REPORT ON AMMA IN NYC: GUEST BLOG SPOT BY MDC (AKA "THE HEX")








Amma plays the Hammerstein.
By Catesey

34th st between 8th and 9th ,on the island of Manhattan is,on a good day,worth avoiding.it’s fairly uninspiring,, what with the quiznos, the loews 34th complex and assorted non descript office buildings. Fine,if you’re lined up outside the manhattan center/hammerstein ballroom, as thousands of us were, you do get to gaze at the storied new yorker hotel and the top part of the empire state(the best part). Amma is playing a gig here.she’s on at 7(no opener).it’s 4.30., the line is already down the block.it feels like 102 and the negative thoughts are up and running. And this is meant to be about love, of self and others.

The building itself is the perfect venue for her. Turning 100 years old next year(i.e.the building),oscar hammerstein 1 built it to rival the metropolitan opera,by offering cheaper seats for the ordinary new yorker.it was later sold and became more of a vaudeville house.the hammerstein is now a major cultural venue and boasts (supposedly) superior acoustics and full on remote production facilities to carry live events.

There’s more than a little shtick going on as we wait. And it is all very ordered. Devotees run around making sure there are 2 separate lines, each line then divided in to a another 2 lines. There are placards held aloft…”first timers”/”special needs”/”everyone else”…if you’ve never been hugged before(I heard someone ask…”do you mean ever,by anyone?”) you get a green dot and moved into the priority line. I was liking that, but the dot wouldn’t stick to my shirt or my chest so I stuck it on the middle of my watch face.not the most practical solution, but now when I am late for stuff I will always think of amma.

….some of the people wranglers, all of whom were wearing special coloured sashes,were, how to say it,annoying, esp the guy who continually walked up and down the various lines gently swatting people with his (holy) water bottle asking for “a real aisle,please” . ok so we are in,the shoes are off,and there is good AC.i am feeling the love a little here and it only gets better…from nowhere all these people start coming round offering all kinds of snacks and drinks.chai guy!! Samosas!!

Nothing to do now but wait to line up(again) and get a real token for your place in the hug line. There is a complicated procedure to get everyone out of their seats and onto the main floor(the hammerstein is as big as your average broadway house.3 balconies, boxes,etc. tho the main floor is carpeted.note to self. Next time you feel like a hug, bring socks). Astonishingly, I am seated a couple of rows from the stage,right on front of the action. Pretty much a house seat, and I swear I don’t know anyone in the cast.

We sit for some time and with little fanfare amma comes out and takes her seat. Silence……much lighting of incense and candles. Passing around of individual containers of holy water.(only later was it announced that it is best to not drink the water immediately but keep it for future times as it is holy and full of special power.oops). She then speaks for over an hour, stopping for translation. Much of it is very amusing.and thevoice!deep, gutteral, melodic, powerful.impressive. Chanting.meditation.lots of discomfort and cramping leg muscles.i felt bad for those closest to me, as I was adopting all kinds of strange poses to lessen the diccomfort.…..more announcements about how to actually line up.

it is said that this will go on all night, literally.she will hug everyone.(I heard it estimated that she was going till 10.am.). what to do now but wait….and shop. There are tons of stalls selling everything you would expect. I feel I am back in India,tho I don’t remember nagchampa being the equivalent of 130 rupees.(more like 12 ) The full on dinner downstairs is apparently fantastic(it is.$6).and so you wait.and watch. So many people to look at. Lots of kids with parents. Some familiar faces.The live music is beautiful, and yes, those acoustics are indeed superior.

I was in the 700-800 range of tokens and soon enough(the whole thing was easier than expected) I’m sitting feet from the stage.on deck ,so to speak. Amma sits in a beautiful square roofed tent- like space, beneath a gorgeous golden umbrella.flowers and silks everywhere.she has, as announced, changed into a brilliant sari.she is wearing a george clinton like multi tiered silver crown,and has so many people around her, not just us folks waiting our turn. Tons of handlers, all of whom seem to have carpal tunnel syndrome, as they are all wearing that protective wrist thing you can get at target.

Before I know it I am being asked my native language, I am kneeling before her, and I am told(pushed) to lean in to her chest. put your hands on either side of her. It is very warm and she smells very nice. . I breathe easily and she mutters something three times . it seems very loud and powerful.soothing.my skull kind of reverberates with her voice. I am pulled back,and there is some sparkling eye contact.someone shoves a piece of wrapped chocolate in my hand and what appears to be a withering petal.(is the chocolate sacred.when can you eat it. I almost have a larry david moment trying to clear up the timing of the eating of the chocolate). I am ushered off the stage.next!

I hang out for a bit, feeling rather happy and peaceful. This woman is truly amazing. They had shown a long video during the build up,and there is considerably more to it than just the hugging….housing projects, health care, childrens’ services, disaster relief. All kinds of humanitarian stuff.It goes on and on, as does she……

I consider staying for the entire session, but soon give up. Before I know it, I am waiting for the A/C train with a bloody change to the F to brklyn. It’s past midnight. The trains are not co-operating. It’s hotter down here than on the street,8 hours prior. People look miserable. New York fuking city, indeed. I drink some holy water. Hungry now. I eat the chocolate.


--------MDC. NYC 7/19/05

INSANE 'N' MUNDANE

Running the AC in both the bedroom and dining room during a nap today made the fuse blow, and cut my slumber short. While flipping the circuit-breaker downstairs (make that down FOUR FLIGHTS of stairs) I noticed that the landlord has installed a cute little black-and-white bathroom in the corner of the basement. No idea why. Back upstairs, everything is still flashing "12" of course. Nothing little or cute up here.

My practice with Henry the Punk this morning was the only thing that saved me from myself. Backbends + Henry's wit = Sanity. For awhile anyway.*

Later Gridlife and 'Enelle propped me back up again. Props to them.

Last week's zombie movie helped, too. I attended in character of course.

I cannot get enough of Julie's blog and Vanessa's blog. Apparently they're having a rough time of it too (Julie for two very real reasons).

Ever since I heard a story about it on the radio yesterday, I've been thinking a lot about sangria. Maybe *that* is the cure for SSAD (Summer Seasonal Affective Disorder).**


At this very moment the Hex is NYC, waiting in line to see Amma, wearing Indian dress and the green dot that says he's a first-timer (and guarantees him darshan, or a hug, with her). He said the queue just to get in to the building was many blocks long.

And I had mango bubble tea this evening at a place called Tank in Little Vietnam (Argyle/Broadway). We were the only Caucasians in the joint. The entire staff there wears NATO woodlands camouflage, and our cute waitress had a graphic of a tank or armored vehicle imprinted on her cammo apron.

Apparently I was the only one who found this fascinating/ironic/scary. My comment that in 30 years people would be eating kufta at an Iraqi restaurant run by guys in desert cammo fell on near-deaf ears.

As it was, they got our order wrong, wrong, wrong (as far as I know, fish is *still*not a vegetable) and held us hostage for an eternity as we waited for our check.

Someone once gleefully pointed out to me that "Tank" is also a derogatory term for Whitey. Hmmm....


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*H the P will kill me for revealing this, but his best line was....
"Ashtanga: Sanskrit for 'Get a life.'"



**Lest you think Summer Seasonal Affective Disorder is a figment of my imagination, I found this on familydoctor.com: "A less common type of SAD, known as summer depression, usually begins in the late spring or early summer. It goes away by winter."



And from The National Alliance for the Mentally Ill (which hits it right on the head, if you ax me):

"In about 1/10th of cases, annual relapse occurs in the summer rather than winter, possibly in response to high heat and humidity. During that period, the depression is more likely to be characterized by insomnia, decreased appetite, weight loss, and agitation or anxiety. Patients with such "reverse SAD" often find relief with summer trips to cooler climates in the north. Generally, normal air conditioning is not sufficient to relieve this depression, and an antidepressant may be needed."

From McMan's Depression and Bipolar Web:

"Kathryn (March 31, 2002): And do not forget Reverse SAD, a seasonally based depression that begins in the Spring and goes on until August or so. That's what I have been experiencing for about twenty years. I HATE Spring, it fills me with foreboding; Summer renders me stupid, indecisive and ravenous for carbohydrates. The theory is that my brain is over stimulated by light (the opposite of classic SAD). So I do try to avoid it, wear dark glasses, have heavy drapes in my bedroom. I am diagnosed as cyclothymic and have been on Lithium for 18 months now. This year (yay!) my pdoc is adding Lamictal, an antidepressant, to my Lithium. After keeping a detailed mood chart for the 18 months I was able to let the facts speak for themselves in persuading him I need the help. For the first time in memory, I am looking forward to spring and summer and wondering if there really is hope....fingers crossed..."


"Marsha (Feb 23, 2004): Thanks so much to Kathryn & Robert for talking about reverse SAD. I live in Texas & am practically suicidal from mid-May to October. I am overjoyed in the fall & winter, on overcast days, & especially when it's raining & cold! I was diagnosed bi-polar recently & am taking Trileptal. I had never thought to mention my horror of sun & hot-weather to my doctor, but after reading your comments I shall. Perhaps my medication will help me through this nightmarish time. I thought I was going to have to move to Seattle, but with treatment, maybe I will be able to face warm weather with a smile (I hope!)."

Here's a List of Symptoms of SAD from The National Organization for Seasonal Affective Disorder:

* a desire to oversleep and difficulty staying awake, but in some cases, disturbed sleep and early morning wakening;
* feeling fatigue and an inability to carry out normal routine;
* a craving for carbohydrates and sweet foods, usually resulting in weight gain;
* feelings of misery, guilt and loss of self-esteem, sometimes hopelessness and despair, sometimes apathy and loss of feelings;
* an irritability and desire to avoid social contact;
* a tension and inability to tolerate stress;
* a decreased interest in sex and physical contact

POOL. GENE POOL.

Last night we finally got around to watching the first episode of "Hooking Up," in which the reality-TV cameras follow 11 NYC women who use the Internet to troll for boys. It was riveting / hilarious / heartbreaking, and the next episode airs Thursday on ABC.

