CAN'T FIGHT THE TEASER
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Timings - schedule
Cell - battery
Load Shedding - power outage
I have to urinate so this will be brief.
The local section of yesterday's Times of India had a huge inside feature on foreigners coming to Mysore for study (music, yoga, etc), with a nice picture of John and Sheri from NYC, with coconuts, on the cover. The highlight was an interview with Sharath accompanied by an old photo of him (with a moustache) and Madonna. The interviewer asked all things we're dying to know, like, "Talk about your jet-setting lifestyle." But the power is out at the moment, which means that apart from the glow of computer screens it's completely dark at My Net* and I can't read the text. And the article doesn't appear to be online yet (you can check here). So I'll excerpt it some other time, when there's no load-shedding. How's that for a teaser?
Yesterday I brought poor Andrea-from-Thailand, who has a very sore knee, to the lady ayurvedic doctor behind the Kaveri Lodge. The consultation seemed to be going well -- lady doctor advised seven treatments of massage with special oil and steaming -- until lady doctor asked Andrea her weight and height, showed her a little chart, and tried to sell her HerbaLife.
If any yogi out there has a number for Dr. Kumar the ayurvedic doctor (not to be confused with Kumar the ponytailed motorcycle-riding ayurvedic masseuse), please forward it posthaste.
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*When the power goes out the computers stay on as long as the browsing center has a generator or backup cells.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
WILL THE REAL JAMES FREY PLEASE STAND UP
(FROM BACKBEND)
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Geezer (geyser) - water heater (for bathing)
Coil-Type - tiny water heater (for coffee)*
Yep -- on Thursday I had a cavity drilled and filled without the use of novocaine. Really. The option was there to use it but the Lady Dentist suggested I forgo it since the cavities were small. She was right; the pain was less than that caused by a novocaine injection (as was the price, Rs 350 or under $8). If I had half a brain I'd write a book about the experience. I could call it A Million Little Feces.
This was after I stood up from backbend and dropped back three times -- on my own, with Sharath watching. (This was after 24 hours of self-imposed mental cruelty in which I went back and forth about my body's inadequacies and whether it mattered if I ever did intermediate again / could get authorized (no and no) and then, as Dharma Mittra says, I gave up the fruits of my practice to *god*. I was doing backbends and starting to lose it and cry and then I realized that the worst thing that could happen would be that I fell down and injured myself and was taken to the hospital where I could recuperate with cable TV for less than $100/day.... and never have to do backbends again. That took off some of the pressure and made it a win-win situation all around....).
Today I went to the led primary series class, at 6:30AM. Guruji did the opening and closing mantras but Sharath did the leading (ie he told us the poses to do -- we all know the sequence but this method teaches us the proper breathing and the movements into and out of them). Before class, as we were putting down our mats and the students from the 5:15 class were leaving, Sharath said "Caca! You come here" and pointed to the center spot in the first row. As I collected my mat and moved (I had been hiding near the back of the room and "meditating"), Guruji looked at me and said, "Go one back. You go there" and pointed to the center spot in the second row. So that's where I put my mat. Age before Bollywood good looks and all that.
Sharath's count is slower than Guruji's and is almost perfectly suited to my particular breathing pattern. It was an exquisite class. And yes, Miss Tough Chick held utpluthith (ie, I held myself off the floor with my hands while my legs were in lotus) for his entire count (he counts to ten but it's far longer than that). My favorite moment though was in headstand, when I couldn't help but look at the woman behind me, also in headstand. She had very long dreadlocks that were coiled here, there and everywhere -- from upside-down 'twas very pleasing to the eye.
Tomorrow (Sat) and Sunday are days off and no trip is planned. Yet. I want to go to Bandipur or Nagrahole -- big forest preserves -- which were off limits to foreigners until a year and a half ago. That's when Veerappan-the-bandit, who lived in the forest and sometimes kidnapped foreigners, was finally taken down by The Man.
