Shalom, Tourist

Shopkeepers and the many friendly men of the subcontinent say "Shalom!" to me as I walk past. A few say "Ola!" Maybe I could say, "Guess again, guess again!" It feels like a game.

[Query to Ayelet: My dear is this true? I have a feeling being Israeli in India is a little like being American in Mexico. There's just something about the comments in Hindi that keep getting made by Indian men- It make me somethin' wondering]

This morning at my favourite juice stand 2nd or 3rd generation son of Sonu asks me, "Where are you from?" after we both watched a group of Israelis jump on an enormous motorcycle and roar away. I think it was the fact that I didn't except the invitation to just jump on and ride off with them that made him wonder. Then again, it could be my hair. That's what Manu said. "Your hair me thinking is you Israeli." I do love being mistaken for all kinds of international backgrounds. It makes me feel at home in the world. This part of the world, anyways. I'd still be feeling left out in Oslo, I think.

But back to the rambling non-existant point I was trying to make: there's something about being a tourist I don't like. Or I'm not comfortable with. We already know how tourists are seen in various parts of the world. How about our neighbours, Americans, in our part of the world? "Thanks for your money, now why don't you leave quickly so you can come back again soon. I promise we'll miss you until you come spend money here again. Here's your hat, what's your hurry? Don't let the border guard hit you on the way out." When I worked in the touristy part of Victoria, we all traded favourite "dumb questions a tourist could ask" stories.

It is simply not fair to judge anyone by their country or their ethnicity - but it's done every day, every second of the day.

So what's my problem? Is it the people that become tourists? There are plenty of Canadian folks I might not want to be seen as ambassadors to our country. Is it the way tourists behave? Nice how I separate myself like I'm so special, huh? It's not like I haven't lost my temper here, oh a few times. I've witnessed many people do the same. As one shanti-full fellow described it "India got to me today, it just bloody got to me."

Hmmm. It would appear I really don't like being a tourist.

Commentary from the not-so-nice angel sitting on my left shoulder: Way to go, figuring that out now are we, Eufemia?

My response: Uhm, shaddup.

I will say I have loved this, staying in Pushkar, in one place and building a sense of community. Even if it was a false sense, which you can't help but struggle with when you realise perhaps Mukesh the jeweller doesn't really like you at all but likes your rupees. Even after I dazzled him with all my Hindi sentences and then sang some kirtan for him, at his request: Gauri Ganesha, Uma Ganesha, Parvati Nandana Shree Ganesha, Shadanam Ganesha, Shadanam Ganesha, Shiva Nandana Ganapati Ganesha!

Mukesh: You say incredible India - I say incredible tourist!

Eufemia: ah...Thank you.

Why did I feel disappointed? Well because, you had to be there. Sure, he was paying me a compliment and then, I was paying too much because I stink at bartering. And truly, what did I expect? A few phrases in Hindi, a few questions about this and that, expressing interest in the culture and yoga and knowing about Mirabai and they would say "Welcome home! Only Ganesha knows how many reincarnations it's been since we last saw you, but welcome, welcome. You are family."

There's an expression in Hindi, The whole world is one family. I think that explains all the global conflicts.

I looked into another ashram, just north of Rishikesh, called Phool Chatti and recommended by Mincho. If Mincho with his buck-the-system-no-like-authority attitude could handle this place, I'm thinking it will be like Ashram-lite. Plus what a great name - it means land of flowers, which sounds more appropriate than my first interpretation "Let's sit by the pool and chat ashram." This ashram has a one week yoga program. Up at 5:30 a.m. and yoga, chanting, breathing, walking, meditating and by 7:30 p.m - stick an incense stick in you 'cause you're done.

I'm not sure why I feel like I can't be here, in India, without practicing Yoga. Like my Visa says it's a Tourist Visa - who am I to throw cow patties at that? Turns out I've become a bit militant towards myself and that is causing torah mental tension. Torah? Maybe bahut. Not little, but a lot. When I missed 4 classes last week due to being sick, I felt awful. I felt guilty. I felt like a bad person. I heard my interior monologue - a nasty piece of work. I even questioned if I was sick, or whether it was just psychosomatic-blah-blah-blah-I-created-this-illness-blah-blah-blech.

Advice from the mini-angel I like, the nice helpful angel: You couldn't sleep. Then, you couldn't breathe. Your body was demanding the break because you were getting a bit pagal. Maybe you should go get a Hello to the Queen when your sense of taste returns, and practice some ice cream dessert kindness.

Here's the t-shirt I'm getting designed before I leave: Guardian Angels Kick Angst. Inspired by the Canadian Girls Kick Ass T-shirts, of course, but this one, instead of having that annoying lil' flag that in it's own way says 'we are patriots, separate, distinct, different from you, you are not my family,' it will just have a Planet Earth in the centre, right above the words.

Oh, I know. Deep. I'm sooooo deep. That's what you were going to say, right? Well nevermind, I don't need to know.