CACA AND THE THREE GUNAS

Sattwa - Samkhya: accounts for thought and intelligibility, experienced psychologically as pleasure, thinking, clarity, understanding and detachment. Classical Yoga: - when sattwa (purity, illumination through comprehension) predominates, consciousness manifests itself as prakhya - vivacity, illumination, mental clarity and serenity.

Rajas - accounts for motion, energy and activity. Experienced psychologically as suffering, craving and attachment. Classical Yoga: - when rajas (energy) predominates, consciousness is pravritti - active and energetic, tense and willful.

Tamas - accounts for restraint and inertia. Experienced psychologically as delusion, depression and dullness. Classical Yoga: - when tamas (obscurity, heaviness) predominates, consciousness is sthiti - inert, punged into a state of repose and torpor

On Monday night, I turned on the TV and watched my actor friend Tahmus do a brief turn on CSI Miami.

He was perfect as a ne'er-do-well foster parent who crawled out of a boat. His comb-over was what made it believable.

But watching the show made me feel dirty, and I wanted to take a bath.

Instead I stayed in front of the TV.

Tahmus wasn't keeping me there. Nope, it was tamas







On Tuesday I'd planned to go a morning Mysore class.

I ended up practicing at home.

I had afternoon plans to meet a friend and discuss our Big Literary Projects.

She cancelled, and I was grateful. But instead of using that time to write I took a nap. Tamas again.





In the evening I'd planned to go to bhangra dance class.

But I felt so overwhelmed by everything I need to do this week.

Not to mention introverted.

"That dance class so rajastic," I rationalized. "And I want to be sattvic."

So I stayed home and paid the bills and did the recycling and cleared off all the junk on the dining room table.

When I tried to file away the receipts, I could not. The file cabinet was full.

"That's so tamastic," I thought. Then I realized that most of my drawers, closets, etc. are full-up due to intertia. "I'm effing tamastic," I realized with growing horror. "I'm like Arjuna when he doesn't want to fight, before Krishna explains Life and tells him to stop being a coward"

Everything suddenly started making sense: how I don't like to move or change jobs or get rid of anything (including old hurts).

So I decided to get sattvic, and started getting rid of stuff: towels, old files, shirts, gift soap, sweaters, magazines.

I got rid of Tupperware, bowls, books, DVD's, candles, jewelry, more files (including a 1996 tax return).

I got rid of tanning goggles and dead cell phones and yoga tops and bike lights that no longer work.

I got rid of so much stuff my throat hurt.





On Wednesday I slept in (it's not tamas if it's a moon day). After sitting and breakfast, I started laundry, went to the post office, chased down a bunch of boxes, and had the Kaveri picture framed.

Then I brought all of that stuff to The Ark.

It took two trips.

But so much more remains to be done.

Yet here I sit eating corn chips and reading blogs.

Back to tamas again.




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


*Speaking of tamas... after nine. long. years I finally gave up the losing battle that was my Friday morning yoga class at the Chicago Yoga Center. I'm now teaching the same challenging-but-playful class -- Dharma Mittra Level II+ -- Fridays from 10-11:30 at Silverspace, a loft with natural light and vintage hardwood floors at 1474 N. Milwaukee Ave. The class is a lot of fun and suitable for anyone with an ongoing practice - including ashtangis open to a different kind of challenge.

IT'S ABOUT THE BEN-EFITS

Seventeen students are scattered haphazardly around the studio. Each sits on a pastel-colored yoga mat. Most are in a forward bend, one leg straight, one foot on the thigh. Over half are looking at themselves in the massive mirror that spans one wall. The teacher sits in front of the room, demonstrating as she leads them through a sequence of seated poses. One man is not following along. He sits on his mat, legs akimbo, looking around. A few poses later the teacher walks over.

TEACHER: Are you OK?

MAN: Yes.

TEACHER: There's no problem?

MAN: Will this be over soon?

TEACHER: Will *what* be over soon?

MAN: (gesturing) These forward bends. My hamstrings are tight.

TEACHER: Most of the poses we're doing today are forward bends. You could do them with your knees bent if they bother you.

MAN: Oh.

TEACHER: Don't you like forward bends?

MAN: (rolling up his mat) I just don't think I get a lot of benefit from them.

NO WONDER I HIT BOTTOM





When you're a vomity invalid, you should:

-Drink ginger ale. In bed.

-Eat crackers. In bed.

-Sleep a lot. In bed.

-Curl up with a hot water bottle to reduce stomach cramps. In bed.

-Beg your friend Gridlife to bring you more ginger ale. (Not in bed).

-Watch Oxygen, Lifetime and We like a good little girl. In bed.




You should not:


-Clean the litterbox

-Sniff your chemical-laden new pillow

-Fret about how some get authorized while others do not.

-Eat Indian food, even if it is just rasmalai

-Watch a long movie about a Japanese family that's sent to an interment camp during World War II

-Follow it with a long French film about a Jewish boy trying to pass for Protestant at a Catholic boarding school during World War II.

-Chase it all down with an E! special about supermodel Janice Dickenson.

INCOMMUNICACA


I taught 20 classes in one week.

I met five deadlines.

On Sunday, I had my first day off in over a month (since coming back from India) and drove out to McHenry for a christening (which I missed) and luncheon (at which I overate).

On Tuesday I ate something bad, and on Tuesday night I womited (but only air would come out).

On Wednesday I spent the day in bed, cancelling appointments, lining up subs and indulging in the darkest of thoughts (the ones where you question every decision you've ever made).

And on Thursday I began to pick up the pieces....

HOW TO CURE A SINUS HEADACHE

1. Get out of bed

2. Drink chai

3. Defecate

4. Use neti pot (for nasal irrigation).

5. Apply Amir's Kalonji (black seed) Oil to neck and shoulders.

6. Do three rounds of Kapalabhati (skull shining breath).

7. Do five minutes of 3-12-6 Nadi Sodhana (alternate nostril breathing).





TO ENSURE THAT IT'S GONE:

1. Practice intermediate series (without omitting any backbends or headstands)

2. Do 15+ minutes of japa mala and sitting practice.

3. Live your life.

FLAMIN' FIRST



Heavy Manners was a Chicago ska band that I loved in the 1980's - but I never got a chance to see them play live.

I still have their 1982 Iain Burgess-produced EP Politics & Pleasure. On the cover is a black-and-white photo of them (and their friends) waiting in line at the downtown Department of Public Aid, a CTA bus in the background. On the back they're wearing vintage clothes and madly dancing.

The songs on the record still hold up.

Apparently they're still around, too; Marikay told me they did a couple of reunion concerts when I was in India.

And they're doing another one today (Saturday) at 4 at Roscoe and Damen.

The problem is what to wear.

The checkerboards skirt and top are long gone.

So are the pointy mouse boots with the crazy buckles.

As are the big plastic earrings.

But I know I still have a miniskirt and pink-and-black Chuck Taylors around here somewhere.....

MEDIA MUERTO




Between Lisa trying to teach me how to drop back with parallel feet this morning and losing half my body weight in sweat and the teaching, the deadlines, the nap, the laundry, the two giant late afternoon balls of gulab jamum and the massive pile of wonderful north Indian food I consumed following my first dance class since the age of seven, I'm hecho polvo.