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*I spent hours and countless rupees in a rickshaw scouring the city for a coil-type in 2002. I drew a picture of it and described it and said "coffee! hot water!" to a million little shopkeepers but no one knew what I was talking about.... until I asked a shopkeeper call the handsome bilingual manager Arun at the Kaveri Lodge. After hanging up the phone the man looked at me and said. "Oh! Coil type!" and sold me one for Rs 50 (just over $1). It helps Madame make instant soup and ramen noodles and instant coffee and, most important, organic Tulsi (holy basil) tea purchased right here in Mysore itself.
(FROM BACKBEND)
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Geezer (geyser) - water heater (for bathing)
Coil-Type - tiny water heater (for coffee)*
Yep -- on Thursday I had a cavity drilled and filled without the use of novocaine. Really. The option was there to use it but the Lady Dentist suggested I forgo it since the cavities were small. She was right; the pain was less than that caused by a novocaine injection (as was the price, Rs 350 or under $8). If I had half a brain I'd write a book about the experience. I could call it A Million Little Feces.
This was after I stood up from backbend and dropped back three times -- on my own, with Sharath watching. (This was after 24 hours of self-imposed mental cruelty in which I went back and forth about my body's inadequacies and whether it mattered if I ever did intermediate again / could get authorized (no and no) and then, as Dharma Mittra says, I gave up the fruits of my practice to *god*. I was doing backbends and starting to lose it and cry and then I realized that the worst thing that could happen would be that I fell down and injured myself and was taken to the hospital where I could recuperate with cable TV for less than $100/day.... and never have to do backbends again. That took off some of the pressure and made it a win-win situation all around....).
Today I went to the led primary series class, at 6:30AM. Guruji did the opening and closing mantras but Sharath did the leading (ie he told us the poses to do -- we all know the sequence but this method teaches us the proper breathing and the movements into and out of them). Before class, as we were putting down our mats and the students from the 5:15 class were leaving, Sharath said "Caca! You come here" and pointed to the center spot in the first row. As I collected my mat and moved (I had been hiding near the back of the room and "meditating"), Guruji looked at me and said, "Go one back. You go there" and pointed to the center spot in the second row. So that's where I put my mat. Age before Bollywood good looks and all that.
Sharath's count is slower than Guruji's and is almost perfectly suited to my particular breathing pattern. It was an exquisite class. And yes, Miss Tough Chick held utpluthith (ie, I held myself off the floor with my hands while my legs were in lotus) for his entire count (he counts to ten but it's far longer than that). My favorite moment though was in headstand, when I couldn't help but look at the woman behind me, also in headstand. She had very long dreadlocks that were coiled here, there and everywhere -- from upside-down 'twas very pleasing to the eye.
Tomorrow (Sat) and Sunday are days off and no trip is planned. Yet. I want to go to Bandipur or Nagrahole -- big forest preserves -- which were off limits to foreigners until a year and a half ago. That's when Veerappan-the-bandit, who lived in the forest and sometimes kidnapped foreigners, was finally taken down by The Man.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I spent hours and countless rupees in a rickshaw scouring the city for a coil-type in 2002. I drew a picture of it and described it and said "coffee! hot water!" to a million little shopkeepers but no one knew what I was talking about.... until I asked a shopkeeper call the handsome bilingual manager Arun at the Kaveri Lodge. After hanging up the phone the man looked at me and said. "Oh! Coil type!" and sold me one for Rs 50 (just over $1). It helps Madame make instant soup and ramen noodles and instant coffee and, most important, organic Tulsi (holy basil) tea purchased right here in Mysore itself.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
PUSHIN’ TOO HARD
Today’s vocabulary words
Puja – religious ritual
Batswana – (fat) temple bull
Ah, backbending. Today I stood up once, went back down and barely stood up again -- all while Saraswati was watching me. Why can't I just suffer in peace? I went back down again and could not come up. Shame and inadequacy, inadequacy and shame....doing primary series for 8.5 years and never "progressing," UGH. People who were here with me in 2002 are now doing Advanced A. What is wrong with me?
