Heidi of the Himalayas

This is what I was wearing to Yoga in the morning 3 weeks ago: 2 layers of shirts, thick tights, track pants, a long sweater dress that reaches to my mid-thigh, leg warmers, socks, and 2 shawls. I was quite bundled up.

Walking out the door of my room, I felt like the Michelin Man, or the last of the Yeti (aka the Abominable Snowman). I started thinking of myself as Heidi of the Himalayas, even though I'm still in Rajasthan, no Himalayan Range in view.

I can't make it the 20 feet from my bed to our practice area back in Vancouver, but I can bundle up and walk around the lake to get to Swamiji's class.

So of course I'm thinking, Swamiji is such a powerful teacher, I feel so blessed, wow, look how the yoga is working it's way with me, I feel so grounded and centred here. When I don't feel absolutely nuts and out of my mind, that is. And okay, the latter, that's 90% of the time, but look, I'm up to 10% with the shanti, shanti, centred-ness. Or so I thought.

Yesterday, I went all 'Kali' (you remember, the Dark Mother?) on some folks nearby (okay men, like I said before, it's only ever men) and wasn't exactly looking like an enlightened Buddha, smiling serenely from my position on a lotus floating in the centre of a pond of still waters. No. Nahee.

First I lost it on Mincho, towards the end of Yoga class. Mincho speaks Spanish so I just went for it and yelled at him in Italian. (Yes, before refering to it as 'going Kali', I would refer to these episodes as 'going Italian') Then, after a calming piece of Lemon cake, and Honey Nut cake, and bit sized tastes of Chocolate Ball (let's remember I'm talking about after yoga here, what happened to me after class, what I ate after class) we three yoginis were walking down the road trying to get away from the 2 crazy wedding processions, and a fellow decided to come too close to us, lean in and say something in Hindi.

I think he was offering to show us a good time, and you know, that's so bizarre. Usually guys want you to come home, meet their mother, and discuss your potential dowry worth. ha ha. As you can see, I'm tired of stupid men offering a good time. Next phrase to learn in Hindi: Don't promise what you can't provide, jackass. Hmmmm. Looks like I'm still annoyed. Yep, I can feel it. Still sore.

We ignored him. Then he decides to follow us. Bad move, Badri. Or whatever the hell your name might be, because Eufemia's blood hasn't completely cooled down. Oh, sure, that Lemon cake hit the spot and her dear female companions do wonders for her temperment, just their company alone brings down her blood pressure but now, you, no, no, no. You silly, foolish man. Your poor mother raised an idiot, would you like me to tell her that? Or why don't I just yell it out on the middle of Sadaar Bazaar Road?

Okay so I didn't yell that, I yelled "Get lost!" Several times in Hindi and in English. When he repeated my words in Hindi "Get lost?" with a tone like "Hey, you don't own this road woman, I can walk here if I like." I held up my water bottle (Nice weapon there Xena. Learned that in Martial Arts training, didja? A water bottle. Hey, it's a hard plastic one by Windriver Outfitters and I'm sure it would have hurt. A little. It even had some water in it.) and yelled "I MEAN IT!" in English.

Further down the road, we're trying to pass a wedding procession when a motorcyclist comes round the corner, complete with passenger. There is not even a foot of space for them to travel in, between me, the crowd watching the parade and the wedding procession, especially at this particular part of the wedding procession, where everyone's carrying lights that look like giant, tacky coffee table lamps run with cheap electrical cord back to the generator at the end of the line. The marching band at the front of the matrimonal march has stopped right here just to allow all the young men to spray foam in the air or on each other and dance their wild Bollywood on Steroids Dance - they do this every 20 feet, it seems. And there's another motorcycle, with another passenger right behind him. I'm trying to make sure the first motorist doesn't drive over my foot. I yell at him in Italian "What the hell do you think you're doing?" A gentleman standing off to the side, and trying to indicate an area where the motorists can pass through, puts up his hand and says "Calm down, madam, calm down."

I felt like shouting YOU CALM DOWN. But, fortunately, I didn't.

The day before this, on the way to Yoga, I had a 13 year old kid start following me, a freaking kid! He sees me, changes his course, and starts walking to intercept my path, but more like he would be right beside me or right behind me. I stopped and glared at him, the kid stopped for a moment, not knowing what to do. A gentleman coming from the other direction said something to the kid in Hindi, and the kid went back to his side of the road. The man smiled at me and said to me, as he was walking past "Sometimes, in India too many problems."

I thanked him profusely in Hindi and said in English, "You're right about that."

So now you know why I need the Yoga. I don't like my temper. I spent years pretending I didn't have one, and making lame excuses like "Oh, I'm Italian, it's in my blood. I'm just emotional." You say tomato, I say toe-mah-toe. I said emotional, when I really meant homicidal.

I was just having a bad nerves day.

The 32 Names of Durga

Fan Who Shall Remain Nameless: So it's come to this has it? Thanks Eufemia, thanks a lot. There I was reading your blog with a degree of regularity, and totally devoted to you, ready to start your fan club and what happens? You bloody well stopped writing, hey? You couldn't haul your sorry butt out of bed to blog. Thanks for nothing.

Eufemia: Uhm, no wait, you don't understand...The cow ate my blog.

Fan: Excuse me? What kind of lame excuse is that? Cows eat plastic bags, not computer parts.

Eufemia: Oh, well, yes, you've got me there, but that's only because there are no computer parts in the street. Hey, by the way, I saw a herd of cows (Okay, make that 4 cows. What makes a herd? How would a person raised in the 'burbs know that?) running downhill, down the main road past my Hotel this morning, with several cars and motorcyclists right behind them. I thought it was the funniest thing I've seen in a while. Turns out cows can burn rubber, who knew?

Fan: I don't care. Don't try to Ghee me up with paltry little anecdotes now.

Eufemia: You're right, you're so right. The thing is, what happened was, well, gosh, I had my birthday and I'm still trying to figure out how to post the pictures to show you all (it would help if I could remember step 1: bring camera to internet shop) but seriously that one posted photo was a fluke, we're not sure how I got it to work.

And then, Kelly blew into town with Vinay - yes, Kelly from Rikhia Peeth, Ashram Kelly, as the locals started calling her. Kelly and Vinay came in with the northwind from Rishikesh. So we hung out, drinking chai, eating veggie naans and drinking lassi's. Then Kelly asked Swamiji if we could chant at his place. Swamiji totally went for it and the next thing I know, I'm getting up at 6 a.m. instead of 6:30 so I can make it to chanting before Yoga. Then, after a too few, too short days, like possibly a week, where they managed to squeeze in visits to a nearby gypsy village and a camel safari, Kelly and Vinay were gone like the wind. And what does Swamiji decide? We will continue chanting. "Yes, please. Chanting good for power, good for energy. Good for mental."

Isn't that funny, that's exactly how I would describe I'm feeling, totally mental.

But here's something funny - I'm not sure if I mentioned how it came to pass that Jessie, Sarah, Mincho & I are going to extra yoga practice with Swamiji? We were all sitting at the German Bakery one morning after practice, the bakery with the best chocolate croissants and also the bakery where I just got a massage last week (yep, you heard that right) and I said "Do you guys want to practice in the afternoons as well?" and we started discussing where we could practice. The next morning, Swamiji tells us four to come for an afternoon practice with him. It's happened a few times that he seems to pull it out of the ether, something we discuss becomes the topic during the next day's yoga class. Sometimes I feel like he pulls it out of my head. I know, I know, it sounds wacky even to me but I have no other explanation.

So the next thing I know, I'm chanting the 32 names of Durga in India. This is a chant I have loved from the first time I heard it.