My theory is that people who meet online and get in a relationship always have in the back of their mind that if things don't go their way, they always have the profiles of the people they were interested in but didn't yet meet. You know, as a backup plan ready to be put into place at the slightest provocation. There is something mildly sleazy about the whole thing....

That said, this evening I learned that an acquaintance asked a guy out (face-to-face) and learned on their first date that he's a twice-convicted felon. 20 years ago, but still..... It was a lovely date but he didn't call, so after some weeks passed she called him. They went out, and she learned that he'd been out of touch because he was worried about her reaction to his felon-admission (it came out when she asked him flat out if he had a record, which is a pretty darn hard-hitting question if you ask me). It was another good date. But then she learned that he regularly drops acid. And that was that.

So maybe it's not that much better meeting people in person. Or through friends, which as we know can *really* blow up in one's face.....

AMMA TWISTA

I've been told I'll be privately flogged if I don't update this thing so here I am making a halfhearted stab at it.

Amma was amazing (she's in NYC this weekend).

The moment I got there I did the equivalent of locking my keys in the car, only worse because the locks don't work, and started flipping out. Prior to accidentally locking the doors, I'd driven to Indian Lakes via many expressways (four) in a car with no AC and had gone past the place once or twice before searching forever for a parking space amid much cursing, so I was more than a little perturbed. Well on my way to a meltdown, actually.

But the first person I saw inside the door was Miss Y, and when I told her my predicament she said "We should call Triple A." And we did, and they came (eventually) after we had enjoyed a lovely repast (South Indian food!). The man they sent took *a really long time* getting my car door open (the insides are rusty or something). But he eventually opened it, thank Amma. We went back in, and my mind was at ease and my body quite pleased with the AC.

Our friends had a hotel room where we cooled off between programs and watched the wee boys spar; later we were standing for the evening program when some men came up out of nowhere and placed chairs under our arses! Amma told stories that were translated by a handsome man with an untraceable accent (she speaks Malayalam, the language of Kerala, which is really gutteral). Then the darshan (hugging) began.

I went up to one of the white-clad Seva (selfless service, which a Miss Y points out is different from shellfish service) people and asked if I could get a real token, since the token I'd gotten earlier was a token for a token, only good if there was room for me. Apparently there was, and I got a number. After some waiting and more food and the obligatory shop-asana (one amazing CD and one clunker, it turns out) I got a hug! It was very moving and hard to describe; I felt like some long-chilled part of my heart had finally melted and suddenly there was a feeling of ease and the knowledge that everything would indeed be OK (of course everything's since frozen back up. But that's another story). During it she muttered in my ear and I remembered how much I miss my real mother, and she pressed a Hershey's kiss and flower petal into my hand. It felt very unrushed.

It was so intense (ie my burden felt so much lighter after that), I returned for more after teaching the next day, and stayed til 2AM. The second hug was more like the first one I'd ever gotten (three years ago in Lisle, when her handlers were rough and kind of mean), meaning I didn't feel much. I was trying to express thanks, which is probably wrong. Also I was probably too tired to feel much. But the evening program was incredibly beautiful, with the chanting and stories (some of which were very funny) and meditating and whatnot. Also some lovely yoga people were there and we enjoyed a long, leisurely, Mysore-ish meal together. Did I mention how amazing the music was? Apparently it was performed by Satsang Chicago, which is a local organization devoted to Amma. They're incredible; they played forever, facing her onstage. Later I spent some time eating uppama while sitting outside, where you could see the actual stars and smell the night air, before my number was finally called. I'd go back in a minute if she were still here.....

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*In the meantime, if you are feeling miserable / invisible / nonexistent and Amma is out of town, you can get some validation and adoration by donning full Indian dress and going to Dunkin' Donuts. I recommend going inside rather than driving through. While there try the Mango Coolata or Decaf Iced Coffee with Coconut. It's the best defense against summer.

The other thing you can do is read this

C IS FOR CHOCOLATE

I saw the sneak preview of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight with Munkin and her four year old. We all thought it was amazing; it even included a Bollywood sequence. The fancy chocolate consumed during said movie also added to the experience.

I didn't get home from Amma til 3 last night and then got up to teach at 8, practice, and call flaks for a magazine piece, so I have a lot of catching up blogging to do re; the hugging experience. Tomorrow. Suffice to say it was *all that* and then some (ie; enough to make me go back for seconds).

"A" IS FOR AMMA
and American Automobile Assocation


long weekend; more later....

TUNE IN, TURN ON, AND NOD OFF


My little essay correlating the current drought situation with an excess of sun salutations is set to air (so they say) tomorrow morning -- Friday, July 8 -- between 9:45 and 10AM on WBEZ-FM (91.5). Listen and reap.....


LATER:
You can hear it online here
Just scroll down to "Dealing with Drought."

MIXED MESSAGES 101
(PUBLISHERS ARE FROM MARS)


WHAT THE PUBLISHER DOES:
Does not respond to e-mails, does not call

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS:
We're just not that into you

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS (AFTER MUCH PRODDING)
We're moving the publication date

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS:
I want to see other people

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
We're launching the NYC book first

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
That's who I'm seeing -- and he's not *difficult*, like you are

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
So there's no rush to meet the deadine.... Although we'd love it if you could still meet it.

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
You're my backup plan if this other thing doesn't work out

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
It's not because of your performance; it's just business (it's not you, it's us)

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
You don't measure up; I could do better

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
Publication dates get moved all the time

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
I love you; I'm just not IN love with you

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
We'll get back to you at the end of the month

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
I'm breaking up with you and you'll never hear from me again.

FACT OF THE DAY

Hailed as one of the nation's top singles strips in the 1967 bestseller, Coffee, Tea or Me? The Uninhibited Memoirs of Two Airline Stewardesses, Chicago's Rush Street was named for Dr. Benjamin Rush, one of four physicians to sign the Declaration of Indepencence. Ben Franklin was Rush's benefactor when he was a medical student in the UK and he served as a surgeon in the Revolutionary War Army. Rush Presbyterian St. Luke's hospital in Chicago is named after the impatient doctor (he once pissed off George Washington), who is credited wtih curing the yellow fever epidemic in Philadelphia. A proponent of bloodletting, he was also one of the first to push the then-revolutionary idea that mental illness is a disease rather than proof of possession by demons, and is considered to be the father of psychiatry. He headed the US Mint from 1797 to 1813 and his poor wife bore him 13 children. Ouch.

I'M BACK BACK BACK BACK

I'm nationwide.
(click upper righthand article).

DUSH BOWL '05


Every day they predict rain, and every day it does not come.

We're in the middle of a huge huge drought that they've only just now started talking about. The parks are brown and the leaves on the trees are cringing from the sun and the level of Lake Michigan is down, down, down. Forget the 700-odd old people who died in the Heat Wave of 1995; this thing is going to kill all the trees (although I'm sure god will be able to sort those out, too).

And there I go, leading people through sun salutations every chance I get, when what we really should be doing is a rain dance....but that's the forte of the *other* Indians, isn't it. Perhaps there's a Sanskrit monsoon chant somewhere?

Today I left the house at 5:45 am to teach the 6am class and lo and behold there was lightening which is not unusual (it torments us). And then something marvelous happened. Big fat drops of water hit the windshield, plop, plop, plop. Many of them. So many in fact that I had to use the windshield wipers, which I'd almost forgotten about. The rain made me feel like one of the characters in that Ray Bradbury story where night never comes and the sun is always there and it never rains and they are all slowly going crazy. Until it finally starts to pour.

I parked and pulled out the umbrella and used it for a few steps and then dumped it in favor of feeling the rare cold drops fall upon me. It was delightful after all of this cloying heat, and I felt like a character in one of those Bollywood movies where they belt out the song in the middle of the street in the middle of the monsoon. Only I don't really sing, there were no wardrobe changes or backup dancers (just some gung-ho triathletes on their way to the health club) and it only lasted a few minutes before the clouds slammed shut and the rain shut off. The downpour lasted just long enough to really mess up the poor plants and trees even more. And there's no rain forecast on the horizon, and the city is asking citizens to help water the trees so they don't all die like the old poeple did....

Maybe their plea will work this time.

TODAY'S LESSON (LISTEN UP, KIDS)....
....is that you cannot assume a cotton yoga mat is some kind of futon, set it up in the living room and sleep on same. Even if you place it on top of a Purple Travel Mat, sleep with just a sheet and use an extra fan to aim the conditioned air to your side of the apartment. No no no no no. The only thing that will help you sleep is watching The English Patient (is anyone else freaked out that Ralph Fiennes is only 43? He's either lying or spending a lot of time doing the opposite of yoga) while reading that Tuesdays with Morrie -- which instead of instilling an appreciation for all things mundane and beautiful and living in the moment and loving your fellow human makes you resent the manipulations of the Detroit-based sportswriter who wrote the thing. In any case *that* little cocktail is what finally put me down. At that point I knew that I wasn't going to be missing out on anything if I lost consciousness. Which reminds me; Is gouty Al Franken the new mascot of the Sundance Channel? Ewe. So of course I slept late and skipped yoga (will go tomorrow, which is usually the day off) and got to work on the book....


THREE THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW CAME FROM CHICAGO:

16-INCH SOFTBALL
(invented in 1887 at Chicago’s Farragut Boat Club "when a Yale man tossed a bound-up boxing glove at a Harvard man and the Harvard man whacked it with a broomstick," from the Metro Chicago Almanac).

THE HARLEM GLOBETROTTERS
(originally called The Savory Big 5 -- now there, kids, is a band name -- they were founded in 1927 by one Al Saperstein; the original quintet came from Phillips High School and went on to beat the 1936 Olympic team, which at the time was whites-only).

AMERICAN YOGA
(Swami Vivekananda introduced yoga to America when he crashed the 1893 World Parliament of Relgions on 9/11 and stole the show with a rousing speech at the Memorial Art Palace (now known as the Art Institute). He claimed the Windy City as his second home, and went on to tour the US (as did Anagarika Dharmapala of the Buddhist tradition); the outcome was the creation of an American Vedanta Society and a Buddhist society).

