SKIN PRIVILEGE



After lunch and a nap yesterday, I visited the new Cafe Coffee Day at the end of Devaraj Urs Road. Finally, coffee in my neighborhood!

There's a patio on the 2nd floor, where you can watch everything happening below (without being molested by the riffraff), but I sat in the AC and had a latte and chocolate fantasy cake while outlining a story about green yoga.

A trip of foreign women -- Turkish? Greek? ??? -- came in and sat in the front window. They wore sexy t-shirts, tight capri pants, stylish flats and heavy makeup -- and carried many shopping bags.

At one point a wrinkled woman in a sari came to the window and stared and stared at this bit of western-inspired opulance on Devaraj Urs Rd. What could she have been thinking? It was a bit like a scene from a Kieslowski film.

The next time I looked up, the woman was standing in front of the door, peering in. I wondered if she'd come in, and how the young, good-looking baristas would react.

The next time I looked up, she was gone. Had they chased her away when I wasn't looking?

When I left, I studied the sign on the front door, hoping to find out the cafe's timings. But the sign didn't have them. It said only that they reserve the right to decide who gets to come in -- and who does not.


***


I had a great parking spot, so afterwards I actually WALKED down the street (towards KR Circle) to City Optical Paradise, across from the Punjab National Bank. My $5 Walgreen's reading glasses had not survived the journey, and they were putting in new lenses for RS 400 (around $10). On the walk, I looked at the dresses displayed in front of the shops, and on the return trip I jettisoned my plans to visit The Coconut Family at Sri Rampet and spent the next hour or so buying dresses as gifts. One of them needed to be altered, so I killed time buying towels for me and doing more window shopping.

After finally collecting the altered dress -- "one half hour only, Ma'am" somehow turned into one three times that -- I returned to the scooter, loaded it with packages, and took off, images of dinner dancing in my head.

But I felt the wind in my hair and realized something was missing -- my helmet, which I'd left at the last store.

So I turnd around.

But the only way to double back was to pass the Coconut Family stand, and I didn't want to risk them seeing me.

So I took a different route, which didn't work out.

I did a very sloppy, dangerous U-turn -- losing one bag, which I was able to recover -- and ended up going past the Coconut Family after all.

Maybe they didn't see me....


***


For Friday's led practice, I got a spot in the front row. I figured if anyone told me it was their spot, I'd say "Oh YEAH? Well it was my spot last year." But no one made a peep, and I found myself between Keemo-from-Finland and Cathy-from-America (and Manju's teacher training), and down from Linda-from-Edinburgh. Basically, these are the three people at the shala whom I know).

It was a good practice, although I'm sure Sharath's count has slowed down even more -which is A-OK with me..... though my middle back did start to ache during the interminable headstand.

Afterwards I gave Sharath my photo (which I'd forgotten to include with my registration), talked to no one over coconuts, bought the papers (Bangalore Mirror and New Indian Express) and went to Greenleaf, where they talked me into ordering the pongol. The coconut-y rice dish is only served on Fridays and Sundays, and was amazing.







TODAY'S FUN FACT:

Guruji's birthday party is on the 29th or 30th (I forget which) at 1PM. I hope (and pray) that he'll be there. I'm planning to wear the purple/cream sari Ammu go for me last year -- provided Sachin-the-genius-tailor finishes the choli (blouse) on time.

LOOSE eMOTIONS

Photo: my room at the Kaveri Lodge

The unwritten rule is that students, no matter how advanced, do primary series during their first week at the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute.

Since my first class here was last Thursday, I figured I should begin adding my few intermediate series poses at the end of practice today (Thursday).

Wrong!

I was in Danurasana when Sharath said, from across the room, "Caca! First week - only primary series." He came closer and told me to add the extra poses on Monday. I apologized and thanked him and did my backbending. Dropbacks were sloppier than yesterday but at least I could do them.

That surprised me; since Wednesday morning I've had eggy loose motions (diarrhea) and gas as well as bloating after eating. I think it's due to something I ate in Ooty -- and it sounds suspiciously like giardia.

So what did I do?

-On my first trip to India I waited until I could barely walk before I went for help.

-On my second trip I learned to go to the hospital if I feel like crap for more than 24 hours.

-On my third trip I learned (from Jammu) that if I feel like crap for more than 24 hours, I should skip the formalities and go directly to the pharmacist behind the Kaveri Lodge.

So I went to see him yesterday afternoon.

He gave me four magic pills for just six rupees.

The round pill is taken while eating (to help digest the food), followed by the oblong yellow tablet two hours later (not sure why). The process is repeated with the next meal.

The following day you visit the pharmacist and tell him what happened. If you're not better, he gives you the hard stuff (probably metronidazole or tinidazole.). But only as a last resort. As he told me, "Why use a hammer, when sometimes a nail will work just as well?"

Of course the magic pills gave me the opposite of loose motions -- tight stiffness -- which is why I thought backbends would be a disaster today.

But it all worked out in the end....





***

Photo: Ammu's growing empire.

The pharmacist recently interviewed for a job with a high-tech American company in Bangalore. He made the third round of interviews, where he was told that he could have the job if he adopted an American accent. They gave him 22 days to do it, and suggested he study American TV and movies in order to get it right. He asked me for a list of ones he should study; any suggestions? Please post them in the Comments section.

In the meantime, I went to Reggae and Raga and made a list of American movies ranging from Meet the Fokkers to The Pursuit of Happyness. (Can you believe they even carry Pan's Labyrinth)?





TODAYS FUN FACT:

The Vijay Times newspaper has folded. Now there's a sensational new tabloid with a lot of red splashed on the cover, called the Bangalore Mirror. Like Chicago's Red Eye paper, it seems to be aimed at the younger set. Yet it appears to be owned by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar's Art of Living Foundation. Ah, India.

LAUGH-OUT-LOUD FUNNY



Yesterday Sharath told me (and many others) to come at 7AM instead of at 7:15.

Today I came a little bit late, figuring there'd be a bottleneck.

I was right.

So I waited patiently as the others sorted out who would go next.

Things had thinned out when Sharath poked his head in and said, "7:15 next"

I pointed to myself and said, "7:00?"

And he said, "What are you sitting there waiting for?"

And everyone laughed as I ducked my head and skulked inside.

(This did not stop me from doing decent backbending -- even after just primary series, which is what you do for the first week here no matter how advanced your practice).


***

Their laughter was not unlike that of the Salwaar Grrlz (young women wearing the salwaar kameez) who looked me up and down and up and down and pointed and could not stop laughing as I passed them while walking home from having snacks at Ammu's house. Like the other yoga students, it did not seem like they were laughing with me. "What am I doing wrong NOW," I wondered -- and I remembered why I like to drive the scooter and wear the helmet and go around incognito.

I'd gone over to see Ammu's new printing business. But it was silent as there was no current (power) on his street because they're installing new power lines. He offered to print my book at a very reasonable write. Now I must write it.

Then we went to his house, which is quiet without the dog Blackie (who took a death leap last week). His mother made us chai and gave us some of the biscuits Ammu brought back from Ooty. She also made bonda. She was very sweet and I love to eat but the onions inside gave me pause -- -- onions are not sattvic (mild) and hence not part of the yoga diet -- but I ate the deep-fried snack anyway.

(Ammu went to Bangalore last night to work for some weeks on a new film about early Indian resistance to British rule. He may have a role for Catesey. Apparently he showed Valerie Loves Me to his director, who saw me (I star in it, although by all accounts I cannot act) and said, "Who's that girl?" Girl, ha.

Although he supposedly came down early one time last week, I've not seen Guruji since arriving. There hearsay is tha his conditioned has worsened. They are taking off three days for his birthday:
Sat July 28 (the shala is always closed on Saturdays)
Sun July 29
Mon July 30
Tues July 31

One of those days is the full moon/his birthday.

He was born July 26 92 years ago on a full moon.

I was born on July 26 43 years ago -- on an inauspicious moon.