I know, that's not a good excuse for not blogging, but heck, I've had it with excuses. And you know what else? I don't need an excuse. And another thing, I'm just explaining the situation here, o-kay? Sheesh. Some people. Just in case you thought I was going to bed late, sleeping in and partying my bindi'd face off, it's not like that at all.

We've all commented on how nice it would be to have a night of going out to listen to music and maybe even sleep in the next day, but so far, no can do...I believe Jessie even referred our current situation as "feeling like such a Granny." And when we walked back from Yoga yesterday and she said "I need to get some prunes," (when what she really meant was dates) I thought 'Well that's it. We've crossed over. '

I say again, I know. This post does not inspire even the world's smallest violin to play out a sad, grief-soaked warble of a melody. Don't cry for me, Canada. I was only looking to set the record straight. Better you should hear it straight from the cow's mouth, yes? Yes, I be thinking so to myself.

My new favourite greeting: "Hello madam...Cobra?" (response: "Nay, NAY!") NO, I don't feel like seeing a charmed cobra, even though I've heard they're so polite. I walked past one sticking it's head out of a basket last week and thought 'Nice cobra, good cobra. Be a good cobra, go back in your basket.' (Jessie told me the snakes are de-fanged and the reason they move so languidly to the music the men play is because they spend all their time trapped in the basket, then when they come out all groggy, it looks like the snake is being charmed.)

And I leave you all with the English translation of the Rosary of the 32 Names of Durga - may all her blessings rain down upon you. Until I post again, adieu. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

1. The Reliever of Difficulties 2. Who puts Difficulties at Peace 3. Dispeller of Difficult Adversities 4. Who cuts down Difficulties 5. The Performer of Discipline to Expel Difficulties 6. The Destroyer of Difficultes 7. Who holds the whip to Difficulties 8. Who sends Difficulties to Rain 9. Who measures Difficulties 10. Who makes Difficulties Unconcious 11. Who Destroys the World of Difficult Thoughts 12. The Mother of Difficulties 13. The Perception of Difficulties 14. The Intrinsic Nature of the Soul of Difficulties 15. Who Searches through Difficulties 16. The Knowledge of Difficulties 17. The Extrication from Difficulties 18. The continued existance of Difficulties 19. Whose Meditation Remains Brilliant When in Difficulties 20. Who Deludes Difficulties. 21. Who resolves Difficulties 22. Who is the Intrinsic Nature of the Object of Difficulties 23. The Annihiliator of the Egotism of Difficulties 24. Bearer of the Weapon Against Difficulties 25. The Refinery of Difficulties 26. Who is Beyond Difficulties 27. This Present Difficulty 28. The Empress of Difficulties 29. Who is Terrible to Difficulties 30. The Lady of Difficulties 31. The Illuminator of Difficulties 32. Who Cuts off Difficulties

So Said the Saddhu

The Free Dictionary Definition of a Saddhu:
Noun 1. Saddhu - (Hinduism) an ascetic holy man
Hinduism - a body of religious and philosophical beliefs and cultural practices native to India and based on a caste system; it is characterized by a belief in reincarnation, by a belief in a supreme being of many forms and natures, by the view that opposing theories are aspects of one eternal truth, and by a desire for liberation from earthly evils.

The Eufemia Definition:
Noun 1. Those skinny guys in orange that shake their tins and ask for Bahksheesh. And what's bahksheesh, you wonder? I tried to get an explanation from Swamiji, who thinks that one of the biggest problems with India today is that the country is turning to the Wayward West for goals and standards, "and so, going into the toilet. But look, people in the West now chanting sanskrit and doing Yoga. Look, Indian people now lazy crazy." Swamiji doesn't like this baksheesh business.

Swamiji: Money....payment....extra money....pay and no problems.

Eufemia: Like a bribe?

Swamiji: No not bribe, bahksheesh.

Eufemia: Where I come from, we call that a bribe.

I tend to ignore all of these gentlemen, especially when they're calling out "Hello! HELL-O! Madam! MADAM! Money!" I make my peace with walking past and donating nothing because of the agressive nature of the request. At times I wanted to say "Mister, I gave at the office" or "You know what they say, charity begins at home" and see what would happen, but you know what they say, the best defense is to not to engage in offense.

According to the Lonely Planet, sometimes escaped convicts dress up in orange and wander around India dressed as these holy men. Wild huh? You couldn't really pull that rabbit out the Pope's enormous hat in the West, now couldja? Pass yourself off as a priest and Sandeep's your uncle. It's more of a concern in Rishikesh, I understand, but still, better safe than sari. (Ugh. oh no! I'm slipping, I know, but it's been a while of just dragging myself to yoga and dragging myself back, no energy for much thinking, for putting together sentences. No, complex thoughts be not formulating in my mind. It's beginning to get hot here, really hot during the day, though sometimes still cool at night. The Indians are dressed in bomber jackets and long pants as if it's freezing. It's at least 23 degrees Celsius by day, by my completely uneducated & totally clueless about 'The Nature of Things' opinion. Anyho, there I go again but just to verify what I was saying about being fried, today in Yoga Swamiji says "Mia, what happen? No power today.")

Oh, but speaking of being fried, I can't help this tangent: we wandered over to the Lotus today, me, Sarah & Jessie, just to see if we felt like having breakfast someplace other than Shiva Fast Foods (I really got cut back on those veggie naans. And the rose lassi's. And don't even think about asking me about the chocolate croissants. Just don't go there, okay?)

Jessie went in to the kitchen to ask if they had eggs. There are rumours of places that supply them. The kitchen staff didn't understand her. I pointed to the menu and said "Hey, look, it's right here on the menu." To which Jessie replied "That's Egg Plant." An easy mistake if you saw the way it was written out, on two lines. Certainly, a little confusing, I must say. But this is the town with "snakes" on the menu and tons of restaurants highly recommend their lentil deficacies.

A Western woman got up and asked what we were looking for, as if she was going to help us. Jessie tells her she's in search of an egg, and the woman says "No, they don't have eggs here." She makes a face like she just stepped in a fresh cow doody. I mean, she acted like we said we dance by the light of the Full Moon and worship the Devil.

Jessie said "Some places have them."

The woman looks even more horrified, like we've now said we're searching for stray puppies and kittens for our next sacrifice to the Dark Master. Seriously, I couldn't believe her reaction: "Well they're not supposed too, this is Pushkar. There are no eggs here."

Sure, sure, sistah - why don't you pull this finger - it's more flexible now that I'm going to Yoga. I felt like saying "and some restaurants supply water that tastes like beer and just exactly where is everyone getting their bang lassi from? Is it imported from Nepal?" And while I'm on this little rant, why is it okay to chase folks asking them for money, lie to them about it being festival time, ask them if they'd like to make an offering for their family and tell them to go down to the Lake for the Puja and them give them heck and tell them they have "very bad karma" because they're not making a big enough offering. Rupees don't grow on trees, you know, or the monkeys would be running the world. Hang on a second, I see a flaw in my logic....

The woman walks away, or I should say, sashays away, really, with an attitude like 'I straightened them out.' We all look at each other and Jessie says "Well, sometimes I don't take my shoes off when I'm crossing the bridge either." What a rebel, hey? I love this girl.

But back to my orginal story: a few days ago, I was walking past the gate into the main part of town (when I say gate, you should be picturing four ugly orange metal bars sticking up out of the ground with one large crossbar on top, it seems to work as a speed bump, not a real gate, nothing ornate or beautiful like you might see in a Merchant Ivory Film, no, no.) and there was a saddhu sitting on the shrine (when I say shrine, you should picture a concrete block painted white, and tiled with images of Ganesha and Hanuman but mostly Shiva. Under a small silver roof shaped like the domes on Taj Mahal, there is a Shivalinga in the centre, "a symbolic representation of the way Shiva is worshipped. A yin-yan symbol portraying the eternal embrace of cosmic masculine and feminine higher forces & creative power" - quote from Yoga School Dropout) Often there are several such saddhus hanging out around the Shivalinga, smoking chillum, getting into the zone, I guess you could say. Using the straight dope method of realising God conciousness.