BEDOUIN IN THE BEDROOM*

So I have been banish-ed from my house due to The Painting. Not such a good thing to be out of one's discomfort zone when it's 100 degrees and the air quality is dangerous at best and one is behind on work and the cat is missing. But a very good thing indeed when the cat is finally found cowering behind the dressers (which are in the living room) and the laptop's wireless works and one imagines the sparking peach walls and white ceiling that will await once everything is finished, dusted, put back in place, reconnected and re-hung ((your joke here)). The airconditionless and aimless trip to the E-town Home Depot (oops, forgot there's one in Lincoln Park and overshot the one up north) for more paint was a sweltering nightmare *but* at least the new mobile earphone thingy works (starting July 6 it will be illegal for Chicagoans to press cell phone to ear while driving driving driving driving....). But after a bath I stayed last night at a friend's house that had the perfect amount of AC. Yoga practice today was OK; tried Kapotasana for the first time since the knee went *ping* in the pose and Miss Y even brought me up from backbend -- something I thought I'd kissed goodbye forever. After practice some brief commiseration with Henry the Punk and Buzzy Littlehead about the heat and how it magnifies anxiety levels by factors of 10 (over the superhot weekend a dozen Chicagoans were shot dead in a 24 - hour period) made all seem well again. For a few minutes anyway.

Drinking:
Fruit Coolata from Munkin Donuts
Iced Decaf with coconut from same
Passionfruit Lemonade from The Evil Coffee Empire

Eating:
Very little

Listening:
Retro 80s
Brigitte Fontaine

Watching:
Wonderfalls
Rescue Me
30 Days
Territorial Cocksuckers

Reading:
Tuesdays with Morrie (really)

Writing:
A book

Remembering:
The good ol' days






















*The new album by White Oprah

CIRCLING THE WAGONS

Today I got up at 6 to move everything (and I mean everything) out of the bedroom before teaching at 8, so the LL's handsome painters could do their thing. Tore nails out of the walls. Swept. Hid stuff. Covered things. Warned the cat. Peach walls are coming, madam. And much dust.

Then caffeineless I taught the 8AM Mysore. The Riverboat Captain Who Plays Sitar made an appearance and had many questions (some of which I could answer) plus there were some regulars. Afterwords I did my own practice. I keep forgetting to mention that I have not stood up from backbend since throwing out the thing (back) in March. Well, perhaps once or twice. But not much since. I've been doing the pose differently since Tim Miller showed me a better way at an Asana Doctor workshop a few weeks ago. It seems to be working (ie the back is being rehabilitated). I am also doing Mari C and D differently (with a straighter back, both cheeks on the floor) which also seems to help.

Afterwords I gave blood (the secret to passing the iron/anemia test is to *not* have anything with caffeine in it before donating; the two people after me both flunked). I do wish they'd take down that 9/11-era newspaper clipping of Robin Williams giving blood....It makes me not want to go back.

The weekend was punctuated by back-to-back widescreen screenings of Deadwood in central AC comfort, some Target Therapy and hanging out with the family under some gigantic oaks in my nephew's hugehuge lawn out near the hometown. He is 30. THIRTY. The family is doing well but I should've taken Young Mulletted Joey up on his offer to open my trunk (the boot hasn't opened since even before the FedEx truck hit the car in January). The great-niece is teething; very cute and quiet is that baby. Saturday night I went to see the play Leaving Iowa flanked by Larry David Midwest and The Media Junkie (who hit it off); afterwords one of the stars joined us for dinner, which was full of clever high-jinks and references to Combat! and Bedouins.

And last night I finally saw the final cut of our video project, Valerie Loves Me. It doesn't suck! It's quite good in fact. Not just the production values but also the writing and, well, even my so-called acting is halfway passable. Blaine is a genius.

I hope I still feel that way the next time we screen it.....

BUT IT'S A DRY HEAT


The thermo says 102 and the car has no AC save for a spray bottle of very warm water and a hand-held fan that doesn't really work. So what a delight it was to arrive on Devon Ave. (Little India) after a trip to the 'burbs and find that there was *no line* to get a tender Thai coconut for just $2. Not only was it chilled and perfect, but the Thai ones have that rich, nutty flava (unlike the very bland Indian ones). Maybe summer won't suck after all....

THE NEW JULIES

Does anyone else find it strange that I have three bosses with the same first name? British Francine is a health club group fitness coordinator at a super well-designed place downtown (where I haven't taught since March, although the parking fee is just $3). Fran is a distance bicyclist who does the same at an unpretentous health club on the north side (the one that pays my rent and has a small, tiled pool). And Frannie is a very young and outgoing editrix at a book publishing house in NYC (the US arm of a Scottish firm). Put them together, and I'm sure they could solve all the world's problems....Or at least fill in its potholes.

BUT SHE WAS ASKING FOR IT...

Lest you think the following type of "solution" is confined to the Subcontinent; I recently read a similar first person story by a female police officer in one of those "true stories" American women's magazines. Her solution to the rape of a young virgin was to keep it hushed up and (you guessed it) have her marry the rapist. After all, he'd robbed* her of her honor -- so what use would she be to anyone else? I'm sure he lived happily ever after.




Indian forced to 'marry' her father-in-law rapist
Reuters
New Delhi, June 16, 2005
Hindustan Times

An Indian rape victim is being forced by village elders to "marry" her rapist -- her father-in-law, a newspaper reported on Wednesday.

Community leaders in Charthawal village, backed by local Muslim clerics, believe that by being raped, 28-year-old Imrana's 10-year marriage has been nullified under Islamic law, The Asian Age newspaper said.

Holding a special council on Sunday, village leaders ordered the mother of five to leave her husband, Noor Mohammed, and live with her parental family for seven months and 10 days and make herself "pure" again, The Age said. It did not say how she becomes pure.

After that, she must "marry" her father-in-law and live with him, along with his legal wife.

"She... will then be like a mother to Noor Mohammed," the paper quoted local cleric Shamim Ahmad saying.

Her four brothers have agreed to the edict. She has not but in India, victims of crime often have nowhere to turn and with even her own family supporting the edict she may have little choice.

Police are now investigating and say they plan to arrest the father-in-law. They refuse to comment on the village elders' ruling, saying it is a sensitive religious issue.

The village is in Uttar Pradesh**, one of India's poorest and most backward states and its most populous, with more than 165 million people, more than Russia's 145 million.





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*One Spanish word for rape is "robar"
En espanol "rape," (ra-PAY) on the other hand, means "a quick shave" or "a scolding."

**The state of Uttar Pradesh ("Upper Country") is where Phoolan Devi became the Bandit Queen in the late 70's and early 80's (The headstrong and outspoken Devi was a Dacoit -- or the caste formerly known as untouchable. She was married off early in an attempt to silence her, and after refusing his advances she was raped by her husband at age 11. Later village Thakurs or land-owners also tried it ; she fought them off, ran away, and was later arrested for her trouble. While in jail the police officers and guards beat (and you guessed it) her. Devi was apparently sold to a lecherous local bandit who was assasinated by a lieutenant, Vikram. They fell in love and started a new gang but he was killed and she was again violated by a Thakur gang before forming her own posse and meting out justice to the deserving many (including the pedophile husband, his second wife, and 22 upper caste Thakurs). She eventually surrendered to authorities and did time in prision -- and even ran for office and became an MP before being assassinated in 2001. There was also some talk about her winning a Nobel Peace Prize. The film about her has been dismissed by Arundhati Roy and others as a sensationalist bit of fiction).

WRAPUP


We held poses again for ten breaths (sometimes, as in the case of headstand, more; sometimes, in the case of setu bandasana, less) at Manju's workshop yesterday. Although the body was sore and, initially, stiff, it was strong! And relatively lithe. And the practice felt good -- even holding the poses for that long (with the exception of Navasana and the final part of Utthitha Hasta Padangustasana). And -- get this -- today my back doesn't hurt. Knock wood now.

I practiced late today (12:30PM) and the back still felt good and although the body is sore I again felt strong. So maybe there is something to this pose-holding..... I held poses a breath longer than usual; who knows what could happen tomorrow.

But my mood is in the ditch (I somehow broke the cover off the toilet seat in the middle of the night and awakened this morning at the exact moment I should have been leading the mantra at the Monday Mysore class.....Later I learned that this month's cartoon is not acceptable in its current form [a pirate takeoff on Goofus and Gallant -- or do you say Pattabhi Jois and BKS Iyengar -- that could be misinterpreted by the crip community], which means it must be redone. And after two weeks of sitting on their hands, the Author's Guild informed me today that their lawyers will not review a contract with a foreign publisher. Meanwhile the editor is asking why I haven't signed yet). So I sat a bit and did what Dharma Mittra calls "positive breathing" in which you do rechaka-kumbaka etc through the right nostril only. It's *sort of* working. He says you need to do it for at least five minutes, preferably for 15 to 20, for it to work. Then, he says, "You can face a firing squad."



***

THE LOVE THAT CANNOT BE NAMED

Last week Jack lugged the giant air conditioner up three flights of stairs. It's one of those big,strong old energy-suckers (the AC). We installed it in front of the desk I'm working at right now, and then ate at Victory's Banner. Thank Krishna for AC. It has been 90 degrees and humid (I know, that's redundant) here for a week. A week. And it's not even summer. I want to do a puja in front of the AC. It has been my best friend over the past six days. It has changed my life, and I love it. Athough I live on the third floor and have seven windows facing south, I know this is wrong. If you don't understand why this is wrong, the writer Barbara Flanagan explains it far better than I can right here

***

ONE MORE

And how strange is it that this woman, who seems to practice with Eddie in NYC and love scooters, has a pic of me on her old blog (HINT: you may have to take the cursor on and off the photo to see it properly.... also, I'm not the bald guy on the right).