And on July 26 a new festival starts here in Mysore -- it's meant to be like Dussara but based on performance. Sonu Nigam and many others are slated to give concerts.

The newspaper says that 20 percent of the seats will be reserved, and the rest open to the public.

The papers do not say where these performances will take place or how to get tickets or even give a phone number to call.

Ah, India.


***

Today after practice, pedicure, bath and laundry I went to do an errand at Nilgiri's (supermarket). I'd parked the scooter and was walking into the Kaveri Lodge when the owner popped his head out and asked me if I had eaten my lunch. "I'm about to go now," I said. "Have two chappati," he said.

So I sat and ate lunch with him and his wife in his office in room #6 (I stayed in his old office down the hall for a few hours last year, when my plane arrived one day late and they had, understandably, given up my room).

Actually, he and I ate while his wife served us. Afterwards, she ate what was left. (Can you say, "guilt?")

She'd made the food at home, with help from one other person. Apparently it took just one hour. There was bitter gourd sweetened with jaggery, a tasty veg dish whose name I did not catch, a very tangy sambar and rasam. They are Tamil, and apparently their rasam is different than that of the Kannadigas (in Karnataka). I think they were right, as I really liked it. It's also good for digestion. The bitter gourd is good for diabetes and the veg dish was full of iron. The meal ended with salty curd rice -- also good for digestion.

We made small talk -- his father opened the lodge in 1974 -- until he said something like, "Madame will be taking rest after lunch?" and Madame took off.


***

Students do stupid things during their first few jetlagged days here (well, I do anyway).

On Sunday night (after the bus ride), I set the alarm for led primary series class at 6:15AM and went to sleep.

On Monday morning I was driving ot the shala when I looked at my watch: 6:45.

Huh?

I checked the cell phone and it too said 6:45.

So I turned around and went back to Room 19 for self-practice.

It all went well until backbends.

I wanted to prepare for dropbacks, so I locked the bathroom door and pulled my mat up to it so I could walk up it with my hands (to go from backbend to standing).

I was halfway up when the door flew open and I landed on the middle of my back, hard.

(The floor, by the way, is concrete).

I went into yoga mudra (cross-legged forward bend) and stayed there for a few minutes before scanning my body; everything seemed to be OK, although my neck and shoulder were sore.

But while rolling around in Garba Pindasana the next day I noticed a sharp sting in my right middle back.

So after class I went to the ayurvedic pharmacy behind the hotel and got some pinda taila (oil) to put on it.

It seems to have worked.

Ah, India.






TODAY'S FUN FACT:
A new Bangalore airport will open in January 2008. Or so they say.

The sad photo shows Hotel SaptaTERRY, a nearby restaurant where the service is good, the food is safe and no one looks twice at you.

SHAKE YOUR OOTY

The plan was to go to Ooty on Friday after led primary series class but someone -- I -- felt awful (sore throat, weird stomach, exhaustion) so we called it off and I stayed in and slept most of the day. It worked; was able to make it to Three Sisters for a massive lunch. I think I am becoming fat.

Ooty is a hill station/resort 170km from Mysore, high in the Nilgiris (India's second highest mountain range) in Tamil Nadu. Ooty is known for being cold, so we made sure to wear covered shoes and jackets and bring monkey caps (see photo, below). We made reservations at the YWCA (turns out it's not all that fun to stay there after all, plus meals cost extra).

On Saturday we left at 7 to make the 8AM bus.

When we arrived at the station, Ammu learnt that there was no 8AM bus, but we could take one at 9. Or we could take one at 8 that would bring us 50K from Ooty, where we could transfer to another bus; apparently they came every five minutes.

We chose to leave at 8.

We got on the bus at 7:30.

When we left at 8 I already had to urinate. I was careful not to drink any more water.

During the ride a woman vomited out the window.

At one brief stop a Brahmin priest got on, did a brief puja (blessed some people, who handed him rupees) and left.

Around 10:30 the bus stopped. "Five minutes break," said the conductor. Ammu stayed to watch our things and I ran out, not knowing where to go, and not knowing if we were in Karnataka (where they speak Kannada), Kerala (Malayalam) or Tamil Nadu (Tamil). Not that I know how to say "Where's the toilet?" in any of those languages -- but I did know that sticking out the little finger does indeed mean that one has to urinate. I wagged my finger at a few people and they pointed me in the right direction. As I was running to the toilet, my phone rang; It was TJ, calling from the US. "I can't talk -- Please call back in five minutes." I did not want to miss the bus. I threw the attendant rs5 (it costs rs2 to urinate in most pay toilets) and ran in, did my business, and sprinted back to the bus, which was still there. It left about ten minutes later.

When TJ called back, he said, "The bus would not have left without you."

Oh.

The roads got worse the further we were from Mysore. Finally we stopped at the junction, which I think was in Tamil Nadu. Ammu speaks Tamil but does not read it, so he asked where we could find the Ooty bus (Indian men are not afraid to ask for directions). Immediately a bus pulled up and we and 20 others swarmed towards it. It was packed to the gills; a few people got out and a few more got on. The same thing happened a few minutes later. Finally a third bus came. It was a KSRTC bus (ie, a Karnataka state bus). It too was packed. Several people got off and we swarmed towards the door. People began shouting at the conductor, who pointed to a couple of people and let them on. Ammu said something to him in Kannada, and suddenly we were seated near the front of the bus (the top photo is the view through the windshield).

What did you say to him? I asked.

"I told him we were from Mysore."

(Apparently there is some antipathy between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, and Karnatakans stick together. Apparently Ooty once belonged to Karnataka and is now in Tamil Nadu; the the neighboring states are also always fighting over water from the Kavery River).

The roads were awful and we went through 36 hairpin turns before reaching Ooty, which is high in the moutains. The driver and conductor did amazing jobs; I was really impressed, since the roads are no wider than a single lane and the bus is massive. The secret was not to look down, although the scenery was stunning. We even saw some deer posing in front of Bandipur National Park (which for some reason is closed).

We arrived at the YWCA at 2:30PM. Our room was damp and cold and they were no longer serving lunch, so we headed to town for dosas and utthapam. Then we went to the lake (see below), where we watched the boaters, ate corn on the cob, took a ride in the toy train and saw an indoor garden made entirely of thread.



Then we started walking towards the Botanical Garden. It was a long walk, and on the way we stopped at a Cafe Coffee Day (where they serve the best coffee ever). But the waiter would not wait on us. (Did I mention that I only saw two other westerners the entire time I was in Ooty? And that Ammu is Indian?) Finally another man waited on us; I enjoyed the chocolate fantasy cake (which is heated and covered in hot fudge) and a latte while Ammu had a hot fudge sundae. While we warmed up we watched Shahrukh Khan dance up a storm in his 1996 breakout hit film Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge .

The Botanical Gardens were stunning and well worth the walk. We kept climbing up and up until we got to a Toda village. We were too afraid to venture very far in, but an elderly woman came out and talked to Prashanth for a bit. She was beautiful, and wore the traditional white toga-like wrap -- which the men also wear. Then we headed back down.

We were too afraid to venture very far in, but an elderly woman came out and talked to Prashanth for a bit. She was beautiful, and wore the traditional white toga-like wrap -- which the men also wear. Then we headed back down.

Then we were off to the most expensive Tamil film ever made -- Shivaji, which opened Friday and features acting by the high-paid star Rajinikanth, direction by the man who did "Boys" and music by AR Rahman. The guys at the Kaveri Lodge had told me it was mediocre despite all the hype, and they were right. I slept through most of the first half, waking only to watch the big-budget musical numbers. I followed most of the second half though. Afterwards we had thali (a meal) at a Gurjarati place across the street.

Back at the YWCA, our room was damp and freezing. I put on my pyjamas over leggings and a yoga top, and added a sweater, wool socks and monkey cap and piled on the blankets. It was enough; Ooty is incredibly quite and after all the fresh air I slept more soundly than usual.