The killer was the bhangra (traditional Punjabi folk) dance class at the Old Town School of Folk Music on Armitage. Most of it invovled standing in a wide-foot squat and trying to move your arms and legs to the music while the head remains stationary (which does not seem at all possible). All the while you're supposed to stare at yourself in the mirror and avoid focusing on the fact that you look even more pink and haggard than usual.




Of course I got busted for having my shoulders up near my ears.

I can't even feel my legs right now.

And tomorow I teach Mysore downtown from 6:30-9:30am - and was planning to ride my bike there.

I don't think so.






***


The Punjabi Cultural Society of Chicago's annual Bhangra and Gidha (women's traditional dance) competition takes place October 28 in - where else? - Elmhurst, IL. Details here.

CIRCLING THE MONKEY




I saw an extraordinary film last night - Roberto Rossellini's little-seen India, Matri Bhumi ("India, Motherland").

Film critic Girish Shambu calls it, along with Renoir's The River (which I adore), the best film he's seen about India made by a westerner.


After seeing it at Cannes in 1959, Godard said that "[Rossellini] has already gone on from the point which others may perhaps reach in 20 years. INDIA is the creation of a world."

After Cannes, though, the film virtually disappeared - for over 40 years.

There's only one copy of it - a faded print that has yet to be restored (did you hear that, Mr. Coppola?).

A new group called The Chicago Cinema Forum arranged the screening - which consisted of a DVD of that faded print being projected onto a screen.

Still, it was mind-blowing: part documentary and mostly fiction that used non-actors doing their real jobs.

The first segment concerned a mahout (elephant handler) in Karnataka, and was a lyrical examination of their daily life; for three hours each day the elephants push down trees and gracefully haul massive logs between tusks and trunk to a truck, where they gently set them down. This mesmerizing scene went on for some time, and the only sound was of the bells that hung around the elephants' necks. After three hours of work, the elephants were finished for the day. But not the mahouts. They spent the rest of the day washing, massaging, reassuring, feeding and caring for them. There were some really funny elements - including a subplot about elephants mating and the mahout finding his own mate in which it was noted that "after 10 months of pregnancy the female wants nothing to do with the male." And seeing long, lingering shots of an audience of villagers staring staring stonefaced at a raucous puppet show made me realize how stupid we all look while watching movies....

The second segment was about an East Bengali refugee who'd helped build a new dam and was being relocated to a new site. The third concerned an elder gent who lived in a village and spent his time contemplating nature in the vast nearby jungle.




The part fourth seemed to be a documentary about a heat wave -- all of the animals went into the water in order to cool off, and humans did the bare minimum to survive -- but then it focused on an old man who was walking to a fair in a nearby town with a performing monkey on his shoulder.

The man keeled over from the heat, face-up in the middle of the desert.

The monkey, wearing a shirt and pants and attached to a chain, did not know what to do.

The vultures started to gather.

First the monkey tried to revive his master, poking its head under his shirt and squealing. No response.

The vultures came closer.

The monkey, still chained, went over to the man's face and began grooming him. He hugged his head. He burrowed his head in his neck. He hid under his shirt. Nothing.

More vultures arrived.

The monkey had that chain around his neck, and you feared he'd be attacked, too.

I was becoming quite upset, until I remembered that the monkey was an actor and I was watching a movie.

The monkey eventually stood up on top of the man and jumped and screamed at the vultures.

They did not go away.

In fact, they came closer.

Finally, at the very last minute, the monkey fled; apparently the chain wasn't attached after all.

But that wasn't the end of his saga.

He made his way to the fair, and did his performance. Out of habit, he collected money from the audience - even though he had no use for it.

Then he found a place to spend the night.

The wild monkeys wanted nothing to do with him with his chain and clothes and "human smell."

(I saw this as a commentary on the lot of post-Independence Indians who had worked for the British).

The monkey was weak and on his last legs when the narrator said that he finally found a new master - and a new profession.

The next scene showed him waiting his turn as another monkey performed a frenzied, daring trapeze act.

Girish Shambu's review equates the four segements of the film with the four stages of life in the Hindu, Vedic tradition.




Some background:

Apparently, in 1957, Rossellini was invited by Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru to make a documentary about India in order to boost the Indian Films Division, and this was the result.


From Wikipedia:

Though married to Ingrid Bergman, he had a torrid affair with Sonali Das Gupta, a screenwriter, who was helping develop vignettes for the film.[1]

Given the climate of the 1950s this led to a huge scandal in both Hollywood and India. Nehru had to ask Rossellini to leave. He married Sonali in 1957 and adopted her young son, Gil Rossellini (born October 23, 1956). Rossellini and Sonali had a daughter together - Raffaella Rossellini (born 1958).

No word on whether or not she too became an actress.

A RECOVERED MEMORY



My last day at the shala was a primary series class led by Sharath.

It was a full house. I was in the front row; Lino and a couple of others were on the stage.

Guruji led the chant and Sharath led us through the sequence.

When it came time for Garba Pindasana, in which you go into lotus and roll around on your back in a clockwise circle, I did my usual - I rocked back and forth so I didn't collide with my neighbors, whose mats were a mere two inches from mine.

Partyway through the rocking, the lights went out. Then they came back on, only brighter.

Then the fans started going.

I looked up at the stage.

Lino was on his side, still in lotus, his knee next to the shala's many (low-placed) light switches. He had an amused/chagrined look on his face as he frantically fiddled with the switches, trying to put them back the way they were.

Sharath finally noticed, and smiled as he started to walk towards him.

"No need for fan," he said.

The crowd cracked up.

DUMB LUCK

On Friday my editor took me to lunch in Little India.

Afterwards I went to Priva Jewelers to have them replace a missing pearl on my Navratna Ring.

The ring has nine gems that represent the nine cosmic forces in Vedic astrology, and is meant to bring good luck to the wearer:

The nine cosmic forces are associated with the Sun (ruby), Moon (natural pearl), Mars (red coral), Mercury (emerald), Jupiter (yellow sapphire), Venus (diamond), Saturn (blue sapphire), North Node (hessonite garnet), and South Node (chrysoberyl cat's eye). The various astrological patterns found in a person’s birthchart (Janma Kundali) which indicate affliction, disease, and other troubles can, to a certain extent, be neutralized by the proper, therapeutic use of gemstones.


The last time I had a missing stone -- and they fall out often -- the jeweler asked me if the ring had indeed brought me good luck.

"Well," I said, "Let me think about that....

"I bought the ring in India, in 2004.

"Shortly after I bought it I lost my primary source of income.

"Then my boyfriend left me.

"And then I had a bike accident that broke a tooth and required a trip to the emergency room to stitch up a hole in my chin."

The jeweler looked at me and shook his head in sympathy.

"On the other hand...." I continued.

"The job was really stressful...

"The boyfriend wasn't right for me....

"And the bicycle accident could have been a whole lot worse.

"So in a sense, yes -- it has indeed brought me luck."

It's all a matter of perspective, I guess.




***




I can't help but wonder, though, if the ring has an opposite effect when one of its stones is missing. Or - worse yet - when the jeweler replaces the wrong stone. This happened once when I took the ring to a non-Hindu shop. Actually, that could explain a lot of things.....