THE LIST FROM HELL

Nine FM, the local "We Play Anything" station, has supposedly been trying to launch a Celebrity Spins feature, in which someone from outside comes in and plays an hour of their favorite music. Apparently Richard Roeper and Kelly Osbourne didn't want to / were too busy to schlep to the south side, and the Munchkin from Wicked just wasn't a good fit. So it's come down to me. If they're telling the truth, my so-called spins will air next Sunday night. I have to winnow the following list down to 15 plus 5 alternates and am currently taking requests. The more all-over-the-place the songs, the better (that's the format). But no swear words. I find it hard to believe they'll let me get away with it. But you never know.....

Here they are, in no particular order (ironically, the head of Newsweb's radio stations -- which include Nine FM -- is the former head of adult alternative WXRT). Your input is welcome; the deadline is tonight (Sunday 9/12):

Cornershop -- Brimful of Asha or Good to be on the Road Back Home
Stooges--No Fun
Eddie Cochran -- Somethin’ Else
Ray Charles -- One Mint Julep
Nina Simone -- My Baby Just Cares for Me
Off Broadway -- Full Moon Turn My Head Around or Bully Bully
Specials -- Rat Race
Linda Ronstadt -- Blue Bayou
Queen Latifah -- U.N.I.T.Y.
X -- Come Back to Me
Wire -- I am the Fly
Velvet Underground -- I Can’t Stand It
Spearhead -- Rock the Nation
Beastie Boys -- No Sleep Til Brooklyn or Shadrach
Luna or Serge Gainsbourg -- Bonnie and Clyde
Last Poets -- New York, New York
Pavement -- Trigger Cut/Wounded Kite
Tom Waits -- Johnsburg, IL or Goin’ Out West
Ike and Tina Turner - It’s Gonna Work Out Fine
Stevie Wonder -- Superstition
Peggy Lee -- Fever
Tennessee Ernie Ford -- 16 Tons
Mamas and the Papas -- Monday, Monday
Tones on Tail -- Twist
Slits -- I Heard it Through the Grapevine
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds -- Red Right Hand
Glen Campbell -- Southern Nights
Big Star - September Girls
Plastic Ono Band -- Midsummer New York
Breeders or Amps?
Moe Tucker - All Fired Up
Amy Rigby -- 20 Questions or Beer and Kisses
Scientists -- Demolition Derby
Paolo Conte -- Gelato Al Limon
Beasts of Burbon -- A Place Called Bad
Sonic Youth -- Bull in the Heather or Teen Riot
Cramps -- Human Fly
Rita Marley -- My Kind of War
Muffs -- Oh Nina
Ray Bryant Combo -- The Madison Time
Ramones -- Beat on the Brat
Screamin’ Jay Hawkins -- I Put a Spell on You
Shankar Mahadevan and Ravi Rags Khote -- Pretty Woman (Bhangra version from the Bollywood movie Kal Ho Naa Ho)
Gun Club -- Jack on Fire
Del-Monas -- Peter Gunn Locomotion
L7 -- Andre or Stuck Here Again
Cat Power -- Satisfaction... or something with Handsome Boy Modeling School
Devo -- Mongoloid or It’s a Beautiful World

YES, ONE MORE


Manju. Had. Us. Hold. Poses. So. Long. Today. That. I. Thought. I. Was. Going. To. Lose. It. Stop.

Maybe. That . Was . The. Point. Stop.

He. Counted. To. Ten. Stop.

His. Ten. Is. Equal. To. My. Twenty. Dash. Five.

Or. More. Stop.

And. I. Get. Agitated. When. Lino. Does. His. Interminable. Count . To. Five.

Which. Is. Seven. Of. My. Breaths. Stop.

Afterwards. I. Was. As. Tired. Slash. Depressed. As. I've. Ever. Been. Stop.

Something. Is. To. Be. Learned. From. This. Stop.

Like. The. Fact. That. When. I. Self. Slash. Practice. Four. Point. Five. Breaths. Are. Not. Enough. Stop.

All. I'm. Fit. To. Do. Now. Is. Sit. In. Bed. And. Try. To. Read. Suketu. Mehta's. Maximum. City. Colon. Bombay. Lost. And. Found. Stop.

He. Does. Not. Call. It. Mumbai. Stop.

I. May. Get. To. Meet. Him . Next Month. Ellipses. Through. The. Best. Hyphen. Selling. Author. Stop.

If. I. Make. It. Through. Tomorrow's. Class. Comma. That. Is.

Stop.

INDIA'S SACRED CHOW

Some highlights from Mr. Bikram Choudhury's appearance on 60 Minutes this evening:

According to Bikram mythology it was Richard Nixon who brought him to this country; Nixon was sick in the South Pacific, Bikram was summoned and "cured" him with yoga. [The disease was phlebitis, or inflamation of the vein. According to eMedicine Health, "superficial phlebitis affects veins on the skin surface. The condition is rarely serious and, with proper care, usually resolves rapidly."] Nonetheless Dick was so pleased, he gave him a free pass to come to America whenever he wanted. So far no one's unearthed a photo of Bikram and Fat Elvis flanking Tricky D.

He has a unique sense of style (read; ick... although you do kind of have to appreciate that he wears just a Speedo, Rolex and cordless headset while teaching). Not once did they show or mention his wife, Rajashree, who teaches with him and was herself a five-time winner of the All-India Yoga Championship Competition.* (She specializes in yoga for pregnancy, and runs a yoga camp for kids with cancer).

They showed Mr. Choudhury walking and being hailed in Kolkata, where he visited Ghosh's College of Physical Education. That's where he (and Rajashree) learned the ancient / patented poses. While there he corrected someone's finger placement in a pose I cannot name, and stood on a man's hips while he performed Ustrasana [his hips were way too far back if you ask me]. It reminded me of the story of Krishnamacharya standing on Pattabhi Jois while he was making a speech. Of course, later in life Krishnamacharya was all about adapting the yoga to the person's needs.

Bikram said that Americans have everything and are miserable, while in India they have nothing and are not [groan]. It's all because we measure success according to wealth, he said, and in India there are other measures [like caste?]. Also they have The Yoga. He basically said that the only way to enlightenment is through his yoga. He stopped short of saying "Do my practice and all is coming." They also mentioned the lawsuit. So far it seems like he's winning. The woman on the other side came off like a spoiled brat, which is unfortunate.

They did not show Bikram doing asana. The news-lady had to take a Bikram class but unfortuantely the camera only caught her struggling with the poses at the beginning of his series. Darn. Although she did get a nice adjustment in Natarajasana (dancing warrior).

Some zingers from the show...

While showing off his collection of classic automobiles:
NEWSIE: "That doesn't seem very yogic."
BIKRAM: "I am an American yogi!"

When asked how he felt about the comparison between his copyrighted sequence of yoga poses and McDonald's (his franchise has been referred to as "McYoga"):
BIKRAM: "What's wrong with that? I eat Big Mac...."

And that's when he showed his hand.


----

*Rajashree is a year younger than I am, meaning she really *is* 39.

COPYRIGHT KING ON TV

Call the neighbors, Tell your friends --
Mr. Bikram Choudhury, the Rolls Royce collector who *invented* Bikram Yoga (the type practiced in front of a mirror in 105-degree heat) and The Yoga College of India (TM), is set to appear on 60 Minutes tomorrow (Wed.) night. He's copyrighted his sequence of 26 poses and has threatened to sue instructors who won't pay for the priviledge of teaching them. Not sure where *that* fits into the yoga sutras, Madam

More on Mr. Bikram's legal maneuverings here and here

SUNDAY, 8AM

Why does practicing for an hour at 6:30 am followed by teaching "two in a row" and lunch with a friend and many errands, etc. make one so wretched the following day? Could it be the cloying humidity (is there any other kind)? Perhaps the chai wll get the blood moving again.

From Dharma Mittra's intro to his book Asanas: 608 Yoga Poses:

"There is always an excuse not to do yoga and I've heard them all. 'I'm not feeling well, 'It's too cold (or too hot)' or 'the city is too hectic and not a spiritual place.'"

One suspects he's also heard 'I'm too tired / have too many deadlines / must go to Tim Miller's Asana Doctor workshop later today.'

Lots of gems are in that intro, Madam.

LACK OF A LINE OF CONTROL


I am swamped with The Deadlines yet again, and have found a wonderful new OCD-friendly way to procrastinate. Instead of cleaning the house or calling people I haven't spoken to in years or meeting someone for lunch or putting in the air conditioner or brushing the cat (not a euphemism) or taking a nap I am making occasional visits to the travelblog.org website. At the moment I'm hooked on the Jammu-Kashmir blogs. It seems most of the travelers don't realize the danger they're in (J-K is the bucolic, mountainous, indescribably beautiful disputed territory in Northern India that is primarily Muslim but controlled by India. Troops on both sides are always shooting at each other, and it is not uncommon for separatists to bomb public places or kidnap foreign tourists (hence the State Department warning not to go there; hence the rule that you can't visit unless you've already secured accommodations). So the tourism industry dropped to almost nil two decades ago, wiping out the local economy. Which is why neutral Switzerland serves as a stand-in for mountainous Kashmir in Hindi movies. Which is why you see so many rug, etc. sellers from Kasmir plying their wares down south in coastal tourist areas like Kovalam. Which is why, when, after plying you with Kashmiri green tea and carefully writing down their name and address and asking you to visit, you don't. Even though you want to). Some highlights:

"We returned to our boat house on Nagin Lake in Srinagar in the evening and ate supper to the sounds of Muslim prayers echoing across the lake. This is quite a magical place and is indeed a paradise on earth, as all the travel guides continue to tell us. "

"The boat was quite palacial, and it had a framed letter from a Ghandi who had stayed there before. It was however in serious need of a newer interior. I guess since the Kasmir conflict scared off tourists from the mid eighties not much had been done to improve the decor."

"We went to the two Moghul Gardens - the first one was beautiful and had a great many young students playing on the lawns. The second one was much more neglected, but both were a shadow of what they were - many fountains trickled and stonework was overrun with moss."