In the morning we had dosas at a cheap, clean hotel (restaurant) where we'd eaten the previous day. The men who work there were smiling and efficient and had high cheekbones and strong jaws (though for some reason they cut up my dosa and utthapam for me). It was raining and quite cold, but we went to the outdoor rose garden anyway -- where there are thousands of varieties of roses (including ones named First Lady Nancy, Margaret Thatcher, Cary Grant, Dolly Parton and Emily Post). I had a hard time trying to explain Dolly Parton and how cool she is despite the boobs and hair.

It was raining at this point, and still quite cold. So we went to the wax museum. It opened just a couple of months ago and I liked it far more than Madame Tussaud's in London. The statues included Gandhi, Prime Minister Singh and the outgoing president (below) as well as Osho, Sai Baba, Vivekananda, Shakaracharya (who was missing his tiger skin), Krishna and Radha, Jesus, and Mother Teresa. At the very end there was a little alcove that featured the bandit Veerappan, who was holded up in the nearby wildlife parks for decades and was killed a few years ago (there's no pic of him because by then my batteries had died).



By 1:30 we were ready to leave, and went to the bus stand. There we learned that the next direct state bus would leave at 3:50 and take 5.5 hours to get to Mysore. Or we could take a private bus that would leave at 3:30 and arrive in Mysore at 7PM. We bought tickets for the latter and went to the hotel (restaurant) recommended by the private bus company.

We sat in front of banana leaves and ordered thali (a meal). The proper way to clean the leaf is to pour some water into the hand and sprinkle it, rub it around, and then pour away the excess. I of course poured water directly from the cup and drowned the thing. The men with the buckets of food stood there forever waiting for me to dry my leaf with my bandanna (the sensitive western stomach cannot handle the local water). It took forever. Finally, they put down the food, which was OK but not great.

Afterwards we went to wait at the private bus company.

And wait.

When 3:50 rolled around, Ammu tracked down the man in charge and asked him when the bus would come. "Within five minutes. It is here, turning around."

Of course I had to urinate. But now that I knew the bus wouldn't leave without me, I walked quickly to the pay toilet, dropped my Rs2 and ran in. But there was a line. There were women with buckets going in after each person left a stall and "flushing" the squat toilet. It was confusing. A large woman pushed me out of the way and cut in front of me, so I pushed my way into the nearest stall. Afterwards I walked quickly towards the private bus place. Ammu was still sitting there, waiting.

The bus came just after 4. We were the first people on it. After we were settled, it sat awhile before the driver and his two lackeys got on and drove up a hill. They parked in front of a lodge (hotel) and we waited.

And waited.

Finally a couple with a baby got on the bus and sat across from us.

We drove to another hotel.

And waited.

After 20 minutes a few more people got on the bus (which seats 22). Then we drove back to the private bus waiting area, and a couple more got on. Then to a hotel, where we waited. Each time we stopped, the men would get out and smoke. I considered another trip to the toilet but decided against it.

By around 6PM the bus was full.

We seemed to be heading out of town, but then we stopped. The driver and his two lackeys got out. The windows were fogged and it was raining and difficult to see what was going on. We were defintely not in front of a hotel. A passenger got out and returned a few minutes later. "They are checking the brakes." For the next 10 minutes the lackey would get on the bus and push the brakes when the driver yelled. After awhile they all got back on and we headed down the mountain. After a minute they stopped cold a couple of times; apparently the brakes were working. I decided to do Ganesh mantras in my head for the rest of the trip.

After the first few hairpin turns we saw a minibus turned over on its side; it was one we had seen earlier. I decided not to look out the window any more.

The diesel exhaust seemed to be pumped into the bus, and soon my throat was sore. A woman nearby cleared her throat and spat out the window. A little boy used the seats as monkey bars. The lackey started a video and then stopped it.

Finally we made it through the 36 hairpin turns (which are marked and numbered) and made it to more hairpin turns and even worse roads below.

At around 7:55 the lights came on and the bus stopped. "Ten minutes coffee break."

I pushed my way past the others and was the first in line for the ladies toilet. Afterwards, Ammu ate some pastries while I had moong dhal (a salty lentil snack) and Frooty (mango juice), which made my throat feel better.

Then it was back to the bus. I watched the mile markers and did Ganesh mantras before finally falling asleep.

When I woke up at 9:20 we were in Mysore -- at about the same time that the state bus would have arrived.

All for just Rs 125.

That said, I wouldn't change a thing about the trip; Not only was it a test of one's yoga and patience, it was an Adventure with a capital "A" -- and we don't get to experience those very often.

CACA! YOU COME!


On Thursday I slept the night through and awakened to the sound of something; I could not identify what it was and had to paw my way out of a deep, dreamless sleep to find out. After some time the brain recognized the sound of the telephone, and the body pawed its way out from under the mosquito net and picked up the receiver. There was a dial tone, and the sound continued. It seemed to be coming from under the net. After more pawing the source was found; the mobile phone. Apparently I'd calculated Chicago-to-Mysore time correctly, as it was 6:15AM. I was getting ready for class when the door's buzzer rang. Is there anything better than waking up to a steaming cup of chai? Served by an attractive man, no less?

The same man had to help me start the scooter a short time later. I'd forgotten how. Oops.

I found my way to the shala without incident. On the way in I waved to Manju-the-tailor and Bick-the-coconut wallah, who recognized me. Two other students were inside, waiting for a practice spot. It was 7:15. My arse had been set on the cool marble floor for less than 30 seconds when Sharath looked at me and said, "Caca - you come!"

Practice was surprisingly good (for the first week here you do primary series only). I was strong and flexible -- which means that Friday's led primary series class is sure to be a disaster.

In the dressing room I spoke to my first westerner since arriving; Kathy O, whom I know from Manju's 2004 teacher training, and who I last saw at Dharma Mittra's birthday party in May. We keep running into each other; maybe this time we can sit down and chat.

After gathering provisions at Loyal World (a supermarket-cum-department store), I drove back to the Kaveri Lodge, where I unpacked and had a bucket bath.

Then I went over to 3 Sisters, who did indeed have the trunk I left there last year. Can you say "mothballs?" Inside were q-tips, cockroach chalk, clothes, towels, sheets, jerkin (raincoat), travel guides and more. Which reminds me. The moon has been moved to Sunday, which means we have two days off in a row (Sat and Sun). Ammu and I may go to Ooty, a hill station in Tamil Nadu.

After a massive lunch at 3 Sisters and a nap and some sitting I had a chai and headed to the internet place. Later Ammu and I went to see the cellphone wallah. After 30 minutes and 500 more rupees they got the thing working... and I've been on it ever since. This was all done in front of a live audience of course. They seemed appalled that I'd paid $10 for the rubbery pink Razr cover I'd picked up at Target. "You can get the same one here for Rs 20 (50 cents)." Later I found out that no, you can't get it here at all. Men....

Over dinner Ammu and I discussed accents. He thinks my Chicago accent sounds like a cat. I think the Mysore/Kannada accent sounds like a rooster, because so many words end in "a-roo" or "da-doo." When I told him that roosters say "cock-a-doodle-doo" he was shocked. Apparently they say something quite different in Kannada. Kind of like how cows here say "ambaa," rather than "moo."

He was in much better spirits. We sat in the restaurant's upstairs family room (where it is more comfortable for ladies and children to dine; ie, away from the male gaze). Apparently the women at the next table were prostitutes. When I asked Ammu if they were wearing one toe ring on one foot, he said, "WhaTT?" He'd never heard of that (The way I've understood it, married women wear toe rings on each second toe, while prostitutes wear a single ring on just one foot; this was true in Kovalam in 2004 at least). Either he's out of the loop, or I'm guilty of hearsay. Again. I hope they don't burn me....






TODAY'S FUN FACT:

I've been wearing my rudraksha beads every day since February's teacher training. "Wear your beads," we were told. But today Harini (of 3 Sisters) said that in India only men wear these beads, which are sacred and denote worship of Shiva. For elderly women it's not such a big deal. But it is especially disrespectful for a woman to wear them during ladies holiday. Oy vey. I can't help but wonder what the punishment is for this.