BARE TREES




I was never a fan of American palm trees; they always seemed so useless and fake (especially in places like LA) - a sorry excuse for a tree.

But now I get it.

They have that long weird trunk and puff on top so that they can move with hurricane force winds, instead of falling over and smashing people's cars and houses the first time a heavy wind comes along.







Yesterday I took some snaps around Wrigleyville -- Greenview Avenue was particularly hard-hit -- and last night Bobeiseennow and I surveyed the damage in Roscoe Village.

There was not one, not two, but THREE downed trees blocking Hoyne Avenue just south of Roscoe.






THREE!

Of course we had our pictures taken with them.




The neighbor said someone from the City had been out in the morning. According to her, they surveyed the damage and left - and were never heard from again.

By 8PM there were still no roadblocks and no signs telling people the road was closed.

Ah, America.

MALAY MALAISE AND THE MONSOON BREAST




Yesterday afternoon I was on the computer, doing some (rare) journalism work when all at once it got dark outside and started raining.

Even though I'd seen the colorful storm on the computer radar a few minutes earlier (and had decided not to ride the bike to my 5:30 class after all), I thought nothing of it until the winds whipped the rain past my window so fast it looked like I was in a carwash.

I ran to the kitchen and looked outside; the trees were horizontal, like the ones they always show in the hurricane videos.

The wind was blowing so fast, and the rain was coming down so hard, it seemed like the windows would blow in.

It was a little late to brave the unsheltered back stairs and go to the basement (which was likely to flood anyway).

So I did what any sentient adult would do; I ran and hid in the walk-in closet.

But it was full of unsorted India stuff, and I could only go in a few feet.

The cat sat outside, waiting his turn to get in to his usual hiding place.

He didn't have to wait long; the violent portion of the storm soon ended and it commenced to rain. And rain. And rain.

I went back to work.

Then I got in the car to drive downtown.

Ashland Avenue was backed up.

There were uprooted trees outside of Graceland Cemetary.

There were uprooted and split trees along Irving Park Road.

There were many uprooted and split-in-half trees in Lincoln Park and along the lakefront.

I called TJ and Dreyfus; all were OK.

After class, I learned that some companies had made their employees go to inner hallways or the basement, while others had ignored the warnings altogether.

Bobeiseennow said that even the Lincoln-Belmont YMCA evacuated its members to the basement.

After class, it was still raining -- hard -- and Lakeshore Drive was a parking lot.

This did not stop people from driving like idiots.

There were fallen trees in the right lane just before the Irving Park exit, where I sat for at least a half an hour.

The signals at the ramp were out, and a stalled car and bus blocked two of the lanes in the flooded underpass below Lakeshore Drive.

I hydroplaned through.

Most of the signals on Irving Park Road were out -- which is exactly what happens in India after a hard monsoon rain.

But in India 1) they know how to deal with this, and 2) most major intersections are manned (and I mean manned) by tall policemen in white hats anyway.

The lights along Ashland Avenue were also dark.

Yet the power in my house was working.

Lucky me.

But they're predicting more rain/storms today.


***

In India whenever it started to rain I'd point to the sky like a child and say to whomever was nearby, "Malay! Malay!" -- which means "rain" -- or "Mungaru malay!" which means monsoon rain.

The day before I left, I learned that I'd been mispronouncing "Malay."

Apparently, instead of "mah-lay" I'd been saying "muh-lay," which means "breast."

Oops.

HITTING THE WALL





Since arriving home Monday night I have.....




-Updated my weblog once

-Worn Indian dresses twice

-Taught 14 classes - including assisting a 3.5 hour workshop given by longtime Dharma Mittra student Mittra Om.

-Awakened countless times thinking I'm still in India - and becoming quite vexed after realizing I'm not

-Started selling off my (vinyl) record collection

-Tried to cook an Indian meal (which turned out to be utterly vile)

-Tried to prepare a western meal (which was passable)

-Met Dreyfus for lunch (which was overpriced)

-Uploaded my photos to Flickr (you must e-mail me and pass a sobriety test if you'd like to see them)

-Became so completely and utterly exhausted that I could not even take a nap.

-So I decided to update the blog again.

REALITY CHECK




When I arrive at O'Hare, one of the first things I usually notice is that it smells like perfume and flowers.

This was true again yesterday.

When I arrive home, one of the first things I usually notice is that the air smells of vegetation and flowers.

Not this time.

Instead, the air filled with the scent of burning meat and cooking fish.

Maybe it's not such a good idea to arrive home at dinnertime.



----

I didn't leave Mysore until Sunday night at 9:30, which meant I had plenty of time on our day off (Saturday) and Sunday to wrap up loose ends -- which included bringing some things to Rashinkar's to ship.

In fact I had so much time to get things together that I actually enjoyed my last day in Mysore, and engaged in a lot of the local equivalent of porch-sitting. I hung out at the Green Hotel with La Profesora in the morning (and even talked to Elena about getting lazik surgery in Bangalore next summer, provided the dollar rallies) and the Coconut Family and Three Sisters in the afternoon.

The sisters told me that Guruji was to resume teaching his local students at the old shala on Tuesday.

It was nice to leave on such a good note.

On the other hand, it wasn't all that nice to leave - especially after one short month.


Sure, the towels here are incredibly thick and the pillows unbelievably soft and the raw food so much easier to eat -- but Mysore somehow feels more like home to me, and the heart is a little bit broken....

Ah, India!

YOU'VE GOT TO MIX IT
BEFORE YOU LICK IT


Ammu and I were again invited to eat at the home of his delightful neighbors from Rajasthan.

This time, I fasted ahead of time.

This time, they gave us baby corn parotha, a typical Rajasthani winter dish that's like a round, corn-based flat bread -- kind of like a dense, fried polenta.

It was awesome.

But you don't just eat it as-is.

First, you pull some of it off and mix it with jaggery.

The father told me: "Mix it! Mix it!"

So I put some jaggery on top and prepared to shove it into my mouth.

"Mix it! Mix it!" he repeated making motions with his fingers.

So tried to smash up the bread.

Apparently it wasn't working.

"Mix it! Mix it!"

Finally he gave up, and did it himself.

Using his right hand, he vigorously mashed until the bread was a thick paste.

Then he added the jaggery, and mixed it some more.

He pushed the plate towards me.

I tried it; it was amazing.

Then I mixed it with lentil curry.

And later, with curd.

By then I felt like I had a bowling ball in my stomach.

That's because I'd also eaten a whole wheat ball of dough called something like "Bodie," which I had mixed with curry.


Finally, we ate green pieces topped with tasty black salt, which is also from their home place.

A good time was had by all.

But boy, did my dropbacks suck the next morning.

***

The following night, Jammu and I were invited to dine at Ammu's home.

When I arrived, the two youngest neighbor kids were at the dining room table, playing a game that's a cross between checkers and bumper pool that may or may not be called Cannonball.

The girl, who is 15, is meant to be quite the bhangra dancer, and we asked her to show us her moves before dinner.

But first, they wanted Jammu and I to sing some American film songs.

We could not think of any; I knew Grease but she didn't, she knew Hello Dolly and Mary Poppins and I didn't.