I was walking past with Jessie, and there was only one lone saddhu sitting there. I was in mid-sentence, saying something to her when I used the word "Nothing" and the saddhu calls out "What?"

I turned my head towards him and repeated "Nothing," not wanting to get into a conversation.

"Nothing, " he said "This world is nothing."

Just thought you might all like to know.

Notice To Tourist

Here you go, straight from the sign leading to Sadaar Bazaar Road, the market-hang-out-tourist area of town. The sign is red, with white writing.

Office of the Municipal Board, Pushkar
Notice to Tourist Do's & Don'ts
Nagar Palika, Pushkar, extends gratitude and heartflet welcome to all pilgrims and foreign tourists, to sacred and spiritual city of Pushkar.

• No photography of bathing women folk at Ghats (sacred steps) at Sarovar


• Respect religious & spiritual sanctity


• No vulgarity, no smooching and no hugging at Ghats


• Consumption of alcohol, drugs and non-vegetarian food is strictly prohibited


• Dress up decently in public places and do not embrace


• Keep your shoes off Sarovar water


• Help us in maintaining cleanliness of city and lake


• No cereals, flour pills etc to fishes


• Say no to polythene bags


• Do not let your cattle to come into streets


• No encroachment on Paika Land.


• Defaulter will be penalised.

I was so panicked about my cattle escaping the Hotel, making for town and starting off some kind of bovine duel, locking horns and the turf war would just be unreal. I don't need those kinds of problems here. I mean, who does?

So You Know The Full Story

I thought I should give you some updates on characters you've met on the blog. May I just say here, reader's discretion is advised. I'm not sure what you'll think of me afterwards, but let's just say, I've handled many moments in India with much less grace and patience than I ever imagined possible. I mean, these are strangers, not family fer gosh sakes, where you have a built-up history of emotional bloodletting.

Annu of the excruciating massage, and her husband, were fired. I asked about them after not seeing them around for several days. Rakesh told me, "She not good, she corrupted." Then, after blissfully not seeing them for a week, Mr. Armpit returned. He really, really bugs me. Just seeing his face annoys me, I can't tell you how much, because then I would just seem petty. And he constantly says "Namaste Ji" and "Ap Kaise Hai?" to me. Ji is only used as a term of respect. And who does he think he's kidding? He's not exactly pulling the turban over my eyes. I always worry that with him I'll use the bad language I learned. In case of an emergency, just break class. Go vulgar.

The little kid I wanted to kill, the one who 'went vulgar' in English and who I still think about, I've seen him again and again. When I think about him, I think about how someone had to teach him that phrase in our language, understand? Run in # 2 was him cutting me off as I was walking to Yoga class, pointing to biscuits at the store on the corner and starting up his whole spiel again. I decided not to let it affect me, so I said "Oh, it's you. Imagine running into you here, what a surprise." I got as far as saying "What a sur-" when the shopkeeper came out of nowhere, I mean he was faster than the Flash, and wacked the kid several times across his head with his shoe. The look on my face, and the kid's face, not that different, even though it was fear on the kid and horror on mine. The kid ran off. I kept walking and five feet from where it happened, I burst out laughing. I felt as though I had a case of mild hysteria. Look, you and I both know it wasn't funny, it was shock.

The next day I was walking with Jessie when the kid approached us. I pointed him out, and she recognised him from her encounters with him. He started in towards me and Jessie said "No" to him, so he demonstrated for her the Yoga Mudra known as "flipping the bird".

Two days after that, I was at the sweetstall when he approached me. He tugged on my sleeve and kept saying "Me hungry, no money, just giving food, good for you feed me. Me hungry." I said "No, jallo" (Go away)

"Why jallo? Me hungry"

"Because of what you said to me"

"I no remember you"

"Don't worry, I remember you."

"Where?"

"Near Vishnu Temple"

"I no remember. I hungry"

"I'm not buying you anything."

I almost said 'Ask me if I care'. I have these moments where I'm not sure who I am here, at all.

I'm bent on avoiding eye contact, not just with the beggars, or the gypsies who try and grab your hands, or with the shop clerks with their annoying "Excuse me! Excuse me, please!" and the priests/saddhus in orange, shaking their tin cans at me as I walk past, saying "Hell-oh! Hell-oh! Money! Money!" very agressively. The times that I did give something, or buy food, it wasn't enough. I still find it embarrassing, to be one of these people sitting at a sidewalk cafe (okay, sitting on the road, every cafe, juice bar, Naan stand, it's all on the road) who ignores the beggar children. Or the gyspy women asking you to buy them chapatis. I think embarrassing is the word I was searching for, I'm not sure.

It's extremely exhausting, and that's with me not even telling you about the run ins with shopkeepers and tailors and the way that while Pushkar is a shopper's paradise, it's not really set up for you to try clothes on, no, just pull a flimsy curtain across and yet, you're not really protected from someone's prying eyes.

Here's something else I think about: last week, Jessie and I went to the one ATM machine here, which sometimes works, sometimes doesn't. (50% of the time seems to be the average) On our way there, I saw this small monkey lying on the ground in front of a temple, and I said:

"Oh, look at that monkey sleeping," I thought it was so cute, it wasn't a baby, but it wasn't a full grown monkey.

"Where?" says Jessie.

As I point out the monkey to her, a woman sitting nearby in a group of women says, "Dead."

"Dead?" I asked, but I had already realised it myself. It wasn't moving, and while I know nothing about monkeys, they wouldn't be lying on the ground like that. And, as Jessie noted, there were quite a few flies on it.

"Electricity" continued the woman, and she pointed to the wires above us. Everywhere I've been in India, I think the wires hang dangerously low, and then monkeys use them, run along them and jump off them, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, those daring young monkeys don't need no trapeze.

Then the woman pointed up to the rooftop corner of the temple, where the monkey's mother was sitting, looking around as if she was lost and didn't know what to do.

Two weeks before this as I sat at Baba's Restaurant, I watched for an hour as mother monkeys grabbed their baby monkeys, clutched them to their chest and jumped across the road. I was totally thrilled, and it's easy to admire primates from afar. Okay they weren't that far away, and let's remember rabies shots have to be adminstered in your belly button, Argh! Argh! but still, I felt safe. Apparently, you should never smile at a monkey because you think it's cute. Showing teeth to a monkey is like saying "Your sister's an ape" and the monkey will react by baring it's teeth and saying "Bring it on, homo sapien"

I never know when it's enough, and I should really quit while I'm behind. It's just that I felt so saddened by the scene of the mother monkey keeping watch from afar over the still, lifeless body of her offspring, and I couldn't shake the feeling for the rest of the day.

I'm surrounded by grand scale human suffering but I couldn't stop thinking about the monkey. What does that tell me about me?

So now you know the full story. Sort of.

The Merchant of O

Perhaps you've heard of the book The Story of O, another example of how the French sometimes freak me out. Sometimes, they intimidate the heck out of me, with their innate fashion sense and good taste, a je ne sais quoi sensibility is all I can call it, while I struggle to look like I have aquired a sense of self. (By the way, I had no idea before coming here, but it turns out Northern India is mostly populated by the French and Israelis. And of course, some Indians.)