The photo of the approaching storm was taken Wednesday near the Nandi statue on Chamundi Hill.

PHOTO FLASBACK: GERMANY





This is the Indian place in Erlangen, where we dined al fresco. There was a colorful old pedal-powered rickshaw on the patio, and the kids were itching to play on it. The Indian-German accent is, um, interesting to say the least.





Here's proof that the meeting with Ursula really did take place. Bob took video of it but it's hard enough for me to upload pictures, let alone ones that move. Is it just me, or do I seem transfixed by the camera? On the right is Ms. Vijay, who does Mars over Erlangen, where you can see pix of us in the torture chamber. According to the brochure, it was the Romans who introduced the practice of torture to Germany. In other words, the idea was not theirs. Of course not. Did you know that the punishment for hearsay (spreading secondhand information) was to be burnt alive? The same as for arson, if I remember correctly. Bakers who shorted their customers were repeatedly dunked in the river, which was dirty and cold and usually made them get sick and die.





TODAY'S BONUS FACT:
The computer in the corner is playing a Hindi video in which they are repeating "Salami" over and over again. "Salami...salami....salami....salamai....salami." One wishes one knew what "Salami" means in Hindi -- it certainly has nothing to do with meat -- but one is too gube (lazy) to ask.

FIRST DAY IN MYSORE
Cribbed from yesterday's diary



RM 19 KAVERI LODGE 7/11/07 8:30PM



-Too tired to write

-Trying to stay awake til Ammu comes w/ scooter, so we can go out for food.

-Alarm clock not working

-Mobile phone not working despite Rs 463 for new SIM card + time and assurances it would work after 5PM.

-Mobile phone clock is on Chicago time, so cannot use the alarm for 7:15 practice Thursday. Unless the jetlagged mind can calculate the 10.5 hour time difference....

-Gave my life savings (Rs 27,530) to Sharath at 4PM sharp. With the dollar so weak (a buck bought Rs 48 my first trip; now it's barely 40), this was somewhat painful. He saw the sugar-free chocolate I brought and told me not to give it to Guruji. Already I am making quite the impression.

-Ammu says I am too thin - ha! His dog died today: Blackie. That's the one the girl who committed suicide gave him. Blackie jumped from the 3rd story roof to the ground.

-There's a new Nilgiri's in Gokulam, right on the main drag near the shala.

-There are helmet laws in Karnataka! The driver of a two-wheeler must wear one or s\he gets a Rs 100 ticket.

-Ammu and I drove up to Chamundi Hill and then back down because of a massive rain storm we could see moving towards us. It never came. I'd post the picture but the single functioning USB port in this browsing center is being used by someone else (who said he'd let me use it "in 10 minutes" some 20 minutes ago). No problem - I'll post it tomorrow. Or perhaps not....

-Ajay (whom you may know from Rebecca Mead's "Yoga Bums" August 2000 New Yorker piece) is married! And still teaching yoga. Deepak is still chef at Chakra house in Gokulam.

-My trunk is, hopefuly, still at 3 Sisters -- where I have yet to go.







TODAY'S VOCABULARY WORDS:

Malay - Kannada (the local language) for rain
Rudrakshi - Kannada for drizzle

DOMO ARIGATO, MR. ROBOTO
DOMO



Yeserday we drove two hours south to Munich, where we visited the English Gardens. The gardens themselves were beautiful, and criscrossed by fast-moving streams that scared me even though people were swimming in them. They were also dotted with sunburnt naked Germans (mostly men), which was a little disconcerting to someone who looks askance at the Chicagoans in bathing suits who sometimes sun themselves in Wrigleyville parks.

We kept telling the boys (ages nine and nearly six) that we were going to meet my imaginary friend Ursula, who is blonde.

"Is she blind?" asked the younger one.

The day before -- on the way to Nurnberg's Medieval torture chamber and dungoens -- I had told him a story about a man who was reading the description of a woman he was going to meet, and mistook "blind" for "blonde."

We've also spent a lot of time singing and dancing to Styx's Mr. Roboto, much to the delight of a drunken man at the Eis (ice cream) shop; apparently it wasn't just a hit in Chicago, because Ursula's gentleman friend knew it, too.



Ursula looks just like her picture, only more petite. We went to the museum cafe (not far from the platz where Hitler made some of his most stirring speeches), and sat and talked for some time. It's so nice to have ashtangi.net to pull people together from different parts of the world. And it's so fun to talk ad nauseum about yoga yoga yoga yoga. Her English is excellent, which made that possible. My German consists of about five things: schmuck (jewelry), Freitag (Friday), nein (no), fleishen (meat), Sparkasse (bank). Ursula's account of things is here. I am hoping that next summer she too will be traveling to Mysore.

Tato* took some pictures/video of the historic meeting, which I am hoping to post soon. Any day now.


---------


*The other night, while waiting for the announcement of the seven wonders of the world, Tato (it means "father" in Ukranian) got out the telescope and focused it on a planet. It was Jupiter -- and three of its moons were visible.

SO MANY SYLLABLES, SO LITTLE SAID

Last night I enjoyed the deep, dreamless sleep they talked about in teacher training. It was the best slumber I've had in years.

Perhaps it's because we walked all over Erlangen last night looking for an Indian restaurant. My friends' favorite one had mysteriously closed. The second one was packed to the gills and they would not seat us (everyone was out and about because it was the first dry, warm night in weeks). We finally found seats outside at restaurant number 3.

Indian al fresco in Bavaria -- wow.

Which reminds me-

My essay about surviving summer finally aired on public radio yesterday. I recorded it last year, just after returning from India. But it still sounds like me. You can access it here.



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


We may take a road trip to Munchen tomorrow. If so, I hope to meet Ursula.

WUNDERBAR!

I made it to Germany in one piece despite the fact that every time I began to fall asleep on the plane, the little girl next to me either kicked my leg or bumped my arm or threw her hair into my face. Finally I looked at her and said, "Please stop bumping me." It worked.

My seat was in the bulkhead, just behind first class. This is also the row with the pull-down shelves that fit a cradle, and the row was full of babies (including me). Fortunately, I had my pilot earplugs.

The ICE train from Frankfurt to Nurnberg was quiet, fast and expensive. My friends were there at the station, waiting for me.

On the way home we stopped to buy fresh cherries.

It's cool here, and I'm exhausted. Apparently it doesn't get dark til 10. But I'm trying not to take a nap in the hopes that I'll sleep through the night.

Not likely, but possible....

PACKING VS PANICKING

Today's lesson:

It helps, when leaving the country, to take off the day before departure as well as the day-of.

That way, you can finish the last-minute shopping.

You can carefully sort and stage the goods to be packed near the appropriate suitcase while watching TCM, which is screening films such as "The Spirit of St. Louis" (good), "Yankee Doodle Dandy" (also good) and "1776," a 1972 musical about the writing of the Constitution, which features a sweaty Benjamin Franklin with a low, low voice perfect for voiceover work and an entire song about who's going to have to write the darn thing (ouch!).

Also, you have plenty of time to worry about the single carry-on bag you're allowed to bring, and whether or not it meets the weight requirement.

(It doesn't).

BAD L'DY FOR NOT POSTING

I've not fallen off the face of the Earth.

And even though I leave for India in three days, I've not exactly been finishing deadlines, doing last-minute shopping and packing, either.

Nope.

I've been socializing:

WED AFTERNOON = lunch with Bo (the friend who saves all the cats; e-mail me if you're interested in adopting) at an organic cafe and bakery in Glenview (followed by a travel-related trip to Target; you'd think that the one in the middle of the cornfield would be better-stocked and -organized than its urban counterpart. Not so).