Finally we settled on "Do-Re-Mi" from The Sound of Music.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, if I do say so myself. And it elicted plenty of laughter.

Then, we asked them to sing a song in Hindi.

Ammu, his friend, and the two kids consulted on the couch.

Finally, they launched into the theme song from Kal Ho Na Ho (although I didn't realize that's what they were singing until the final measure).

Then, the older girl danced to the breakout hit from Dhoom.

She was amazing.

Jammu and I have stills and video to prove it.

Finally, it was time to eat.

Ammu's mother stuffed us with a South Indian thali (meal) that included special rice and the most amazing mixed raita I've ever had.

It didn't matter that practice the next day sucked, since it was led primary series and my last day at the shala and (if I do say so myself), I can usually hold utpluthitih til the cows come home no matter how much I weigh.

Later in the day I went back to thank Sharath and get a receipt.

Guruji was in his office, and from afar I gave him my thanks.

And that was that.

GREEN PIECES




Last Saturday Ammu and I took a car to Coorg or Kodagu, a hill station in Southwest Karanataka where it rains seven months out of the year and they grow coffee and other items.

Very few city roads have stop lights, and in the country there are no stop lights, no speed limits and nobody to slow you down -- except for cows.

Instead, there are speed bumps. Not humps, but nasty, flat-inducing bumps.

And once you get outside of Mysore district, the roads really suck.

So it took us forever to get to Coorg. But at least we weren't on a scooter (like the last time around).

It also rained most of the way.

We stopped just inside Kodagu to get something to eat. Instead of the usual dosas and iddlies, the Muslim-run place (which had a poster on the wall that said, "God - Give us this day our daily bread") had roti and channa (chickpea) curry that came in a steaming bowl. It was the best curry I'd ever had in my life. The driver treated himself to chicken and eggs. Yuck!




First we visited Cauvery Nisagadhama, a peaceful forest along the Kaveri River, where there was a statue of the goddess Cauvery, and you could feed green pieces to the deer.

Next was Abby Falls, which Sean and I visited during the very dry (Indian) summer of 2002. Back then we could go all the way to the bottom. This time the falls were much were powerful, and the path down was blocked.




It began to rain when we were on our way to The Raja's Seat, which has a lovely view of the city of Madikeiri.




Then it started getting foggy.




It continued getting foggy, as we drove towards Talkauvery, or the mouth of hte Kavery River.

In fact it became so foggy you could see absolutely nothing; even the driver seemed to be having a rough time of it.

And still it continued to rain.

Yet we finally found our way to Talkauvery, where there is, of course, a temple.

Below it are steps to a large tank (pool), which you walk around three times before visiting the priest.



It was frigid, but one woman immersed herself in the water, and the Brahmin priest threw even more on her head.

The priests do the actual puja over a little square of water next to the tank (instead of inside a temple). Flowers float on top of this holy square of water, and coins line the bottom.

Ammu told the priest our names, and he repeated them and did pujas for us.

And this time, staring down at the water and listening to him chanting in Sanskrit, I actually felt something.

Finally!







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










CLASS NOTES:

On Monday the stiff guy next to me was given Ustrasana and Laghuvajrasana.
I was given Laghuvajrasana.

Monday evening I ate that ton of food at the Rajasthani house, which made Tuesday's practice difficult.

So I ate much less than usual on Tuesday.

On Wednesday I'd just popped up from Laghuvarjasana when I heard, from across the rooom, "Kapotasana!" I looked at Sharath, and then looked behind and beside me. Then I turned back to Sharath, who was still looking at me. I pointed to myself. "Me?" Yes, me. I tried it on my own and came nowhere near my feet. When I saw Sharath again I showed him the estimated distance, and he helped me try it again. NOt only did he get my hands on my feet(my feet, not just my toes) -- but they stayed there once he'd let go.

I floated again in dropbacks.

But last night was more food at the Rajasthani house -- baby corn parotha, a whole wheat ball whose name eludes me, curry and curd and homemade ragi pappad -- and today pasasana and dropbacks were a joke. But Sharath helped me in Kapotasana got my elbows on the floor -- for the first time ever, and with no pain. He really knows what he's doing (even if I don't always agree with it).





TODAY'S VOCABULARY WORD

green pieces = cucumber slices

"DO-ME" IS KANNADA FOR FAT LADY



I can't seem to access the thumb drive, so no pictures from Coorg today.

Instead, a story.

Today, my second day of Laghuvajrasana, my dropbacks started out nicely and then went to hell.

In fact the whole practice was rather difficult.

Perhaps it's because I weigh least five more pounds more than I did when I arrived.

I think I will be the first person to return fatter, rather than thinner, after a trip to India.

Even a local friend recently remarked, "When you arrived, you looked patient." Not Buddha-patient, but hospital-patient. "Now, you have belly. Now, you look health."

When Sharath came to my mat today I had one dropback left to do.

I did it, sloppily, with a few comical back-steps.

"Sorry -- I ate too much last night," I said. "I was guest and could not say no."



***


Last week Ammu asked me if I had any foreign coins, because his young neighbor is a collector.

I gave him a few Euros, and the next day he told me the boy was verrrrry excited -- and that I was invited to dinner at his house.

That dinner was last night.

The family is from Rajasthan Rajistan, and showed us videos of their traditional dance. The men wear turbans.... The 15 y.o. daughter - who was in jeans - is rumored to be an excellent dancer, and there were hopes that she'd teach me some bhangra moves before I left.

They all spoke Rajistani and Hindi; everyone but the mother spoke Kannada, so I used the few Hindi words I know with her ("bus" = enough, "toda" = a little, "nihay" = no you get my drift).

They were also Jains, so of course we all knew the word "ahimsa." Although I of course mispronounced it.

Apparently there are three Jain sects....

The son showed us his coin and bill collection. If you hold the old Indian bills up to the light, you can see an image (see above) having to do with Ashoka the Great.

They plied us with excellent masala chai, fresh aloo parotha (potato bread) and carrot halwa.


It was so good -- and unlike anything I'd ever had before. The bread was moist-but-flaky and served hot off the grill. The Halwa was milky, not too sweet, and lighter in color than I'm used to. It too had just come off the stove.

I lost count of how many parothas I ate; I just know that it's rude to refuse more food (it is, isn't it?).

When we were finished I could barely walk.

And then they served us their traditional delightful milk drink (possibly Thandai) made with fennell, rose and something else I didn't catch (apparently it's sometimes even made with bhaang, or ganja).

The mother kept saying, "rose, rose,"

And I said "gulab, gulab."

It was a very nice night indeed.

But boy, did I pay for it today....

KEEPING UP APPEARNCES


On Friday Guruji presided over the first led primary series class. I knew this because when I showed up at the shala for the second class the first was almost over and you could hear Guruji's quick count and unique way of saying "SIX!!!" like he's catching it before it flies away, and, of course, "YEIGHT" and "LEBBEN."

The other thing I noticed when I pulled up was C-stands everywhere.

Inside, it was hot, stinky and unusually bright; they were doing another movie shoot.

There was no announcement or form to sign.

Guruji led the chant for our class and brought us through most of the standing poses before losing his energy. Then Sharath took over.