Afterwards I watched others stand up effortlessly from backbend and drop back and so forth, and noticed that they didn’t seem to be trying as hard as I. Maybe I’m thinking too much and using too much effort. Or maybe I just can't do it anymore. Maybe I should bail on Month Two and go to an ashram somewhere and roast in my own juices....
Funny, after backbending I didn’t feel my sore neck or sore back. Maybe there IS something to this yoga, and I *should* stick around.
After class Matrika and I went for breakfast at Green Leaf and then I headed home for a bucket-bath followed by a day of enforced rest.
As I lay me down to sleep the power went out. But someone kept turning the handle to my door. I didn’t feel like getting up, and ignored it. But it persisted. Who’s bothering me? I thought. I got up and opened the door, expecting to see the overly friendly "sweeper" guy (apparently the caste system is gone but not forgotten). But it was the nice Indian woman from down the hall.
We’ve hung up clothes on the roof at the same time and she has a TV in her room and seems also to live at the Kaveri Lodge -- possibly with a husband who’s gone all day. This morning she was looking out the window near my door, and I asked in Kannada if she’d had her breakfast and learnt that her name is Devi and she speaks as much English as I speak Kannada. But it was nice to break the ice. So there she was at my door. She offered me some jasmine for my hair and a perfectly ripe mango and some red kum-kum powder. I dipped my (right) finger in and put it on my third eye but apparently it wasn’t quite right and she re-did it for me.
I was utterly disarmed. Here I was, upset at being disturbed, while this nice woman had stood patiently outside my door waiting for me to answer it so she could offer me “puja,” which in so many ways is sorely needed. I feel sort of blessed. And hope to remember it the next time the negative thought cycle starts up again.
Today’s vocabulary words
Puja – religious ritual
Batswana – (fat) temple bull
Ah, backbending. Today I stood up once, went back down and barely stood up again -- all while Saraswati was watching me. Why can't I just suffer in peace? I went back down again and could not come up. Shame and inadequacy, inadequacy and shame....doing primary series for 8.5 years and never "progressing," UGH. People who were here with me in 2002 are now doing Advanced A. What is wrong with me?
Afterwards I watched others stand up effortlessly from backbend and drop back and so forth, and noticed that they didn’t seem to be trying as hard as I. Maybe I’m thinking too much and using too much effort. Or maybe I just can't do it anymore. Maybe I should bail on Month Two and go to an ashram somewhere and roast in my own juices....
Funny, after backbending I didn’t feel my sore neck or sore back. Maybe there IS something to this yoga, and I *should* stick around.
After class Matrika and I went for breakfast at Green Leaf and then I headed home for a bucket-bath followed by a day of enforced rest.
As I lay me down to sleep the power went out. But someone kept turning the handle to my door. I didn’t feel like getting up, and ignored it. But it persisted. Who’s bothering me? I thought. I got up and opened the door, expecting to see the overly friendly "sweeper" guy (apparently the caste system is gone but not forgotten). But it was the nice Indian woman from down the hall.
We’ve hung up clothes on the roof at the same time and she has a TV in her room and seems also to live at the Kaveri Lodge -- possibly with a husband who’s gone all day. This morning she was looking out the window near my door, and I asked in Kannada if she’d had her breakfast and learnt that her name is Devi and she speaks as much English as I speak Kannada. But it was nice to break the ice. So there she was at my door. She offered me some jasmine for my hair and a perfectly ripe mango and some red kum-kum powder. I dipped my (right) finger in and put it on my third eye but apparently it wasn’t quite right and she re-did it for me.
I was utterly disarmed. Here I was, upset at being disturbed, while this nice woman had stood patiently outside my door waiting for me to answer it so she could offer me “puja,” which in so many ways is sorely needed. I feel sort of blessed. And hope to remember it the next time the negative thought cycle starts up again.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
TOO MUCH THINKING
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Fillum - movie
Talkies - movie theater
NRI - non-resident Indian
This morning I got to the shala and went into the Ladies Cooling Room.... and realized I'd forgotten my stretchypants (yoga pants). Oops! So I had to practice wearing the odd baggy bottoms that go with my Punjabi dress. At least they were black....