THURS AFTERNOON = lunch and hookey with TJ

THURSDAY EVENING = chai and dinner with the former neighbors (whose delightful Bangalore-based parents -- whom I met there in 2004 -- are here visiting)

FRIDAY AFTERNOON/EVENING = snacks and high-jinks with Dreyfus and Dreyfus Jr., who were in town for the Cubs game (they beat the Brewers by 1 run)

SATURDAY MORNING/AFTERNOON/EVENING = An impromptu reunion breakfast with three of my long-lost cousins (plus one friend, one spouse and three offspring) at Heartland Cafe, followed by a trip on the EL to the Lincoln Park Zoo and lakefront and then dinner at Hema's Kitchen.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON = Lunch with TJ

SUNDAY EVENING = Potlock with the Sunday night crew, followed by stoop-sitting and Flight of the Conchords:







Perhaps today will be a bit more productive....

DRUGS R BAD

Last year someone in Mysore gave me some Ambien to take on the plane home.

"You'll sleep all the way to Amsterdam," she said.

I was skeptical -- I don't take sleep aids -- but took half of one anyway.

I slept through the in-flight movies.

I slept through the meals.

At no point did my legs become restless.

Nor did I feel the need to shift in my seat.

I awakened refreshed in Amsterdam.

So refreshed in fact that when I learned my connecting flight to Chicago had not only been delayed but no longer existed, I was able to deal with it. Like an adult, even.

I've not taken Ambien since - even though I'm a disturbed sleeper.

Nonetheless I would like to have some on hand for this trip,.

So I called the doctor's office.

The woman in charge said they could not give a prescription over the phone unless I'd been there in the past three months.

I said I'd been there recently and asked her to look it up.

Turns out I was right.

I asked again if they'd phone it in.

Nope.

She would not budge; I had to spend $50 on an office visit or go without.

I started to feel like an addict needing a fix.

I called Dreyfus to vent.

While talking, it occurred to me that there may have been some left over from last year.

I tore the place apart.

After some time I found something curious inside a pillbox tucked into an obscure cabinet; two white pills twisted inside a plastic bag.

Enough to get me to India!

TWO-FER TUESDAY


1.
I have indeed booked my ticket for India, on Air India, via Germany. I leave on July 5, spend a few days with friends in Erlangen and head to Mysore on July 11 for a month at the AYRI. Other than Randy, I know no westerners who will be there -- although I do have tentative plans to meet up with Russell. I've never spent such a short period of time there (first trip was four months, second two were two months each) and wonder what it'll be like.

2.
I finally saw Dil Se over the weekend. That's the film that features one of my favorite soundtracks of all time. But the film itself? Like my teaching at Dharma's studio in February, it was quite good but not great (although the opening song on the moving train is stunning and worth the price of admission). And you have to love a film where the female love interest is a terrorist and the subtext examines with the Indian government's treatment of Jammu and Kashmir. Not only that, but "Hitler" is a punchline (as in, "Stop that or I'll be like Hitler," which was said to children -- who laughed). SPOILER ALERT. As if that weren't enough - and it is - instead of blowing up the president, the female protagonist changes course at the very last minute and chooses the path of love. She embraces Shah Rukh Khan.....and detonates her bomb. Yes, a good time was had by all.*









*I didn't catch this, but apparently the seven stages of love described in the song "Satrangi Re" are depicted throughout the movie: Hub, Uns, Ishq, Aquidat, Ibaadat, Junoon, and Maut (attraction, infatuation, love, reverence, worship, obsession, and death).

GURUS


These two pictures appeared -- separately -- in the inbox last week.



Dharma MIttra -- on the streets of NYC. Notice the straight arms and fingers; this is also the correct method in ashtanga vinyasa yoga.










Guruji -- after recovering enough to come down to the shala two weeks ago.*











*Which reminds me: Students should practice ahimsa and stop bringing sweets and chocolates to Guruji, as it will only cause a relapse. It doesn't matter how much he likes it: sugar is very bad for him.

THE RACIST


A couple of Fridays ago this Critic's Choice -- a preview of an upcoming concert -- appeared in The Backwards R:

A.R. Rahman
Dubbed the "Asian Mozart" by the Daily Telegraph, 41-year-old composer A.R. Rahman redefined contemporary Indian film music in the early 90s, transforming a style that was formulaic and drowning in kitsch into something diverse and sophisticated, infused with everything from Baroque strings to pop guitar to dancehall beats. A student of Carnatic music who'd played keyboards on tour with tabla master Zakir Hussain at a young age, he earned a degree in Western classical music from Oxford and made commercial jingles at his home studio before taking his first film commission, Roja, in 1992. Since then he's scored 70 films and two Broadway musicals (Bombay Dreams and The Lord of the Rings), selling more than 200 million albums in the process. His Chicago debut promises to be a Bollywood-scale spectacle, with nearly 50 musicians, 20 dancers, and a dozen of India's top playback singers (the people whose voices you actually hear in Bollywood musicals), including Sukwhinder Singh, Sadhana Sargam, K.S. Chitra, and Hariharan.
- Caca


This letter to the editor appeared in my inbox the following Monday:

I am writing to you regarding this Saturday June 9, 2007 blurb about A.R.Rahman by Caca, posted below. In this blurb, Ms. Caca states that Mr. Rahman transformed Indian music which was “a style that was formulaic and drowning in kitsch into something diverse and sophisticated.” First, Ms. Caca’s opinion on Indian music is unnecessary for the information she is giving to the readers about the show. Second, the words are offensive, as Indian music prior to the 90’s was not formulaic, drowning, or lacked sophistication, agreed upon by millions of people (and many experts). Indian music is renowned for being intricate and graceful and has inspired music around the world including The Beatles, John Lennon, Madonna, and many more. Also, while Mr. Rahman is a musical genius, he is not the “Asian Mozart” by any means. Bollywood has a long history of brilliant composers who, in their time, contributed to India’s artistic growth for decades. As early as the 40’s, Indian music infused Western and Middle Eastern tunes with traditional Indian tunes to create original musical pieces. This is evident in the musical works from Kishore Kumar in the “black and white” era to Bhappi Lahiri’s “disco” era, and many more. Ms. Caca and the Daily Telegraph may not be aware of this since India has only recently been included in the Western music scene, which was primarily xenophobic until the 80’s and even now is faced with many racial challenges. Ms. Caca is obviously not an expert on Indian music so how did her comments get approved by your editing staff? After all, as with any published work, one must do a fact check prior to printing anything. I am sincerely requesting an immediate apology from the Reader and Caca for this appalling and racist attempt to put down Indian music. I am shocked that a paper that prides itself of covering the non-mainstream voice would deliberately allow such an offence to take place.


This was upsetting, to say the least. I mean, don't they know I'm a wIndian?

And that journalists know everything.

(I really was upset, though. The last thing I want to do is disrespect Indian music).

To my surprise, The Backwards R said a few days later that they were going to print the letter, as well as any response I wanted to make.

At first I was going to be all peace-love-yoga, thank you for your letter, I'm sorry I upset you bla bla bla.

Then I consulted Bindi and The Colonel as well as a woman from Kerala and a man from Andhra Pradesh-- some of my best friends are Indian -- to see what they thought.

I ended up writing the following, while listening to Rahman's utterly sublime Dil Se soundtrack (which is playing right now, as I compose this post):

To clarify; I said that contemporary Indian FILM music IN THE EARLY 90s was in a rut, not Indian music in general.

From all accounts, this was the case, as the major composers had died off or retired. As Rahman told Time magazine’s Lina Lofaro in 2004:

"When I started in 92, Indian film music was very segmented. This made me take a film song and produce it in such a way that it would go beyond language or culture. That worked because, basically, I’m from South India [the Tamil capital of Madras]. It worked across North India [Bombay, Calcutta, New Delhi, etc.], which is a completely different culture. “

I stand by what I wrote. I only wonder if it would have provoked such a strong reaction had my surname been Indian, rather than Danish .



The new Backwards R came out yesterday.

No letter to the editor.

No response.

No nothing.

Not even in the online edition.

There's a lesson in this somewhere.