This, plus a total lack of sleep the previous night, me very sad indeed.

After breakfast and a bucket bath I was in quite a mood -- plus I had a deadline to meet, which only made things worse.

I was heading out the back gate -- funny how the guys at the hotel always open it for male guests, but rarely for me -- which I had opened myself when my foot got smashed between the gate and kickstand.

It (my foot) hurt stung like hell, and it looked kind of dented.

But I had a deadline to meet.

So I went down the street, did my writing, and got on with my day.

Everything was fine until evening.

Then the foot swelled up and began to throb with pain.

I started to limp like an old humplimpett, and began to bid adieu to the next day's planned excursion to Kodagu - which would have entailed a lot of walking.

On the way to dinner, I stopped at the pharmacist and told him what had happened.

He gave me two tablets and told me they were anti-inflammatory and pain killer-in-one. He said to take one in the evening and one in the morning.

"And after that?" I asked.

"You will not need anything."

I took the tablets as prescribed, and iced my foot before going to sleep.

The next day it was like it had never happened, and the trip to Coorg -- and Abbi Falls and the mouth of the Kaveri River -- was on.

Many photos were taken and will be posted... as soon as I download them and find an open USB port.

Although I did hear today that the Mysore Mandala in (nearby) Lakshmipuram now has Wifi.

Ah, India.

SLOW NEWS DAY

Today I practiced sandwiched between Vance-from-Berkeley and Guy-from-NYC; behind me was Peter-from-New Zealand and in front of me was Rolf-from-who-knows-where -- all fairly well-known yoga teachers. Even Lino, whom I adore, was nearby.

The energy was good.

My breathing was excellent.

My dristi (gazing point/s) was also fairly focused -- although I did notice that Saraswati was wearing a white kurta (top) featuring tiny clowns dancing on elephants.

But my dropbacks were more like swimming frantically towards shore than floating.


***


This morning on the way to class I noticed that the dupatta (long scarf) worn by a woman on the back of a scooter was lopsided, and that the long end could easily get tangled in the rear wheel.

I pulled up beside her and honked and pointed wildly towards my neck and drew my hand back towards my rear wheel, and then gestured towards her neck. Then I hit the gas and pulled ahead.

A few seconds later I saw her in the sideview mirror, rearranging her dupatta.

It seems to me that people here tend to look after each other in certain ways; they are always telling me when I forget to turn off my headlight (which is often). Last year the boys at the Kaveri Lodge would notice that I left the key in the lock for the scooter's trunk and bring it to me. One time, they even re-locked the door to my room when my own padlock fell off. The Three Sisters always had advice when something went wrong, the coconut and flower sellers made sure I parked and locked my scooter properly; even the newspaper seller noticed when I didn't show up for a few days.

Having been raised by wolves, I was not used to being looked after like that.

Last year, in many ways, I felt like I got re-parented here.

This year, I feel like I can bring some of what I've learned back home with me.

Now that's yoga.

Photo = online image of a woman holding a dupatta. Because her top is short, it's almost more of a kurta than a kameez.

FLOATING



It rained like crazy yesterday; since there was no official practice I slept late, did a (criminal) home practice, had my bath, did my sitting and some work and didn't leave the lodge until heading to Three Sisters at 2PM.

After lunch La Profesora and I made our way through the rain to Joy House, which is meant to have the best chai in the city and was a destination for students when the old shala was open. The chai took forever and was so-so.

The rain was still pounding when I donned the orange poncho and drove La Profesora over to the old shala. Afterwards I picked up a few things at Nilgiri's grocery store, where the woman in front of me looked at my small boxes of soymilk and asked if it tasted good. "No," I said. "Not really."

It was still pouring when I rode home. I was supposed to go to the browsing center but was chilled and tired. So I changed clothes and went under the covers for half an hour.

I awakened refreshed but it was still raining. So I put on my jerkin, grabbed my umbrella, and walked to the internet place. On the way I passed Harini from Three Sisters. She gestured towards the rain and said, "No one will go out in this."

It was still raining in the evening, when Ammu and I went to see the Kannada film Mungaru Malay (Monsoon Rain). It's been running for over 200 days, which means it's a big hit.

I thought it moved rather slowly, but it was shot entirely in beautiful, hilly Kodagu (aka Coorg, 110km southwest of Mysore) during the monsoon and was visually stunning. Lots of rain and waterfalls. Again the hero (again played by Ganesh, who has lovely teeth by the way) did not get the girl -- but only because he did the right thing.

He also got the villian to do the right thing, too -- by convincing him to let the heroine marry the tall, very fair-skinned man her parents had arranged for her.

The heroine of course began the film wearing jeans and tops that exposed her shoulders (still somewhat risque, from what I understand). As is often the case wtih Kannada films, by the end she was in Indian dress (which if you ask me looks a whole hell of a lot better on 90 percent of the population, whatever their ethnicity).

Most interesting to me was the fact that the villian was never seen without his black Chicago Bulls monkey cap.

***

Today I was dining on scrambled tofu, ragi toast and masala chai and chatting with Deepak at Chakra house when a trio of women walked in.

They were speaking a language I could not identify.

And one of them was wearing a Chicago Cubs jacket.

I pointed to her top, and told her the Cubs are in first place and that I live near their baseball field.

"What is it?" she asked, in accented English.

She had no idea what "Cubs" means.

I told her that they're a baseball team that is (was?) in first place but they would choke -- that they're perennial losers but everyone loves them anyway.

Turns out she and her friends were from Denmark. I told them my last name is Danish but they didn't seem too impressed by that, either.


***


PRACTICE NOTES

Today I was working on my backbends when Sharath, who was adjusting someone nearby, asked, "Caca! What you did today?" I told him I'd gone up to Ustrasana (Camel Pose, which is a few poses into intermediate series) and he nodded in an approving way.

Lino was also practicing in the front row, a few spots away.

Before doing my testing-the-waters bouncing, I looked over at Rama and left it in his hands (ie; I prepared myself mentally by leaving it up to the gods whether or not I stood up from backbend)

After a few bounces, I stood without much fuss.

I was in the midst of my first dramatic (ie, slow, so that my hands land reallyclose to my feet) dropback from standing into backbend when the woman to my left went into Prasarita Padottanasana C, and (lightly) hit me as she placed her clasped hands and arms on my mat.

I realized that if I tried to stand up again, one of us would wind up in the hospital.

So I laughed, collapsed, rolled onto my side, clumsily stood up, and waited for her to come out of the pose and extricate herself from my mat.

Then I did three of the best dropbacks I've ever executed, with no extra breaths and no pauses in between.

In other words, with no fear.

It felt like I was floating.

Yes, my feet were splayed, but it was almost effortless -- like how I'd always dreamed it could be.

The third time I stood up, I found myself face-to-face with Saraswati.

Her timing is impeccable.


***

After class I said hello to Lino, who was sitting in the waiting area and saying something about "fresh air." He pointed towards the front door.

There was Guruji, with his cane, taking the air.



***



TODAY'S FUN BIT OF CONJECTURE:

The other day Ammu and I saw the police pulling over two-wheel drivers who were not wearing helmets.

Which reminds me....