I was bouncing, trying to stand up from backbend wearing said pants when Sharath, who was helping the guy on my left, said, "Stop thinking." He was right of course. In fact that's exactly what I tell my own students. At least I'm on the right track. I stood up sloppily and Saraswati asked if I wanted help or to "self" drop back and I said "Self; I must" and went down and up twice and then she helped me. Again we did three times rocking, all the way to the floor on the fourth.
Later I noticed the guy to my right, who had ended at Kapotasana (deep backbend) was having trouble standing up. My fault? He finally stood up quite sloppily and fell backwards and had to hop and skip to keep from losing his balance. Sharath, who was walking by, said -- without looking, smiling or stopping, "No running."
After breakfast at Tina's with Matrika and the Finns -- now there's a band name -- I went to see Jammu's dentist, Dr. Shetty, for a cleaning and exam. Here the woman is in charge while the man is the assistant, ha. When I told the Three Sisters it had cost me Rs 300 they were horrified. But I was not. Better to pay $7 here than $100 for the same thing back home. Unfortunately I have two cavities and must return on Thursday. I will definitely look into the price of mammograms here. Maybe Jammu, Matrika and I could get a group rate.
Later Prasanth and I went to see the Hindi fillum Gangster: A Love Story. It was only two hours long and easy to follow and concerned some very attractive NRI's living in Seoul. No dancing but there was a scene with a Pakistani singer performing a song that was a huge hit over the border -- and here as well. He sang it while the bad guys beat the hell out of the hero. Very Clockwork Orange-y. By the way whenever characters declare their feelings in Indian movies, they always say "I love you" in English.
Afterwords we went up (sacred) Chamundi Hill just outside of town to take in the fresh air watch the sun set, and then stopped for dosas on the way home. Not a bad day considering it's 666 *and* a Tuesday (a very inauspicous day here) and I forgot my pants and all....
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Fillum - movie
Talkies - movie theater
NRI - non-resident Indian
This morning I got to the shala and went into the Ladies Cooling Room.... and realized I'd forgotten my stretchypants (yoga pants). Oops! So I had to practice wearing the odd baggy bottoms that go with my Punjabi dress. At least they were black....
I was bouncing, trying to stand up from backbend wearing said pants when Sharath, who was helping the guy on my left, said, "Stop thinking." He was right of course. In fact that's exactly what I tell my own students. At least I'm on the right track. I stood up sloppily and Saraswati asked if I wanted help or to "self" drop back and I said "Self; I must" and went down and up twice and then she helped me. Again we did three times rocking, all the way to the floor on the fourth.
Later I noticed the guy to my right, who had ended at Kapotasana (deep backbend) was having trouble standing up. My fault? He finally stood up quite sloppily and fell backwards and had to hop and skip to keep from losing his balance. Sharath, who was walking by, said -- without looking, smiling or stopping, "No running."
After breakfast at Tina's with Matrika and the Finns -- now there's a band name -- I went to see Jammu's dentist, Dr. Shetty, for a cleaning and exam. Here the woman is in charge while the man is the assistant, ha. When I told the Three Sisters it had cost me Rs 300 they were horrified. But I was not. Better to pay $7 here than $100 for the same thing back home. Unfortunately I have two cavities and must return on Thursday. I will definitely look into the price of mammograms here. Maybe Jammu, Matrika and I could get a group rate.
Later Prasanth and I went to see the Hindi fillum Gangster: A Love Story. It was only two hours long and easy to follow and concerned some very attractive NRI's living in Seoul. No dancing but there was a scene with a Pakistani singer performing a song that was a huge hit over the border -- and here as well. He sang it while the bad guys beat the hell out of the hero. Very Clockwork Orange-y. By the way whenever characters declare their feelings in Indian movies, they always say "I love you" in English.
Afterwords we went up (sacred) Chamundi Hill just outside of town to take in the fresh air watch the sun set, and then stopped for dosas on the way home. Not a bad day considering it's 666 *and* a Tuesday (a very inauspicous day here) and I forgot my pants and all....
