred in your eyes."
I knew how he felt, but I felt no sympathy towards him. I learned the look from my own mother, from being on the receiving end of it. The difference of course, is that my mother then and now, struggles wth severe psychosis.
I got up from my sleeping bag, 10 minutes later, still upset. Still shaking from being a witness to the depth of my own rage. I decided it simply would not do to sit in my room. I gave myself my usual favourite pep talk "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idjit, you've had it easy."
I sighed, and walked over to the Funky Monkey for a chai. There I met some fabulous Canadians from Victoria "We're neighbours!" said the woman. We chatted briefly. I told her a little of what had transpired. She told me her first time in India, she had ended up in 4 fist fights, just to defend herself.
In speaking some more, I told her my reaction to what the child had said really startled me. I was undone.
"That's Kali!" she said, "embrace it."
Kali is a Goddess, a ferocious form of the Divine Mother. I won't go into all the details here, there's too much about her to explain. A few quotes from a website I found:
- Her form is fearsome and vicious, yet it remains awe-inspiring through its abundant symbols.
- Kali's exists in the cremation ground, which is representative of a location in which the five different elements cease. As far as Kali is concerned, these elements are considered to be: attachments, anger, lust, and other binding emotions, feelings, and ideas.
- The fearful goddess with a heart of a mother
I only know that the first time I ever heard of Kali, at a lecture years ago, I thought My god, that's my mother. A strange thought, I know, but still, I could see my mother as Kali, easily. I felt it to be true.
So why pine the happy childhood I didn't have? I thought afterwards. Maybe this is about removing attachment. Why am I hanging on still? Why can't I just let go? Why not try to see my mother as burning through my illusions and attachments. And why don't I go buy a bag of Oreos to eat while I mull this over? I'm grappling with some deep thoughts here, I'm working up a big appetite.
So there I was, sitting at the Funky Monkey, where the guy running the cafe wanted to show me his poetry once he found out I was a writer (fantastic stuff his poems, he uses the phrase God Almighty alot and I loved it) and where a fabulous fellow Canadian female (who might be able to teach me poi! I've always wanted to know how to do that!) reminded me of a Goddess I hardly understand, but stand in awe of as well.
As soon as she stated "That's Kali!", I said "yes, of course," and I knew it to be true.
I felt much, much better after that. Even more so after the chai and croissant. I was grateful something compelled me to get back outside, once more into the breech dear friends, even if I had to risk walking past that kid again.
As Catullus said, "Vivamus...atque amemus."
Let us live...and let us love
Monday, January 28, 2008
Yoga means to yoke, to unite with God
"Yes, please, repeat after me 3 times: I will not smoking. I will not smoking. I will not smoking," Swamiji is adamant that no one smokes. "It is injurious to healthy."
I am lying in svavasana, the corspe pose, thinking 'I don't smoke. I should be repeating "don't breathe the air by the Techno Chai stand" Smoke? My lungs might be better off if I do while I'm here. I never took up the habit, even though I wanted to be Colette and I thought I should smoke and drink gallons of red wine, and write, write, write. Well I nearly set my bangs on fire that one time, didn't I. Then there's my allergy to tannen. I'm a disgrace to Italians everywhere, unable drink a glass of red wine without turning into a complete and absolute fool.'
"Yes, please, sit up. Bridge pose."
I put my hands behind me and raise my torso, thinking 'Wow, I wonder if my back is sore because this is my fourth day in a row of Yoga, or whether it's still sore from being hit by that doofus on the motorcycle. If I survive this trip, my dad is going to kill me when I get home. But I'm not a kid anymore, he's got to calm down. Worrying about him worrying about me, this is driving me crazy. I need to keep my wits about me, such as they are.'
"Please, stand up. Opposite this position, arms up, and forward bending."
I stand, raise my arms up, lower my hand to touch my toes, thinking 'I can't believe how stiff I am. A hot shower would really help. "Hot water all day long, madam" my tooshie. Dang, I really shouldn't have my knees bent here. Focus, straighten, focus, straighten. Am I holding my breath? What is my problem? Why is everyone else able to to this pose better than me, always?'
"Yes, please and sit down. Cow pose, please, good for prana."
I sit, bottom firmly planted on the ground and fold one knee over the other, both feet touching the ground by my hips, thinking 'There are so many cows here, it's incredible. I love this position on my right, left is sooooo much harder. I wonder what's up with that. Maybe it's the feminine/masculine thing again. The left side of the body, my feminine side, is way tighter. I think I need to work on forgiveness still. Think? I mean I know I need to work on it for my mother, for me. "Sure, forgive her but from far away," said that woman who spoke to Jesus, the one who would shut her eyes to hear his response. Man, or I should say Woman, I have issues.'
"Yes, please, twist."
I adjust legs, push one arm against my leg and turn to look behind me, thinking 'So far I appear to be excelling at the poses that are "best benefit for prostate". Right. Excelling is getting a bit euphemistic.'
"Yes, change sides"
Small adjustment, thinking 'I wonder what I should have for lunch today? I think I'll try that other internet place, it was so annoying to loose that whole post yesterday before I could save it. I should know better. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.'
Yes, please, now alternate breathing, 10 rounds, count same, same or one, two, two. Please start, new student following me."
I place my hands in a mudra and begin breathing in my left nostril, thinking 'One, two, well, okay, stuffed up on both sides, clearly I should be thinking I will not breathe by the chai stand. What's my count? Four? Right. Hold. Banda Lock. Exhale. Definitely stuffed up on both sides. Eww.'
"Yes, please, now stopping. Please, if can sit in lotus, please sit, if not, adjust. Your style choice for meditation, next few minutes."
I get into lotus, thinking 'I hope this doesn't last as long as yesterday, when my leg felt asleep and that's probably why my back is hurting. My back, my sides, I think even my big toe is hurting. I shoulda washed my hair yesterday when the sun was out. I wonder if I could get to the post office today? Where did Rich say it was? I would really like a chai but I should curb the caffeine intake, it's out of control. Om. Shanti, shanti, shanti.'
"Hari Om. Thank you. Seeing you later if want meditation, 6 to 7p.m., otherwise, seeing you tomorrow."
"Namaste, Swamiji," I say as I walk out the gate of the Yoga centre.
I thinking, 'What the heck just happened?'
I am lying in svavasana, the corspe pose, thinking 'I don't smoke. I should be repeating "don't breathe the air by the Techno Chai stand" Smoke? My lungs might be better off if I do while I'm here. I never took up the habit, even though I wanted to be Colette and I thought I should smoke and drink gallons of red wine, and write, write, write. Well I nearly set my bangs on fire that one time, didn't I. Then there's my allergy to tannen. I'm a disgrace to Italians everywhere, unable drink a glass of red wine without turning into a complete and absolute fool.'
"Yes, please, sit up. Bridge pose."
I put my hands behind me and raise my torso, thinking 'Wow, I wonder if my back is sore because this is my fourth day in a row of Yoga, or whether it's still sore from being hit by that doofus on the motorcycle. If I survive this trip, my dad is going to kill me when I get home. But I'm not a kid anymore, he's got to calm down. Worrying about him worrying about me, this is driving me crazy. I need to keep my wits about me, such as they are.'
"Please, stand up. Opposite this position, arms up, and forward bending."
I stand, raise my arms up, lower my hand to touch my toes, thinking 'I can't believe how stiff I am. A hot shower would really help. "Hot water all day long, madam" my tooshie. Dang, I really shouldn't have my knees bent here. Focus, straighten, focus, straighten. Am I holding my breath? What is my problem? Why is everyone else able to to this pose better than me, always?'
"Yes, please and sit down. Cow pose, please, good for prana."
I sit, bottom firmly planted on the ground and fold one knee over the other, both feet touching the ground by my hips, thinking 'There are so many cows here, it's incredible. I love this position on my right, left is sooooo much harder. I wonder what's up with that. Maybe it's the feminine/masculine thing again. The left side of the body, my feminine side, is way tighter. I think I need to work on forgiveness still. Think? I mean I know I need to work on it for my mother, for me. "Sure, forgive her but from far away," said that woman who spoke to Jesus, the one who would shut her eyes to hear his response. Man, or I should say Woman, I have issues.'
"Yes, please, twist."
I adjust legs, push one arm against my leg and turn to look behind me, thinking 'So far I appear to be excelling at the poses that are "best benefit for prostate". Right. Excelling is getting a bit euphemistic.'
"Yes, change sides"
Small adjustment, thinking 'I wonder what I should have for lunch today? I think I'll try that other internet place, it was so annoying to loose that whole post yesterday before I could save it. I should know better. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.'
Yes, please, now alternate breathing, 10 rounds, count same, same or one, two, two. Please start, new student following me."
I place my hands in a mudra and begin breathing in my left nostril, thinking 'One, two, well, okay, stuffed up on both sides, clearly I should be thinking I will not breathe by the chai stand. What's my count? Four? Right. Hold. Banda Lock. Exhale. Definitely stuffed up on both sides. Eww.'
"Yes, please, now stopping. Please, if can sit in lotus, please sit, if not, adjust. Your style choice for meditation, next few minutes."
I get into lotus, thinking 'I hope this doesn't last as long as yesterday, when my leg felt asleep and that's probably why my back is hurting. My back, my sides, I think even my big toe is hurting. I shoulda washed my hair yesterday when the sun was out. I wonder if I could get to the post office today? Where did Rich say it was? I would really like a chai but I should curb the caffeine intake, it's out of control. Om. Shanti, shanti, shanti.'
"Hari Om. Thank you. Seeing you later if want meditation, 6 to 7p.m., otherwise, seeing you tomorrow."
"Namaste, Swamiji," I say as I walk out the gate of the Yoga centre.
I thinking, 'What the heck just happened?'
A Recent Conversation with Papaji
Papaji, for those unfamiliar with his spiritual name, is Michelantonio Fantetti, the incalculable reincarnation of the Buddha of compassionate fatherhood.
Perhaps you've read my reference to the conversation with my mother? The one with Papaji was more like this:
Me: I'm going to India.
Complete silence. Total, absolute silence. So silent, I thought I had stopped his heartbeat with this one sentence.
What follows is a re-creation of our most recent conversation. Warning: subjects in the conversation are larger than they appear.
Me: How's everything? good?
Papaji: Me, everything good. You, everything okay? You need money?
Me: No, I don't, and yes, everything's okay. Tell me, have you decided if you're coming to Vancouver or if you want me to come see you for Easter? Only I can't come for that long, y'know.
Papaji: I was think about, better if no come, no you and no me. Now time to save the money.
Me: Okay, of course, no problem. So you can come in the summer then, for your birthday! I'll get your ticket.
Papaji: You know, you need money*, now is time to save the money I think.
(*as in, one needs money to survive/get by in life, a recurring thought expressed by Papji)
Me: Yes, I know.
Papaji: Now is a good time to be saving the money. If you want, you can come here in July for my birthday.
Me: I don't think that will work as well as you coming to Vancouver. I'll have a job, and I don't think I can say, after 4 months of working, "Can I have a vacation?"
Perhaps you've read my reference to the conversation with my mother? The one with Papaji was more like this:
Me: I'm going to India.
Complete silence. Total, absolute silence. So silent, I thought I had stopped his heartbeat with this one sentence.
What follows is a re-creation of our most recent conversation. Warning: subjects in the conversation are larger than they appear.
Me: How's everything? good?
Papaji: Me, everything good. You, everything okay? You need money?
Me: No, I don't, and yes, everything's okay. Tell me, have you decided if you're coming to Vancouver or if you want me to come see you for Easter? Only I can't come for that long, y'know.
Papaji: I was think about, better if no come, no you and no me. Now time to save the money.
Me: Okay, of course, no problem. So you can come in the summer then, for your birthday! I'll get your ticket.
Papaji: You know, you need money*, now is time to save the money I think.
(*as in, one needs money to survive/get by in life, a recurring thought expressed by Papji)
Me: Yes, I know.
Papaji: Now is a good time to be saving the money. If you want, you can come here in July for my birthday.
Me: I don't think that will work as well as you coming to Vancouver. I'll have a job, and I don't think I can say, after 4 months of working, "Can I have a vacation?"
Papaji: Okay. okay. We see. Maybe you come here, maybe I'm there. But you right, you need a job, now is a good time for saving the money.
Me: But you're okay, right? Everything's okay?
Papaji: I no gonna be okay until I hear you from Vancouver again.
Me: Papa, please, don't worry.
Papaji: You no can tell me no worry. I'm you father, I worry.
Me: But everything's fine.
What he doesn't know won't give him sleepless nights, right?
The thing is, everything really is fine.
Yes, I did get hit by a guy on a motorcycle today, but he just knocked me forward a bit as he hit me on my right side, and then he looked back at me like "What are you a half-wit, walking by the far edge of the road?"
I gave him the same look back, meaning, "What are you a half-wit? Passing me on the right where there's only 3 feet of room between me and the beggars sitting on the road, instead of the left where there is nothing but room?"
I was sore, physically, and a little shaken up because the half-wit on wheels did not honk or in any way indicate that he was right behind me, I had no idea until I'd been hit that there was a vehicle near me. People, children and the black cow, they were all in my line of vision, but this guy was not, because I have yet to grow eyes on the back of my head, the same type of 6th sense eyes that my mother used throughout my childhood.
This is extremely unusual because, most of the time, people are honking and beeping from ten miles away. I can see them, with no other traffic between us they'll start honking - the noise pollution is ridiculous, even in a small place like Pushkar.
After a few near misses, including one where the motorcycle supporting a family of 4* stopped one foot in front of me, finally, Bang and ouchie. (*okay one of them was an infant, then two women and the driver)
But really, everything is fine.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Sights and Sounds Expanded
What I forgot to add to the first sights and sounds of Pushkar:
Seen: From the Raju Restaurant Menu, Dal Makhani - a black lentil deficacy cooked in butter
Heard: There I was, blissfully (okay, stiffly) walking home from Yoga class, tired, sore, but thinking about how fortunate I am, and have always been, even when I didn't know it. What a blessing, being able to practice Yoga in the land it originated. Yes, all was well with the world, all was well with Eufemia, when I heard the fellow I passed on the main street call out to me, "Namaste-"
"Namaste!" I enthusiastically replied, thinking; 'What a strength it must be, this spiritual dynasty, to live somewhere where you greet each other this way, 'namaste' - the divine light in me acknowledges and bows to the divine light in you'
Then he adds "Hashish?" and the moment came to an abrupt halt. I kept walking.