I think I figured out why so many (male) two-wheel drivers keep their helmet on the crook of their elbow while driving, rather than on their head where it belongs.

It's not because they need an elbow protector.

It's not because the helmet looks stupid.

I think it's because the helmet will ruin their hair.

(There seems to be no stigma here for men about taking care of their hair. Salons are often called Hair Dresses, and in general the men here do seem to go there regularly. The result is really great, beautifully-styled hair wherever you look. Not like Germany, where it is one hair disaster after another [although their cutting-edge eyeglasses almost made up for it. Almost]).


***


ONE MORE...

Something has finally knocked Mohammed Haneef off the cover of the Bangalore Mirror.

It's not the Indo-US nuke pact.

It's not the country's first female president.

It's not yesterday's cricket victory over England.

It's not even actor Sanjay Dutt's six year sentence for his invovelment in the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts, which resulted in over 250 civilian fatalities and 700 injuries.

Nope....

It's a story about hijaras (eunuchs in saris) harassing Kannada film star Darshan for money (this is how hijaras make a living; if you refuse to give them money, they can curse you. Or something like that). Darshan did not have his wallet, so he asked his producer to give them some money. They looked at the Rs 100 note and demanded 400 more, saying, "Give us more money for our good wishes." Apparently all of this was said in Telugu (language of nearby Andhra Pradesh). Not only are there pictures, but a sidebar tells readers what to do if accosted (don't get scared, don't run away, don't pay them what they demand, stay cool; worst case = file a complaint at nearest police station). Ah, India!

CACA AND THE GURU





Guruji's birthday was yesterday.

Over the weekend I accidentally found out that the celebration was changed from 1PM to 11:30 AM.

Two-thirds of The Three Sisters did a wonderful of wrapping my sari, if I do say so myself.

Everything matched -- shoes, ring, sari pin, earrings with hair-chains, over-the-top-necklace, bangles; everything but my knickers.


I missed most of the puja and caught all of the entertainment, which was a little long-ish but quite good. Jayashree-the-Sanskrit-professor sang some of Guruji's favorite Krishna slokas, and hearing her is always a treat.

Jammu and I sat behind some Brahmin priests, who were really nice. It was lovely to look at Guruji and see his family (and students) dressed to the nines.

Then it was photo-and-gift time. Since Guruji can't even have sugar-free chocolate, I brought him the traditional gift of flowers (in this case, several metres of jasmine wrapped in a leaf and decorated with more flowers.

By the time I got to the front of the line the pile of gifts - mostly flowers - was at least three feet high.

Twice we tried to take my picture with Guruji and it didn't work. It was a full moon.





Elena-from-Italy tried the third time, and it worked. She also took the fab snap of Guruji above.



Too late I realized I should have given up after the second attempt and left Guruji alone. Non-attachment and all that. Oops.

Finally we went downtstairs to eat a meal on banana leaves (bailele).

They were out of chairs, so some of us sat on the floors - the traditional way.

It was awesome, although this year there were four rather than five desserts.


***


Later Ammu and I drove 20km on the scooter to KRS (the dam) and Brindhavan Gardens. The latter are water gardens, at the end of which there's a lighted fountain that dances to Indian filmi music.

I wore the sari, and rode sidesaddle -- just as I did in 2002, which was the last time I was there.

The ride was uneventful, although there was plenty of staring (in a good, approving way).



Five of the dam's gates were open; on the other side was the grey, swollen, backed-up Kaveri River. Everyone swarmed to see. The water rushed, and there was plenty of mist.


They also seemed to like the sari.

No, they loved the sari.

Some even laughed, and I asked Ammu about it.

Apparently when locals laugh at a westerner in Indian dress, it could very well mean that they approve. Yet another lesson in avoiding conditioned thinking.....

We did a puja (religious ritual) at the statue of Kaveri, the river goddess. I love it when they break the coconut. But still I did not drink the holy water, but poured it over my head.




It began to rain when the sun went down and we made our way to the dancing fountains.

And my feet began to hurt after ten hours in those thin gold slippers.

So we took a boat back (Rs7) and I dared to try some lovely deep-fried street food (so far, so good - knock wood).

Still it continued to rain.

We rode all the way home in a downpour.

I wore a bright orange rain poncho over my sari.

Not a good look, if I do say so myself....

THE DUMBEST GIRL IN THE WORLD?


On Friday morning the alarm did not go off -- AGAIN -- and I slept through led primary series practice.

On Friday afternoon I learned from Vance-from-Berkeley that Guruji led the second class (the one I take) and was in fine form.

The Guru makes his first appearance in eons, and I missed it.


Sigh....




***

(DON'T GO) CHASING WATERFALLS II


On Wednesday I did not go to the hit Kannada film film Mungaru Malay (Monsoon Rain) with the coconut girl as planned. "Festival," she said, by way of explanation. And that was that.

Later in the afternoon, Ammu told me, "There is no festival."

He and I went to see the Hindi film Partner, a remake of Hitch. But we arrived late and the exterior of the theater was crawling with men, men and more men. So we went to see the Kannada film Cheluvina Chittara instead. He said that the hero was not nice, the heroine not nice and that there would be very little dancing and no action -- but the story was good. Apparently it's a shot-for-shot remake of a Tamil film about forbidden love between a middle-class school girl and a scooter mechanic that results in violence and beatings that cause the jilted groom to go insane. The bad guys wore white dress shirts and dhotis (sarongs) -- just like the politicians here (many of whom are in town for some big foofaraw) -- and there was an all-male dance sequence featuring a man in drag playing the wife. You can't beat that. (Well, you can beat on both the hero and heroine, if you're a villager upholding traditional values).... The hero, Ganesh, had no moustache/paunch and was quite good.

Later I learned that it was based on a true story. Ouch!

Last week I watched the Kannada-Tamil film H20 on DVD. It was released when I was here in 2002, and my Kannada teacher Waruni explained the whole plot to my fellow classmate Sean and I. I think people in both states protested it because it was in both languages and not just their own.

The plot concerns a fairskinned half-Kannadiga, half-Tamil woman named Kaveri (ie; she is the river) who's pursued by westernized Tamil guy and an earthy guy from Kanartaka. Kaveri's parents were killed due to Tamil-Kannadiga rivalry, and she was raised in a temple and works as an ayurvedic healer and wears a short skirt. The opening song sequence begins with an exuberant love song to water and ends with Kaveri's father being beaten to death by an angry mob and her mother taking off in a round boat, giving birth to her, and dying of shock. All in the first few minutes.

Anyway water is very visceral here; when there's a drought everyone feels it, and Tamil Nadu and Karnataka are always fighting over rights to water from the Kaveri River. The film included roles for a dwarf and cojoined twins that walked like a crab; the villian who fanned the flames between the two states was a humplimpett who seemed to be a stand-in for drought. Four stars.







For my birthday I wanted to chase down some waterfalls and see what they look like when the dams are full. The last time we went, in 2002, there was a drought. In fact there was so little water at KRS (the nearby dam) that a temple from one of the towns that had been flooded to make way for the dam appeared, and everyone (including Zoe, Kiran and I) made pilgrimages to it. But now the dams are full and everyone's making trips to see the falls.