Monday, June 05, 2006
A MONDAY NEITHER MANIC NOR MAGIC
Today's Vocabulary Words:
peg - shot (of whiskey or gin or whatever)
slush - mud
member - person
I'm writing this in a bamboo hut on the roof of Anu's cafe, which is near the shala and has wireless internet as well as a 5:30 PM dinner buffet. The only drawbacks are the mosquitoes and permeable roof.... and long drive from my hotel
My how times have changed in Mysore.
In addition to wireless internet -- which some students have in their homes, which are now renting upwards of 9,000 a month (why, back in my day 5,000 was considered a lot) -- there are more cars and more two-wheelers and hence more pollution.... All but two of the hooks in the shala's ladies dressing room have broken off (perhaps it's better to call it a cooling room; it's frigid as hell and is where the early group does their cooling or closing postures). The new shala rugs are starting to look like the old ones but so far no bad smell. The Kaveri Lodge now has an extra two outlets plus a cable TV hookup (but no TV) in each room. Prices there have actually gone down. They moved the front door several feet down in order to make way for the dry cleaner that moved next door from up the street. The internet place, though, is still using Windows 98 and so far I've seen no place to plug in the new thumb drive. So instead I schlepped the laptop the 6K to Gokulam -- no small thing on a scooter in what to me is heavy traffic.
Yesterday after leading the primary series class (which is immediately followed by an intermediate led class) Sharath said, "Thankyouverymuch. You go home, take rest."
A few highlights from yesterday's conference, which had Guruji talking for quite some time thanks to Matrika's opening question about age and yoga.... Ladies do not take nauli. They do take babies. Ten babies. Eleven babies. There was a long talk on doing a proper practice with proper breath and bending. If not done properly there will be sickness. Ladies should take a castor oil bath on Fridays and Tuesdays, starting with five minutes and working towards half an hour. For ladies marriage is important. Guruji has four brothers and five sisters, many of whom are living. His sister is 108. The secret to old age is good food habits. Also one should not waste time; Take god. Think god.
During this Sharath's daughter was in the office, reciting the ABC's to herself and occasionally yelling, "Appa!" When someone suggested Shrarath have nine more children he said, "She is like 100 babies."
Today I was weak and my back hurt and I overslept but somehow arrived to the shala on time. Of course I dreaded backbending. On the 5th BB I walked my hands in and bounced and on the second bounce I suddenly found myself standing -- surprise! I was standing at the front of my mat panting when Saraswati came over. "Finished?" I thought about it for a moment. No, I admitted. And I very slowly dropped back on my own and did not land on my head -- for the first time in months. Apparently Sunday afternoon's remedial home backbending workshop is already paying off. As I was trying to come back up to standing I saw Sharath's feet walk by. He maneuvered to the front of my mat. He is like a magnet, and I immediately stood up --rather sloppily though. "Not pretty." I said. "One more?" He nodded. I dropped back and came up again; still not pretty. "One more?" I asked. "How many?" He said. I thought about it for a moment before replying, "Two." Somehow I did it again. Then he held my waist and rocked me halfway back three times; on the fourth one he had me go all the way down and walk in my hands. The landing was not soft. Apparently this is how they're doing it these days. No chakra bandasana. Only three rocks and then down. Does that mean I can get away with not doing dropbacks and chakra-b with big stiff men when I'm teaching back home? If so I'm all for it -- and so is my poor back. (Sharath has been suffering some major back problems of late and wasn't scheduled to be teaching at this time. And my back went out last year after helping a big stiff man drop back onto his head. It was followed by many months of pain and chiropractic half-assed practices and still ain't right; hence reliving the Backbending Freakout of 2004).
This morning I breakfasted -- yes, it is a verb here -- at Shakti House (the pleasant backyard cafe-cum-rooming house formerly known as Tony and Holly's and The Kev Inn) with Matrika and Krista from Manju's teacher training and her boyfriend and their roommates. Lovely conversation, and the food was like days of old. Joey was there at another table, which upped the blogger quotient to four -- that we know of anyway....
