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.