The drive was only 80km but we made a wrong turn and ended up taking potholed dirt roads most of the way. The shocks on the motorcycle are not what they used to be, and it hurt like hell. Plus the fuel gage is broken; it didn't happen on this trip but from time to time the cycle sputters and dies and Ammu opens the gas cap and looks in and notices it's empty. Then he turns the thing on its side and shakes it and sets it back upright and we ride on fumes to the nearest petrol bunk (gas station).

As we drove, we saw evidence of the river at regular intervals: we crossed it once, and saw many creeks, streams, cement irrigation ditches and rice paddies.

We finally found the waterfall but could only go down part of the way. There were many warnings telling us not to go beyond the fence. The view was spectacular and you could hear the rush of the falls. But you could not feel the mist. And we remembered walking all the way down to the bottom last time around.

The coconut wallah told Ammu that we could ride another 12km to the other side and go all the way to the bottom, where there were boats.

On the way we stopped at the dam but could not go in; apparently the Tamil Tigers had tried to blow it up in 2002 and it's been closed to visitors ever since.

We made the trip and crossed the Kaveri River twice. The second time we were flagged down by some villagers and were told we had to pay an rs5 (7-cent) toll. They did not have change for a 10-rupee note.

Near the second bridge we passed a crew working on a Kannada film; there were exactly three vehicles; no honey wagon, no craft service table, no grip truck, and no fancy camper for the talent.

When we arrived we realized we were in the spot where we'd been in 2002, and started walking down the steep, uneven steps (which, thankfully, were dry). As we got closer we could feel the negative ions. When we got to the bottom we saw some of those little round boats made of bamboo and palm fronds. They did not seem seaworthy, but there was whole family riding around in one and they were having fun and paying little attention to the rapids and fast current that could wash them downstream to Tamil Nadu or immenent death.

So we got in one, too.

Using a single paddle, the captain went against the current and after some time brought us to a spot under the falls. We got out and went closer, and were soon drenched with water. Suddenly, the long, hot, painful ride disappeared. The wetter I got, and the more mist I inhaled, the more renewed I felt -- and I began to understand a bit the whole idea of baptism. Then I noticed a rainbow. It made almost a complete circle -- and I was at the center. It was quite a moment....

After the ride, I tipped our captain handsomely. He pointed to the far falls and said he could bring us there, too. He told Ammu in Kannada that we didn't have to pay him if we didn't want to.

We got back into the boat.

At one point we got stuck on some rocks, and grabbed onto some reeds as he tried to get us over them. Meanwhile the rushing water tried to pull us downstream. A man in another round boat came over to help.




We got past the rocks and he paddled us towards the falls. The noise was deafening. We paused between between two massive falls, and again were drenched. Amazing.

On the way back I was sure we were going to be washed downstream. But we made it back to shore, and I handed the man a 100-rupee note.

He said something in Kannada to Ammu.

Later I found out that we were the only two people so far this season who agreed to be taken to the far falls.





ONE MORE BIT ABOUT LANGUAGE:
Last night Ammu and I went to see a concert that was part of the big, controversial Mysuru Utsava cultural festival taking place this weekend. Kannada film songs were promised. Instead we got Hindi ballads that even I knew. People seemed disappointed. Then the famous north Indian singers did some Kannada songs (butchering the some of the words) -- including ones from the aforementioned films -- and the crowd went wild.




IMPORTANT NOTICE FOR LOCALS:
Water service in Gokulam and many other parts of Mysuru will be interrupted on Monday -- the day of Guruji's party. Keep a full bucket of water on hand so you don't get caught with your pants down (so to speak).


A JOKE THAT DIDN'T GO OVER:
Ammu and I were on the roof of the Kaveri Lodge, watching the sun go down. There were no chairs, so I was squatting a la pasasana. "Shall I bring the water?" he asked, smirking. Apparently this is a common joke; when someone squats, it looks like they're going to poop, and a friend offers to bring the water so they can clean themselves off. I told him that one wouldn't go over very well with a western audience and at the very least he'd have to substitute TP for water. But that didn't stop me from beating it to death over the next few days.

CHASING WATERFALLS





My gentleman friend in the US is always urging me to "Speak Hindi!" (as if that were possible).

The version of Blogger that came up in this computer (at Ammu's recently-expanded browsing center) is in Hindi.

ब्लॉग आपकी प्रयोग में सरल वेबसाइट है, जहाँ आप अपने विचारों को जल्दी से प्रेषित कर सकते हैं, लोगों से बात-चीत कर सकते हैं, और भी बहुत कुछ कर सकते हैं. और सब मुफ़्त.

So now I am trying to "Read Hindi!" ... or at least faking it anyway.

***

Yesterday was my birthday.

I was in a deep sleep when I heard something that sounded like my door buzzer.

I ignored it of course.

But it persisted.

So I crawled out from under the blanket, made a hole for myself in the mosquito net and crept towards the door.

"Who is it?" I asked, having no idea of the time.

"Ammu!"

I let him in.

His arms were filled with flowers and a birthday cake.

It was 5:40AM.

Apparently I'd told him what time I was born all those decades ago.

But now, I was half asleep.

We postponed the celebration until after yoga practice.

And after that we chased down waterfalls. It's monsoon season here and the dams are full, which makes for some spectacular water shows.

(The dams are not supposed to fill until September; they also reached maximum height early last year. According to the cyber Saddhu this is due to global warming).

In any case the search entailed a more than six-hour round-trip motorcycle ride over pockmarked roads.

Ammu and I made the same trip in 2002 with no ill effects.

This time there was pain in the back and neck and tailbone.

What a difference five years makes.


And that's the teaser. I'll post details as soon as I can download the pictures tot he thumb drive -- and locate a free USB port.



***


SEEN IN THE SHALA:

Sharath's daughter (Sharda? Shrada?) in her white school uniform with pink backpack and matching bag, saying a dignified goodbye to Saraswati. Last summer she was bursting in and out of the shala and running around like a wild little girl. What a difference a year makes.

GONE TO THE DOGS

I finally went to see the Coconut Family at sunset on Sunday.

Only the father was there, minding the store.

I said hello and he offered me the plastic chair in front.

I sat and watched the traffic, which is highly entertaining. The store is on a busy corner and I never tire of looking at what people are wearing, how (and what) they are driving, and how many people can fit on a two-wheeler (the max I've seen is five). Some women are driving a thin, pointy new Honda scooter that comes in pink, purple and blue. Of course I want one, too. Only about 1/3 of two-wheeler drivers are wearing the mandatory helmet. More young girls are wearing western dress, and on Saturday in the cave of the cyber Saddhu I noticed that more married women have eschewed the sari for the salwaar kameeze, which I find a little bit depressing....

But back to the Coconut family.

After sitting me down, the father went to the Hotel Srinigar and returned a few minutes later to mind the shop.

Soon, a young man was crossing the street with an armful of glasses full of steaming hot liquid that turned out to be sweet creamy coffee.

It was delicious -- made even moreso by the glucose biscuits the father handed me.

I'd nearly finished the coffee when the two daughters arrived.

The younger one (who designs salwaar kameezes) looked exactly the same. She was flanked by a young girl of about eight.

The older one was wearing a sari and a thali and toe rings -- and carrying a baby.