"I had much better things to do in Srinagar than go online! like buying saffron and shawls from bearded merchants, gazing out over the lakes and mountains from the holiest mosque in the subcontinent, and singing Titanic for my hosts' children. But most memorable was the crazy trip both ways from Jammutavi to Srinagar - along the most reacherous mountain roads I could have imagined... always entrtained by the desperate roadsigns - "better mr. late than late mr." "this is not a race or rally- enjoy Kashmir valley" and my favourite; "be gentle on my curves"."


"I heard in Leh that Kargil was shelled a few nights after we stayed there and someone died - so this journey isn't the safest in the world. I don't think it was downtown that was shelled but the army tents, but I have no idea how close they are."


And from the US State Department:


SPECIFIC AREAS OF INSTABILITY AND TERRORISM:

-- JAMMU and KASHMIR: The Department of State recommends that U.S. citizens avoid travel to the state of Jammu and Kashmir, with the exception of visits to the Ladakh region and its capital, Leh. A number of terrorist groups operate in the state, and security forces are active throughout the region, particularly along the Line of Control (LOC) separating Indian and Pakistani-controlled Kashmir, and are visible in the primary tourist destinations in the Kashmir Valley – Srinagar, Gulmarg and Pahalgam.

Since 1989, as many as 60,000 people (terrorists, security forces, and civilians) have been killed in the Kashmir conflict, including almost 1,000 civilians in 2003 alone. Many terrorist incidents take place in the state’s summer capital of Srinagar, but the majority occurs in rural areas. Foreigners are particularly visible, vulnerable, and definitely at risk. Occasionally, even the Ladakh region of the state has been affected by terrorist violence, but incidents there are rare. The last such case was in 2000, when terrorists in Ladakh's Zanskar region killed a German tourist. The Indian government prohibits foreign tourists from visiting the Kargil area of Ladakh along the LOC. U.S. Government employees are prohibited from traveling to the state of Jammu and Kashmir without permission from the U.S. Embassy in New Delhi.

In 1999, the terrorist organization Harakat-ul Mujahideen issued a ban on U.S. citizens, including tourists, visiting Kashmir, but has not followed up on this threat. In 1995, the terrorist organization Al Faran kidnapped seven Western tourists, including two U.S. citizens, who were trekking in Kashmir valley. One of the hostages was brutally murdered, another escaped, and the other five -- including one U.S. citizen -- have never been found. Srinagar has also been the site of a great deal of violence, including car bombings, market bombings, hand grenade attacks that miss their targets and kill or injure innocent bystanders, and deaths resulting from improvised (remote controlled) explosive devices (IEDs). In recent years, several tourists, including at least one U.S. citizen, have been fatally shot or wounded in Srinagar. The 2002 state elections were marred by multiple terrorist attacks that killed some 800 people, a large percentage of whom were innocent civilians. Some terrorist violence also marred the national parliamentary polls in April/May 2004.

-- INDIA-PAKISTAN BORDER: The State Department recommends that U.S. citizens avoid travel to border areas between India and Pakistan, including within the states of Gujarat, Punjab, and Rajasthan, and the entire state of Jammu and Kashmir. A ceasefire along the Line of Control (LOC) in Kashmir began on November 26, 2003 and a dialogue between the two countries aimed at easing tensions continues. Both India and Pakistan maintain a strong military presence on both sides of the LOC. The only official India-Pakistan border crossing point is between Atari, India, and Wagah, Pakistan. A Pakistani visa is required to enter Pakistan. The border crossing is currently open. However, travelers are advised to confirm the current status of the border crossing prior to commencing travel.

Both India and Pakistan claim an area of the Karakoram mountain range that includes the Siachen glacier. The ceasefire in Kashmir that took effect in November 2003 has also been in effect on the glacier. U.S. citizens traveling to or climbing peaks in the disputed areas face significant risks. The disputed area includes the following peaks: Rimo Peak; Apsarasas I, II, and III; Tegam Kangri I, II and III; Suingri Kangri; Ghiant I and II; Indira Col.; and Sia Kangri.

IS ALL COMING?

After all that complaining of The Headache I had one of the best practices in memory yesterday (ie it did not hurt and I was not tired, and even dropped back....once). I've been doing up thru Kapo every day just as Sharath prescribed but my hands are no closer to the feet. Not that that's the goal or anything.

Afterwords we had lunch at the Ethiopian place next door and I stopped by my friend TamTam's alley; she was there with the moving truck and her gf's parents, about to leave for Cali. Very sad. So of course a nap was in order. Then waking up disgruntled and anxious and debating whether to go to The Bestselling Writer's BBQ.

I had gone to the very same BBQ the previous day. It started at 4, I arrived at 7. Cased the place; no one around. I rang the buzzer, gave myname. "Who?" she asked. Gave it again. "WHO?" Gave it again. She came down. Turns out the thing was on Monday. A day early and four hours late. Oops. So much for trying to impress her....

JASTI NOWOO*

Bad bad bad *bad* headache today and I'm meeting Henry the Punk for Mysore practice at 10:30. The question is, is it allergies or lack of water or all the salty/sweet snacks consumed at MK's fabulous BBQ last night? A huge concetration of yoga teachers at that event (plus the husband's restaurant friends). Apparently the superbendy teacher Ph. has been telling students that if they stop doing yoga they will "get sick and die." A new take on what it says on Miss Y's website: "Life takes life out of you; yoga puts it back in." And now, hopefully, this yoga will cure my dolor de cabeza increible.

FLASHBACK
I keep forgetting to mention this about Guruji's NYC workshop.... It's the first day and I'm half awake after practice, walking around in more of a stupor than usual and saying hello to people I know. But one familiar person seemed puzzled when I greeted her -- as if she didn't know me. How rude, I thought. Much, much later it dawned on me that she's one of the people they interview in the Ashtanga Yoga NY video, and that we've never actually met. Except through my TV.

And at the birthday party, in between the eating and chatting and tabla playing, I kept looking at one really familiar-looking man, and scrolling through the memory banks trying to recall the connection. Was it a workshop? Was he in Mysore? Is he a friend of a friend? It was only at the end of the party that I realized his face is on a flyer for an upcoming workshop at Chicago Yoga Center. Now *that's* scary.

OK, I'm off for yoga followed by breakfast with Michael Chiklis, Denis Leary and Daniel Dae Kim (aka the Daniel Day Lewis of Korea).















*Kannada for "lots of pain."

ASAMSAKTI [usumsh^ukti] or NON-ATTACHMENT

is explored yet again, when Blogger experieces a glitch that lasts two hours for most, eternities for others.

INNONDU = ONE MORE*

I forgot to mention I saw a note posted at Eddie Stern's studio; if I remember correctly it said they are doing primary-only on Fridays and led primary and intermediate on Sundays. Just like in Mysore itself.

They're also offering breakfast and chai every Sunday after practice, as well as a puja each Thursday afternoon....

You can view a few snaps from the workshop (including Sharath pouring chai) here. Just scroll down (go lower and learn more about donating to Guruji's new foundation).
The pix are by (and, in one case, of) the same folks who bring you Sri Ganesha Tea Stall Radio.


----------------------

*In Kannada

RECAP, RETREAD, RECYCLE

On Friday M and I did indeed make it to the Brooklyn Museum of Art for the Basquiat retrospective, and my friend Kai's name was indeed scrawled on a piece called "Tuxedo." Such colors in that exhibit! And so many field trips in da house I was compelled to cover my nose and mouth with my scarf ($10 at St. Mark's Place) and take an Airborne afterwords. M's friend PSG couldn't be bothered coming to Brooklyn to see it: "I like his life, not his art" (said in a thick Glasgow accent).

Later I visited my friend G. on the Upper West Side and saw her dog with the fused vertabrae and $3K vet bill and ate grapes and kvetched and took a stroll through Joan of Arc Island. Then I walked down to Strawberry Fields (72nd and Central Park West, in front of the Dakota) for some peace gathering that turned out to be an ethereal peacenik woman's birthday party with votives, hipsters and blankets. Of course it started an hour late; it was hard to sneak away but it was frigid in the park and we eventually skulked off to have dinner at vegetarian Madras in the East Village, which has been spruced up a bit (the restaurant, not the Village). The vegan yogi thali was *all that* and then some, although the service was a little surley. Then a walk past Swatch, Coach, Mac, and every other high end chain store that has invaded SoHo of late (well Swatch has been there for awhile) to visit to PSG and family for some conversation outside on the Thompson Street benches and then tea and bundt cake (not a euphemism) inside; the kids are becoming like their adult selves. On the way we walked past the Puck Building and looked up at the seventh floor ballroom where there were colored strobe lights bouncing off the ceiling. Bottom chakra dwellers are there, Madam.

Then to the subway for the interminable ride that makes you understand to your core the term No Sleep til Brooklyn. But as the C-train pulled up we noticed a writhing brown arm sticking out from in between two of the doors; from the elbow to the fingertips it moved like a worm when it's cut in half. We couldn't take our eyes off of it. It was attached to a large large man with an Afro, wearing a black tank top and shorts like some kind of uniform. When the doors opened he got out, rubbing the arm and muttering, and walked onto the platform. We crept into the next car and hoped he wouldn't join us. We watched him walk directly to the garbage can in the middle of the platform and open the side door like a pro (he did it so effortlessly I looked to see if he was wearing some sort of MTA badge but he was not). He pulled out the interior garbage can, and fished out the the brown plastic bag inside (half full) and spun it closed and tossed it off to the side. Then he grabbed the silver can (now empty), and hoisted it above his head, arms straight, and started yelling (prior to this he was merely muttering). He was marching up the stairs with it high over his head, still screaming, when we finally started moving.

Nothing like this ever happens on the eFfing train.

Or in Chicago, for that matter.