Seen: From the Raju Restaurant Menu, Dal Makhani - a black lentil deficacy cooked in butter
Heard: There I was, blissfully (okay, stiffly) walking home from Yoga class, tired, sore, but thinking about how fortunate I am, and have always been, even when I didn't know it. What a blessing, being able to practice Yoga in the land it originated. Yes, all was well with the world, all was well with Eufemia, when I heard the fellow I passed on the main street call out to me, "Namaste-"
"Namaste!" I enthusiastically replied, thinking; 'What a strength it must be, this spiritual dynasty, to live somewhere where you greet each other this way, 'namaste' - the divine light in me acknowledges and bows to the divine light in you'
Then he adds "Hashish?" and the moment came to an abrupt halt. I kept walking.
Train Travel Tips from Rich
You'll all be happy to know, Rich arrived safe and mostly sound in Kolkata, his train only 3.5 hours late.
Something I found a bit odd was that, back when Rich was booking his ticket, he went to several Travel Agents who couldn't find Kolkata on a map. They circled their fingers around in the air, circling most of the subcontinent, and Rich would point it out and say, "it's right there."
Nevermind. I'm guessing they aced their Guide a Camel Safari Exams but scored low on Geography.
I'll add the pointers from Rich's email here:
Tips for good train ride
1. don't eat too much before trip but eat (train food/rice is very good 20Rs)
2. get upper bunk
3. take tylenol every 4-7hrs
4. have lots of vicks on hand
5. dress warm
6. good luck
Okay, so he ate on the train, which we were warned about at the start of our journey. He's sturdier than me, so I think I'll pass. (I can go 33 hours without eating. I think.) He also advises me not to stay in Kolkata for more than one night (no problem, wasn't fancying the idea in any way) And here's my favourite:
The bus ride to Jodhpur was alright, lots of locals on and off- i imagine u would be in constant conversation.....recommend train from Ajmeer.
In "constant conversation"? Ah ha, sure. Here he has clearly forgotten my withering glare, my unapproachable stance every time he left me alone for 30 seconds and I heard "Hellooooo, Madam. Japan?"
You would not believe the number of times I heard that.
Enough that Rich, in parting said, (and I'm only paraphrasing the last part because I can't honestly remember how he put it, but this is the gist of it) "If I read about something happening to a 40 year old Japanese woman in Pushkar, I'll know something's gone terribly wrong with you."
Sigh. Because there was a very unpleasant article in the Times of India about something happening to a foreign women in Pushkar, 2 days before Rich left. Rich mentioned it. Swamiji mentioned it. Fellow travellers mentioned it. Even my Hotel manager mentioned it.
But don't anybody worry. I appear to have been adopted into a large Indian family, most of the Hotel staff, according to the manager.
Yesterday, after drinking two capfuls of cough syrup and feeling mightily tired, I disappeared into my room at noon and slept for 4 hours, waking up from many strange dreams. I got up and forced myself to go out at 5 to eat dinner.
Babu & Rakesh both commented on it today, with Babu saying "something was wrong with you" and Rakesh adding, "you were missing your family, I think."
I replied, "I don't know, I had a fever when I woke up." I was sweating, which was strange since it was chilly outside (which means it's chilly inside). I also added, "I'm used to being by myself."
But of course, the difference is, one feels like one has more of a choice in a familiar environment, like back home, you can turn off the phone, go for a walk by yourself and know that no one is going to accost you or follow you for cash. Well, mostly. I do live on the Drive, but you know what I mean.
"You don't like speaking with others, you keep to yourself and your books," Babu noted.
I didn't want to say, "No, well, it's hard to know who's safe to talk to, who isn't going to invite me to their home under supreme secrecy, then take back the offer because I'm not about to help her husband's watery armpit problem."
So I said "I'm shy."
It's not far from the truth.
Shy, lonely, what difference does it make?
I think I'll see if I can get home through this wedding procession coming down the road (wish me luck) and call it a day.
Something I found a bit odd was that, back when Rich was booking his ticket, he went to several Travel Agents who couldn't find Kolkata on a map. They circled their fingers around in the air, circling most of the subcontinent, and Rich would point it out and say, "it's right there."
Nevermind. I'm guessing they aced their Guide a Camel Safari Exams but scored low on Geography.
I'll add the pointers from Rich's email here:
Tips for good train ride
1. don't eat too much before trip but eat (train food/rice is very good 20Rs)
2. get upper bunk
3. take tylenol every 4-7hrs
4. have lots of vicks on hand
5. dress warm
6. good luck
Okay, so he ate on the train, which we were warned about at the start of our journey. He's sturdier than me, so I think I'll pass. (I can go 33 hours without eating. I think.) He also advises me not to stay in Kolkata for more than one night (no problem, wasn't fancying the idea in any way) And here's my favourite:
The bus ride to Jodhpur was alright, lots of locals on and off- i imagine u would be in constant conversation.....recommend train from Ajmeer.
In "constant conversation"? Ah ha, sure. Here he has clearly forgotten my withering glare, my unapproachable stance every time he left me alone for 30 seconds and I heard "Hellooooo, Madam. Japan?"
You would not believe the number of times I heard that.
Enough that Rich, in parting said, (and I'm only paraphrasing the last part because I can't honestly remember how he put it, but this is the gist of it) "If I read about something happening to a 40 year old Japanese woman in Pushkar, I'll know something's gone terribly wrong with you."
Sigh. Because there was a very unpleasant article in the Times of India about something happening to a foreign women in Pushkar, 2 days before Rich left. Rich mentioned it. Swamiji mentioned it. Fellow travellers mentioned it. Even my Hotel manager mentioned it.
But don't anybody worry. I appear to have been adopted into a large Indian family, most of the Hotel staff, according to the manager.
Yesterday, after drinking two capfuls of cough syrup and feeling mightily tired, I disappeared into my room at noon and slept for 4 hours, waking up from many strange dreams. I got up and forced myself to go out at 5 to eat dinner.
Babu & Rakesh both commented on it today, with Babu saying "something was wrong with you" and Rakesh adding, "you were missing your family, I think."
I replied, "I don't know, I had a fever when I woke up." I was sweating, which was strange since it was chilly outside (which means it's chilly inside). I also added, "I'm used to being by myself."
But of course, the difference is, one feels like one has more of a choice in a familiar environment, like back home, you can turn off the phone, go for a walk by yourself and know that no one is going to accost you or follow you for cash. Well, mostly. I do live on the Drive, but you know what I mean.
"You don't like speaking with others, you keep to yourself and your books," Babu noted.
I didn't want to say, "No, well, it's hard to know who's safe to talk to, who isn't going to invite me to their home under supreme secrecy, then take back the offer because I'm not about to help her husband's watery armpit problem."
So I said "I'm shy."
It's not far from the truth.
Shy, lonely, what difference does it make?
I think I'll see if I can get home through this wedding procession coming down the road (wish me luck) and call it a day.
How to Outwit a Mosquito, Courtesy of Yoganadaji
Oh how thrilled I was to come across this in Autobiography of a Yogi:
My early months with Sri Yukteswar culminated in a useful lesson—"How to Outwit a Mosquito." At home my family always used protective curtains at night. I was dismayed to discover that in the Serampore hermitage this prudent custom was honored in the breach. Yet the insects were in full residency; I was bitten from head to foot. My guru took pity on me.
"Buy yourself a curtain, and also one for me." He laughed and added, "If you buy only one, for yourself, all mosquitoes will concentrate on me!"
I was more than thankful to comply. Every night that I spent in Serampore, my guru would ask me to arrange the bedtime curtains.
The mosquitoes one evening were especially virulent. But Master failed to issue his usual instructions. I listened nervously to the anticipatory hum of the insects. Getting into bed, I threw a propitiatory prayer in their general direction. A half hour later, I coughed pretentiously to attract my guru's attention. I thought I would go mad with the bites and especially the singing drone as the mosquitoes celebrated bloodthirsty rites.
No responsive stir from Master; I approached him cautiously. He was not breathing. This was my first observation of him in the yogic trance; it filled me with fright.
"His heart must have failed!" I placed a mirror under his nose; no breath-vapor appeared. To make doubly certain, for minutes I closed his mouth and nostrils with my fingers. His body was cold and motionless. In a daze, I turned toward the door to summon help.
"So! A budding experimentalist! My poor nose!" Master's voice was shaky with laughter. "Why don't you go to bed? Is the whole world going to change for you? Change yourself: be rid of the mosquito consciousness."
Meekly I returned to my bed. Not one insect ventured near. I realized that my guru had previously agreed to the curtains only to please me; he had no fear of mosquitoes. His yogic power was such that he either could will them not to bite, or could escape to an inner invulnerability.
"He was giving me a demonstration," I thought. "That is the yogic state I must strive to attain." A yogi must be able to pass into, and continue in, the superconsciousness, regardless of multitudinous distractions never absent from this earth. Whether in the buzz of insects or the pervasive glare of daylight, the testimony of the senses must be barred. Sound and sight come then indeed, but to worlds fairer than the banished Eden.
Okey dokey. Got that? In passing this on I may have just saved you muchos moola you woulda wasted on mosquito netting and repellent*.
No thanks neccessary, your undying devotion and friendship will suffice.
*Please note: Natural/herbal mosquito repellent from Canada appears to be an aphrodisiac for the Indian mosquito. Wait till you get here, then purchase the DDT repellent. It's available over-the-counter, at Money Changers/Jewellers/Travel Agents everywhere.
My early months with Sri Yukteswar culminated in a useful lesson—"How to Outwit a Mosquito." At home my family always used protective curtains at night. I was dismayed to discover that in the Serampore hermitage this prudent custom was honored in the breach. Yet the insects were in full residency; I was bitten from head to foot. My guru took pity on me.
"Buy yourself a curtain, and also one for me." He laughed and added, "If you buy only one, for yourself, all mosquitoes will concentrate on me!"
I was more than thankful to comply. Every night that I spent in Serampore, my guru would ask me to arrange the bedtime curtains.
The mosquitoes one evening were especially virulent. But Master failed to issue his usual instructions. I listened nervously to the anticipatory hum of the insects. Getting into bed, I threw a propitiatory prayer in their general direction. A half hour later, I coughed pretentiously to attract my guru's attention. I thought I would go mad with the bites and especially the singing drone as the mosquitoes celebrated bloodthirsty rites.
No responsive stir from Master; I approached him cautiously. He was not breathing. This was my first observation of him in the yogic trance; it filled me with fright.
"His heart must have failed!" I placed a mirror under his nose; no breath-vapor appeared. To make doubly certain, for minutes I closed his mouth and nostrils with my fingers. His body was cold and motionless. In a daze, I turned toward the door to summon help.
"So! A budding experimentalist! My poor nose!" Master's voice was shaky with laughter. "Why don't you go to bed? Is the whole world going to change for you? Change yourself: be rid of the mosquito consciousness."
Meekly I returned to my bed. Not one insect ventured near. I realized that my guru had previously agreed to the curtains only to please me; he had no fear of mosquitoes. His yogic power was such that he either could will them not to bite, or could escape to an inner invulnerability.
"He was giving me a demonstration," I thought. "That is the yogic state I must strive to attain." A yogi must be able to pass into, and continue in, the superconsciousness, regardless of multitudinous distractions never absent from this earth. Whether in the buzz of insects or the pervasive glare of daylight, the testimony of the senses must be barred. Sound and sight come then indeed, but to worlds fairer than the banished Eden.
Okey dokey. Got that? In passing this on I may have just saved you muchos moola you woulda wasted on mosquito netting and repellent*.
No thanks neccessary, your undying devotion and friendship will suffice.
*Please note: Natural/herbal mosquito repellent from Canada appears to be an aphrodisiac for the Indian mosquito. Wait till you get here, then purchase the DDT repellent. It's available over-the-counter, at Money Changers/Jewellers/Travel Agents everywhere.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Sights and Sounds of Pushkar
As recorded by one Eufemia Fantetti, Esquire.
Seen: The T-shirt, on the guy searching for a rave to go to in this desert state, says "F*** OFF (image of a marijuana leaf) I HAVE GLAUCOMA"
Heard: Koreans going wild after returning from their Camel Safari in the area surrounding Pushkar. I keep being offered the fabulous opportunity for a Camel Safari, which Rich & I thought about doing, but in the end cost was prohibitive. And once you've been to the real deal, African Lion Safari (Canada's Original Safari Adventure!) in Cambridge, Ontario, you don't tend to get as excited as the Koreans. Come to think of it, I think some monkeys bared their teeth at me in Cambridge too. I have a memory, could be totally false, of my Dad saying "Don't upset you the monkey."
Seen: Painted Cows. Mostly, it was their horns; green, blue, orange, red. But on India Republic Day, there were several pinkish cows to be seen. I think they (the cows) were sad examples of the old "blue rinse" problem that attacks some of the heads of seniors bent on delaying the course of time on their hair. I think the cows were supposed to be red, but it was a "pink rinse" result. I would ask Rakesh if we could go "paint the town, I mean, cow red" but so far everyone's thinking I'm a nice girl. No knowing how that could go over. My reputation from Bihar has not followed me this far, only because I think it's taking awhile to develop the film on those incriminating photos.
Heard: "Helloooooo! Hell-low! Hell-o!" often said before the words 'chapatti, chocolate, chips-'. As in "Hello I want chapatti, you give me-". Really, they had me at Hellooo.
Seen: This morning, a small mosquito in my room. Pushkar's been uncharacteristically cold. I haven't seen a mosquito, heard a mosquito, or had a mosquito bite me in 2 weeks. Let's all stay calm. I mean, what's a desert mosquito got against me? (Why, dear Lord, why are there mosquitos in the desert? When you have a moment, I mean, it's a simple question, not like: What's the meaning of life?) There's no need to worry, right? And the Free Clinic is only a few feet away from the Hotel Om. I have a feeling this is my karma for laughing at that poor man's reaction yesterday. But you know, I was laughing on the inside. It's not like he could tell he was the cause of much mirth and merrymaking.