Admittedly, I often rely on my choice of hair products to get this message of Buddha-like bravado across, and if you ask me, it doesn't always transmit. There's only so much an Anti-Frizz Serum can do for a gal, and in a climate like the Wet Coast's, well that's an uphill battle. New title of my auto-biography: Me and Sisyphus, We're Like This. (The image on the book cover would be the middle finger wrapped around the index finger.)

There I go, off on a tangent again. I just wanted to share this Ad, 1/4 of a page size, from the back of the Times of India, a paper that appears to be a cross between a gossip magazine and crossword puzzle. Seriously, it's the weirdest newspaper I've ever read. I think it makes the National Enquirer look like The Herald Tribune. Enough said. The advertisement:

Merchants of Orgasm

India's Most Wanted Gigolos - Life of Lust and Luxury
The New G-Spots: Gigolos are the Playmates of Rich Urban Women.

in THIS WEEK: Journalism with a Human Touch*

*as opposed to what exactly? The touch of a monkey? They haven't exactly proven that a room full of monkeys can produce The Merchant of Venice, y'know? I imagine this magazine would be like the unwanted spawn of People Magazine marrying Time Magazine. It appears to take after it's mother.

I went to great lengths to copy down this ad copy while attempting to appear non-chalant. Because it really stood out as an ad, red background with white writing. I nearly said "What is with this wacked out stuff?" to the fellas at Funky Monkey but I thought it best I just keep a low profile about how this is freaky in a place where there's all this bizarre repression/expression of desire. I have no other way to describe it. This is India, land of arranged marriages, dowry murders, bramacharya, and the kama sutra. I don't know if it's something in the water, but then again, I'm still in the desert. I'm totally fascinated and completely confused.

Natasha (Poi Goddess Extraordinaire) said she's trying to normalise behaviour with men here, like hugging them in greeting, and helping to ensure they don't drool or overdo it when foreign woman walk by, she's attempting to show them how their abnormal behaviour freaks us out. I wish her luck on that mission.

I've heard stories, mind you, where a conversation appears to look like an engagement to the gentleman in question. Oh, right, I think I heard that story from Natasha too, about the young woman at her hotel who had to advise the staff not to let a certain man past reception, and how the man flipped out and struck a hotel staff member because he was keeping him from his 'girlfriend'. They had maybe two conversations, which I could have been as deep as "Which country are you from?" and "What is your name?" possibly while he followed her up the street. Hard to say. I know, now I'm just planting ideas of this story in your head, but if you were here, you wouldn't think it was that far-fetched at all. Kooky, yes, far-fetched, no.

Jessie's Mandarin phrasebook- hey, did I mention she's trained as a Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner & that I got an accupunture treatment with her? She was brilliant, and it was awesome. Sure, there was that moment when I opened my eyes and saw little needles sticking out of me. I closed them again jaldi, jaldi (quickly, quickly). There I go again...

Anyho- (Gosh, you know, you shouldn't let me go on like this, it's so rude of me, and a good friend would let me know I have a problem) Jessie's Madarin phrasebook had a section titled Romance, with translations for: Mmmmm... feels good and Will you go to bed with me?

Where's the romance you ask? Good question. I don't know why they didn't just call it the Sex Section. Or the Please Ladies, Be Act Like They Do in Hollywood Movies and Be Having Sex Here Please Okay?

I mean, real-lee. Gimme a break. See what happens when you arrange marriages? Ludicrous things happen. And I say that as the product of an arranged marriage, so, that should carry more weight shouldn't it? I'm not shoulding you, but I think you might want to answer the question. No pressure.

I'm (insert here)____________ than anyone else aren't I?

Insert Selection List:
1. more aware
2. more in tune with the Universe
3. more advanced in the spiritual evolution chain
4. a bigger smarty pants
5. more obsessed with hair products

So, yeah, I think that proves I know nothing what of I speak.

Oh, yes, Happy Valentine's Day. Romantic post huh?

I Kid You Nahee

From the Business Section of The Times of India (the section is called Times Ascent: Potential Beyond Boundaries) Wednesday February 13th edition, comes the following: Hide & Seek In recent years, employees doing the 'disappearing act' have become a nuisance in several organisations. It gets even worse when these absconding employees come back much later to claim unfair dismissal. Yasmin Taj tries to delve deeper into this menace of vanishing employees. What do you do when an employee simply fails to return to work and remains absent for some time? What is the exact law for termination of absconding cases? According to Dr. Tushar Guha, Corporate Trainer and Management Director, Nrityanjali Management Services, "When an employees remains absent for sometime with any intimation, the employer has to act in the following manner. Firstly, on the second day of absence, the employer should contact the employee telephonically. If telephonic contact is not possible, then send an official letter within 2-3 days. Even further no response is received; send an official letter which should be registered. The letter must enquire the reasons of absence and also mention the consequences. After a week of sending the first letter, the second letter should follow stating the necessity to appoint a new candidate to the post. Finally, seek legal advice and accordingly act to terminate the services."

Gosh. I don't know what to tell you all, except that I became fascinated by this article, and even so, I could not finish reading it, because, well, you've seen an excerpt, it's not an easy read. One has to wade through the murkiness of the stilted English. (To say nothing of the "that's just plain wrong". Yes, plain wrong, that's proper English, pass the Devonshire cream proper, you follow? Got it? And yes, the door is ajar.)

I don't know how many times I've read the word pundit in the Times, countless, it seems, and I still haven't looked up the definition of the word. It's hard not to see a word like pundit and read "putz", because I never use the former but the latter I have many a time, e.g: What a putz, I'm such a putz, what's new putzy cat, woa woa woa-ooh.

I'm absolutely fascinated by this newspaper, but it gives me a headache trying to read a full article. Sometimes, I read the personals, ads for products and the advice section since they're short little blurbs and I'm totally entertained.

Your Honours, I offer the following evidence*:

Say Yes Because: You can make shopping a full-time hobby

Who doesn't love shopping? Don't you wish that is all you could do all day long? It's simple to turn then to turn this once-in-a-while joy into a full-time hobby without worrying about the money or the time. Leave it to your hubby to do the earning as you splurge away. And isn't this the best way to pass the time as your husband is sitting in office and you are alone at home with not much to do! What's more, you can take him along once in a while and get him to present you the stuff you like. Turning into a shopaholic was never this easy!

If you have any fun reasons to say yes, send your entries to (Email address withheld) The Times of India with "Say Yes Because" in the subject line.

I'm not passing that address on, no way. Here's what I'm thinking: I know some pranksters. And in the event that any one of them got a bright idea, and decided to contact the advice column editor, and next thing I know, this editor suddenly gets flooded like season of the monsoon with suggestions, I don't want that on my pundit head.

*Please note, the evidence was copied word for word, any errors in grammar and cohesion are soley the responsibility of the aforementioned newspaper, not the author of this blog.

A Man for All Problems, Act 1, Scene 1

a very very short short new filmscript by Eufemia Fantetti

Inspired by a true story

Cast of Characters:

Fifiji: A self-named Canadian spiritual aspirant. While her name does not carry the gravity or beauty of names like Muktidharma (path of liberation) or Bhakti (devotion), it suits her perfectly. (Fifiji= At one with the chocolate croissant) She is a chocoholic, which sometimes makes her feel depressed but then she pretends it's no big deal, and thanks the Heavens above that she's not an alcoholic or workaholic, because that would be detrimental to her health. Fifiji is has many concerns around being healthy.

Mr. Multitasking Bonesetter-Astrologer: (aka Bonehead) Owner of the Hotel where Fifiji currently resides. A portly fellow, often looks like he could use a shave and angioplasty. Often has a cranky expression on his face, and his regular speaking volume could be referred to as 'bellowing.' Mr. Bonehead's business card lists his impressive skillset: Cheopractor [sic], Faith Healer, Tradition Bonesetter, Astrologer.