LIONS AND TYPERS UPDATE

The reading on Saturday night was good fun -- although for some reason I found it difficult to read (perhaps because I wasn't wearing the requisite glasses?) and tripped over the tongue several times. Fortunately I went on early, and was able to enjoy what the other writers had to say.

Here's another excerpt from the magnum opus:

When we finally locate the hotel, the tiny lobby is full of British yoga students, drinking choy. The women have bare, sunburnt shoulders and their ankles and calves stick out below cropped Indian print pants. From the guidebook I know that this is considered to be extremely slutty, since those areas are considered erotic and should be covered at all times.

Many are also wearing a single toe-ring on one of their feet. In India, this means you’re a prostitute. I consider telling them and decide against it.

I recognize their faces from the yoga retreat we just attended, in the seaside resort of Kovalam. We were both terrified to go to Mysore, so we decided to first go there and study with a Western teacher whom we knew well. I thought it would ease the shock of our first visit to India. We both got sick anyway.

The people in the lobby are the students who could do all of the advanced postures – and didn’t say one word to us the entire three weeks we were practicing next to them. I say hello to the room anyway. An emaciated guy with a shaved head nods dismissively.

“There are no rooms,” he says. His accent is posh. “Join the queue.”

“That’s OK,” I say. “We have reservations.” My voice comes out thick and slow, like John Wayne.

The manager has a Hitler moustache and a red tilak mark on his forehead. He searches, but cannot find a record of our reservation. He shows us the dusty green ledger where our names should be. He says there are others ahead of us. He offers to arrange for a room somewhere else.

“We’ll wait for a room he-ere,” I say, still talking like John Wayne.

“WHOA-kay,” he replies, wagging his head side-to-side and smiling. “No problem, madam. 5PM coming.”

And then he hands me a business card that says: “Kauvery Hotel: A Decent Lodging Place.”

EAT. PRAY. PUKE.

I'll be reading a new piece this Saturday (6/16) at 6:30 at the Lions and Typers Festival at the Uptown Writer's Space (it's at Broadway and Lawrence, above the Green Mill).

Fellow yogini and big-time author Amy Krouse Rosenthal -- who arrived in Mysore last year on the day I left -- will be reading at 9:15PM. Many other accomplished writers (who probably finished their pieces weeks ago) are also on the roster.

Called "Eat. Pray. Puke," my piece is about my first trip to India, in 2002.

A teaser:

My bunk is slightly larger than a two-by-four – and just as hard. The man across the aisle is snoring louder than a Superbowl commercial, and a gray metal fan from 1940 is blowing cold air directly onto my neck.

David is on the other top bunk, snoring away. He discovered chai earlier today – he calls it “choy.” He hadn't had caffeine since the 1980s. But he likes the sweet, spicy tea so much he ordered a cup of it every time we pulled into a station and the hawkers boarded the train, yelling “chai-ummm.” Of course I had to keep up with him.

And now I lie here listening to the snoring and the crying and the whirring and the clacking of the train’s wheels and wonder, not for the first time, why I’m here. I never really WANTED to come to India to study yoga. Being sick in a so-called “third world country” is not my idea of fun. And I’m from the Midwest. We just don’t travel that much.
But I felt like I HAD to come......

***

When David and I finally get off the train in Mysore, we realize we are the tallest people in station – and also the palest. Porters in red jackets and moustaches swarm towards us, and fight to grab our bags. I clutch mine --- all four of them – and insist on carrying them myself. The porters look at me in my strange version of the traditional salwaar kameeze and shake their heads.

David, who has just two small bags, watches me struggle as I haul my heavy cases up and down two flights of stairs. He does not offer to help.

Like the battered train, the rundown station seems to have been left behind by the British -- and is swarming with people. David leads me to a quiet corner and piles his luggage on top of mine. Before I can say “I have to pee,” he’s gone – yelling over his shoulder that he’ll be “back in a minute.”

As soon as he leaves I attract a small crowd that can’t seem to get enough of me and my pile of bags.

I’m doubled over in pain and nearly crying when David returns 30 minutes later.

He’s carrying two cups of choy.

Click here to see more pix from my last trip to India.

HOT RAHMAN

From left, Chitra, Sadhana Sargam, Alma, Madhushree, Alka Yagnik, Kailash Kher, A.R. Rahman, Shankar Mahadevan, Hariharan and Blaaze.

Bindi and I dressed up Indian style for the A.R. Rahman show on Saturday. Bindi wore turquoise and saffron, and I was in a cobalt blue dress; we were done up from our ankle bracelets to our bindis.

The Sears Centre was right off the expressway and the parking was free. Crowds of people in colorful Indian dress were making their way across lot to the venue, which is like a newer, smaller, uglier Rosemont Horizon.

Our jaws dropped when we picked up the tickets; the lovely PR folks had given us $130 seats that included access to to the VIP lounge. We actually had a third ticket that I'd gotten for Manju, just in case. Sadly, it went unused.

Inside, we watched the salwaar parade of beautiful dresses while waiting in line for samosas (one suspects that hot dog sales were down that night). The only available condiment was ketchup, which wasn't bad at all. We sat on comfortable chairs in the lounge and wolfed them down. No line for the lounge bathroom, by the way.

They played a ton of commercials before the show began. It started late.

Then the lights went down and we saw A.R. Rahman, resplendent in a fashionable white suit (he is a musical genius, handsome man and natty dresser). He sang one of his songs (Del Se Re?). He's quite reserved when he performs, which only adds to his charm. He looked something like this, although this is an old video (his hair is shorter now and he's a bit older. But he does still sound a bit like Sting only with range and talent to spare):





Then he went behind his keyboards, and playback singer after playback singer came out and sang songs. Occasionally A.R. would emerge from behind his keyboards and join them.

The music was amazing; he had a great drummer and guitarist (who could do everything from classical Spanish to power pop with his eyes closed) as well as a small string section, backup signers, etc. But it was the flautist who blew me away. Wow. Who knew notes could be played that fast?

It was also fascinating to watch the playback singers. You grow so used to seeing famous actors mouth their words that it's a little disconcerting to see how normal-looking so many of them are. Most don't move around that much, which was also rather charming. I suppose that's why they had a troupe of dancers cavorting about, and scenes from the relevant movies showing on the video screen.

At one point A.R. told a story about playing Carnatic music when he was young and then falling in love with the keyboards. He was heartbroken when he learned he couldn't play his traditional music on them (because they had limited notes). Then he told us that a professor from the University of Illinois at Chicago had invented something called a Continuum -- a type of electronic keyboard that lets you play "the notes between the notes." Then he proceeded to play it. Afterwards he said that it would make it easier children to learn and play Carnatic music, which would help to keep it alive.

As the concert continued, more and more people -- especially the young men -- stood up and danced. And could they ever dance. Everyone sang along to the songs, especially to the big hits from films such as Rang de Basanti.


But the transfomrative moment came during the song "Chaiyya Chaiyya from Dil Se. Video from the incredible movie sequence played in the background:



The playback singers were on. The hypnotic song, which is in Urdu, went on and on - and everyone sang along. As it continued, the blocks in the mind began to clear.

More and more people got up and danced. They were one with the musicians. We were one with the musicians.

And there was that feeling that there is only this moment, and that anything is possible.

You just don't get that kind of thing at an REO Speedwagon concert.*







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


It turns out that REO was both my first concert (at Poplar Creek in Hoffman Estates, not far from the Sears Center) and Bindi's first concert (at the Chicago Amphitheater).






For those of you still reading, here's a recent interview with A.R.:

THE COOLEST SWAMI?

I'm working on an article about the 35th annivesary of the Sivananda Yoga Vendanta Center in Chicago. It's also the 50th anniversary of Swami Vishnu-Devananda's arrival in the US. Apparently his guru, Swami Sivananda (pictured with him, above), also believed that yoga is 99 percent practice, one percent theory. During research I came across this:

A close disciple of Swami Sivananda, Swami Vishnudevananda, a Nair, was born in Kerala, South India on December 31, 1927. After a short career in the army, he coincidentally found interest in the teachings of Swami Sivananda through a copy of Sadhana Tattwa (Spiritual Instructions). Its introduction read, “An ounce of practice is worth tons of theory. Practice yoga, religion and philosophy in daily life and attain Self-realization”.