Heard: Distant but loud drumming and chanting. At one o'clock in the morning. It woke me up. The type of drumming and chanting that in the old black & white Tarzan movies would usually cause some poor old English bloke, lost in the jungle, to comment "The natives sound restless. We'd better hurry. This region has several cannibal tribes." Usually he says this while moping his brow with a white linen handkerchief, the same handkerchief the camera pans to and shows fallen on some rock or bush, just so you know the fate of such an insolent British chap, wearing his pith helmet at a ridiculously cocky angle.
So I sat up and read in my Lonely Planet guidebook "while India has more vegetarians than the rest of the world combined, it still has an extensive repertoire of carnivorous fare." Excuuuuuse me? Ah, no worries (tikka, tikka) unless you're a goat, lamb or chicken.
Hakuna matata. Or tikka tikka, if you really want to fit in here.
Seen: The T-shirt, on the guy searching for a rave to go to in this desert state, says "F*** OFF (image of a marijuana leaf) I HAVE GLAUCOMA"
Heard: Koreans going wild after returning from their Camel Safari in the area surrounding Pushkar. I keep being offered the fabulous opportunity for a Camel Safari, which Rich & I thought about doing, but in the end cost was prohibitive. And once you've been to the real deal, African Lion Safari (Canada's Original Safari Adventure!) in Cambridge, Ontario, you don't tend to get as excited as the Koreans. Come to think of it, I think some monkeys bared their teeth at me in Cambridge too. I have a memory, could be totally false, of my Dad saying "Don't upset you the monkey."
Seen: Painted Cows. Mostly, it was their horns; green, blue, orange, red. But on India Republic Day, there were several pinkish cows to be seen. I think they (the cows) were sad examples of the old "blue rinse" problem that attacks some of the heads of seniors bent on delaying the course of time on their hair. I think the cows were supposed to be red, but it was a "pink rinse" result. I would ask Rakesh if we could go "paint the town, I mean, cow red" but so far everyone's thinking I'm a nice girl. No knowing how that could go over. My reputation from Bihar has not followed me this far, only because I think it's taking awhile to develop the film on those incriminating photos.
Heard: "Helloooooo! Hell-low! Hell-o!" often said before the words 'chapatti, chocolate, chips-'. As in "Hello I want chapatti, you give me-". Really, they had me at Hellooo.
Seen: This morning, a small mosquito in my room. Pushkar's been uncharacteristically cold. I haven't seen a mosquito, heard a mosquito, or had a mosquito bite me in 2 weeks. Let's all stay calm. I mean, what's a desert mosquito got against me? (Why, dear Lord, why are there mosquitos in the desert? When you have a moment, I mean, it's a simple question, not like: What's the meaning of life?) There's no need to worry, right? And the Free Clinic is only a few feet away from the Hotel Om. I have a feeling this is my karma for laughing at that poor man's reaction yesterday. But you know, I was laughing on the inside. It's not like he could tell he was the cause of much mirth and merrymaking.
Heard: Distant but loud drumming and chanting. At one o'clock in the morning. It woke me up. The type of drumming and chanting that in the old black & white Tarzan movies would usually cause some poor old English bloke, lost in the jungle, to comment "The natives sound restless. We'd better hurry. This region has several cannibal tribes." Usually he says this while moping his brow with a white linen handkerchief, the same handkerchief the camera pans to and shows fallen on some rock or bush, just so you know the fate of such an insolent British chap, wearing his pith helmet at a ridiculously cocky angle.
So I sat up and read in my Lonely Planet guidebook "while India has more vegetarians than the rest of the world combined, it still has an extensive repertoire of carnivorous fare." Excuuuuuse me? Ah, no worries (tikka, tikka) unless you're a goat, lamb or chicken.
Hakuna matata. Or tikka tikka, if you really want to fit in here.
The rain in Spain, the ants in Rajasthan
Uhm, Rajasthani ants, desert ants, appear to be a cross between a spider and 'the mother of all ants"
The head is bright red, and the area that I would refer to as 'the shoulders' on a human body is also red. Something in my reptilian, primitive brain is telling me that the colour red and ants go together like snake and run. The body is black, and the legs go up and down like a spider's. They look like something out of a Tim burton movie and they crawl with alarming speed.
For those who remember my pest problem in my previous abode (problem = one part infestation in the form of an ant nest above my balcony, three parts building manager not willing to acknowledge said problem. "Maybe you left some food out on the counter, Mia?" Maybe, or maybe you're a lying, moneygrubbing scoundrel. I wonder which one it could be. I see no crumbs of evidence pointing the guilty finger my way) you may have heard me tell the shocking tale of "the ant who dared to crawl across my arm"? No? Let me refresh your memories.
It crawled across my arm as I was falling asleep one night. My arm was situated under my duvet, comfortably close and tucked into my tired form. I sleepily brushed what I believed to be an errant hair off my forearm before my sense of touch kicked in and my central universe system shot a message to my brain that woke me up, saying: SOMETHING JUST CRAWLED ACROSS MY BODY.
I threw the covers back and there was the offending insect, scurrying (shudder, shudder) away. I grabbed some kleenex, caught the sucker and threw it out the window. As you may have deduced, I was still trying to practice ahimsa, the yogic practice of non-violence, harmlessness. I tossed several ants out my window this way, hoping the kleenex worked as a mini-parachute for them all. Yes, it did mean I was littering the front walk way of the building with kleenex, but I still think that's a small price to pay for saving a life, being called a litterbug. Sticks and stones...
You will still think me more fortunate that my friend Shelley, who lived directly across the hall and had a problem with cockroaches coming down from the apartment above hers. The north side of the building, cockroaches. Southside, ants. Setting the stage for an insect West Side Story.
The pest controller, Sean, took one look at something that appeared to my ignorant eye to be a sesame seed and said "That's an egg. That means there's at least 36 cockroaches in here." One egg = 36 cockroaches. If this question ever comes up in your Trivial Pursuit game, you can all thank me later. He also called them German cockroaches.
How'd he know that? It's not like I heard him ask, "Wie geht es Ihnen?"
How'd they get past immigration?
But I digress. desert ants are very disturbing in appearance and remind me, quite frequently that I'm not focused on my breath or pose if I'm watching them with total dread. A few have crossed my yoga mat. Just like the monkeys, these buggers don't listen to the sound waves coming off me in surround-sound: "AAAAHH! GO AWAY! OMIGOD! GO GO GO AWAY!"
Maybe I should be thinking it in Hindi?
The head is bright red, and the area that I would refer to as 'the shoulders' on a human body is also red. Something in my reptilian, primitive brain is telling me that the colour red and ants go together like snake and run. The body is black, and the legs go up and down like a spider's. They look like something out of a Tim burton movie and they crawl with alarming speed.
For those who remember my pest problem in my previous abode (problem = one part infestation in the form of an ant nest above my balcony, three parts building manager not willing to acknowledge said problem. "Maybe you left some food out on the counter, Mia?" Maybe, or maybe you're a lying, moneygrubbing scoundrel. I wonder which one it could be. I see no crumbs of evidence pointing the guilty finger my way) you may have heard me tell the shocking tale of "the ant who dared to crawl across my arm"? No? Let me refresh your memories.
It crawled across my arm as I was falling asleep one night. My arm was situated under my duvet, comfortably close and tucked into my tired form. I sleepily brushed what I believed to be an errant hair off my forearm before my sense of touch kicked in and my central universe system shot a message to my brain that woke me up, saying: SOMETHING JUST CRAWLED ACROSS MY BODY.
I threw the covers back and there was the offending insect, scurrying (shudder, shudder) away. I grabbed some kleenex, caught the sucker and threw it out the window. As you may have deduced, I was still trying to practice ahimsa, the yogic practice of non-violence, harmlessness. I tossed several ants out my window this way, hoping the kleenex worked as a mini-parachute for them all. Yes, it did mean I was littering the front walk way of the building with kleenex, but I still think that's a small price to pay for saving a life, being called a litterbug. Sticks and stones...
You will still think me more fortunate that my friend Shelley, who lived directly across the hall and had a problem with cockroaches coming down from the apartment above hers. The north side of the building, cockroaches. Southside, ants. Setting the stage for an insect West Side Story.
The pest controller, Sean, took one look at something that appeared to my ignorant eye to be a sesame seed and said "That's an egg. That means there's at least 36 cockroaches in here." One egg = 36 cockroaches. If this question ever comes up in your Trivial Pursuit game, you can all thank me later. He also called them German cockroaches.
How'd he know that? It's not like I heard him ask, "Wie geht es Ihnen?"
How'd they get past immigration?
But I digress. desert ants are very disturbing in appearance and remind me, quite frequently that I'm not focused on my breath or pose if I'm watching them with total dread. A few have crossed my yoga mat. Just like the monkeys, these buggers don't listen to the sound waves coming off me in surround-sound: "AAAAHH! GO AWAY! OMIGOD! GO GO GO AWAY!"
Maybe I should be thinking it in Hindi?
Friday, January 25, 2008
Central Universe System
My previous Yoga teacher (the one before Swami Shyam Lal, a.k.a India's answer to Kris Kringle) said once "this position is for to benefit the central universe system" but then corrected himself and said "central nervous system" - I think I prefer the first version.
Well, it's true, like that old saying goes "7 days without prayer makes one week", 2 days without Yoga practice makes for a shamefully, disgraceful Tree pose. I thought I was going to knock over the gal on the next mat, Sarah, (fellow Team Canada friend and Ashram escapee).
Though I managed to do this one pose, and hold the position for one-one-millionith of a nano-second, which I thought was pretty good. Heck if I could remember what that pose is called but it's somewhere between 'peacock' and 'you've got to be kidding me'. It involves lifting and holding your entire body weight onto your arms, as you tuck your knees into your armpits, sort of. Of course, the holding was where I was faltering. Alright, if you want to get picky about it, the lift was no gracious maneoveur either. I felt about as graceful as a NASA Space Shuttle trying to blast off: much like the fire they need to ignite that heap o' engineered metal, I huffed and puffed and nearly blew my own house down. A great deal of wheezing and coughing was to be had as well.
But I did lift of the ground, momentarily. I can't tell you what a major accomplishment that is, considering the amount of chips, chocolate, tea biscuits, Bourbon Cream Cookies, chocolate croissants and sugary chai I've consumed. That's pure white sugar I'm talking about. I'm one step away from free-basing it.
Yes, this is how Eufemia deals with seeing mass poverty around her, she stuffs her face with junk food.
Enlightenment is a gracefully executed hop, skip and a jump away. I can just feel it.
Ah, well, it's a little too cold to feel anything really. My hands are numb and it was so windy at class this morning that my yoga mat kept blowing up to smack me in the arse.
It's hard not to see that sort of thing as a sign, y'know?
The thing is, I still get to look out over Pushkar Lake as I try to do the Triangle pose (I'm supposed to be looking at my hand, but my neck doesn't want to go that way. I'm trying! As that famous muppet Yoda said "Do or not do! There is no try." I wouldn't hire me to be a Jedi knight either. I was trying to use the force this morning in that pose and I nearly landed on my face, with my full body weight behind me.)
I see the temple next to the yoga centre as I balance in standing pose. (Oh, yeah, you think it's soooo easy to stand. You're fooling yourself.) I see the ghats when I turn right. Then I see the German bakery when I leave and all feels well with the central universe system.
This is terrible but the gentleman with the southern drawl sitting at the computer next to me, (who was speaking loudly about all his shopping finds and next stops to be had and giving his friend back in Savannah some relationship advice "Nah, y'all tell her she's crah-zee and she cahn't have it both ways. Tell her she's crah-zee now and she's always been crah-zee") well this fellow had a bit of a freakout because there was a mosquito in here. One. He flailed his arms around, waved his hands and said "Mosquito! Awh my Gawhd, there's a mosquito in heh-re!"
I didn't even move. I just kept typing. Actually, I almost accessed my inner-Commando, the one I didn't even know I had, nearly slapping him across the face and yelling: "Pull yourself together, mister! I need you to be a man about this! You think you can handle that, or am I gonna have to start calling you CUPCAKE?"
I don't know where that impulse was coming from. Maybe I should lay off the sugary chai.
With gratitude to Ayelet, I bow to her spirit as intrepid travelling Goddess extraordinaire and I offer the follwing two quotes:
You are not here to merely make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world, and you impoverish yourself if you forget that errand. - Woodrow Wilson
The worst thing you write is still better than the best thing you didn't write. - unknown.
I love that last one. I think it applies to everything - the worst thing that you paint, sculpt, dance, sing, do - is still better than the best thing you didn't do.
Dhanyavad for reading.
Much friends having in Pushkar too, far away, but much friends. Just breathe, and feel this in your central universe system.
Well, it's true, like that old saying goes "7 days without prayer makes one week", 2 days without Yoga practice makes for a shamefully, disgraceful Tree pose. I thought I was going to knock over the gal on the next mat, Sarah, (fellow Team Canada friend and Ashram escapee).
Though I managed to do this one pose, and hold the position for one-one-millionith of a nano-second, which I thought was pretty good. Heck if I could remember what that pose is called but it's somewhere between 'peacock' and 'you've got to be kidding me'. It involves lifting and holding your entire body weight onto your arms, as you tuck your knees into your armpits, sort of. Of course, the holding was where I was faltering. Alright, if you want to get picky about it, the lift was no gracious maneoveur either. I felt about as graceful as a NASA Space Shuttle trying to blast off: much like the fire they need to ignite that heap o' engineered metal, I huffed and puffed and nearly blew my own house down. A great deal of wheezing and coughing was to be had as well.
But I did lift of the ground, momentarily. I can't tell you what a major accomplishment that is, considering the amount of chips, chocolate, tea biscuits, Bourbon Cream Cookies, chocolate croissants and sugary chai I've consumed. That's pure white sugar I'm talking about. I'm one step away from free-basing it.
Yes, this is how Eufemia deals with seeing mass poverty around her, she stuffs her face with junk food.
Enlightenment is a gracefully executed hop, skip and a jump away. I can just feel it.
Ah, well, it's a little too cold to feel anything really. My hands are numb and it was so windy at class this morning that my yoga mat kept blowing up to smack me in the arse.