Setting:

The entranceway of the Hotel, next to the Hanuman Shrine. Midday. Note: The scene could easily take place in the Hotel's All You Can Eat Buffet-Courtyard area, which is described as 'The Universal Gathering in a Venue which is close to nature and close to the truth'. This would be up to the Director to decide. (P.S: Mr. Spielberg, please put all future calls through to my agent, you're wasting my time and yours with all these casual chats about the weather. It's the desert, what did you think it would be like? Crikey!) Fifiji has decided this description of a "garden where no garden exists" is a lark, a sign of group delusion. The only closeness to nature is the new turtle that the Hotel owner purchased as a mascot/pet. The turtle and the German Shepard hound should not be shown as friendly or frolicking, because they don't at all. This would be a gross misrepresentation of the truth, and this story is after all, inspired by truthiness.

Fifiji enters from the Hotel courtyard, sees Bonehead and nods in recognition, out of politeness.

Fifiji: Namaskarji, Ap kaise hai? (Greetings Highly-Respectable Sir, How are you?)

Bonehead: Ah, blah blah blah blah blah blah ki blah blah blahji blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah?

Fifiji: (madly flipping through her Hindi phrasebook) Uhm, sorry. Kya? (What?)

Bonehead: Bah blah blah understand?

Fifiji: No. Nahee. Not one word except the one you used in English.

Bonehead: (indicating he needs to see Fifiji's palm) Energy! there is blah blah block blah blah blah tikka power blah blah blah shakti blah.

Fifiji: Kya? Say again?

Bonehead: Do you know what means energy?

Fifiji: Yes, I know what energy is, it's the power that shuts off every day from 11 a.m. to almost 5 p.m., and the reason everything runs by insanely loud generators, and the reason why I've lost emails when the batteries die at the internet.

Fifiji is particularly touchy about this last point, especially when the internet providers all say "Maybe you touched something? A wire?" "Nahee milega, not possible. I'm only touching the keyboard" is her usual reply. She would like to say, "If you don't think I know you're all bold-face lying to me, you are all touched in the head." But in the interest of keeping everybody happy, a struggle Fifiji has been through more lifetimes than she can count, she stays silent.

Bonehead: Nay, blah blah blah electric energy, blah blah blah, blah blahti ki blah.

Bonehead is adamantly trying to indicate Fifiji's palm, her core energy, possibly her joie de vie, her energetic body, which is subtler than the physical body, sometimes referred to as the gross body, how apropos. Fifiji has felt the gross body crumble under the weight of regular Yoga classes.

Fifiji is confused, but understands that while she has decided to stay at this hotel, meaning this hotel owner would be getting her repeat customer business for the next 5 weeks, he was still trying to give her the business.

Fifiji: I'm sorry, I don't understand you. I practice Yoga, that helps my energy.

Bonehead: Yoga? Where?

Fifiji: The other side of Pushkar Lake. With Swamiji.

Bonehead: Which Swami?

Fifiji gives Bonehead a look that says 'the one in orange, moron.'

Fifiji: Swami Shayam Lal

Bonehead: (shaking his head) Yoga is one thing, energy is another.

Fifiji: Yoga is very good for the health.

Bonehead: Energy also important.

Fifiji begins to feel an energetic chain reaction moving through her chakras, one similar to the one in which Bruce Banner must experience when he morphs into the Incredible Hulk , but Fifiji was never in a labratory during an experiment gone horribly wrong. No, never. Okay, yes, she nearly fainted from the smell of formaldehyde in Grade 12 Biology, and accepted a failing mark for the section rather than dissecting a rat, but that's as bad as Fifiji's lab life ever got.

Cue to swell the dramatic music here, author's suggestion: Wagner's The Ride of the Valkyries. Hey, it's just a suggestion.

Close up on Fifiji's face as we see the struggle for her to remain calm. Her nostrils flare a little. Her brow creases. Her internal thoughts might be: No! NO! Stay calm Fifiji! Be like Buddha, aware, calm, calm, tranquil. Be like a lotus in a pond. Fifiji is trying to avoid narrowing her eyes, so that her glare doesn't turn deadly like her mother's, the former Cyclops of Toronto.

Bonehead: Energy is important.

Bonehead sees this conversation is having no impact on Fifiji. Except, if he could truly read energy levels, he would back away slowly, with no sudden movements, as her heart rate has accelerated to a level one might describe as 'murderous' or 'muderess'. Wait for it. It's only a matter of time. He tries another tactic.

Bonehead: (accusingly) You learning Hindi. Why?

Fifiji: So I can understand what men are saying when I walk by. And so I can answer any questions they might be asking me about the weather, my homeland, and my sexual preferences.*

* I said inspired by the truth, didn't I? Not based on.

I mean, I wish I had said the second sentence, really, really wish I'd thought of it before I'd walked away. Dontcha hate those moments where later you've got the perfect reply? Perfect is pushing it, I know, but it made me laugh to think what his face might have registered, but it's best I didn't think of it, as he would have misunderstood me. That's an every day occurence here, even when I keep my head down, avoid eye contact, and say absolutely nothing. Sigh. As my hero Bugs Bunny used to say: Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out alive.

So, what do you think? Let's keep in mind, it's only a first draft, needs a bit of spit and polish.

Luckily for me, I'm in the horking and spitting capital of the world.

Camels and Cobras and Cows, Oh my!

Dorothy: Lions?

Scarecrow: And tigers?

Tin Woodsman: And bears.

Dorothy: Oh My!

What the heck were they worried about? Have you seen Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back? Everytime a camel passes me on the road, I'm thinking of those Tauntauns, the giant snow lizards used by the Rebel Alliance to patrol planet Hoth. And I'm not the only one, Natasha, the Poi-teaching Goddess, mentioned it to me as well. I have a feeling these enormous mammals are going to band together and revolt. Mark my words, one day it will be "Camel Safari my two humps! We're taking back this desert state," while they join together and put on the first ever Camel-rebellion-stampede. It could get ugly. Some folks might live to tell the tale, the cautionary tale, of what happens when mammals at the top of the food chain enslave other mammals, critters who were minding their own business before they started working for the man.

Some more quotes I wanted to pass on:

Aryan from the Funky Monkey on Mutual of Omaha's Wild India: "India is a place where you can see every animal in the street. Cows, cats, dogs, camels, monkeys, snakes, everything is here." Back up, I think I missed something in my Lonely Bozos Guide for Highly Anxious & Excitable Types. Did you say snakes? And presumably Aryan didn't mean the SNAKES that I've seen on the menu, after the section "Hot Drinks" (Reading menus is my newest hobby, after Cow Gazing - ha ha, are you reading to smack me yet?)

Swamiji on Italy: I go, I was one time Italy, student there. She to me say come and I go, passport make with wife and okay teach yoga. Everywhere I go, they making pasta. I no want pasta, I want chapati. They no can make. okay, class tomorrow same time. Ciao.

Swamiji on Yoga:This science you can make, no matter Hindu or Muslim, everybody can do. See Shiva Temple, see Brahma Temple and what this temple you no see, so what (He points to himself) Your mind are go away from the body, and then sickness, disease, yoga bring you back to you pavillion.

Swamiji to Eufemia: Yes, please, Canada? Something in this position feel? Yes, actually, I feel I need a team of guys with a bamboo stretcher to carry me back to the Hotel.

Eufemia to Swamiji after seeing his black and white photo from 40 years ago: Wow, you could have been a Bollywood star!

Swamiji's reply: Yes, many people saying so and in fact stage actor in Mumbai was.