Impressed, he travelled to Rishikesh to meet the author and the meeting, taking place on the stairs of the ashram leading to the Ganga (Ganges River), would change his life. Swami Sivananda was walking up the stairs and according to the custom, people were prostrating. The young army officer did not want to bow his head to anyone and hid in a doorway out of sight. A moment later, Swami Sivananda appeared unexpectedly, and prostrated to the arrogant young man. This lesson in humility was the first given to Swami Vishnudevananda by his guru.


His disciples also told me some incredible things. From my article:

Swami Vishnu-Devananda was sent by Swmi Sivananda to bring yoga to the west, telling him “people are waiting,” and he arrived in San Francisco in 1957. He founded the International Sivananda Yoga Vendanta Centers, and Chicago is one of its oldest ongoing North American outposts.

Swami Vishnu, author of the best selling The Complete Illustrated Book of Yoga, was a charismatic teacher who traveled the world in an “peace plane” painted with angels and flowers by psychedelic pop artist Peter Max, using a colorful Max-designed “Planet Earth” passport.

“He said there was no such things as borders, and that it’s one world and it’s one people and it’s one God,” says Raghu Ram, a former director of the Chicago Center. Among other things, Swami Vishnu did a “headstands for peace” sit-in with Peter Sellers in 1971 in Belfast, flew into Israel when it was at war with Egypt, and flew across the Berlin Wall in an ultralight in 1983.

“He bombed Egypt with flowers,” says Raghu Rama. “In the late 80’s he tried to mitigate peace between Sikhs and Muslims at the golden Temple in India. He was at the forefront of trying to bring people together.”

No wonder people couldn't get enough of him.

One of Swami Vishnu's most senior disciples, Swami Mahadevananda, will give a workshop here on the weekend of August 24. It's not yet posted on the website, but I'm sure it will be soon.

BIG BOLLYWOOD SHOW TONIGHT

My A.R. Rahman Critic's Choice appears in this week's Backwards R.

It also made the #1 spot on Saturday's home page --probably because the accompanying photo is so dramatic.



A.R. Rahman
Dubbed the "Asian Mozart" by the Daily Telegraph, 41-year-old composer A.R. Rahman redefined contemporary Indian film music in the early 90s, transforming a style that was formulaic and drowning in kitsch into something diverse and sophisticated, infused with everything from Baroque strings to pop guitar to dancehall beats. A student of Carnatic music who'd played keyboards on tour with tabla master Zakir Hussain at a young age, he earned a degree in Western classical music from Oxford and made commercial jingles at his home studio before taking his first film commission, Roja, in 1992. Since then he's scored 70 films and two Broadway musicals (Bombay Dreams and The Lord of the Rings), selling more than 200 million albums in the process. His Chicago debut promises to be a Bollywood-scale spectacle, with nearly 50 musicians, 20 dancers, and a dozen of India's top playback singers (the people whose voices you actually hear in Bollywood musicals), including Sukwhinder Singh, Sadhana Sargam, K.S. Chitra, and Hariharan.
- C.K. / Satya Cacananda
8 PM, Sears Centre, 5333 Prairie Stone Pkwy., Hoffman Estates, 888-732-7784, $40-$155.


What the review doesn't mention is that he's a dark-skinned Tamil (South Indian) who along with his siblings converted to Islam (A.R. = Allah Rakha) after a Sufi healer cured his sister's illness. In addition to the music, he's on a crusade to eradicate TB and AIDS from the world.


But the best reason to pick up the paper this week is Tori Marlan's cover story about a child who was killed by a police car while crossing the street after buying some gum. That's the real journalism.

MORE GURUJI

According to unconfirmed reports, Pattabhi Jois not only led the opening prayer at the AYRI today (Friday), but also taught the led primary series class.

Afterwards Sharath apparently said, "Easy, too easy."

And Manju Jois is in Chicago for a weekend workshop + seven days of morning Mysore + ashtanga yoga teacher training (yes, he really calls it that).

We are very lucky indeed.

A MIGHTY WIND



While everyone (Clooney, Cheatle, Barkin, Willis, Damon, Mac -- all but Pitt) was in downtown Chicago at the theater next to the Well-Designed Health Club last night for the premiere of Ocean's 13,* it was so windy out in the sticks that a tree blew onto my nephew's house.







Well, nearly onto the house.

But it could go at any time.

Any advice on how to remove it without wrecking the roof?

This nephew, by the way, is the one who keeps coming into contact with poop at family events, yet doesn't even flinch.







*The Ocean's foofaraw closed the street next to the club, so I couldn't drive down to teach. It was too windy to bike, and severe weather was expected. So I took the El. On a 90-degree day. Blech!**

**Catesey worked the Ocean's 13 premiere, and promised to compose a tell-all guest post sometime this weekend. Something about a certain young movie critic wanting three VIP seats for his three female companions, who were most definitely not on the list.***

***Apparently three is the new two....er....the foursome is the new threesome.

Photo courtesy of Dreyfus

GURUJI NEWS


Apparently Pattabhi Jois came downstairs to the shala in Mysore the other day and led the morning mantra.

Then he sat and watched for awhile before retiring to his office.

Unconfirmed sources say he was wearing his "Bad Man. Very Bad Man" t-shirt.

Which is very good news indeed.

THE BUSINESS OF YOGA




The June 11 New York magazine has an article about the profitability of yoga studio ownership. It uses as its subject a new-ish Chelsea studio called Joschi Body Bodega, run by an aspiring guru named..... Joschi. (It's heartening to know that there is at least one studio in America where the focus is on the internal benefits of yoga).


The most-profitable yoga studios are efficient: They fill four to five classes daily, plus private classes. Joschi, which opened in October, aims for the broadest client base by offering 25 varied weekly classes ($17) rather than specializing in one branch of yoga. Joschi Schwarz teaches 75 percent of the classes himself, which saves on teacher costs and helps brand him as a guru. Most studios hope to be profitable within two years. “We aimed for six months,” says business manager and co-owner Monika Werner. “We’re not quite there yet. Joschi and I work for free.” The studio needs roughly 530 students a month to break even; they’ve recently had closer to 450.

I do like it when the owner teaches a lot of classes. Too often, it seems that the owner waltzes to teach three or four (or fewer) classes a week and spends the rest of their time running the business. Or teaching elsewhere. Or traveling and giving workshops. Or something. Which is sad, because in many cases the students really want to take class with them. More often than not, their personal practice also disappears.

Best Ways to Make Money: Private classes ($95 per hour), Joschi’s bread-and-butter. Members ($140 for one-month unlimited). “It’s the same principle as a gym membership,” says Michele Campaniello, a former studio owner. “You count on people not showing up.”

Wow, is that cynical.


THE BEST WAY TO MAKE MONEY: Ten-class packs "You'd rather sell a twenty-pack, because people will let them expire," says Campaniello. "People have big eyes."

And here I thought the intent was to reward regular students and help them afford to continue taking classes.

Other Ways to Cash In: Teacher training ($2,000 to $3,000 per student): three-month, 225-hour classes for a few dozen enrollees. Studio rental ($45 to $70 per hour): Joschi’s studios are rented to other teachers, theater and dance auditions, and for social events.

And the way to *not* make money?

Pay your teachers a decent wage.

Thanks to Dreyfus for the hot news tip.

FREE WHIRLING DERVISHES

Below is a press release for a free June 14 performance in Millennium Park in honor of the 800th anniversary of the Sufi poet Rumi, featuring vocalist Ahmet Ozhan and his ensemble of 40 musicans and dancers plus whirling dervishes from Turkey. It promises to be an amazing show in an exquisite (if over budget) setting.... and is one of the reasons, dear Dreyfus, that city dwellers choose to endure the cost and crime and cronyism and live here rather than out there.