PUCKIN' A*

Where to begin with the description of Guruji's (first) 90th birthday party?
There were plants and tatami mats with centerpieces of floating candles and flowers and Indian bananas and paypayas and grapes all over the Puck's 7th floor ballroom where we usually practice, there was a tribute slide show of Guruji highlights from over the years, there was a bar with organic juice and natural soda (no chai) and two food lines where you could get exquisite South Indian food. It was done up. The stage was at the other end; no Anoushka but a Karnatic singer and tabla player who've performed for Guruji in Mysore itself. ALmost everyone looked better than usual (ie nice clothes, not sweaty, hair in array). After talking to Z. (in a stunning maroon sari) for some time -- she's going to Mysore June 1 and now I'm itching to join her -- we saw the family come in. Then we sat down on cushions and were eating some food (always a priority) when I saw an apparition: Lino in white. I jumped up and ran over -- he was with the Danish Baldies with the designer yoga shorts -- and I said, "Now both of my teachers are here." How good it was to see him. I miss that man. Of course I took it as a sign that yes, it was indeed a good idea to change my ticket and attend the party. Guruji sat at a front table for some time, and people went to get their picture taken with him and/or kiss the feet or, in the case of many women, to get a hug and a kiss. I did too of course. He looked resplendent. Saraswati was in a beautiful green sari, Sharath in a very cool shirt with a Swastika design and of course the rest of the family was there too (Shruti is looking extra beautiful these days, and their daughter is getting very big!). Sharath made a speech before the ensemble started to play, beginning it with "Yekum, Inhale," which got a good laugh. He said that NYC is their favorite place -- their second home. Take that, coastal towns. Anyway the music was good; they did a special new guru song for Pattabhi Jois and had us chant Om Nama Narayanaya with them (the many children near the stage did the best job) and also did a Ganesha song. Afterwords Guruji gave a brief talk, something about "Do not waste your life. Do not have bad thoughts. Do not waste your life. Yogayogayogayoga. Yesterday is gone. Do not waste your life. Tomorrow do yogayogayogayoga..." It was very inspiring and hopefully I will remember all of this on those days when I practice at home, by myself, in that yoga teacher void where you feel completely disconnected from the rest of the world.... Then Ubbaya (Abaya?) talked about the new Pattabhi Jois Foundation and presented him with a check for $23,000, collected for his birthday (instead of giving chocolate and flowers, etc. this year they asked us to contribute to the foundation which help fund Mysore charities of Guruji's choice, the idea being that the community is so good to us, we should give something back. And besides, Guruji has everything he needs). Then Guruji said a few words, thankyouverymuch. At some point a (vegan chocolate) cake with many candles came out and everyone sang happy birthday. Then we ate some cupcakes and left. It was a lovely end to an amazing week. And now I am fired up to get back to Mysore. In line yesterday Saraswati asked me when I was coming and I said "within the year." So now I must make good on my word. If only I could find a way to go this summer *and* work on that book-thing. Then I could go to the "other" 90th birthday. But how lucky I was to attend this one....








----------

*phrase coined by M., who also wore Indian dress (or do you say Muslimwear) to the fete.

FLAVA FLAV, REVISITED

Apparently staying up late (10:30) last night to blog was not such a good idea. Today I awakened over a half hour late, at 5:05AM. I was frantic of course. But I'm familiar enough with the MTA from my last trip here to know that a train comes around 5:15/20, and that if I made it I could still get to the Puck Building in time to get a decent spot. I threw on my contacts and clothes (set out the night before), grabbed my mat and made it to the tracks just as the train came. When I got to the shala it was a madhouse as predicted, and there were a few spaces left in back and on the side near the viewing area. Then I saw LL, fourth row center -- and she had saved a spot for me. Despite the beginnings of a pounding headache, I was grateful/relieved. Then I went in back to change clothes (one always stakes out a spot before changing clothes). When it came time to take off my jeans I realized oops! I'd forgotten to put on my yoga shorts. Although my thong matched my top, I'm not buffed and waxed in such a way that it would look anywhere near as good as it probably does on Bikini Girl. So I went back to my mat, rolled up my jeans and tested them in Garbha Pindasana (a pretezelike position in which you sit in lotus and put your arm through your legs behind the knees and hold your ears). It wasn't bad. But MK took pity on me, and very nicely went in back to ask Jammu if she had an extra pair of shorts. I was on my back warming up when a something fell unceremoniously onto my head and scared the crap out of me; I looked up to see MK beaming. Turns out Jammu didn't have any shorts shorts, but AKR did. And they fit, too. Later she said she never carries an extra pair, and didn't know why she had them. Hmmm.

Today Guruji's count seemed slower. As usual I was stiff and in some pain (although less so in backbend) and felt heavy and slow. Eventually there was a lot of sweat but that didn't seem to help (in fact some fat drops of condensation fell onto us while we were in savasana; very disconcerting). We did who knows how many sun salutations and seven -- SEVEN! -- Navasanas, ouch. We almost skipped janu C (difficult toe-crusher pose) on the left (oh, well) but everyone automatically went into it anyway when Guruji accidentally called Mari A (the pose that comes after). He was unphased of course. What a great, booming voice....Did I mention how well he looks?

Most days I can hold utpluthith (lifting yourself up while in lotus pose) until at least the first "nine" (we hold that pose for a count of ten, which often ends up being around 50 of my regular breaths; when Guruji sees people fall like dominoes from lifting their own weight for such a long time, he backs up a few numerals or keeps calling nine until more people lift up. In India and in previous years I've been able to hold it the whole time; not anymore). Today though I had to come down a few breaths after 7. It's all that holding of Caturanga (pushup pose); during vinyasa, if someone races forward to upward facing dog before they're told to, he yells, "Catuari" and we holdholdhold Caturanga until he's satisfied. It's not easy to hold up your weight when you've got more of it than usual....

Today was the last day of class, which was bittersweet of course. Can I say how much more mellow, and how much less competitive the atmosphere is this year? It seems like there's a whole lot less attitude all around. And it can't just be due to the stunningly good weather....Or maybe it's *my* attitude that's changed. Or both.

After Guruji finally called "10" in Utpluthith, everyone started spontaneously clapping, and it wasn't just because we were glad it was over. It was in appreciation for Guruji, and didn't stop for awhile. Then, after the Mangala (closing) mantra, we did it again (as is customary). We clapped for a long, long time and then everyone stood up and continued for awhile. MK says she saw Guruji wipe away a tear. He wasn't the only one....

DETAILS

I didn't realize until yesterday that Sharath is sitting there, greeting people, during the Guruji feet-kissing, and that it's possible to ask him conference-type questions. So today I settled it once and for all:
The correct dristi (gaze) in utpluthith is the nose.
The correct dristi in yoginidrasana is the third eye.


ASIDE:

Today breakfast was again at Orlin, which was lovely. Seven people today. Later LL and I met at the door to Eddie's, and went up to the puja at his "Ganesha Temple." It *really* looks like a temple, plus there was a Brahmin priest. Lots of pouring of milk, water, other liquids (coconut water?) onto the Ganesha figure; later when we were chanting for what seemed like forever, he closed the curtain and annointed him (Ganesha) with flowers, etc. Suffice to say it was beautiful and afterwords there was again that exquiste food made by the same guy who did breakfast (and who wears a sacred thread, hmmm). food! It was exquisite.

Afterwords I went to 27th and Lex to look for an Indian dress to wear to the birthday party tonight, because everything I brought with looks tarty. The dress is not very dressy but at least it won't show the dirt I'm sure to absorb from the subway on they way there. Nor will it make me look like a western hoo-ah.

NO SLEEP TIL SAVASANA

LL got a spot for us second row center today, so we could hear Guruji and see Guruji and, occasionally, watch his feet walk by. He seems to look younger and better than he did last time I saw him. He glows. Anyway there we were, warming up or whatever just minutes before 6 and a mat in the front row disappeared and everyone was going to spread out a bit and then it was decided that no, they should leave it. Seconds later a well known recording artist put his mat down, front and center. But it seemed as though he was looking for a space, any space, and *that* was the one that opened up. People were practicing in the hall again today. And Saraswati was out there adjusting them!

Seconds later a woman who was not Tatum O'Neal (Little Darlings era) pushed her way into a sweet spot in the center of the second row. She did this unapologetically, with that brazen sense of entitlement I've had such a hard time cultivating when it comes to my career. Maybe I could learn something from that woman.

I was even stiffer than usual today, and my pascimattasana (intense sitting forward bend) sucked. I felt Guruji's eyes on me, then heard the feet and sho' nuff, there he was pressing on my back. Then he went down the row to LL and M (also from Chicago). Later on he came over and gave that exquisite sarvangasana (shoulderstand) adjustment. He still does not seem to recognize me though.

Although my physical practice continues to be a struggle, my mind seemed to cal

How funny it was when Guruji came by the front and center celebrity area during some pose or other and told that area in general, "Lift your head!"

It's also interesting to hear people not getting it when he says, "Lose your feet!" in halasana (plow pose).

The stiff woman in front of us in the running shorts got the majority of the adjustmentes. She was a Moaner, and was letting rip with a bunch of loud and regular ones during a baddhakonasana adjustment. So many in fact that Guruji started giggling.

A couple of us went again for the veggie breakfast at the shala today, and it was just as good. We went back to watch the rest of intermediate, since tomorrow it'll be primary at 6 and half primary at 8. It should be a madhouse.



DETAILS

Today was one of the best savasanasa (corpse pose) I've had in ages. I was floating underwater and having visions of Amitabh Bachchan. Then I opened my eyes to see scores of people lined up at the foot of my mat, waiting to kiss feet.

David Swenson is in da house. Looking very sweet/humble, and doing primary.

In Nakrasana the feet should be together.

Apparently a certain celeb was doing intermediate earlier this week and went back to primary, too. So I'm in good company. I think.

ASIDE

It looks like I can extend my stay til Saturday, and will be able to attend the birthday party for Guruji. (Instead of people bringing him endless flowers and chocolate, they've asked people to make donations to a new Mysore charity fund in his name; it'll help the poor, retarded and wild animals, from what I can tell. Details to come).

Today the big trip was to Pier 54 to see the Ashes and Snow exibit, which is basically many exquisite sepia toned photos (and one hourlong film) depicting Southeast Asian people interacting with several types of animals. Very moving, even though occasionaly the negative thoughts would come: "This is a little precious" and "The narration is cloying" and "I have to urinate."

UH... HOW DO I KNOW YOU?