Eufemia to the 15 year kid being sassy to her in Hindi: Kya bayai? (What brother?) Is there a problem?" Just a sidebar here: "What, brother?" is what Babu taught me to say instead of "Would you say that to your sister, jerk?" Turns out my instincts were bang on, the worst thing you can call a man in India is a horrible name that implies he's had improper relations with his sister.

I didn't ask for that term, and no one's going to teach it to me anyway, because that would be brutal and I'm not interested in being harsh. I just wanted to show I have a backbone and I'm not an idiot and sure, I don't mind throwing them off a little, unsettling them the same way they love to unsettle foreign women by walking right behind them, especially at night, the raht-bastards. (Raht means night. I'm good huh? No? Too much? I'm going overboard aren't I? Oh, when will this never ending need for approval cease?)

All the guys at the Hotel let me practice my Hindi with them, it makes them laugh their heads off. And a few have said, "Please, don't get into a fight if someone upsets you." Of course, I said, there's no problem really, unless someone pisses me off. Babu shook his head like "this one's nuts." I did manage to unsettle the kid, and his friend pulled him away saying "No problem, no problem." I wanted to say, "I should hope not, for both our sakes, I don't want your lifeless body on my karma," but I left it alone and asked the shopkeeper "How much for the Snickers bar?"

Babu on Eufemia speaking Hindi: "I think better if you not speaking Hindi in the market."
This is not, as some might think, because my Italian pronunciation problem has followed me to Hindi. No, I flat out asked them not to teach me words that could be misunderstood, but good luck, nahee milheghe (not possible). For example, one slight error in pronouncing the word 'brother' results in me calling someone an illiterate peasant. Not good, not good. Babu's advice is based on the fact that some people (men, it's only ever men) "will maybe come stand too close to you." And according to Babu, they might be thinking you here looking for boyfriend, or want to know how you know Hindi, think something is wrong how you learning. Nice, huh? He also told me,"Change your personality. Maybe not be so friendly while you here."

Recently overheard in Yoga class: "Dard, Swamiji, Dard!" (Pain, Swamiji, Pain!) Technically, I didn't overhear this, no, no. I wasn't eavesdropping or anything like that. No, I believe that was my voice, yep that was me, shouting it out. Oh what a melodrama queen I am. 'Shouting' is an exageration. I was just expressing my concern, loudly, as Swamiji tried to assist me in a position that required the back of my head to arch back and touch my big toe. My head was thinking "NO, DEAR GOD NO!" I shudder to think what my big toe was thinking, we're not on speaking terms right now. I did overhear Sarah, in the same position, under similar duress, say "Baba...I...can't....breathe." Swamiji's reply to both of us was the same, "Yesss."

Sarah coins a new expression while walking down Sadaar Bazaar Road: "Why am I always caught between a motorcycle and a bull's ass?" You better believe I'm going to start using this phrase more than 'between a rock and a hard place', because I have experienced it myself, many times, with a knot in my stomach. In fact, I was caught in the same "traffic jam", if you will, right behind her. If I had to think about it, though, it's still preferable to being caught between a cart and a camel.

Mukesh on the double wedding parade passing by his shop: "Two men. Going to be hung." "Isn't this a wedding procession?" I ask. "Yes," he laughs, "Their lives are over. Actually in India we say this, marriage is like laddus, you know, sweets?" (Yup, I know sweets, we're on a first name basis, me and the sweets. In fact I can hear them calling me now.) "Marriage is like laddus, very sweet life, good life if you can have it. But, also good if you don't have it." "Right, like no wife, no life, no husband, no headache," I say. Mukesh smiles and shakes my hand, "Yes, just like. See, they go be hanged, because when you not married, you head is high, head will be down after married, you look all time at the ground" He acts this out by looking up and beaming, and then gazing at the ground, totally devoid of any happiness. I mention it to the fellas at the Hotel, and Mahesh makes a gesture where his index finger slices across his throat, like "those poor fellas aren't going to be hung, they're going to be beheaded." So I say "Yeah, well, no husband, no headache." Like that old Sanskrit saying goes: What's good for the Cow is good also for her to admit when she's hearing a lot of Bull. I know, it loses something in the translation.

Seen at the Ayurvedic clinic: Chyavam Yog, for Vim, Vigour and Vitality. As my fellow non-fictionites will now realise, I am in aliteration Heaven here!

Suresh to Eufemia: Tumsay muhophat. Translation, learned from Rakeesh "I love you". Suresh had also said this to me in English moments before, and I replied "Who's teaching you English?" Because so far, all my conversations with this 18 year old kid (who looks like he's possibly 12 years old at max) have been "You fine?" "Fine" "you?" "Fine!". Suresh works in the Hotel kitchen, and I wanted to adopt him, and now, well, I'm not so sure. I'm not into Greek tragedies. There's a lot of red-tape around that kind of thing anyways. So I asked Rakeesh, "Does Suresh know what he's saying?" as it seemed very unlikely. "Yes," he says "Why not?" Because where I come from, you don't say that to a guest at the Hotel, it's considered a bit, uhm, I don't know, peculiar.

Aryan from Funky Monkey, teaching Jessie and Eufemia things to say when men pester them: Tum kya daiko? Translation: What are you looking at? The other stuff he taught us I can't repeat, and I thought it was unneccessary until Jessie said "Have you been groped yet?" "Ah, no." "You'll need Kali then." Okay then. What's the Hindi for "Do you plan on having children?" or "Do you want your blood on my hands?"

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

Didja miss me?

I missed you too.

Well, my cough came back, the very next day, I thought it was a goner but the cough came back, it just wouldn't stay away.

So Jessie and I went to the pharmacy next to the Free Ayurvedic Clinic, got a free consultation, and I walked away with 17 days of herbal medication, pills, cold balm and cough syrup for 500 rupees. ($15) The herbal concoction, which I watched him mix up with a mortar and pestle, contained gold. I double checked "Gold, like the jewellery?" and he said "Yes." It was all powder and items that looked like pepper seeds being cracked.

From my pulse he diagnosed that my digestion is problematic, there's too much heat in my blood, and that I'm anaemic. I just went in asking for a tea for the cough, and he said "Only gives relief, not cure." So, I'll let you know what happens...

It's still a bit chilly in the desert. Today, after 11 consecutive days of Yoga at least once a day and 6 of twice a day, we were given the day off.

I know, 11 days! Where's the real Eufemia and what have you done with her? To be honest, by the end I was bawling my eyes out and only with Sarah's support did I make it to one afternoon class, which was thankfully cancelled due to the Northwind coming in from Dehli.

I went because the binge that would have happened had I not gone would have been ugly, so Sarah suggested I would just go and watch, and soak up the Swamiji atmosphere.

Swamiji said to me: "Can see in your face, sad. Not attaching to this pain. Just notice, see, not attach."

I was too exhausted to say "I'm not attaching to the pain, it's attaching itself to every cell and muscle in my being." But really, I was also crying because I was thinking "Here I am again, coming up against the same thing. Feel physical pain and I'm off, I want to bow out of everything. I want food. I WANT FOOD! Oh noooooo, I am crazy lazy." My thoughts have never been my friends. And yet I keep hanging out with them. Sigh.

Also, it's hard to listen to Swamiji tell you you're weak, even when it's true, even when he means physically, even when he's saying it with total kindness and love. But then, I'm plucky. Or driven. Or something, I think. I'm something. I'll let you know what when I figure it out.

Ah well, about the blogging, the frequency dropped as the Yoga picked up, and then there's the fabulous Poi instruction from Natasha. Honestly, I'm feeling extrememly blessed, so no worries, those outbursts of tears are just old behaviour patterns rearing their ugly appetite. (Also see posts: Chocolate Croissants, milk sweets, Eufemia's eating habits)

Sarah thinks my spiritual name will now be Yogini Poi Yogini. Suits me nicely, I think.