It's hard not to see that sort of thing as a sign, y'know?
The thing is, I still get to look out over Pushkar Lake as I try to do the Triangle pose (I'm supposed to be looking at my hand, but my neck doesn't want to go that way. I'm trying! As that famous muppet Yoda said "Do or not do! There is no try." I wouldn't hire me to be a Jedi knight either. I was trying to use the force this morning in that pose and I nearly landed on my face, with my full body weight behind me.)
I see the temple next to the yoga centre as I balance in standing pose. (Oh, yeah, you think it's soooo easy to stand. You're fooling yourself.) I see the ghats when I turn right. Then I see the German bakery when I leave and all feels well with the central universe system.
This is terrible but the gentleman with the southern drawl sitting at the computer next to me, (who was speaking loudly about all his shopping finds and next stops to be had and giving his friend back in Savannah some relationship advice "Nah, y'all tell her she's crah-zee and she cahn't have it both ways. Tell her she's crah-zee now and she's always been crah-zee") well this fellow had a bit of a freakout because there was a mosquito in here. One. He flailed his arms around, waved his hands and said "Mosquito! Awh my Gawhd, there's a mosquito in heh-re!"
I didn't even move. I just kept typing. Actually, I almost accessed my inner-Commando, the one I didn't even know I had, nearly slapping him across the face and yelling: "Pull yourself together, mister! I need you to be a man about this! You think you can handle that, or am I gonna have to start calling you CUPCAKE?"
I don't know where that impulse was coming from. Maybe I should lay off the sugary chai.
With gratitude to Ayelet, I bow to her spirit as intrepid travelling Goddess extraordinaire and I offer the follwing two quotes:
You are not here to merely make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world, and you impoverish yourself if you forget that errand. - Woodrow Wilson
The worst thing you write is still better than the best thing you didn't write. - unknown.
I love that last one. I think it applies to everything - the worst thing that you paint, sculpt, dance, sing, do - is still better than the best thing you didn't do.
Dhanyavad for reading.
Much friends having in Pushkar too, far away, but much friends. Just breathe, and feel this in your central universe system.
That Which You are Seeking is Causing You to Seek
Alright. It appears I am missing human company in the form of Rich, as here I am, clearly going blog-mental.
Firstly, I wish you all a Happy India Republic Day (January 26th). I'll be thinking of you all as I sip my chai.
Secondly, I came to the internet several times today seeking words of encouragement from my favourite teachers, sages and gossip sites. Balance, it's all about balance. I added the Hafiz poem, and now, some words from Zen teacher Cheri Huber:
We already are that which we are seeking. Every spiritual path tells us this: "That which you are seeking is causing you to seek." "We are God man-ifest in time and eternity." "For behold, the Kingdom of God is within you." But why is this so hard for us to know? To me, it is because the social conditioning we receive as children teaches us there is something wrong with us, and that to be loved and accepted we must improve ourselves. We start out just how we are, and then we are changed, fixed, punished, and altered until we become someone who is "appropriate" and "acceptable." Then we are able to fit into a family and a society. Miss Manners(!) said, "We are all born charming, fresh, and spontaneous and must be civilized before we are fit to participate in society."
Unless you were raised by wolves, you probably heard at least a few of the following as you were growing up: "Don't do that.... Why don't you ever listen?... Wipe that look off your face.... You shouldn't feel that way.... You should have known better.... You should be ashamed of yourself.... I can't believe you did that.... It serves you right.... What were you thinking of?... The nurses must have dropped you on your head.... I had great hopes for you.... Don't talk back to me.... Do as you are told.... Don't you ever think about anyone else?" Somewhere along the line we conclude there is some-thing wrong with us. What else could we conclude? If there were nothing wrong with us, people would not say those things, would they?
Being intelligent creatures, we soon take over the job of punishing ourselves, punishment being the way to improve so that we can be who and how we should be. We learn the self-improvement process as quickly as possible so we can fix ourselves before anyone else notices we need fixing. As a result, most people grow up with an unshakable belief that the primary reason they are "good" is that they punish themselves when they are "bad." The very thought of not punishing ourselves when we make mistakes, say and do stupid things, feel inappropriate feelings, or act "bad," makes us nervous: If I don't punish myself when I do something wrong, what will keep me from doing it again? I might do even worse things!
To this I would say that one process does not lead to another. Punishment does not make us good, punishment makes us punishing. Hating and rejecting ourselves in this moment is not good practice for loving and accepting ourselves in another. Goodness is our inherent nature and punishment is what keeps us from knowing that. We are never going to improve ourselves until we become who we "should" be. If self-improvement worked, it would have by now. Punishment is what keeps us from seeing that there is no one who needs to be punished. It is a learned response, it will never work, and we can let go of it if we are willing.
(excerpted from There is Nothing Wrong with Us: http://www.cherihuber.com/fabric1.html)
Did I mention my new room has a hole on the ground level, just big enough for a mouse to fit through? I'm still trying to decide whether I sacrifice a pair of underwear to stopping up that little corridor.
Figaro!
Firstly, I wish you all a Happy India Republic Day (January 26th). I'll be thinking of you all as I sip my chai.
Secondly, I came to the internet several times today seeking words of encouragement from my favourite teachers, sages and gossip sites. Balance, it's all about balance. I added the Hafiz poem, and now, some words from Zen teacher Cheri Huber:
We already are that which we are seeking. Every spiritual path tells us this: "That which you are seeking is causing you to seek." "We are God man-ifest in time and eternity." "For behold, the Kingdom of God is within you." But why is this so hard for us to know? To me, it is because the social conditioning we receive as children teaches us there is something wrong with us, and that to be loved and accepted we must improve ourselves. We start out just how we are, and then we are changed, fixed, punished, and altered until we become someone who is "appropriate" and "acceptable." Then we are able to fit into a family and a society. Miss Manners(!) said, "We are all born charming, fresh, and spontaneous and must be civilized before we are fit to participate in society."
Unless you were raised by wolves, you probably heard at least a few of the following as you were growing up: "Don't do that.... Why don't you ever listen?... Wipe that look off your face.... You shouldn't feel that way.... You should have known better.... You should be ashamed of yourself.... I can't believe you did that.... It serves you right.... What were you thinking of?... The nurses must have dropped you on your head.... I had great hopes for you.... Don't talk back to me.... Do as you are told.... Don't you ever think about anyone else?" Somewhere along the line we conclude there is some-thing wrong with us. What else could we conclude? If there were nothing wrong with us, people would not say those things, would they?
Being intelligent creatures, we soon take over the job of punishing ourselves, punishment being the way to improve so that we can be who and how we should be. We learn the self-improvement process as quickly as possible so we can fix ourselves before anyone else notices we need fixing. As a result, most people grow up with an unshakable belief that the primary reason they are "good" is that they punish themselves when they are "bad." The very thought of not punishing ourselves when we make mistakes, say and do stupid things, feel inappropriate feelings, or act "bad," makes us nervous: If I don't punish myself when I do something wrong, what will keep me from doing it again? I might do even worse things!
To this I would say that one process does not lead to another. Punishment does not make us good, punishment makes us punishing. Hating and rejecting ourselves in this moment is not good practice for loving and accepting ourselves in another. Goodness is our inherent nature and punishment is what keeps us from knowing that. We are never going to improve ourselves until we become who we "should" be. If self-improvement worked, it would have by now. Punishment is what keeps us from seeing that there is no one who needs to be punished. It is a learned response, it will never work, and we can let go of it if we are willing.
(excerpted from There is Nothing Wrong with Us: http://www.cherihuber.com/fabric1.html)
Did I mention my new room has a hole on the ground level, just big enough for a mouse to fit through? I'm still trying to decide whether I sacrifice a pair of underwear to stopping up that little corridor.
Figaro!
We Might have to Medicate You*
*With supreme gratitude to Carolineji for passing this along, I love this poem by Hafiz:
Resist your temptation to lie
By speaking of separation from God,
Otherwise,
We might have to medicate
You.
In the ocean
A lot goes on beneath your eyes.
Listen,
They have clinics there too
For the insane
Who persist in saying things like:
"I am independent from the
Sea,
God is not always around
Gently
Pressing against
My body."
We Might Have To Medicate You
Resist your temptation to lie
By speaking of separation from God,
Otherwise,
We might have to medicate
You.
In the ocean
A lot goes on beneath your eyes.
Listen,
They have clinics there too
For the insane
Who persist in saying things like:
"I am independent from the
Sea,
God is not always around
Gently
Pressing against
My body."
Agra story oopsie*
*I forgot to finish my Agra tale in the previous post, but perhaps y'all figured it out? That noise in Agra was a mouse going through our plastic garbage bag for several hours. I fell asleep again only because I didn't know it was a mouse that was causing all that racket. A very persistant, hungry mouse.
Honestly, I had no idea mice, cows and camels could be so loud. I miss my cat, Figaro Amadeus Fantetti, who according to my Goddess roommate Caroline, has adjusted just fine to my absence.
Big, audible, annoying sigh.
Honestly, I had no idea mice, cows and camels could be so loud. I miss my cat, Figaro Amadeus Fantetti, who according to my Goddess roommate Caroline, has adjusted just fine to my absence.
Big, audible, annoying sigh.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Goodby to the Queen & Rich
Yesterday, Rich and I shared his last Hello to the Queen, as he was leaving early this morning on a bus for Jodhpur, to then catch his 30+ hour train back to Kolkata, and possibly on to Darjeeling.
Recent favourite Rich quote, upon observing a male tourist: "I think camoflauge pants are the last thing I would wear to a 3rd World country. You're pretty much asking them to stick a gun in your face."
Bu-bye!
Sigh.
Much like the circumstances that arose involving my almost complete nakedness in the presence of total strangers in unusual and frosty environs, I was really hoping to avoid finding myself alone in Northern India, making my way like some kind of confident, intrepid dame. I mean, who do I think I am? I'm Canadian, not Australian.
And it doesn't matter how many times I watched "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when I was a kid, Marion Ravenwood I am not.
I was moved into a different room today, but I am still on the ground floor, so the mouse that Rich decided to tell me about late yesterday could decide to come and visit me there as well. I believe I neglected to mention that one morning in Agra, I was woken up at 4:30 a.m. by Rich making a lot of of noise going through a plastic bag, for quite some time. I fell asleep before I could ask him what the heck he was doing. I thought his chest infection had perhaps spread to his frontal lobe and he'd lost it. (Please note: this is also why showing me an armpit would be a wasted act. I am not capable of diagnosing anyone or anything)
While I waited for the door of this room to be fixed (Me: Uhm, sorry, what's wrong with the door? Can it bar the entrance or not? Babu's reply: Of course madam, but if wind coming, door open little, you will feel cold now alone in room. Me: I'm not worried about the wind, really, I'd just like a door that works. ) I spoke with the Hotel manager, Babu, who put me at ease saying "Your friend has leaving, please be careful in the market place now."
After discussing God, women travelling in India alone, and European culture versus Indian culture, Babu decides I am a good person and says "You having other friends in Pushkar, not worrying. Actually I knowing from first meeting, you are good, okay to stay this hotel."
If the hot water works the same, I'm all set. This region's been experiencing quite the cold snap, at one yoga class I could see my breath.
It looks like I'll be able to practice my Hindi, Babu insists I try a few words every day, and my internet friend, Rocky (Hindu name, you guessed it, is Rakeesh) is wanting me to teach him yoga "I will call you Madamji, you can teach me yoga. Also I practise my English."
"Kow tum pagallo?" (Are you crazy? I got him to teach me that so I could say it back to him.) "This is not a good idea, I came here to study yoga with an Indian teacher. You should find one, or come and learn from Swamiji with me. A Canadian teaching an Indian yoga? Puh-leeze!"
I left out the 'a stiff, inflexible, cold, tired, coughing Canadian teaching an Indian yoga...' He would be light years ahead anyways because of the squat toilets.
We'll see what happens next. I think I managed to convey that I am not getting up at 5 a.m. to teach him sun salutations (Surya Namaskar) tomorrow. Hard to say with that language barrier.
Main bahut kam hindi janti hun. Translation: I speak very little Hindi.
I repeated the phrase 3 times to Rakeesh, who taught it to me. The last time, I finally said it with the proper pronunciation. Rakeesh said:
"I know."
Recent favourite Rich quote, upon observing a male tourist: "I think camoflauge pants are the last thing I would wear to a 3rd World country. You're pretty much asking them to stick a gun in your face."
Bu-bye!
Sigh.
Much like the circumstances that arose involving my almost complete nakedness in the presence of total strangers in unusual and frosty environs, I was really hoping to avoid finding myself alone in Northern India, making my way like some kind of confident, intrepid dame. I mean, who do I think I am? I'm Canadian, not Australian.
And it doesn't matter how many times I watched "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when I was a kid, Marion Ravenwood I am not.
I was moved into a different room today, but I am still on the ground floor, so the mouse that Rich decided to tell me about late yesterday could decide to come and visit me there as well. I believe I neglected to mention that one morning in Agra, I was woken up at 4:30 a.m. by Rich making a lot of of noise going through a plastic bag, for quite some time. I fell asleep before I could ask him what the heck he was doing. I thought his chest infection had perhaps spread to his frontal lobe and he'd lost it. (Please note: this is also why showing me an armpit would be a wasted act. I am not capable of diagnosing anyone or anything)
While I waited for the door of this room to be fixed (Me: Uhm, sorry, what's wrong with the door? Can it bar the entrance or not? Babu's reply: Of course madam, but if wind coming, door open little, you will feel cold now alone in room. Me: I'm not worried about the wind, really, I'd just like a door that works. ) I spoke with the Hotel manager, Babu, who put me at ease saying "Your friend has leaving, please be careful in the market place now."
After discussing God, women travelling in India alone, and European culture versus Indian culture, Babu decides I am a good person and says "You having other friends in Pushkar, not worrying. Actually I knowing from first meeting, you are good, okay to stay this hotel."
If the hot water works the same, I'm all set. This region's been experiencing quite the cold snap, at one yoga class I could see my breath.
It looks like I'll be able to practice my Hindi, Babu insists I try a few words every day, and my internet friend, Rocky (Hindu name, you guessed it, is Rakeesh) is wanting me to teach him yoga "I will call you Madamji, you can teach me yoga. Also I practise my English."