Back to primary in the second row, far left. I managed to catch the 5am eF-ing train, and got a spot in the second row, far left. Little did I know that this would put me out of the paths of all three teachers yet directly in front of Hanuman and The Bikini Girl. This is the same platinum blonde woman I saw begin practice on Sunday wearing a bikini top that set off her tan-tan torso nicely. Partway through practice the pants came off to reveal a string bikini bottom and well-waxed high-voltage areas. Each day she has worn a different bikini (Hanuman's is green). So today I am directly in front, and get to see her bounce, quickly and crazily, in downward facing dog and prasarita padatonnasana.

Guruji was less testy today, less a stickler for getting everything just-so. But my body feels stiff and fat and heavy -- and doesn't feel all that much better by the end of practice.

But today after class we went to Eddie's shala, which is also called the Sri Ganesha Temple, for breakfast. A Hari Krishna-looking man sat there on the floor, ladeling out the most delicious Indian breakfast for just $6. Many Chicagoans were present, and all seemed well-pleased. These days the shala does indeed look like a temple -- and smells like one, too (camphor). Which reminds me. A bunch of intermediate people were headed down on the elevator around 10am and it stopped partway down and the doors opened and the man looked at us and stepped back a bit and did not get on. Apparently we didn't smell so good.

I keep seeing people I met in Mysore in 2002, the last year of the old shala that fit just 12 people. These are people I spent over an hour with each day on the cold hard stairs waiting to practice, and more time afterwords sitting down -- yes, you could sit down in those days and in the shade no less -- over coconuts. Isa from Portugal, Michael from Colorada, Jennifer from Canada, etc (who has drastically changed her hair color). Anyway they are *so* nice -- even the ones I thought weren't -- and it's been lovely to catch up. Of course nearly all of them have since finished intermediate / married / had kids / all three. But it *is* really good to see them. At the same time, I've recognized no one from the 2004 trip to the giant shala. I am lucky to have gone to the olde one.


DETAILS


Chai is not ready before the 6am class, and usually runs out right near the beginning of the intermediate practice.

I heard tell that Guruji and family went shopping at Century 21 (big designer malld owntown) today.

My memory is very selective when it comes to running into people I met in Mysore. The rule seems to be this: I recognize only people that don't remember me, and I don't remember any of the people who recognize me. Standard Exchange:

S-David! How are you?
(David looks at her uncomprehendingly)
S-Satya from Chicago, Mysore 2002
D-Oh! How are you!
S-Good. You?
D-Pretty good, pretty good. Are you here for the whole week?
S-Yeah, you?
D-Yup
S-How's your practice been?
D-Good, good.
S-You going to Mysore anytime soon?
D-I can't I have a kid / got married / just went.
etc.


ASIDE
After breakfast I went back to Brooklyn, cleaned up, had a half-hour nap, warmed up some chai and headed to Union Square for my lunch meeting with the editors. The uber editor couldn't make it so it was me and the assitant down by the schoolyard. Turns out she's been there 1.5 years, and part of that as an intern. *Almost* young enough to be my daughter. Apparently I am in -- they want me to do the book. This still has not sunk in. Afterwords I waited in the sun for M and we headed up to the Met for the Diane Arbus exhibit. Can I just say -- we would have killed for a cup of coffee while waiting on the steps for our Chicago friends. Someone could pull a capaccino cart up there and make a fortune.

Afterwords we ate at Temple in the Village, one of my favorite places to eat in the city, period. A long Asain vegetarian cafeteria line of superhealty food sold by the pound, and which includes the largest selections of greens I've ever seen. I remember eating there on 9/12, and how happy I was to see that they were open. They still play Vivaldi's Four Seasons, too.

BACK A GRADE. MAKE THAT SEVERAL GRADES

Today I tried intermediate after warming up first at M’s – both with chai and with stretching. Suffice to say I awakened to pain in the lower back and shooting down the top half of my right buttock, and easily could have spent the day walking around doubled-over like the man who lives next door. But the stretches helped (and the chai, which is not so good when you try to make it away from home; somehow the cardamom got damp). I was in the subway by 7:15. The Puck ballroom was steamy/stinky when I got there; plenty of places to put the shoes and bags today, but the line to kiss the feet from the previous group was still quite long. I chose a spot in the far corner in the last row, farthest from the entrance. Hiding in back.

Everything went OK – Despite yesterday’s Italian ice and corn chips I was able to bind on both sides in Pasasana (noose pose)… though we held the second side so long my toes cramped up and stayed that way for the next few poses. I came up from Lagu, which is better than my last performance at the Puck back in the fall of 2003. And then came Kapotasana. Of course my hands did not touch my feet – Kovalam magic does not happen in NYC, and the pain reallly started shooting at that point – although I seemed do OK in B. But apparently not good enough. While I was in B, sweating bullets and breathing fast (maybe the chai wasn’t such a good idea after all) and wondering how I could come up without blowing out my knees, I saw Sharath bust the people next to me for coming up after A. He then got on someone else for having their fingers pointing the wrong way. But the only person he tapped out was me. (He touches you and says, "done" or "out" much like couples getting the tap from the judge telling them they’re no longer contenders in the big Charleston contest). Relieved, I sat there (usually you drag your mat to the back of the room, but I was already way in back) and watched the rest of the series. At one point Guruji became so annoyed by people’s in ability to "lift up" on their way to jumping back from certain poses, he stopped everything and had Sharath demonstrate. Everyone was surprised (including Sharath) and stood up to watch. Apparently after many of the poses you lift up into a bakasanalike position or half-handstand without actually putting the knees on the arms. No small feat. Later he walked around asking people if they’d done Karandavasana. Not believing them, he’d have ‘em do it again. I saw Zoe with her knees on her elbows, chin hovering above the floor, for what seemed like an eternity, waiting to get helped back up. Eventually she was.

In addition to seeing how they adjust close-up it was interesting to see how people’s practices have progressed over the years: There’s one guy I met in Mysore in 2002, who was sitting at Three Sisters one day beaming (while waiting the usual eternity for his lassi) because he’d finally officially gotten Pasanasa. Today I saw him do the entire intermediate series. And here I am going backwards by the day. But it isn’t about the poses, right? I mean, I’m lucky to be doing ANY yoga at all when you think about it. And you should never, ever compare yourself to others.

DETAILS:

Lift up on an inhale between the two sides of Parsva Danurasana

Five sloooow steps forward, five equally slow steps back in Titibasana C

Five slooooow jumps forward, five equally excruciating jumps back in Nakrasana

Hold Urvha Dandasana for an eternity

Hold Utpluthith for even longer.

Guruji did not seem to recognize me today but he did answer my question, "Oota Aita?" with a long stream of Kannada, which of course I didn’t understand. I did get that he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. That’s amazing, to do all that on an empty stomach at 90.

I asked Sharath if I should do primary, since I’m getting stopped so soon in intermediate. He said yes (other than the part about getting up at 4:30, I'm relieved). He also said that back at home I should do primary followed by intermediate up to Kapotasana. "Stop at Kapotasana."

ASIDE

Afterwards a few of us went to breakfast and then I met Kai for an iced tea (he’s one of the instigators behind brink.com). Apparently the door at the beginning of the Basquiat exhibit, which now belongs to Johnny Depp, was once his (long story). His name is on a couple of the pieces in the exhibit.
Anyway while he was at a meeting I did some halfhearted shopping (nothing appeals to me, hmmmm); then he picked me up and we drove back to Brooklyn. Now that’s a luxury – driving in Manhattan and over that bridge.

There is now a Best Buy at the corner of Broadway/Houston.

The bathroom at the nearby Starbucks is not locked and you can use it without buying a thing.

Apparently the WC at the SoHo Mac store is even better.

Today M wrote a note to his co-op mates, comparing himself to Groundskeeper Willy, and imploring them to keep the front gate shut so the teens don’t take over the stoop.

PERSISTENT VEGETATIVE STATE

Saturday night we ate at Pepe Verde in the old neighborhood and met Dexter the Director for the play Orson’s Shadow. On the way we ran into the producer and scores of other people that DD knows. Hugs and kisses for all....those theater people. The play was good and still boasted some of the original Chicago cast (it was Tracy Letts’ second-to-last night; he has to get back home to do three Steppenwolf shows in a row). It was well done if a bit loud, and at half-time we were able to go next door for a quick ice cream. I always want sugar after garlic. Bad lady.

Today it was up at 4:30 AM for the wretched crawl out of bed and long wait for the eF-ing train and ride down to the Puck building. Seemed like 3:30.

There was a line to get in and the shoe area was wall to wall crazy (ie, full). There were far more people than I’d ever seen at the second week of practice; mat space was at a premium, even at 5:30AM. (In past years you could waltz in at 5:30 and get a spot in the second or third row, no problem). The vending area has expanded; in addition to chai there were more t-shirts, DVD’s books, etc for sale than ever before. Also apparently we're all invited to a big 90th birthday party for Guruji on Thurs at the Puck Building, featuring a performance by Anoushka Shankar (Ravi’s *other* daughter). Of course one finds out about it long after booking a ticket that has one leaving on Thursday afternoon. Of course the party is from 6 to 9. Of course the last plane to fly NYC-Chicago is at 8PM. Of course one has two private lessons and a class to teach first thing Friday morning. Of course one is constantly calculating the financial, professional and interpersonal costs of staying an extra day.

Practice was sweaty and difficult (I suspect even people with healthy spines are stiff and weak at 6am). I also had very little balance. But it was delightful to be led through the poses by Guruji, and to see Sharath and Saraswati walking by. But my mind was all over the place.

Afterwords I said hello and waited to kiss Guruji’s feet. I waited a long time; it seemed as though everyone in the world had to have their photo taken with him, from several angles, before they could say goodbye. Sharath actually remembered my name, which was nice. Guruji smiled and hugged me without seeming to recognize me and asked, "What thinking?"

Afterwords I was not happy to learn that chai is now $3. The first year there was no chai, the second year it was $1, the next time it was $2 and now it is $3. It is still the best chai in the world, though. It’s sad when it’s gone.