***



THE WHIRLING DERVISHES OF TURKEY

AND VOCALIST AHMET OZHAN

IN A FREE PERFORMANCE AT MILLENNIUM PARK



**Thursday, June 14 at 6:30pm **



On the occasion of the 800th anniversary of the great humanist, mystic, poet and theologian Rumi, UNESCO has declared 2007 as the "Year of Rumi". Well-known vocalist Ahmet Ozhan, a leading interpreter of Rumi's songs, will make a rare appearance in the United States, performing with his 40-member music and dance ensemble, followed by an appearance by the Whirling Dervishes of Turkey.



The free performance takes place in Millennium Park's Jay Pritzker Pavilion at 6:30pm on Thursday, June 14. The performance is presented in cooperation with the Consulate General of Turkey in Chicago and the Ministry of Culture and Tourism of Turkey.



Mawlana Jalal ud-din Muhammed Rumi was born in Persia in 1207. A prolific writer, he produced major works of verse and prose which have transcended cultural and ethnic borders throughout the centuries. Rumi also founded the Mevlevi mystic order, commonly known as the "Whirling Dervishes" and created the Sema rite, a ritualistic sacred dance to symbolically seek the divine truth and maturity. Rumi's message of love, peace and harmony among humanity continues to resonate with people around the world.



Since an early age, Ahmet Ozhan has been considered an exceptional singer and a leading representative of the Turkish classical Sufi music tradition. Today, he is a celebrity in his country and a well known leader of Sufi music concerts throughout Europe, the US and Middle East. In this concert, he appears with his 40-member music and dance ensemble.



For more information about the Whirling Dervishes and Ahmet Ozhan, please contact 312-742-1168 or visit www.millenniumpark.org.

LAND OF A THOUSAND MINI-VANS


I arrived at the Midwest Yoga Conference in time to attend Lilias Folan's informal early morning workshop, "Greeting the Day in a Sacred Way." You may know her from the long-running public televison program, "Lilias, Yoga And You," which was excerpted in the film "Being There." Anyway she showed us her portable altar, led us in a native chant that went "Wah Tah Hay Tah Ho!" and had us (50 women and four men) dancing around in circles and chanting. She's so sweet, even I did it. She also told us to inahle through the mouth before saying "Om," because it's more powerful that way. At least that's what her guru told her.

She was a fellow attendee at Rama Berch's workshop, called "Knots in Your Neck." According to Rama (who is the founder of the Yoga Alliance, the group that came into being after I started teaching and registers and polices yoga teachers), all spinal issues can be traced to the tailbone. That was good news to me since my back, neck and tailbone have been killing me since I spent two hours on the hard bamboo floor chanting along with Bhagavan Das last week. We got rid of the sticky mats (she doesn't have much use for them; they're not environmentally responsible, they allow the body to go further into poses than it should, and they insulate you from the earth) and did a bunch of her Swaroopa (TM) poses on blankets. They including lying on the back with legs crossed, and are meant to release the tailbone and sacrum. I wanted it to work. I really did. And it did for a few minutes.

But I was in pain when I walked into Paulie Zink's workshop on "The Yin and Yang of Taoist Yoga." He's incredibly humble, considering he's a martial arts champion (monkey kung fu). I also liked that he wore his Chinese slippers throughout. We didn't really need mats in his class, either. He led us through a sequence of very easy poses with names like Frog and Stump that released the back and spine like nothing else I've ever done. A lot of the things we did were twists to one side and then the other, with the movement linked to the breath. It was really refreshing and my back felt amazing. My hamstring stopped hurting and for awhile I forgot I even had a tailbone.

Someone asked him if the order of the poses was important. "No," he said. "It's important to do them in a random order. If you do it the same way every time, it make the body and mind get stuck in a rigid pattern. The most important thing is that you flow spontaneously through your heart. I never teach two classes the same. In my own practice I always flow differently. I try to cover everything, but the order is different. This is a lifelong practice." (He's been teaching for 30 years, practicing for 35). "The softer and more gentle you are, the better. Using more effort makes you tighter. You want to be like a glass of water being poured."

Later he said, "People are like hoses with kinks in them. You start to remove the kinks, the water begins to flow." Suzie Grilley (Paul's wife) also took the workshop. In fact we were wearing the same (purple) top. It looked better on her.


Then I went to Chris Kilham's workshop on "Yoga, Sex and Ecstasy." According to the Bhagavad Gita, the three biggest obstacles to enlightenment are lust, anger and greed -- so I went in with preconceived notions. Plus he is good-looking, smart and charming -- which always makes me wonder. But he was highly recommended.

Of course he won me over. He was quite funny, and led us through sequences that reminded me a bit of what Paulie Zink had us doing; simple twists and other moving poses that you don't hold but repeat over and over. He also had us do some Tibetan yoga, where you hold the breath and move and then let it out through the mouth, which is shaped like a tube. It heats the body, and he explained that in South India the focus in yoga is on flexiblity because it's hot there, but in the Himalayas it's on creating heat. (He's author of the exercise book The Five Tibetans, which is published in 20 languages, plus many many other books). He said that none of it really matters though, because when we get to a certain age we'll stop doing asana altogether and all we'll be able to do is meditate. He also said a lot more about the connection between yoga and sex -- you must give up your ego to go meditate / go more deeply into yoga, which is what you must also do if you really want to connect to another person and forget where you end and they begin, both give a lot of pleasure, etc. etc). He also gave the keynote speech, where he told many stories about his travels as a researcher into and purveyor of medicinal plants. Apparently the only time he teaches yoga these days is at this conference.




The juxtoposition of this sign with the one above explains it all....

LOOSE MOTIONS


The Midwest Yoga Conference takes place this weekend, at the Indian Lakes resort in suburban Bloomingdale, IL. Presenters range from Beryl Bender Berch to Lilias Folan to Rama Berch (although most are men -- including someone named "L").

I was meant to go and take a workshop this afternoon with Paulie Zink (who is Paul Grilley's teacher). I've been obsessed for him for awhile; for 30 years he's taught Taoist Yoga in relative obscurity in rural Montana. He's also a martial arts champion and has a big moustache and is one of the kindest people I've ever spoken to on the telephone (as is his wife, Maria).

Anyway, when I was partway there, exhaustion and gastro-intestinal problems set in and I turned around and went home. Lucky for me, there's very little that toilet time + sleep + ginger ale + Turner Classic Movies won't cure. I'm feeling better now and hopefully will make it there tomorrow. A full report will follow - including details of Chris Kilham's workshop, "Yoga, Sex, and Ecstasy."

In the meantime....

The top photo shows the nearby Buddhist Temple, which is decked out for the Bodhisattva's 2631st birthday. That's old. I drove by the temple yesterday after interviewing Sivananda teacher Radha/Gloria at the Heartland Cafe. She's been teaching in Chicago since 1977, and I'm pretty sure she's the one who taught me how to do headstand without a wall when I took classes there a decade ago (when NU was closed). I'm working on a piece about Chicago's Sivananda Vendanta Yoga Center. August marks its 35th anniversary at its current location, although it opened in the 1960s and was housed downtown in the Fine Arts Building. Apparently Swami Vishnu-Devananda visited often (and Gloria/Radha was one of his direct students). It's also the 50th anniversary of his arrival in the US. And I thought Mr. Iyengar had a good head of hair.....

***

Below are dollar pineapples at Stanley's. One day they were there (I bought four) and one day they were gone.


Apparently the season is over.

No one told me.

But mango season is in full swing. I even saw the $35 crates of super-special Indian mangoes on Devon Avenue the other day. There are hundreds of types of mangoes in India, and (according to Devdutt), babies use the pits as rattles. But due a trade ban (because of fruit flies) we haven't been able to get them since the 1980s. But it's been lifted, and they're here. Now.

If you want to go in on a crate of Alphonsos, lemme know....