"Kow tum pagallo?" (Are you crazy? I got him to teach me that so I could say it back to him.) "This is not a good idea, I came here to study yoga with an Indian teacher. You should find one, or come and learn from Swamiji with me. A Canadian teaching an Indian yoga? Puh-leeze!"
I left out the 'a stiff, inflexible, cold, tired, coughing Canadian teaching an Indian yoga...' He would be light years ahead anyways because of the squat toilets.
We'll see what happens next. I think I managed to convey that I am not getting up at 5 a.m. to teach him sun salutations (Surya Namaskar) tomorrow. Hard to say with that language barrier.
Main bahut kam hindi janti hun. Translation: I speak very little Hindi.
I repeated the phrase 3 times to Rakeesh, who taught it to me. The last time, I finally said it with the proper pronunciation. Rakeesh said:
"I know."
Flowers, for me? You shouldn't have.
Almost every day in Pushkar, a man will try to give me a flower, a carnation, and direct me to the lake.
It makes me think of that commercial I hated in the late 1980's, for that aerosol spray perfume called 'Impulse' - of all things. The commercial had a guy running to a flower stand to buy flowers for a woman who had just walked past him, after he had caught a whiff of her incredibly cheap but supposedly irresistable eau de toilet. The tag line for the product was when a complete stranger suddenly gives you flowers, that's Impulse.
As if. I'd call it stalking, but then let's remember, I have at times been accused of being unromantic. By several different people. That sort of thing gets me right here, y'know?(Image to go with this sentiment: see me hitting my chest, where my heart is, with my fist)
But here in Pushkar, it's somewhere between stalking and 'there's a sucker born in the West every minute'.
Rich and I kept avoiding the offer, with Rich one day saying "Yes, the lake's that way, you go. Go to the lake."
The man responded "you should be going, not me."
It's easy to have your suspicions aroused when they're so adamant that one should carry this flower down to the lake and that it's so vital, or one really isn't immersed in a Pushkar vibe, is not really into progressing spiritually. The first day, the fellow who gave us flowers popped up 3 times from 3 different ghat entrances to say "Hello, Lake this way," and "Excuse me, this way is going to the lake."
I had it happen again on my second day when I was off to find the yoga class. I left the hotel, and said hello to the hotel manager. A fellow on the street noticed me, said something to the manager, whose reply was very short, and the next thing I knew, a flower was thrust into my hand.
My Hindi is really not improving at all (I'd just like to point out the phrasebook's a bust. There's no record of "good morning" or "good night" but there is "Do you have a sister?" Uhm, why would I care to know that? Rich would, but I don't) but I still guessed that the exchange was something like:
"Is she new in town?"
"Yes"
This gentleman popped up at the next ghat entrance I passed, saying "Madam, lake is this way." (You can't really miss Pushkar Lake, 'the lake that emerged when Buddha dropped a lotus flower', the town is built around it. You can only walk towards it, or away from it, usually, you are walking around it.)
I said "Yes, dhanyavad, I can't go now."
He insisted I go, there was a festival on (if so, it was the quietest festival India has ever put on) "Now is best time going, you know what festival means Madam?"
Gosh, no, I better check that phrasebook. Could it mean "let's herd the foreigners down to the lake and put another one over on them?" Just a wild guess, hang on, this darn phrasebook, it's not even worth the $2.
I try again to explain, I really can't now, I've got to find this class. "Sir, I don't understand why I have to go down to..."
"Look here, there are three Gods," he starts, "Brahma,"
In my impatience I say "I know this, and there's Shiva and Vishnu, but why do I have to go to the lake? I don't mean any disrespect but I don't understand the custom -" and perhaps you've noticed, dear readers, I noted the signs from Day 1 and took them very seriously. There will be no photographing, no shoes within 30 steps of the ghats, no inappropriate displays of affection, etc.
The man says "Okay, give me," and takes the flower back.
Fine by me. Easy come, easy go. When a complete stranger suddenly gives you flowers, that's weird.
Later, I asked a fellow Canadian who was also at the Ashram and who Rich and I re-connected to in town "What's the deal with the flowers? Is that happening to you too?"
Sure was. In fact, she referred to it as "being Puja'd".
Puja means offering. So you go down to the lake, where some priest will find you. In fact, he's been waiting for you. He asks you to "repeat after me", which our friend did, up until the part that went "I will make a donation."
Then she walked away.
"Bad karma for you," said the helpful priest.
My dad's right, there's no such thing as a free lunch. Or a free carnation.
It makes me think of that commercial I hated in the late 1980's, for that aerosol spray perfume called 'Impulse' - of all things. The commercial had a guy running to a flower stand to buy flowers for a woman who had just walked past him, after he had caught a whiff of her incredibly cheap but supposedly irresistable eau de toilet. The tag line for the product was when a complete stranger suddenly gives you flowers, that's Impulse.
As if. I'd call it stalking, but then let's remember, I have at times been accused of being unromantic. By several different people. That sort of thing gets me right here, y'know?(Image to go with this sentiment: see me hitting my chest, where my heart is, with my fist)
But here in Pushkar, it's somewhere between stalking and 'there's a sucker born in the West every minute'.
Rich and I kept avoiding the offer, with Rich one day saying "Yes, the lake's that way, you go. Go to the lake."
The man responded "you should be going, not me."
It's easy to have your suspicions aroused when they're so adamant that one should carry this flower down to the lake and that it's so vital, or one really isn't immersed in a Pushkar vibe, is not really into progressing spiritually. The first day, the fellow who gave us flowers popped up 3 times from 3 different ghat entrances to say "Hello, Lake this way," and "Excuse me, this way is going to the lake."
I had it happen again on my second day when I was off to find the yoga class. I left the hotel, and said hello to the hotel manager. A fellow on the street noticed me, said something to the manager, whose reply was very short, and the next thing I knew, a flower was thrust into my hand.
My Hindi is really not improving at all (I'd just like to point out the phrasebook's a bust. There's no record of "good morning" or "good night" but there is "Do you have a sister?" Uhm, why would I care to know that? Rich would, but I don't) but I still guessed that the exchange was something like:
"Is she new in town?"
"Yes"
This gentleman popped up at the next ghat entrance I passed, saying "Madam, lake is this way." (You can't really miss Pushkar Lake, 'the lake that emerged when Buddha dropped a lotus flower', the town is built around it. You can only walk towards it, or away from it, usually, you are walking around it.)
I said "Yes, dhanyavad, I can't go now."
He insisted I go, there was a festival on (if so, it was the quietest festival India has ever put on) "Now is best time going, you know what festival means Madam?"
Gosh, no, I better check that phrasebook. Could it mean "let's herd the foreigners down to the lake and put another one over on them?" Just a wild guess, hang on, this darn phrasebook, it's not even worth the $2.
I try again to explain, I really can't now, I've got to find this class. "Sir, I don't understand why I have to go down to..."
"Look here, there are three Gods," he starts, "Brahma,"
In my impatience I say "I know this, and there's Shiva and Vishnu, but why do I have to go to the lake? I don't mean any disrespect but I don't understand the custom -" and perhaps you've noticed, dear readers, I noted the signs from Day 1 and took them very seriously. There will be no photographing, no shoes within 30 steps of the ghats, no inappropriate displays of affection, etc.
The man says "Okay, give me," and takes the flower back.
Fine by me. Easy come, easy go. When a complete stranger suddenly gives you flowers, that's weird.
Later, I asked a fellow Canadian who was also at the Ashram and who Rich and I re-connected to in town "What's the deal with the flowers? Is that happening to you too?"
Sure was. In fact, she referred to it as "being Puja'd".
Puja means offering. So you go down to the lake, where some priest will find you. In fact, he's been waiting for you. He asks you to "repeat after me", which our friend did, up until the part that went "I will make a donation."
Then she walked away.
"Bad karma for you," said the helpful priest.
My dad's right, there's no such thing as a free lunch. Or a free carnation.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Change is the only constant in the Universe
A quote from the book Yoga School Dropout, by Lucy Edge:
"She told me that change occurs only when we become what we truly are, not when we are trying to be something we are not. Change can't happen when we are trying to escape our true nature. If I'd learnt anything I had learnt that; unfortunately when you travel you take yourself with you. Perhaps if I could just accept myself as I was and stop trying to be extraordinary, stop trying to be a Yoga Goddess, I would eventually make some progress."
Hear, hear! You go, Goddess.
I wasn't on a quest to become a Yoga Goddess, certainly not, because that would mean curtailing my intake of chocolate croissants after yoga class and hey, life is short enough already. I liked the quote, so I thought I'd pass it along.
The other thing I wanted to pass on was a recipe for Hello to the Queen, which I have googled many a time and still cannot locate. I must say, the Rajasthani are better at preparing this royal dessert than the folks in Varanasi (portions are bigger, ice cream tastes better)
Perhaps they make it with love in their hearts in Pushkar, and hash in their minds in Varanasi. They've got that body-mind connection thing covered. I guess the spirit is just assumed to be everywhere, like God.
Ice cream, chocolate croissants, they're just the messengers. Bliss in a bowl, in a bite.
Hari Om tat sat
(God is the Truth)
"She told me that change occurs only when we become what we truly are, not when we are trying to be something we are not. Change can't happen when we are trying to escape our true nature. If I'd learnt anything I had learnt that; unfortunately when you travel you take yourself with you. Perhaps if I could just accept myself as I was and stop trying to be extraordinary, stop trying to be a Yoga Goddess, I would eventually make some progress."
Hear, hear! You go, Goddess.
I wasn't on a quest to become a Yoga Goddess, certainly not, because that would mean curtailing my intake of chocolate croissants after yoga class and hey, life is short enough already. I liked the quote, so I thought I'd pass it along.
The other thing I wanted to pass on was a recipe for Hello to the Queen, which I have googled many a time and still cannot locate. I must say, the Rajasthani are better at preparing this royal dessert than the folks in Varanasi (portions are bigger, ice cream tastes better)
Perhaps they make it with love in their hearts in Pushkar, and hash in their minds in Varanasi. They've got that body-mind connection thing covered. I guess the spirit is just assumed to be everywhere, like God.
Ice cream, chocolate croissants, they're just the messengers. Bliss in a bowl, in a bite.
Hari Om tat sat
(God is the Truth)
Ixnay on the massage, eh?
I was, after my last massage, not really eager to repeat the experience. But a few days ago, the hotel's cleaning woman, Annu, approaches me and asks me if I would like a massage, for 300 rupees ($9).
My heart wasn't in it to say no. I didn't really want one, but I've seen this woman, like most people here, working so much harder than I ever have, for so much less, so I said okay, "atcha" and we set about trying to negotiate a time.
She says "Wait," and gets her husband, as he speaks English.
Well, no he really doesn't.
There's a bit of confusion, but it's settled that I'll be getting ths massage furtively, in a way that the Hotel manager can't notice because "he's not good boss," and "he not paying enough".
Rich had already mentioned this to me and told me that they had asked him to hand his laundary over to them and pay them directly, as they didn't get paid by the manager for the work they did.
No problem, they are a really young couple, she's only 20, and has been married since she was 15 and has 3 kids and so, alright, sign me up for another awkward experience that requires my nudity. I usually avoid these types of situations like the plague, or rabid monkies.
That's how I find myself waiting and waiting and not understanding what the heck is going on when the husband is trying to explain in English what time this secret massage will occur.
That's also how I find myself freezing and being given this, no other word for it but 'tude, as in attitude, that I don't have any massage oil ready for my massage. I hand over my cream for chapped and drying skin, and yes, it turns out that will suffice, but barely.
That's how I find myself getting the most painful massage I've ever endured. She worked me over like I was an East German Olympic athlete on steriods. But fortunately, it only lasted 25 minutes. Then I went to pay her, and had included a tip on the price she had quoted me, but the price changed (400 rs/$12). I asked about it, but paid the new price.
Then she advised me her husband would need to speak to me again, about an urgent matter. She had to wait in my room for 10 minutes before she could sneak out, unseen. Ten minutes later, when I left the room, they found me in the courtyard, and asked me to step aside.
In broken English, I got this "Israeli", "2000 rupees" (That's $60), "Much water is coming", and "Ajmer" (Ajmer is the nearest city to Pushkar). I must have looked completely befuddled. Annu says to her husband "show, show," so her husband raises his shirt to show me something on his armpit.
I put the story together that much water is coming from this armpit, a trip to a specialist in Ajmer is required, as is 2000 rupees, please. From me.
I stared at him like I didn't understand. I was cold and sore from the massage, and as far as I could see, there was nothing wrong with his armpit. I know, I'm not in the medical profession, but he could get a second opinion besides mine and I've seen several free clinics in Pushkar.
This is a balancing act I haven't mastered. I am in the same tax bracket as King Midas to this young couple, but in my mind this second massage was more than I could afford already. I'm feeling like a skeptical jerk, we're not speaking the same language, but I know we're on the same page; only we're looking at different books, I think they're looking at my bankbook, I feel like I'm looking at an optical illusion book. The kind that has diagrams in it where you have to soften your gaze and the image you've been staring at will finally appear, and make sense. I stare at them and wait.
Finally he says "okay, okay," in a tone like that's enough then, because we're at a stalemate. I can't stand there forever or it will appear suspicious to the manager, and he can't take the chance of drawing attention if he raises his shirt to me again. I say "Okay, dhanyavad. Namaste."
The Israeli part I never figured out.
My heart wasn't in it to say no. I didn't really want one, but I've seen this woman, like most people here, working so much harder than I ever have, for so much less, so I said okay, "atcha" and we set about trying to negotiate a time.
She says "Wait," and gets her husband, as he speaks English.
Well, no he really doesn't.
There's a bit of confusion, but it's settled that I'll be getting ths massage furtively, in a way that the Hotel manager can't notice because "he's not good boss," and "he not paying enough".
Rich had already mentioned this to me and told me that they had asked him to hand his laundary over to them and pay them directly, as they didn't get paid by the manager for the work they did.
No problem, they are a really young couple, she's only 20, and has been married since she was 15 and has 3 kids and so, alright, sign me up for another awkward experience that requires my nudity. I usually avoid these types of situations like the plague, or rabid monkies.