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Regarding Brahmin privilege and cutting in line: I don't know why people here cut in line, maybe it's "cultural." What I do know is that Brahmin entitlement does not account for the several EU citizens who brazenly cut in front of a severely jetlagged Caca in Indian dress at the Lufthansa ticket counter in Frankfurt. Aryan entitlement perhaps, but certainly not Brahmin.
Today's Vocabulary Words:
peg - shot (of whiskey or gin or whatever)
slush - mud
member - person
I'm writing this in a bamboo hut on the roof of Anu's cafe, which is near the shala and has wireless internet as well as a 5:30 PM dinner buffet. The only drawbacks are the mosquitoes and permeable roof.... and long drive from my hotel
My how times have changed in Mysore.
In addition to wireless internet -- which some students have in their homes, which are now renting upwards of 9,000 a month (why, back in my day 5,000 was considered a lot) -- there are more cars and more two-wheelers and hence more pollution.... All but two of the hooks in the shala's ladies dressing room have broken off (perhaps it's better to call it a cooling room; it's frigid as hell and is where the early group does their cooling or closing postures). The new shala rugs are starting to look like the old ones but so far no bad smell. The Kaveri Lodge now has an extra two outlets plus a cable TV hookup (but no TV) in each room. Prices there have actually gone down. They moved the front door several feet down in order to make way for the dry cleaner that moved next door from up the street. The internet place, though, is still using Windows 98 and so far I've seen no place to plug in the new thumb drive. So instead I schlepped the laptop the 6K to Gokulam -- no small thing on a scooter in what to me is heavy traffic.
Yesterday after leading the primary series class (which is immediately followed by an intermediate led class) Sharath said, "Thankyouverymuch. You go home, take rest."
A few highlights from yesterday's conference, which had Guruji talking for quite some time thanks to Matrika's opening question about age and yoga.... Ladies do not take nauli. They do take babies. Ten babies. Eleven babies. There was a long talk on doing a proper practice with proper breath and bending. If not done properly there will be sickness. Ladies should take a castor oil bath on Fridays and Tuesdays, starting with five minutes and working towards half an hour. For ladies marriage is important. Guruji has four brothers and five sisters, many of whom are living. His sister is 108. The secret to old age is good food habits. Also one should not waste time; Take god. Think god.
During this Sharath's daughter was in the office, reciting the ABC's to herself and occasionally yelling, "Appa!" When someone suggested Shrarath have nine more children he said, "She is like 100 babies."
Today I was weak and my back hurt and I overslept but somehow arrived to the shala on time. Of course I dreaded backbending. On the 5th BB I walked my hands in and bounced and on the second bounce I suddenly found myself standing -- surprise! I was standing at the front of my mat panting when Saraswati came over. "Finished?" I thought about it for a moment. No, I admitted. And I very slowly dropped back on my own and did not land on my head -- for the first time in months. Apparently Sunday afternoon's remedial home backbending workshop is already paying off. As I was trying to come back up to standing I saw Sharath's feet walk by. He maneuvered to the front of my mat. He is like a magnet, and I immediately stood up --rather sloppily though. "Not pretty." I said. "One more?" He nodded. I dropped back and came up again; still not pretty. "One more?" I asked. "How many?" He said. I thought about it for a moment before replying, "Two." Somehow I did it again. Then he held my waist and rocked me halfway back three times; on the fourth one he had me go all the way down and walk in my hands. The landing was not soft. Apparently this is how they're doing it these days. No chakra bandasana. Only three rocks and then down. Does that mean I can get away with not doing dropbacks and chakra-b with big stiff men when I'm teaching back home? If so I'm all for it -- and so is my poor back. (Sharath has been suffering some major back problems of late and wasn't scheduled to be teaching at this time. And my back went out last year after helping a big stiff man drop back onto his head. It was followed by many months of pain and chiropractic half-assed practices and still ain't right; hence reliving the Backbending Freakout of 2004).