When I left her last year, she was engaged and excited to get married.

Now she has a two-month-old daughter (and a new mother-in-law), and has duties and can no longer do frivolous things like go to Kannada movies with me.

Her daughter is tiny.

DeeDee looks good, and is staying at her father's house while her husband's place is being painted. From what I can tell, she lives there with him, his parents, and whatever siblings he still has at home. In the novels I've read, the new daughter-in-law has a tough time adjusting and is constantly being tested by the mother-in-law. I've no idea if that's the case for DeeDee, who couldn't stay outside talking and had to go in and take care of the baby, etc.

The other big change is that the sisters were flanked by only one black dog (last year they had two very happy, excitable matching pups).

The younger sister Ash's English is only slightly better than my Kannada, but she made it clear to me that her dog had expired. "Dead," she said. "Two months."


I assumed it had been hit by a car.

But no.

From time to time, the Mysore City Corporation put out poison to kill off all the stray dogs that roam the city.

Apparently this time it killed off at least one person's pet.




PRACTICE NOTES

After my rather wobbly dropbacks yesterday, Sharath came over to help me with the final backbending sequece. But first he asked me if I'd done Pashasana (ie, the few intermediate series that I do).

With all of those people in the room, and with his grandfather-the-Guru ill and the weight of running the shala on his (sore) back, he's still able to keep track.

I love that about him.

Later I thought about it and realize that I've spent more time studying with him (and Guruji, although I only began coming to Mysore in 2002 and even back then Sharath was the one trying to teach me to stand up from backbends and getting me to touch my heel with my hand) than with any other teacher.

I had loose motions all day yesterday (even after lunch near the Nandi statue with several other westerners and the Cyber Saddhu -- who has a satellite dish behind his cave) -- and today I woke up with a massive headache and nausea in addition to general weakness. I went to practice anyway, but it was a struggle.

Perhaps Sharath sensed this.

I was "testing the waters" between backbending and dropbacks -- ie, bouncing a few times in backbends and seeing if I could stand up -- when Sharath appeared at the front of the mat.

Our eyes met.

Then I did another backbend and stood up with ease and grace.

He's like a magnet.

And, thankfully, he did not make me do any more unassisted, nausea-inducing dropbacks (even though we're usually supposed to do two or three).

I think he is doing a fine job of carrying the torch....




TODAY'S FUN FACTS:

You should never even COUNT money with your left hand, let alone hand it to someone with your left hand. Nor should you count it in your left hand and then give it to someone while holding it between your right index and middle finger. Ammu informed me today that that too is "bad."

Spotted in the shala this week:
Lino, Rolf, Regina-from-NYC, David Swenson+wife, Vance-from-Berkeley, and Peter-from-New Zealand.

GOING UP + DOSA FEST '07

Yesterday La Profesora (a fellow ashtangi) and I planned to walk up the thousand steps to the top of Chamundi Hill.

But first we had to find our way there on the scooter.

Vishwunath (Kaveri Lodge manager) gave us some detailed and convulted directions, and then finally admitted we could avoid all the turns and just take JLB Road the whole way.

But thanks to La Profesora's excellent navigation skills, we took the convulted route.

Ammu called me just before we left and said to follow a family.

"Do you mean that we shouldn't pass them on the steps?" I asked.

No, he said. Just stay near a family.

"Why?" I asked.

"So that you are not bothered by creepy guys."

He also said to watch out for the monkeys.

The way up was hotter and sweatier and more taxing than I remember from my last trip up, in 2002. The steps were steeper, and more uneven.

Or maybe I'm just older....

There were more flies and caterpillars and little boys saying "Hello! Hello!". And the steps were decorated with orange and red marks for Friday's special puja (apparently there's a special puja every Friday in July -- the month in which the goddess Chamundi was meant to have killed the demon Mahishasura, the namesake of Mysore city).





With 300 steps remaining we stopped at the Nandi (Shiva's bull) statue and walked around three times clockwise before heading back to the Shiva cave that is the abode of the cyber Saddhu (holy man who has a cell phone).

The outside of the cave is painted with ochre and white stripes (like the outer walls of a temple) and you must duck so that the torso is horizontal in order to get in; fortunately there's some padding just above the low entryway.

We stayed and sat for awhile as families crawled in and got blessed and crunched loudly on the prasad (chunky sugar) they were given. La Profesora occasionally asked the saddhu a question.

We learned that he was ill last year with pneumonia and spent a month in the hospital. In his absence a young man did the morning puja (dressing and chanting to the many deities on the cave altar), and he has stayed on to help. Once or twice a week they feed lepers at the colony at the bottom of the hill.

I've been a little obsessed with the idea of gurus and holy men since reading "It's Here Now, Are You?" and watching the Ram Dass documentary Fierce Grace, and I sat there trying to feel something.

I never feel something when I'm supposed to, though. I did notice that the Saddhu has a calm demeanor and very kind eyes.

We stayed so long with the saddhu that it began to pour, so we stayed even longer. His helper gave us some chai as we waited for the rain to taper off.

Finally it let up enough that we could leave the saddhu to eat his lunch.

After climbing the final 300 steps, we bought some devotional CD's at a kiosk and then got in the free line for the Chamundi Temple, which was set to re-open at 3:30PM. It was decked out with flowers and garlands from Friday's puja.

But there were monkeys everywhere, eating the decorations and generally harssing the poeple in line. So we went to the monkeyless VIP line, where you pay Rs 20 (25 cents) to get in.

We waited a long time as people pushed behind us and pushed ahead of us or left the line altogether. As we waited, two monkeys came and hovered over a woman. Everyone gasped and warned her to get out of the way.

Finally the line moved.

We paid and then got into another line -- the one to enter the temple.

There was even more pushing in this line.

There was so much pushing in fact that a man on crutches fell, loudly, and was nearly crushed by the crowd.

Finally we were pushed forward toward the topless Brahmin priests with the sacred threads and plates with flames in the inner sanctum, where in the back you could see a festively decorated Chamundi who was drowning in flower garlands.

Again I wanted to feel something.

After receiving the blessing we went out and had a tender coconut and visited the Godly Museum, which depicts human vices and must be seen to be appreciated.






Then we walked back down the hill -- which was not easy, since the steep and uneven steps were slick from the rain (NOTE TO CONSUMERS: Neither Keen or Earth Vegan sandals worked very well on this terrain). By this point, all of the lovely decorations had washed away.

At least we didn't see any monkeys.

Or creepy guys.






It began to rain hard as we got onto JLB Road and made our way to Gokulam. Exhausted and hungry, we went straight to Gokul Chats, where we had a dosa festival. If you've never eaten a chop suey dosa out-of-doors, under a corrugated plastic roof in the middle of downpour, you've really been missing out.

As we ate, we watched a herd of goats make their way up the street. A few of them stopped and began feasting on the flowers in the restaurant's planters. One of them stood up, put its coven hooves on the seat of my scooter, and began to nibble at the tender leaves of the tree above.

Then the herder -- who was wearing a yellow sari -- and her two dogs came and chased them away.

Then a small herd of ponies passed by.

And then a wild pig.

And they say Gokulam is a fancy suburb. Ha!