When I arrive at O'Hare, one of the first things I usually notice is that it smells like perfume and flowers.
This was true again yesterday.
When I arrive home, one of the first things I usually notice is that the air smells of vegetation and flowers.
Not this time.
Instead, the air filled with the scent of burning meat and cooking fish.
Maybe it's not such a good idea to arrive home at dinnertime.
I didn't leave Mysore until Sunday night at 9:30, which meant I had plenty of time on our day off (Saturday) and Sunday to wrap up loose ends -- which included bringing some things to Rashinkar's to ship.
In fact I had so much time to get things together that I actually enjoyed my last day in Mysore, and engaged in a lot of the local equivalent of porch-sitting. I hung out at the Green Hotel with La Profesora in the morning (and even talked to Elena about getting lazik surgery in Bangalore next summer, provided the dollar rallies) and the Coconut Family and Three Sisters in the afternoon.
The sisters told me that Guruji was to resume teaching his local students at the old shala on Tuesday.
It was nice to leave on such a good note.
On the other hand, it wasn't all that nice to leave - especially after one short month.
Sure, the towels here are incredibly thick and the pillows unbelievably soft and the raw food so much easier to eat -- but Mysore somehow feels more like home to me, and the heart is a little bit broken....