• Please see: http://poipixies.com/poipixietribe.html for Natasha and Matthew's fabulous video of their time in Pushkar, and you'll see why I love this place.
• Please see: http://www.unionphotographers.com/india2007/ for Holly Truchan's fantastic photos from her time in India (I miss you, Holly!) This photo series includes the shot "Eufemia is traumatised by Traffic in Kolkata"

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Blog

Oh my dears, I apologise for the slow down in posting entries. As Swamiji would say, "Not to worrying be" I haven't been run over by a motorist or camel.

I'm trying to recuperate from this on and off cough/cold, mostly off, but I catch a chill whenever there's a 'problem with the hot water now'. I usually find out about the problem after I'm already in the shower, freezing, even though I always ask "Abi gaaram paani?" or "Gaaram paani milega?" (Now hot water? or Hot water is possible?) Of course, the reply is that hot water is always possible. Here's another funny saying I've learned, relating specifically to accomodations across the subcontinent:

Full Power
24 hour
No toilet
No shower

So I'm bundling off to bed, and not to worrying be, peeps. Everything's atcha. (good)

Why did the Canadian climb the 800 metre Hill again? Because, just because alright?

"Because it is there." George Mallory (1886-1924), in answer to the question 'Why do you want to climb Mt. Everest ?'.

Why not? I thought when the fellow from yoga class suggested it, why not climb to that temple atop that hill again? The view was beautiful.

I had suggested to my fellow Om-chanting-bunnies that we meet for Yoga practice, while Swamiji was away, unfortunately attending a funeral. Our regularly scheduled meditation had been cancelled. (There's four of us die-hards in total, 2 Canadians, a Spaniard and an Aussie. Go Team Canada! But truly, in this brief span of time, I have come to adore them all. We work well together, a very encouraging group)

"Mia, no let's climb and meditate at the top of the mountain," suggests Minchou, and we yoginis three agree. (Yogini is a female yoga practitioner, my apologies if this is redundant information for youse guys)

We agree to meet later at Sarah's hotel, which is very close to where Minchou and I are staying at the Hotel Om. Jessie joined us there and we set off, through the town, down Sadar Bazaar road, past the Brahma temple, down the dirt road, up the hill.

Sarah, if you recall is the other Ashramite. Jessie is the lovely Aussie gal who turned up the morning after I was having my meltdown about staying on by myself, to study with Swamiji, someone I couldn't always understand. (Perhaps you've read the Itty Bitty post of favouriteSwamiji quotes? Now imagine trying to bend backwards or balance on one foot while those instructions are being handed out. Shanti, sure, shanti.)

Half way up the hill, I said to my companions "I'm going to stop here for a moment, and pretend to admire the view, but I'd like you all to know I want my ashes scattered here. Please don't bother taking me back to Varanasi for the cremation."

I didn't think they should be burdened, y'know? I thought that could be a real bummer for them. I was way too winded to communicate that my dear friends back home could split up all my books. One hopes my friends would mindfully practice aparigraha, the practice of non-grasping, non-possessiveness, and also donate some of the books to the Vancouver Public Library.

The contribution could be worded thusly:

Donated by the generous spirit who touched many hearts. She was a writer who failed to make her mark before her body succumbed to the intake of too many pastries, making the passageway for the hilltop climb difficult, treacherous, and finally, deadly. Eufemia would like it noted that the Lord*, her shepherd; maketh her to lie down in in the desert of Rajasthan: He leadeth her beside the land of no hot water showers. He restoreth her soul: He leadeth she in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though she walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, she will fear no evil or toilet facility: for He is with her; her cup of chai runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow her all the days of her life. Surely, she will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

*In case you've struggled with the term 'Lord', as I have on occasion, I'm adding a brief commercial break here: Dance, Dance, where ever you may be, I am the Lord of the Dance said He and I'll lead you all, where ever you may be, and I'll lead you all in a dance said He.

That's what I'm talking about, bay-bee. Call her or him what you like, make offerings and prayers anytime or anywhere but especially in your heart. And don't forget to Dance. (Image to go with this sentiment: A picture of the cosmos, a swirling mass of stars and cosmic dust, with a giant red arrow pointing into the dust and the words "You are here" Isn't that amazing? You are here, and from what I understand, it takes some effort to aquire this human form. You didn't just reincarnate yesterday, y'know?)

Three quarters of the way up, Minchou offered to take my backpack, which only contained water, my camera, an extra shawl, a sweater, a notebook and a pen.

"No, thank you, that's nice of you, but, it's not my backpack that's the problem. It's my body," I said, and quoted Swamiji "See you young look but body like old man."

Some days Swamiji isn't talking about me, but often, one of his eyes is looking my way. He sometimes can't remember my name as Mia or Maya, so he'll say "Canada," (which made Sarah once respond with "Me?" I assured her he meant me. Yesterday, Swamiji called someone Argentina, and today he called a Chinese woman Japany. "Please, Japany, you see what they do, please you do as them or wrong is this." I felt better. Yoga United Nations in Pushkar)

We made it to the top, Jai!

You think you know someone, and then they turn into a mountain goat. Sarah went further along the mountin than I did on my first climb so we followed, even though there were many prickly bushes and burs and it was extremely rocky and me not so much liking the dropoffs, sometimes a little to close to the path. What path, really, what path? "I was kind of guessing," Sarah says on the way back. Oh, ah, I see. No worries, we just need to get back to the flatter surface by the temple before it gets completely pitch black because, well that kind of thing tends to stress me out. I know, weird.

Choose, Eufemia: being on the jagged cliff side of a hill in the desert after dark, or a scented bubble bath in warm water (possibly even tepid). Hmmmm, lemme see, this is a tough one now. Give me a minute.

Okay, it was an exceptionally stunning sunset, and to look at that magnificent tangerine sun set in the sky, I felt blessed. The sun disappears into the desert cloudmist when it's still high in the sky, and there's light for quite some time after the sun is gone. Then we sat beside the chai stand ("Seriously? Wow, that's some climb these folks have to get to work every day!" "They live/sleep up here Mia" "Oh.") and looked at Pushkar from afar.

The chai stand folks made a fire for us. Yes, the fire was started by burning plastic. It's done all the time here, no surprise about my cough. It's hard to breathe burning plastic, even with all the experience I gathered in kindergarden from sniffing glue when I was supposed to be making tissue paper hearts.

Did I mention Sarah and I not only bonded in the Gulag but had a tender moment where she asked me to check her bottom, because she was worried the inflamation wasn't a rash but possibly the parasite that burrows under your skin she'd recently heard about, and she tends to be a hypochondriac.

Pardonnez moi, but what parasite?

She thinks she's a hypochondriac, but I'm the one that was imagining a flesh eating virus situation when the thorn sliver got caught under the skin of my index finger. I was doing my best to follow Sarah and the path, and I stuck my hand out for balance. And the stupid bush bit me. I didn't know if my insurance would cover that kind of travel emergency. Also, I've already seen an Emergency room here, I have no desire to tour the rest of the hospital: "Uhm, no thanks, I think I'll just leave by the Shiva Pavillion, okay by you?"

By the way, I asked if Sarah minded the rash inspection being mentioned here, and she said no, as long as you're all aware she's fine and that it was just her cheeks I had a gander at. So no problems, we're all cool right? I mean, what's a butt inspection between friends? Everyone's skin is suffering from the lack of exfoliation that comes from regular hot showers and baths.

Back to the mountain top. (Oh so now it's a mountain, is it? Yup, and it was in Nepal, and I didn't need a sherpa as I was going solo just to prove it could be done, and I had to train for 4 months before I could even attempt the climb) Yes, there's warnings on the way up to not stay on the mountain after the sun goes down, and there's a part I found tricky climbing down, but managed because I had my flashlight. Jessie and I went down together.