That's how I find myself waiting and waiting and not understanding what the heck is going on when the husband is trying to explain in English what time this secret massage will occur.
That's also how I find myself freezing and being given this, no other word for it but 'tude, as in attitude, that I don't have any massage oil ready for my massage. I hand over my cream for chapped and drying skin, and yes, it turns out that will suffice, but barely.
That's how I find myself getting the most painful massage I've ever endured. She worked me over like I was an East German Olympic athlete on steriods. But fortunately, it only lasted 25 minutes. Then I went to pay her, and had included a tip on the price she had quoted me, but the price changed (400 rs/$12). I asked about it, but paid the new price.
Then she advised me her husband would need to speak to me again, about an urgent matter. She had to wait in my room for 10 minutes before she could sneak out, unseen. Ten minutes later, when I left the room, they found me in the courtyard, and asked me to step aside.
In broken English, I got this "Israeli", "2000 rupees" (That's $60), "Much water is coming", and "Ajmer" (Ajmer is the nearest city to Pushkar). I must have looked completely befuddled. Annu says to her husband "show, show," so her husband raises his shirt to show me something on his armpit.
I put the story together that much water is coming from this armpit, a trip to a specialist in Ajmer is required, as is 2000 rupees, please. From me.
I stared at him like I didn't understand. I was cold and sore from the massage, and as far as I could see, there was nothing wrong with his armpit. I know, I'm not in the medical profession, but he could get a second opinion besides mine and I've seen several free clinics in Pushkar.
This is a balancing act I haven't mastered. I am in the same tax bracket as King Midas to this young couple, but in my mind this second massage was more than I could afford already. I'm feeling like a skeptical jerk, we're not speaking the same language, but I know we're on the same page; only we're looking at different books, I think they're looking at my bankbook, I feel like I'm looking at an optical illusion book. The kind that has diagrams in it where you have to soften your gaze and the image you've been staring at will finally appear, and make sense. I stare at them and wait.
Finally he says "okay, okay," in a tone like that's enough then, because we're at a stalemate. I can't stand there forever or it will appear suspicious to the manager, and he can't take the chance of drawing attention if he raises his shirt to me again. I say "Okay, dhanyavad. Namaste."
The Israeli part I never figured out.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Doctor's Cafe
Yesterday was a full moon day, and I thought of everyone back home, especially my work friends, hoping that it wasn't too over the top. The way it seemed to play out here in Pushkar, Rich & I wandered around for half an hour looking for a place to eat. It was cold and windy, and we needed to sit some place warm and sunny.
The search began at the bottom of the main road, and we ended up and the Lonely Planet recommended Sun n' Moon Cafe. Even though it was lunch time, the place was deserted, and fearing an experience like the one that occurs to Chihiro's parents in the Japanese anime Spirited Away, I thought it best we skip it. Rich thought so too, and suggested the place next door, The Doctor's Cafe.
The courtyard was busy with some men doing construction work but again, no diners, no chai sippers, nada. We stood at the entrance, about to leave, when the men said "Rooftop, rooftop restaurant."
At the top of the stairs, I could confirm that yes, this building had a roof. Okay, let's call it a "rooftop" even, if one wants to get all fancy about it, but calling it a rooftop restaurant is a stretch of the imagination, I found it harder than that Hanumanasana stretch (frontside splits).
There was a plastic white coffee table and four plastic chairs. The table had a tablecloth on it, as well as an ashtray. This does not a restaurant make.
I'd like to point out that I don't think of myself as high maitenance. Neurotic, jah. High maintenance, nyet. In fact, I've sat in a few grubby holes here and had my best lunch and best chai on a rooftop with absolutely no furniture.
I think I just didn't like the feeling I got when I walked into this place, and it was the menu that sealed the deal for me. (I'll keep this PG-13.)
Page one describes The Doctor's Mantra: talking, laughing, joking, f-ing, Enjoy!
I beg your pardon? I don't know where this guy went to med school but it's called a prescription, and I already have my mantra, Guru given, thank you very much.
No doubt it was the mood I was in as well, but I was thoroughly agitated, what with the signs posted everywhere about this is a holy site and please be respectful.
The day before, Rich gave me a copy of Autobiography of a Yogi as a parting gift (he leaves for Thailand in 2 days) and I forgot myself and hugged him "thank you" in the street. Then I remembered where I was and was absolutely horrified with having forgotten the rules and regulations. I was worried, with a real knot in my stomach, that people would think I was disrespecting their customs. No one said anything, and I think barely anyone noticed. Still, it's not like I blend in, I try to minimize the attention.
In any case, it may sound like I'm being uptight but there was something I couldn't describe about the place, and the way it was just us up there, on this rooftop, in a ghost restaurant, waiter standing by, waiting to take our order as soon as he handed us the menu.
It made me happy when we didn't stay for lunch. Rich felt we should leave too. I was so relieved. We left with Rich saying to the waiter "maybe we'll come back for dinner."
"We make fresh gnocchi," the waiter says.
I almost swore, "Mannagia Marco Polo!"
India, land of mantras and fresh pasta.
The search began at the bottom of the main road, and we ended up and the Lonely Planet recommended Sun n' Moon Cafe. Even though it was lunch time, the place was deserted, and fearing an experience like the one that occurs to Chihiro's parents in the Japanese anime Spirited Away, I thought it best we skip it. Rich thought so too, and suggested the place next door, The Doctor's Cafe.
The courtyard was busy with some men doing construction work but again, no diners, no chai sippers, nada. We stood at the entrance, about to leave, when the men said "Rooftop, rooftop restaurant."
At the top of the stairs, I could confirm that yes, this building had a roof. Okay, let's call it a "rooftop" even, if one wants to get all fancy about it, but calling it a rooftop restaurant is a stretch of the imagination, I found it harder than that Hanumanasana stretch (frontside splits).
There was a plastic white coffee table and four plastic chairs. The table had a tablecloth on it, as well as an ashtray. This does not a restaurant make.
I'd like to point out that I don't think of myself as high maitenance. Neurotic, jah. High maintenance, nyet. In fact, I've sat in a few grubby holes here and had my best lunch and best chai on a rooftop with absolutely no furniture.
I think I just didn't like the feeling I got when I walked into this place, and it was the menu that sealed the deal for me. (I'll keep this PG-13.)
Page one describes The Doctor's Mantra: talking, laughing, joking, f-ing, Enjoy!
I beg your pardon? I don't know where this guy went to med school but it's called a prescription, and I already have my mantra, Guru given, thank you very much.
No doubt it was the mood I was in as well, but I was thoroughly agitated, what with the signs posted everywhere about this is a holy site and please be respectful.
The day before, Rich gave me a copy of Autobiography of a Yogi as a parting gift (he leaves for Thailand in 2 days) and I forgot myself and hugged him "thank you" in the street. Then I remembered where I was and was absolutely horrified with having forgotten the rules and regulations. I was worried, with a real knot in my stomach, that people would think I was disrespecting their customs. No one said anything, and I think barely anyone noticed. Still, it's not like I blend in, I try to minimize the attention.
In any case, it may sound like I'm being uptight but there was something I couldn't describe about the place, and the way it was just us up there, on this rooftop, in a ghost restaurant, waiter standing by, waiting to take our order as soon as he handed us the menu.
It made me happy when we didn't stay for lunch. Rich felt we should leave too. I was so relieved. We left with Rich saying to the waiter "maybe we'll come back for dinner."
"We make fresh gnocchi," the waiter says.
I almost swore, "Mannagia Marco Polo!"
India, land of mantras and fresh pasta.
Take your medicine and quit complaining
Once, when I was 7 I got sick with a cold and my parents decided to treat me themselves, old school style, being the skilled physicians they were. The remedy entailed boilingup a bunch of homemade red wine, forcing me to drink it, wrapping me in cotton sheets and many blankets and waiting for me to sweat out my sickness.
My mother had to keep changing my pajamas and cotton sheets when I began to perspire and the red wine worked it's magic out of every pore of my being. I remember being delirious, possibly even delusional. I had visions like people do when they go to the desert and try acid or peyote. I was definitely drunk.
Since my parents aren't here to help me out - (Have I relayed the conversation that ensued when I said I was going to travel to the subcontinent? "India? Madonna! INDIA? Ma per che? PER CHE? Ma chi ti mette questi pensieri dentra a teste?" Translation: India? Mother of God! INDIA? But why? WHY? But who puts these ideas in your head?") - I have taken matters in to my own hands and purchased some cough syrup (*Note to john & sylvia: If this doesn't work I'll go to a doctor/hospital, I promise)
So I took my Extra Strength PANJON Cough Syrup last night before retiring to sleep, and it seemed like I proceeded to cough more than ever. (Hard to say for sure though, I've been coughing so long I think I'm starting to sound like Leonard Cohen. Make that Leonard Cohen with tuberculosis)
Here the funny thing to me, the warning on the label of this bottle says that the medication may cause drowsiness and patients should not drive vehicles or operate machinery for 4 to 6 hours after taking the last dose.
From what I've seen of the driving here, the cough syrup is not going to affect anyone's motor skills in a negative capacity.
The part that I'm wondering about is "machinery". Does this medicine manufacturer even know where they are? Or are they testing the lab samples themselves? What machinery? The closest thing I've seen to machinery here is the juicer our hotel has in the courtyard.
When we arrived in Kolkata, on the drive from the airport, I saw there was a part of the main road that was being constructed or possibly even repaired - at 10 p.m. at night. When I say repaired I mean there were 'MEN AT WORK'- right in the middle of the road, busting rocks. Sure, there was a sign indicating cars should slow down (ha ha, that's a good one) as this medley of traffic went around many men squatting and banging on rocks, breaking them with a small, hand-held sledgehammer. There were no bulldozers, crane operators or backhoe excavators in sight. I didn't see anyone wearing a helmet or a reflective orange jacket. I was concerned, wondering "Is this how they do construction work here? But they could easily get hurt or maimed!" and then I was distracted by fearing for my own life as it appeared I had somehow ended up in the Formula One Race for cabs needing to get to hotels.
In Bodhgaya, I saw men and boys balancing enormous bowls of cement and gravel on their heads, or sometimes a pile of bricks, climbing up stairs and down stairs, refilling the bowls, grabbing more bricks, again and again and again, to construct new ghats.
Then there are the women working in the countryside, I've seen them from the train, sparkling bright saris in the sun, moving these giant bundles of the field crop around, on their heads.
Machinery here is just the human body.
So I think I'll just take my syrup and stay quiet. It's not that bad, after all.
One more thing, I had a bunch of strange dreams the other night (I had lots at the Ashram, which is a Buddhafield place, so the energy would be conducive, but wasn't expecting anything outside of that enviroment) but all I can remember from the other night is a 2 second dream where I was sitting across from an Indian woman who asked me one question, in a very straightforward manner:
"Are you tolerant?"
That's the only dream I remembered when I woke up. I'm certain it was inspired by losing my temper at the teenage girl who grabbed my hands and wouldn't let go of me, all the while yelling "photo! photo! biscuit!" I tried to shake her loose saying "Namaste" a few times but then I finally hollered "LET GO!"
If Holly is reading this, she'll also remember how disturbed I was when I yelled at the kids at the Rikhia Peeth Ashram, the boys who kept crowding the prasad table and trying to grab a few extra pieces. (Luckily, I missed being swarmed by 30 of them the next night - that occurred when Holly was standing there, guarding the prasad basket)
On my night I kept saying "move back, Ek prasad, Swamiji says ek prasad," and they kept shoving until I pushed them back forcibly and shouted "I SAID MOVE BACK!" Which only slowed them down momentarily. I felt terrible, yelling at impoverished kids, and of all things, as Rich noted "over a pack of sugar."
In the team Canada discussions afterwards, I heard about how other situations where handled in a similar manner at the other gate, and how each situation requires a specific action, and then it's done, it's over, you did the best you could, now you know for next time, let go, let it go.
Sure. You let go, is always my response. Let's see you do it then.
So far, I appear to have zero tolerance. Hence the dream. The good news is, it can only go up from there.
My mother had to keep changing my pajamas and cotton sheets when I began to perspire and the red wine worked it's magic out of every pore of my being. I remember being delirious, possibly even delusional. I had visions like people do when they go to the desert and try acid or peyote. I was definitely drunk.
Since my parents aren't here to help me out - (Have I relayed the conversation that ensued when I said I was going to travel to the subcontinent? "India? Madonna! INDIA? Ma per che? PER CHE? Ma chi ti mette questi pensieri dentra a teste?" Translation: India? Mother of God! INDIA? But why? WHY? But who puts these ideas in your head?") - I have taken matters in to my own hands and purchased some cough syrup (*Note to john & sylvia: If this doesn't work I'll go to a doctor/hospital, I promise)
So I took my Extra Strength PANJON Cough Syrup last night before retiring to sleep, and it seemed like I proceeded to cough more than ever. (Hard to say for sure though, I've been coughing so long I think I'm starting to sound like Leonard Cohen. Make that Leonard Cohen with tuberculosis)
Here the funny thing to me, the warning on the label of this bottle says that the medication may cause drowsiness and patients should not drive vehicles or operate machinery for 4 to 6 hours after taking the last dose.
From what I've seen of the driving here, the cough syrup is not going to affect anyone's motor skills in a negative capacity.
The part that I'm wondering about is "machinery". Does this medicine manufacturer even know where they are? Or are they testing the lab samples themselves? What machinery? The closest thing I've seen to machinery here is the juicer our hotel has in the courtyard.
When we arrived in Kolkata, on the drive from the airport, I saw there was a part of the main road that was being constructed or possibly even repaired - at 10 p.m. at night. When I say repaired I mean there were 'MEN AT WORK'- right in the middle of the road, busting rocks. Sure, there was a sign indicating cars should slow down (ha ha, that's a good one) as this medley of traffic went around many men squatting and banging on rocks, breaking them with a small, hand-held sledgehammer. There were no bulldozers, crane operators or backhoe excavators in sight. I didn't see anyone wearing a helmet or a reflective orange jacket. I was concerned, wondering "Is this how they do construction work here? But they could easily get hurt or maimed!" and then I was distracted by fearing for my own life as it appeared I had somehow ended up in the Formula One Race for cabs needing to get to hotels.