HIGHLIGHTS


Apparently for full primary the previous week (it was at 6, half primary was at 8) the mats were thisclose and people had to practice in the entryway.

Savasana officially lasted about 30 seconds. Then Guruji was like, "Thankyouverymuch."

Today we did 7 surya namaskar A and 3 B


ASIDES

After class a bunch of us (six Chicagoans) went to breakfast at Café Orlin. We ate outside, lovely, then split up. I came back to Brookyn, had a nap and watched the rest of HumTum. Then I accompanied M to the park with the dogs he’s looking after. There we saw some strutting men (and nurturing women) preparing to rehearse an outdoor mini-musical about the American Revolution. They were in full dress; the men had lines while the women occasionally sang backup and flitted and tittered. The dogs would have none of it.

Later on M. chased not one but two sets of rotten teenagers off the stoop. Apparently he washes it each morning, and there they were putting out their cigarettes and spilling their cokes and spitting. It’s kind of fun being old when you’re in company like that (just not when it makes your back hurt and your practice suck).

I’m so out-of-it, who knows if we’ll ever see the Diane Arbus exhibit at the Met or the Basquiat one in Brooklyn or a TKTS half-price Broadway show or the Ashes and Snow thing at Chelsea Piers or anything. It’s so much easier to just sit on the stoop….

A STOOP SITS IN BROOKLYN

Sitting on M's stoop in the sun, typing on this giant heavy new laptop, waiting to see if someone will buy M's weird-colored leather jackets hanging on the railing. One guy fondled one and M asked if he wanted to try 'em on and he was surprised: "Are these for sale?" and then fled. Getting hotter, a litle humid, lots of Brooklnites going past in a casual parade; semihipsters and oldscoolers with accents and puffy ortho-shoes and people in hatwear coming home from shul. We took a photo-movie of me modeling a jacket the color of babypoop. Nice to have a day off but of course Natalie Peckingbird sent an email wanting more more more info for yet another previously undisclosed task for which I won't be paid. . I cannot possibly have gotten it as I am officially *on vacation.* Yoga with Pattabhi Jois starts (2nd week for them, first for me) tomorrow.

3 dilemmas:

ONE
Dharma Mittra has a 3-hour workshop ths eve from 3:30 to 8:30. I was gonna go. $40 and it's Dharma. But then MDC got tix for Orson's Shadow with Tracy Letts tonight; Dexter's going too. It's the olde W. Village 'hood at Chrstopher Street and 7th Avenue or whatever, and there's Magnolia Bakery afterwords and the show starts at 8. I could leave Dharma's at 7:15. but it'd be wrong to leave early. If I didn't go, I could hang out and watch the rest of Hum Tum for which I'm doing a capsule for for the Backwards R (I saw part of it yesterday on the plane, on the scary PC which has a *really* nice screen). I could go to D's class regular class during the week; I think it's from 11 to 2 or 12 to 2. But it is wrong to study with two teachers, yes. That is bad, very bad, unthinkable. Nononono. I think perhaps I'll pass on class tonight. Or perhaps I'll call and see what the schedule is. Maybe 7:15 falls between mantra and pranayama or something.

TWO
Do I go to the 6am primary class or 8am intermediate? All of my friends are doing primary. And they plan to junp off the Brooklyn Bridge afterwards. So no, groupthink not a good reason to go, esp. in the age of cell phones. But I've barely been practicing (due to all the work, knock wood that it keeps coming) this past week, let alone BB's. The back has been out / not good for about two months... very stuck according to the chiro who keeps trying to crack it on the one side and failing. Lots of pain, esp. in twists and urdvha danurasana (upward facing bow). So not sure about that. But primaryseries requires getting up at 4:30 and catching the eF-ing train on a *Sunday*, ugh.

THREE
India.
Do I go next month? In December/Jan? Some other time? At all?

Getting very hot out here now.

JUMPIN' JACK FLASH

I am in the middle of a two-day Dharma Mittra workshop. He's the Brazilian-born 66 year old teacher on the giant poster of the 900 yoga poses. The first time I ever did yoganidrasana (reclining w/ legs behind the head) was in his class, in NYC, in 1999. He's the type of teacher who leads you through a sequence (that includes his challenging and invigorating Shiva Surya Namaskar [sun saluation] series -- lots of intense lunges and a million Vasisthasanas, among other things, and ends with a seemingly effortless dropback at the front of the mat) which is followed by a sequence of poses that has you doing things you've never even *seen* before, let alone tried to do. Some of them of course I could not do ("Try this if you are under 60," he would say, and we'd give it a shot). But it was fun to go from Sarvangasana to Navasana and use breath of fire in that pose (it doesn't seem to last as long when you're focused on the breath) and stand up from revolved Parsvakonasana with my arm wrapped around my leg. We also paused for a moment to watch him as he explained in a very serious tone our next asana. It turned out to be jumping jacks with Kapalabhati breathing. Doing it made me feel like I was five years old, and I actually laughed out loud. Laughter is a new one, when it comes to yoga.

I am feeling intense guilt now for subbing out my Sunday class so I can stick around for both sessions of today's workshop. But it *will* supposedly make me a better teacher.. especially because he goes into mantra (chanting), pranayama (breathing) and philosophy quite a bit and uses a lot of hilarious, real-life examples (like the butcher who meditated for 30 years but couldn't figure out why it wasn't working). He also editorializes about ahimsa and not eating meat, which is refreshing to hear (also it was amusing to hear some people say, afterwords, "I understand what he's saying but I can't give up fish. I mean, I've been a VEGETARIAN for ten years because of yoga BUT.") In addition to the knowledge and having actually lived the stuff, he also appears to have that true compassionate nature that only a handful yoga teachers seem to posses. None of that ego or tough-love shit.

Also after lunch yesterday Dharma Mittra discussed what happens when the mind is full of stuff and we act too quickly. He used the example of a person who buys a PC without doing the research, and not only finds it cheaper at another store but comes home with the thing and realizes that what he really wanted was a Mac. Which was *exactly* what I had been discussing with Jack a half hour earlier, several blocks away, over lunch. EXACTLY the same thing. Now *that* was weird.

DEM CRONES:
Grrrls of (and in) an Uncertain Age


Last night, I couldn't take my eyes off the red Mary Janes in the window of Alamo Shoes. Nor could I believe the cute things were made by Earth Shoes. Imagine; comfort *and* style. I fixated on them for a bit, and then I showed Jack the way to the next sushi bar (Suddenly, Andersonville has become Sushi Central; suffice to say that despite being in a former Middle Eastern restaurant , Sushi Luxe is more hipster- and vegetarian friendly with its flatscreen TV's embedded in the bathroom mirrors and sushi-chefs-who-look-and-act-like-DJ's; the tofu tempura maki was unusually satisfying, as was the tangy goma-tofu appetizer. Jack's saketini was not so memorable. Nor did I like much the adjacent table of wimmen engaging in a loud clumsy game of chopstick mumblety-peg; in fact I wanted them to take a permanent time out (so to speak).....Tanoshi, up the street, was badly-lit -- ie, bright -- and full of regulars who all seemed to know each other and the owner, Chef Mike, who presided behind the bar. Tanoshi means happiness and this place was lively and joyous. But the trendiest Asian Joint of All is Jinju, across the street from Sushi Luxe. It boasts unthreatening Korean food, superdimbop lighting, a full bar and hoardes of hipsters).

Today Editor Q. and I went for veggie Indian buffet at Arya Bhavan . When I picked her up I noticed she was wearing The Shoes. In red. She'd just gotten them and she loved them. And they looked *good*. At the restaurant we ran into another Kriya-trained yoga teacher, Z. She wasn't wearing them, but she'd just gotten a pair, too. Both had found them at Alamo, where I got a great price on my Dansko Mary Janes in '03. Now I too *must* have them....especially in the wake of my previous non-attachment failures. When it rains it snores....

But my point. Kirti, the restaurant owner, noticed that my year-and-a-half-old grey roots are finally starting to blend in with my too-red hennaed ends (this is due to my first investment ever in an expensive, shaggy haircut... expensive to me being over $30). Q. mentioned she was inspired by my attempt to go natural, and had started to grow out hers. But she was starting to lose confidence (after looking at my 40 in 04 pictures from last year, where I look like I walked under some falling plaster, I can see why). Then we looked at Q., who has a beautiful mane of silvery-grey hair. She told about her decision to grow it out (actually her regular hairdresser had gone AWOL and the woman who agreed to take over -- another yogi -- refused to dye it). C. said she cried after going grey. No wonder; instead of growing it out she went supershort, and then had it cut AGAIN, as soon as the grey was long enough to hold its own. (I did something similar in 1991, after dying my hair black for years and experiencing a color removal disaster that left me with a patchwork of fall colors a la Excene Cervenka circa '79; I cried, too, and worried I looked like a m-a-n, and wore skirts and scooped collars for the next three years). This grey hair talk over Gujarati chai led to a discussion of invisiblity of Women of a Certain Age (both women are older than I), and how when it happens you (apparently) freak out because no one is looking at you (Can I just say how revolted I was two weeks ago, when the Sunday NYT called 43-year-old Jennifer Jason Leigh "a woman of a certain age." Male writer of course). Apparently there is even an exact moment when you notice this invisibility. Q. was 50 and walking down the street with a young obese woman when she noticed her companion was getting all the looks. Anyway the upside is that you can then *get away with things*. You know, because people don't notice you. At some point you apparently stop caring, too, and start to say and do what you want. It's a refreshingly intriguing concept, and takes some of the wind out of the utterly oppressive societal notion that women past menopause have no value (no one really says this per se, but that's the message driven home constantly; no-fucky, no-worthy). Also at that point the people (men) who spend time with you do so for one reason only; they want to. Or something like that. ...

Now, I wonder if, when I go into Alamo to get the hip old lady shoes -- in red, of course -- the salesmen will still notice me (they're all men, in short-sleeve white shirts and ties, and they're *all* over A Certain Age). At this point, my hair's over 50 percent grey. But I suspect they'll have to pay attention. After all, they work on commission.