Imagine, I had this pagal (crazy) idea I would climb it to watch the sunrise or sunset at least once a week.

"Yes, Mia, you should do, is only 40 minutes."

"No, Babu, it took me an hour and a half."

He laughed, as if I was joking, "No!"

"Uh, yeah, yes. At least."

"Why for you practicing yoga?"

Beats me. And I mean that literally.

German Bakeries abound in Northern India, who knew?

A word or two about those chocolate croissants I have been consuming - they are not like the ones back home. First of all, you purchase them at the German Bakery.

You can barely walk 10 feet without running into a German Bakery in Pushkar, complete with all the chocolate croissants you could possibly eat. There's almost as many German Bakeries here as there are shrines and temples.

Well, okay, not really, that's a big exaggeration. There's alotta shrines here. Like, think of all the Starbucks as you can find in Canada, and you may come to have some idea. Oh what the heck, throw in the Tim Hortons too, times that by 1000, you may be close. (Got that? Canuck Starbucks + Tim Hortons x 1000 = possible number of shrines/temples in Pushkar.) If we're talking India, give me a break, I can't count that high.

I kept wondering about all the signs I was passing: German bakery here, German Bakery there, everywhere a German Bakery. Everybody join in: Old Mr. Hoffman had a bakery, eee-i, eee-i, oh!

I've overheard people speaking French, English, Japanese, everything but German. It's not exactly "Namaste Frauline" at the bakeries, y'know? It's the Indian experience designed for foreigners. Don't worry, I'm consuming my fair share of laddus and rosewater milk sweets too, otherwise it just wouldn't be right, there would be no balance, am I right? (Lemme help you out in case you were unsure how to repond. The correct answer is: Oh when you're right, you're right. Hallelujah sister, you speak the truth.)

Apparently German's have a reputation for being the best bakers. Did you know that? I didn't know that. I myself have experienced the blissful joy of my Goddess incarnate roommate's plum cake, but I was still unaware of this reputation. As reputations go, this one's fantastic! If I was German, I might even start writing it on all the bathroom walls "For a good Apple Strudel call 555-1212"

Though, as I noted, that advertising would not be neccessary in India. And thank goodness, because, well, there's not a lot of bathrooms here and you don't always want to touch the walls in them.

Did I mention the outdoor urinals? I am not referring to men who pee anywhere, anytime, which happens all the time here. I mean, here's a little row of stalls you might be walking by, thinking 'What's that I wonder?' Well wonder no more dear ones, because if you're walking by while someone's using the facilities, you'll just see it's a row of urinals with no door. The public urinal I witnessed in Kolkatta was up a short flight of stairs, so the men could climb up and if they happened to look over their shoulder, they could see you walk by while they took care of their business, as we politely used to say back home. (Oh, how delicate and precious those long gone days seem now, my memories filtered through a warm light and filled with the scent of rose petals. (The smell of urine will never hold the same special place in my heart)

Hooray Eufemia! Covering bakeries and urinals in one post. Who said it couldn't be done? Who? Well, most people might not compare bakeries and urinals in the same sentence, let alone, contemplate the two things on the same day, but perhaps they're just not wanting to look at the bigger picture.

I think I made my point. So in conclusion, the croissants are not the same. They're thicker - like bread, and it's not chocolate but a mix of brown sugar with chocolate on the inside. Still, I'm not complaining, no, no. Nahee.

The Really Itty Bitty Book of Speaking Hindi Eufemia

Nahee gaaram paani! (No hot water!)

Main bahut dard (I very alot pain)

Main bahut dard hun (I is very alot pain )

Mujhe bahut dard (Pain, I have alot)
Please note, this one was like hitting it out of the ballpark, y'know? The crowd went wild. By crowd I mean, Babu, the person I was attempting to converse with. "Success!" Babu cried, "Success!"

Kya tum pagal ho? (Are you crazy?)

Main pagal hian. (I crazy is)

Kahan Babu? (Where Babu?)

Ap kaise hain? (How are you?)

Tikka (Fine)

Bahut Atcha (Very good)

Thik Thak (Fine on the outside, not so good inside.)
This is like the French expression comme ci, comme ca. I used it once, very appropriately, and Babu attempted to correct me, "Nahee, no, tikka, ap tikka." No, No, fine, you're fine." I insisted, "Nahee. Thik thak." Feel free to start using this expression around the lower mainland, my peeps. Pronunciation is: Teak tack

Maf Kijiye (Excuse me)
This is how one would say it but Maf Kijiye literally is Forgive me

Koi Bat Nahin (You're welcome)
I was using this one because I found it easier to pronounce than Ap ka swagat hai, but it translates literally to: It doesn't matter. Not so liking that meself, so I'm moving on to the other one. To be honest, I don't get opportunity to practice it very much. None of my transactions or interactions have resulted in anyone saying "thank you" to me.

For example, I'm pretty sure the fellow I caught trying to rip me off yesteday wasn't thinking "Swagat Madamji, for keeping me an honest man. How many lifetimes have I acummulated already in trying to earn this master lesson only God can know."

He returned my change folded up and short on the rupees, for an item from an actual brand name company with a price written on it, I mean. I'm not talking about someone deciding I'm a lousy tipper and keeping some extra. Something in his look told me he wasn't feeling gratitude, y'know. S'okay, no worries, I gave him a look too. Not THE LOOK, heavens to betsy no, but a look that still smotes, if I may say so myself.

NOTE: I'm saying Good morning, good night, and see you later all the time. Jai! (Praise be!)

Last week I consider blessed, as I had my first real conversation in Hindi. I had a brief chat with Swamiji's 5 year old granddaughter Krishna. A simple How are you by me and a fine by her. Soon, I think she'll be able to coach me in metaphysics and lead me in a serious spiritual discourse, but she's kindly waiting for me to build up my vocabulary.

The Itty Bitty Book of Quotations by Swamiji

With bows of appreciation to the forerunners, the inspirational books "Quotations of Chairman Zalm" "Quotations from Chairman Mao" and itty bitty books everywhere.

Please not smoking. Smoking is injurious to healthy.

Look, look, so this, yes, look, why not you can do? You young body have, is like old man. Look.

Lots of people crazy, lazy. Lots of people making time for the friends for the sit in cafe, for the smoking, not making time for Yoga and so what happens? They crazy lazy. Please, you, practicing Yoga, you healthy, wealthy and peace, not be like crazy lazy.

Please, not smoking. Say so on cigarette package this hurting for you. This hurting your internal organs and then what happen? Jallow. They go away. In the grave.

Everybody climbing Savitri mountain, to temple, thinking watch sunset. Why for not sunrise? So bed they like so bed they stay and what happens? Crazy lazy. So okay, if they no know, but if know, then please. Because you know, and no do, then later you will be cry.

So okay, maybe not come here, now lots Yoga place in the world, go to centre, practice.

Look- NO! please, look, you do wrong. I am show right way and what you do?

See him, 65 and still work hard. Now work hard, like to building they make there, work harder, make effort now.

In beginning every body try to do with power, push, because they don't know. After you know, no push, just do.

This knowledge I have so I give. Some people having knowledge and they no like to give, this no good.

This information is come from ether, but people not understand.

You make work now, after you do surya namaskar and only seven position need. Then not being crazy lazy.

Yes, please, concentrate.

Please - now rest. not thinking. thinking making stress and then 80% of all problem coming form this tension, making the accidents.

No, foot my side, please, you look. My side!

Swiss man in Mungeer say, he allopathy leave to be yogi, say in West, people taking in the food, and out from anus and what? Like dustbin is body. Please so you, no dustbin be.