In Bodhgaya, I saw men and boys balancing enormous bowls of cement and gravel on their heads, or sometimes a pile of bricks, climbing up stairs and down stairs, refilling the bowls, grabbing more bricks, again and again and again, to construct new ghats.
Then there are the women working in the countryside, I've seen them from the train, sparkling bright saris in the sun, moving these giant bundles of the field crop around, on their heads.
Machinery here is just the human body.
So I think I'll just take my syrup and stay quiet. It's not that bad, after all.
One more thing, I had a bunch of strange dreams the other night (I had lots at the Ashram, which is a Buddhafield place, so the energy would be conducive, but wasn't expecting anything outside of that enviroment) but all I can remember from the other night is a 2 second dream where I was sitting across from an Indian woman who asked me one question, in a very straightforward manner:
"Are you tolerant?"
That's the only dream I remembered when I woke up. I'm certain it was inspired by losing my temper at the teenage girl who grabbed my hands and wouldn't let go of me, all the while yelling "photo! photo! biscuit!" I tried to shake her loose saying "Namaste" a few times but then I finally hollered "LET GO!"
If Holly is reading this, she'll also remember how disturbed I was when I yelled at the kids at the Rikhia Peeth Ashram, the boys who kept crowding the prasad table and trying to grab a few extra pieces. (Luckily, I missed being swarmed by 30 of them the next night - that occurred when Holly was standing there, guarding the prasad basket)
On my night I kept saying "move back, Ek prasad, Swamiji says ek prasad," and they kept shoving until I pushed them back forcibly and shouted "I SAID MOVE BACK!" Which only slowed them down momentarily. I felt terrible, yelling at impoverished kids, and of all things, as Rich noted "over a pack of sugar."
In the team Canada discussions afterwards, I heard about how other situations where handled in a similar manner at the other gate, and how each situation requires a specific action, and then it's done, it's over, you did the best you could, now you know for next time, let go, let it go.
Sure. You let go, is always my response. Let's see you do it then.
So far, I appear to have zero tolerance. Hence the dream. The good news is, it can only go up from there.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Wimpy Warrior Woman, not up to Rajput standards
So many weeks after leaving home, I have found the yoga teacher I want to study with.
His place is outside, right off Pushkar Lake, and he's a devotee of Swami Satyananda, so I haven't strayed that far from the Rikhia Peeth Ashram path. How funny.
I love this fellow, he looks like Santa Claus except completely decked out in orange, and he's slightly cross-eyed so I wasn't always certain if he was speaking to me and advising me to adjust my locust pose or the person next to me.
For 2 days in a row, there I was, seeing my breath as we began at 8 a.m. I was wishing I had worn my gloves and hat as it was hard to concentrate on my breathing when all I could think was "cold, cold, cold, pain, pain, pain, ow, ow, ow, why, why, why?"
Today, my perma chest cough kept me up most of the night so I decided not to go, but I don't want to make a habit of sleeping in. As this teacher says "Many people is sleeping. Not practising Yoga, not having healthy wealthy and wise life. Yes please, practice and being not lazy and crazy. And not smoking, is injurious to health. Yes please practice everyday"
He made the comment about not smoking several times, usually after a student sounded like they were hacking up a lung. I was totally annoyed to be one of those students - it really throws off your balance in Eagle pose when you're gasping for breath.
When I got up this morning, turned off the alarm and decided to skip going, I thought, "well, I would never have lasted as a Rajput warrior."
From the guidebook: Rajputs were a warrior class who claim to originate from the sun, moon and fire. They have controlled this part of Inida for 1000 years. Their bravery and honour was unparalled, they would fight against all odds and when no hope was left, chivalry demanded jauhar, ritual mass suicide by immolation.
I say "Rah! Rah! Rajasthan!"
Clearly, they would not be impressed by my "I have this tickle in my throat that won't go away. Perhaps I'll skip doing sun salutations and asanas today as it's chilly outside."
Yesterday's hilltop temple (Savitri Temple) I have confirmed was an 800 metre climb. So I thought about that too, when I skipped the class. "Hey, I climbed up that hill."
I know, I still wouldn't hire me to defend a village in Rajasthan. Somebody has to stay and guard the fort.
I know, that job also wouldn't go to me.
I have a feeling that in my past lives, especially during the Hunter/Gatherer Age, I was the librarian.
His place is outside, right off Pushkar Lake, and he's a devotee of Swami Satyananda, so I haven't strayed that far from the Rikhia Peeth Ashram path. How funny.
I love this fellow, he looks like Santa Claus except completely decked out in orange, and he's slightly cross-eyed so I wasn't always certain if he was speaking to me and advising me to adjust my locust pose or the person next to me.
For 2 days in a row, there I was, seeing my breath as we began at 8 a.m. I was wishing I had worn my gloves and hat as it was hard to concentrate on my breathing when all I could think was "cold, cold, cold, pain, pain, pain, ow, ow, ow, why, why, why?"
Today, my perma chest cough kept me up most of the night so I decided not to go, but I don't want to make a habit of sleeping in. As this teacher says "Many people is sleeping. Not practising Yoga, not having healthy wealthy and wise life. Yes please, practice and being not lazy and crazy. And not smoking, is injurious to health. Yes please practice everyday"
He made the comment about not smoking several times, usually after a student sounded like they were hacking up a lung. I was totally annoyed to be one of those students - it really throws off your balance in Eagle pose when you're gasping for breath.
When I got up this morning, turned off the alarm and decided to skip going, I thought, "well, I would never have lasted as a Rajput warrior."
From the guidebook: Rajputs were a warrior class who claim to originate from the sun, moon and fire. They have controlled this part of Inida for 1000 years. Their bravery and honour was unparalled, they would fight against all odds and when no hope was left, chivalry demanded jauhar, ritual mass suicide by immolation.
I say "Rah! Rah! Rajasthan!"
Clearly, they would not be impressed by my "I have this tickle in my throat that won't go away. Perhaps I'll skip doing sun salutations and asanas today as it's chilly outside."
Yesterday's hilltop temple (Savitri Temple) I have confirmed was an 800 metre climb. So I thought about that too, when I skipped the class. "Hey, I climbed up that hill."
I know, I still wouldn't hire me to defend a village in Rajasthan. Somebody has to stay and guard the fort.
I know, that job also wouldn't go to me.
I have a feeling that in my past lives, especially during the Hunter/Gatherer Age, I was the librarian.
Monkey see, Dimwit do
The Hotel Om, my current Pushkar abode, advertises the following "facilities available":
"What's happened?" he says, looking me over. "what's happened?"
"Nothing, I was just wondering-"
"My boss does this work," he says, and continues to explain that his boss is an excellent bonesetter and demonstrates how if one is injured, his boss can re-align their spine, their knee, their leg. He makes all the appropriate noises as he does this demonstration on himself "crick" "creek" "crack".
So I ask "but the Astrology?"
"Yes, my boss can fix."
"Uhm, in English, astrology means jyotish." (The Indian word for astrologer is jyotish, from the root jyoti, meaning light.)
The manager wobbles his head and says, "Not always."
I say "Uhm... Usually, yes. Astrologer reads your birth chart, talks about, astrological things." Bonesetting, not so much. Though, if everyone in Canada started multi-tasking like they do here, who knows what could happen. In Pushkar it appears to be a combination of Money Changer/Travel Agent/Camel Safari Guide/Internet Provider.
I think I should give up on having my chart read in India
I said to Rich afterwards that I really can't figure out what word they could be thinking of, to have put it on their business cards. In fact, I was going to title this entry "Your guess is as good as mine" but then, this afternoon I met this guy who I would call the village idiot on my hike up to the hilltop temple, but he's a tourist, not a local, so he's more like the "visiting from a foreign metropolis idiot".
That hilltop temple climb nearly killed me. Let's just remember, I haven't had full lung capacity since mid-December. I was wheezing and hacking my way up there, and everyone passed us. Except for three senior women, who were climbing up the stairs, using their hands as well so they were truly 'climbing'. I was trying to step up without having to push off my right knee repeatedly. One of the women said to me "Slowly, slowly." But really, at that point I couldn't stop moving or the fire that was consuming my legs would have forced me to quit, and so close to the top?
Please note: I passed them on the way down too, and they had a good 10 minute start.
Okay then, sign me up for the Sun Run, I beat three women in their late 60's up to the top and back to base camp. I think the hill is 750 feet, from the guide book, but I don't know for sure, because at some point my survival instinct kicked in and I couldn't remember what the hell the guidebook said or why I thought this hare-brained idea seemed so great at the time
The view of Pushkar and the surrounding valley was spectacular.
Then there was the climb down to manage.
Not far from the top, we come across a man feeding the monkeys.
This I could not believe. The monkeys had been running around, making the climb up look sooooo easy, all I could think was "Stay away, monkeys. You use trees, I'll use the stairs." Monkeys don't communicate with telepathy like dolphins, so they hung around a little too close but still, they kept a decent distance.
I called out to the man plying the monkeys with peanuts "Sir, I don't think that's a good idea." It was a crummy idea, especially because he now had a pack of 12 hungry monkeys sitting on the stairs and blocking our path.
Rich says, "Yeah, you shouldn't feed them."
In heavily accented English the guy responds "No, no, it's okay." He continues feeding them while Rich finds an opening and steps around them. "I know what I'm doing," says Dimwit.
"Have you read the Lonely Planet Guide?" I ask him, with a sharp tone in my voice, just as a monkey decides to cross my path. (Read: this monkey stops directly in front of me, of where I need to go, and looks up at me) I hold my hands up like I'm in a John Wayne Western and say "I have no food," to the monkey. To the Dimwit I say "It says 30,000 people die from dog and monkey bites every year in India."
"Don't talk to the monkey," he says, like I'm the moron in this picture. The monkey bared it's teeth at me. "Just walk around, it will leave you alone when it knows you have no food... More people die in Europe from traffic accidents every year."
"Really?" I stepped around the monkey slowly, keeping my hands up in the air, "well, lots of people die of heroin overdoses in Vancouver but I still think you're increasing your odds of being bitten by surrounding yourself with monkeys."
As I spoke, the monkey at his feet grabbed his hand, in what I considered to be a "Hey stupid, I want more peanuts" gesture. I moved as quickly as possible to put as much distance between me, the dimwit and the hungry monkeys as possible. Those poor women were still behind me too, coming down the hillside steps. (On the way up, I watched as they also avoided the monkeys)
As the three famous monkeys teach: see no stupidity, hear no stupidity, repeat no stupidity.
- Ordinary, Delux, AC & Non-AC Room
- Garden Buffet Restaurant and Swimming Pool
- Tours, Travel & Safari Booking
- International & Domestic Calls
- Doctor on Call
- Two Minute Far from the Ajmer Bus-stand
- Free: Cheropractor, Faith Healer, Tradition Bonesetter, Astrologer
"What's happened?" he says, looking me over. "what's happened?"
"Nothing, I was just wondering-"
"My boss does this work," he says, and continues to explain that his boss is an excellent bonesetter and demonstrates how if one is injured, his boss can re-align their spine, their knee, their leg. He makes all the appropriate noises as he does this demonstration on himself "crick" "creek" "crack".
So I ask "but the Astrology?"
"Yes, my boss can fix."
"Uhm, in English, astrology means jyotish." (The Indian word for astrologer is jyotish, from the root jyoti, meaning light.)
The manager wobbles his head and says, "Not always."
I say "Uhm... Usually, yes. Astrologer reads your birth chart, talks about, astrological things." Bonesetting, not so much. Though, if everyone in Canada started multi-tasking like they do here, who knows what could happen. In Pushkar it appears to be a combination of Money Changer/Travel Agent/Camel Safari Guide/Internet Provider.
I think I should give up on having my chart read in India
I said to Rich afterwards that I really can't figure out what word they could be thinking of, to have put it on their business cards. In fact, I was going to title this entry "Your guess is as good as mine" but then, this afternoon I met this guy who I would call the village idiot on my hike up to the hilltop temple, but he's a tourist, not a local, so he's more like the "visiting from a foreign metropolis idiot".
That hilltop temple climb nearly killed me. Let's just remember, I haven't had full lung capacity since mid-December. I was wheezing and hacking my way up there, and everyone passed us. Except for three senior women, who were climbing up the stairs, using their hands as well so they were truly 'climbing'. I was trying to step up without having to push off my right knee repeatedly. One of the women said to me "Slowly, slowly." But really, at that point I couldn't stop moving or the fire that was consuming my legs would have forced me to quit, and so close to the top?
Please note: I passed them on the way down too, and they had a good 10 minute start.
Okay then, sign me up for the Sun Run, I beat three women in their late 60's up to the top and back to base camp. I think the hill is 750 feet, from the guide book, but I don't know for sure, because at some point my survival instinct kicked in and I couldn't remember what the hell the guidebook said or why I thought this hare-brained idea seemed so great at the time
The view of Pushkar and the surrounding valley was spectacular.
Then there was the climb down to manage.
Not far from the top, we come across a man feeding the monkeys.
This I could not believe. The monkeys had been running around, making the climb up look sooooo easy, all I could think was "Stay away, monkeys. You use trees, I'll use the stairs." Monkeys don't communicate with telepathy like dolphins, so they hung around a little too close but still, they kept a decent distance.
I called out to the man plying the monkeys with peanuts "Sir, I don't think that's a good idea." It was a crummy idea, especially because he now had a pack of 12 hungry monkeys sitting on the stairs and blocking our path.
Rich says, "Yeah, you shouldn't feed them."
In heavily accented English the guy responds "No, no, it's okay." He continues feeding them while Rich finds an opening and steps around them. "I know what I'm doing," says Dimwit.
"Have you read the Lonely Planet Guide?" I ask him, with a sharp tone in my voice, just as a monkey decides to cross my path. (Read: this monkey stops directly in front of me, of where I need to go, and looks up at me) I hold my hands up like I'm in a John Wayne Western and say "I have no food," to the monkey. To the Dimwit I say "It says 30,000 people die from dog and monkey bites every year in India."
"Don't talk to the monkey," he says, like I'm the moron in this picture. The monkey bared it's teeth at me. "Just walk around, it will leave you alone when it knows you have no food... More people die in Europe from traffic accidents every year."
"Really?" I stepped around the monkey slowly, keeping my hands up in the air, "well, lots of people die of heroin overdoses in Vancouver but I still think you're increasing your odds of being bitten by surrounding yourself with monkeys."
As I spoke, the monkey at his feet grabbed his hand, in what I considered to be a "Hey stupid, I want more peanuts" gesture. I moved as quickly as possible to put as much distance between me, the dimwit and the hungry monkeys as possible. Those poor women were still behind me too, coming down the hillside steps. (On the way up, I watched as they also avoided the monkeys)
As the three famous monkeys teach: see no stupidity, hear no stupidity, repeat no stupidity.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Stupid here, stupid there
The relaxing vibe of Pushkar means that today, and each day since we arrived, my stress-meter has plummeted. Very relaxing here. Two young men started talking to us today, they had come to town specifically to meet foreigners and practice their English. They were "like brothers, we share everything."
"Even your girlfriend?" Rich asks, and the one guy jumps in to clarify, and I honestly didn't get too clear on what he was saying. He was the one that studies sanskrit at college, not english, so, anybody's guess what the heck he went on about for a good 4 minutes, but I think it was something along the lines of how important married life is here and women are to be respected.
I heard the English student ask Rich if we were married, and Rich told him, "No, No, she's just my friend."
This young lad of 19, who had a lot of good manners, taste, sensitivity and also, I think, an eye that could look beyond and see me for the mosquito-bitten beauty I am, says "I think you are very lucky.
Then Rich offers to sell me for 20, 000 Rupees. And everybody laughs - Har-de-har-har.
Actually, it was funny, the guys were really sweet and when I said Namaste to say goodbye and put my hands in the heart chakra, they looked impressed and did the same.
Pushkar is a Hindu Holy site, so there's lots of signs posted everywhere requesting that the folks just traveling through don't "eat meat, show affection in public, smoke, or wear inappropriate clothes."
So Day 1, wandering around looking for Ayelet's recommended Guest House (Note to Ayelet:
I found it! Very cute but we found a good place - with an amazing bathroom, I'll go back to say hello from you. I was out of it that first day) I come across this young Indian man, who let me into the courtyard of the Raj Guru Guest house but then advised me they didn't serve chai at any old time of day (Uhm? pardon? Am I still in India?). This young man clearly doesn't think the signs about appropriate clothing here apply to him as his T-shirt says, in big bold letters: If she's not shakin' then she's a fakin'
And I'm not supposed to show some ankle. Though don't get me wrong, I fully believe "When in Pushkar..." but I've seen some tourists in revealing outfits here that make me wonder 'why wouldn't they just go to Vegas?' or 'how sad, they speak English, they just can't read it.' Especially that British woman I saw today in a see-through number. Poor thing, the literacy rate is a huge issue in the UK.
Which reminds me of one of my favourite talks with my dad, years ago, when he mentioned that travel should broaden the mind, expand one's world view, but reality and the law of the Universe dictactes that "Stupid here, stupid there. Stupid everywhere."
"Even your girlfriend?" Rich asks, and the one guy jumps in to clarify, and I honestly didn't get too clear on what he was saying. He was the one that studies sanskrit at college, not english, so, anybody's guess what the heck he went on about for a good 4 minutes, but I think it was something along the lines of how important married life is here and women are to be respected.
I heard the English student ask Rich if we were married, and Rich told him, "No, No, she's just my friend."
This young lad of 19, who had a lot of good manners, taste, sensitivity and also, I think, an eye that could look beyond and see me for the mosquito-bitten beauty I am, says "I think you are very lucky.
Then Rich offers to sell me for 20, 000 Rupees. And everybody laughs - Har-de-har-har.
Actually, it was funny, the guys were really sweet and when I said Namaste to say goodbye and put my hands in the heart chakra, they looked impressed and did the same.
Pushkar is a Hindu Holy site, so there's lots of signs posted everywhere requesting that the folks just traveling through don't "eat meat, show affection in public, smoke, or wear inappropriate clothes."
So Day 1, wandering around looking for Ayelet's recommended Guest House (Note to Ayelet:
I found it! Very cute but we found a good place - with an amazing bathroom, I'll go back to say hello from you. I was out of it that first day) I come across this young Indian man, who let me into the courtyard of the Raj Guru Guest house but then advised me they didn't serve chai at any old time of day (Uhm? pardon? Am I still in India?). This young man clearly doesn't think the signs about appropriate clothing here apply to him as his T-shirt says, in big bold letters: If she's not shakin' then she's a fakin'
And I'm not supposed to show some ankle. Though don't get me wrong, I fully believe "When in Pushkar..." but I've seen some tourists in revealing outfits here that make me wonder 'why wouldn't they just go to Vegas?' or 'how sad, they speak English, they just can't read it.' Especially that British woman I saw today in a see-through number. Poor thing, the literacy rate is a huge issue in the UK.
Which reminds me of one of my favourite talks with my dad, years ago, when he mentioned that travel should broaden the mind, expand one's world view, but reality and the law of the Universe dictactes that "Stupid here, stupid there. Stupid everywhere."
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Namaste Pushkar #2
From the sign outside the Taj museum: The Taj is a mausoleum and a monument of grief. Okay, that's more like it. It took 23 years to build, and I must say, it's an incredible sight.
Also from the Taj museum: Celadon ware dish which may splits into pieces or changes colour when comes into contact with poisonous food. How great! That's how to rule an empire, in case you were wondering.
We met some guys from Devon at Agra Fort, an incredible structure that was built by the grandfather of the guy who built the Taj Mahal. (The guy who built the Taj, Shah Jehan, was later imprisoned in Agra Fort by his son, who was taking over the kingdom. One can look out see the Taj from the area Shah Jehan was imprisoned.) Anyways, in parting one of the gentlemen from says "Look after the colony there, would you, we sort of let go of that did we?"
"I guess so," I told him, "looks like the sun now sets on your empire."
These guys travel without insurance because no company in England will touch one of them due to his heart medication, and the other one thinks insurance is bogus. The heart troubled guy thought I was being way too concerned about malaria, then he say my arm and said, "Well they do seem to like you, but's it's still more likely you'd get hit by a meteor"
Ah well, then, why worry, unless a meteor shower is predicted.
Last night, I waited for the bus, sitting on a coffee table like structure, in an area that you would never think was a bus station at all. There was a tin ridged roof over a patch of dirt, and some buses next to that, but nothing that indicated when buses left, where buses were going, and the clock, a really ugly tacky thing that I'd expect to find in my parent's basement, didn't have the right time at all, it was an hour ahead of my watch. (The time we should have been on the bus was the time on the bus terminal's clock)
Rish went to get a snack for us saying "I'm sure I'll hear you scream if something happens." as once again, there were many gentlemen standing around.
Thirty seconds after Rich steps away one man says "Hello, Madam. France?" I ignore him. He continues "Hello, Japan?" This time I stare at him. Or the correct term would be glare at him. It says in the guidebook not to engage in conversation, which is fine by me because it's exhausting to communicate in broken English even to the folks I want to communicate with, the friendly people, in the places we've stayed, the businesses we've frequented. But to talk to someone who clearly didn't feel like saying hello and being friendly when a man was sitting next to me - I think not.
It's reminding me of that T-shirt: I can only please one person a day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow's not looking good either. Here my T-shirt would say: I would only humour one person a day, but I don't feel like it. So back away slowly, no sudden movements, capisce?
Then when I got on the bus, some guy starting calling me sister and gesturing that I should give him food (he wasn't a beggar) and I was exhausted and tired and so in my new 'offense is the best defense' response, I said in Italian "I don't know what your jackass problem is, just leave me alone or I swear I'll bite you and then you'll be sorrier than any rabid victim of a dog or monkey." (I love the word monkey in my parents dialect, so I was really happy to use it. It's pronounced SHEEN-yeah)
The guy just turned to other guys, said something in Hindi, and laughed. Then he saw Rich, stopped laughing, went over to shake Rich's hand and as far as I could tell, he apologised.
Just to be fair, here's where I am, according to the Lonely Planet: In 2006, the average annual wage in India was $710 USD. 35 to 40% survive on less than a dollar a day. 350 million are lving below the poverty line. The worst affected states are Bihar, Orissa, Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh. And so, I have been in Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, and now am in Rajasthan. Well done, Eufemia, way to plan a trip.
It boggles my mind, seeing the poverty here. It's like Eddie Izzard says in "Dressed to Kill"about how one can't conceive of the number of lives lost during the holocaust or Cambodia or in Russia. I really can't conceive of it. It's overwhelming, more than the intensity of the attention. I've had to turn my own personal volume button down, tune some things out, just to function. What else can one do?
So here I go searching for another Yoga class, and pray for peace for everyone.
Also from the Taj museum: Celadon ware dish which may splits into pieces or changes colour when comes into contact with poisonous food. How great! That's how to rule an empire, in case you were wondering.
We met some guys from Devon at Agra Fort, an incredible structure that was built by the grandfather of the guy who built the Taj Mahal. (The guy who built the Taj, Shah Jehan, was later imprisoned in Agra Fort by his son, who was taking over the kingdom. One can look out see the Taj from the area Shah Jehan was imprisoned.) Anyways, in parting one of the gentlemen from says "Look after the colony there, would you, we sort of let go of that did we?"
"I guess so," I told him, "looks like the sun now sets on your empire."
These guys travel without insurance because no company in England will touch one of them due to his heart medication, and the other one thinks insurance is bogus. The heart troubled guy thought I was being way too concerned about malaria, then he say my arm and said, "Well they do seem to like you, but's it's still more likely you'd get hit by a meteor"
Ah well, then, why worry, unless a meteor shower is predicted.
Last night, I waited for the bus, sitting on a coffee table like structure, in an area that you would never think was a bus station at all. There was a tin ridged roof over a patch of dirt, and some buses next to that, but nothing that indicated when buses left, where buses were going, and the clock, a really ugly tacky thing that I'd expect to find in my parent's basement, didn't have the right time at all, it was an hour ahead of my watch. (The time we should have been on the bus was the time on the bus terminal's clock)
Rish went to get a snack for us saying "I'm sure I'll hear you scream if something happens." as once again, there were many gentlemen standing around.
Thirty seconds after Rich steps away one man says "Hello, Madam. France?" I ignore him. He continues "Hello, Japan?" This time I stare at him. Or the correct term would be glare at him. It says in the guidebook not to engage in conversation, which is fine by me because it's exhausting to communicate in broken English even to the folks I want to communicate with, the friendly people, in the places we've stayed, the businesses we've frequented. But to talk to someone who clearly didn't feel like saying hello and being friendly when a man was sitting next to me - I think not.
It's reminding me of that T-shirt: I can only please one person a day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow's not looking good either. Here my T-shirt would say: I would only humour one person a day, but I don't feel like it. So back away slowly, no sudden movements, capisce?
Then when I got on the bus, some guy starting calling me sister and gesturing that I should give him food (he wasn't a beggar) and I was exhausted and tired and so in my new 'offense is the best defense' response, I said in Italian "I don't know what your jackass problem is, just leave me alone or I swear I'll bite you and then you'll be sorrier than any rabid victim of a dog or monkey." (I love the word monkey in my parents dialect, so I was really happy to use it. It's pronounced SHEEN-yeah)
The guy just turned to other guys, said something in Hindi, and laughed. Then he saw Rich, stopped laughing, went over to shake Rich's hand and as far as I could tell, he apologised.
Just to be fair, here's where I am, according to the Lonely Planet: In 2006, the average annual wage in India was $710 USD. 35 to 40% survive on less than a dollar a day. 350 million are lving below the poverty line. The worst affected states are Bihar, Orissa, Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh. And so, I have been in Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, and now am in Rajasthan. Well done, Eufemia, way to plan a trip.
It boggles my mind, seeing the poverty here. It's like Eddie Izzard says in "Dressed to Kill"about how one can't conceive of the number of lives lost during the holocaust or Cambodia or in Russia. I really can't conceive of it. It's overwhelming, more than the intensity of the attention. I've had to turn my own personal volume button down, tune some things out, just to function. What else can one do?
So here I go searching for another Yoga class, and pray for peace for everyone.
Sayonara Agra, Say Namaste to Pushkar
Here I am, first day in Pushkar!
Let's catch up: Rich is doing much better. The real Taj Mahal was amazing. The Baby Taj was quite cute, but it didn't compare. What I was trying to do with the Baby Taj adventure was challenge my comfort level, venture out on my own.
Done and done.
No need to be a hero, I say.
I mean, I thought the rickshaw driver was nice, and in general folks seem fairly harmless (mostly. uhm, yeah, mostly) . The most aggressive thing that happens is everyone fighting to get your business, and then there's the guys that love to shake hands; "Hellooooo Madam." to which I've started responding "Namaaaaaastay," and keeping my hands in ye old heart chakra position. Feel the love, no need for touching.
And due to the bus ride to Ajmer and then early morning motor-Rickshaw to the outskirts of Pushkar, I've decided I prefer the train to bus travel. Also, may God smile down upon me and never let me experience another bathroom like the one I had this morning. I swear, I'll be a better person.
All the computers are closing down around me, with the sign that says "not responsible for power failures" so this may be a multiple post scenario.
Let's catch up: Rich is doing much better. The real Taj Mahal was amazing. The Baby Taj was quite cute, but it didn't compare. What I was trying to do with the Baby Taj adventure was challenge my comfort level, venture out on my own.
Done and done.
No need to be a hero, I say.
I mean, I thought the rickshaw driver was nice, and in general folks seem fairly harmless (mostly. uhm, yeah, mostly) . The most aggressive thing that happens is everyone fighting to get your business, and then there's the guys that love to shake hands; "Hellooooo Madam." to which I've started responding "Namaaaaaastay," and keeping my hands in ye old heart chakra position. Feel the love, no need for touching.
And due to the bus ride to Ajmer and then early morning motor-Rickshaw to the outskirts of Pushkar, I've decided I prefer the train to bus travel. Also, may God smile down upon me and never let me experience another bathroom like the one I had this morning. I swear, I'll be a better person.
All the computers are closing down around me, with the sign that says "not responsible for power failures" so this may be a multiple post scenario.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