This morning I breakfasted -- yes, it is a verb here -- at Shakti House (the pleasant backyard cafe-cum-rooming house formerly known as Tony and Holly's and The Kev Inn) with Matrika and Krista from Manju's teacher training and her boyfriend and their roommates. Lovely conversation, and the food was like days of old. Joey was there at another table, which upped the blogger quotient to four -- that we know of anyway....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Regarding Brahmin privilege and cutting in line: I don't know why people here cut in line, maybe it's "cultural." What I do know is that Brahmin entitlement does not account for the several EU citizens who brazenly cut in front of a severely jetlagged Caca in Indian dress at the Lufthansa ticket counter in Frankfurt. Aryan entitlement perhaps, but certainly not Brahmin.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
JAGGED 'N JETLAGGED
Today's vocabulary words:
Auto - 3-wheeled motorized rickshaw
Baksheesh: bribe or kickback
Exhibition-Cum-Sale: crafts fair
I was sitting in the reception area of the Kaveri Lodge yesterday reading the Star of Mysore when a motor rickshaw carrying a nicely-dressed* husband, wife and son pulled up. The husband and son got out and the former had a quick exchange with Viswunath (hotel manager) in Kannada,and then went back to retrieve the wife and baggage. The rickshaw pulled away and Harisha showed the family to their room. A short time later the rickshaw driver walked in and looked at Vishwunath. While I covertly watched behind my paper, I saw V. slip the driver Rs 30 --- baksheesh for steering the guests to the Kaveri Lodge.
Today was a day off. I went to bed at 10PM the night before and awakened to the call of the Mullah at 5AM... and promptly went back to sleep -- until 9:30. Although I've been sleeping through the night from the day I arrived, I'm apparently still jeglagged. Perhaps that explains why I forgot to lock my door when I left today (Harisha locked the door for me -- this constant scrutiny does have its benefits -- and later scolded me for my thoughtlessness. The good news is that the laptop was right where I'd left it).
Matrika came over and we shopped at an exhibition-cum-sale of Tamil handicrafts at the nearby Institute of Engineers. I'd had a dream that I was in Kashmir the night before and almost bought a beautifully hand-embroidered dress from the area.... but I already have a lot of dresses. Afterwards we ate at 3 Sisters and then headed over to the Southern Star, where like two memsahibs we sipped fresh lime soda by the pool -- until the rain started to pour. We sat in the air-conditioned lobby for a bit but it didn't stop, so we had masala chai and chocolate cake in the restaurant. Now that is living. Someone started smoking and we -- both wearing Indian dress -- looked and saw the source. It was a beautiful young Indian woman wearing jeans, a sleeveless top and a skullcap over loose hair. Very brazen indeed.
We made some enquiries at the front desk and learnt that the hotel, now called Regallis Mysore, has WiFi for guests (Rs 300/day extra); apparently it's not for non-guest yoga students who laze by the pool. Damn. Matrika wanted to see a room that can be rented by the month for about $55/day, and we bombarded the poor porter with questions. Suffice to say there is laundry and room service and a backup generator and satellite TV.
Later I braved the crazed polluted trip to Devaraj Urs Road and bought myself a silver wedding band -- to match my toe-rings. For those not the know, a favorite question here is "Why not married?" A ring on each second toe means you're married and tends to deflect such questions -- particularly when a band on one's poo-hand ring-finger backs up it. (As we already know, a single toe-ring on one foot -- which many western women favor -- means the wearer is a prostitute. Which could help explain why the men here seem to think we're a bunch of ready and willing harlots).
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*Just about everyone here who's not destitute dresses nicely. We westerners look like a bunch of slobs in comparison.
Today's vocabulary words:
Auto - 3-wheeled motorized rickshaw
Baksheesh: bribe or kickback
Exhibition-Cum-Sale: crafts fair
I was sitting in the reception area of the Kaveri Lodge yesterday reading the Star of Mysore when a motor rickshaw carrying a nicely-dressed* husband, wife and son pulled up. The husband and son got out and the former had a quick exchange with Viswunath (hotel manager) in Kannada,and then went back to retrieve the wife and baggage. The rickshaw pulled away and Harisha showed the family to their room. A short time later the rickshaw driver walked in and looked at Vishwunath. While I covertly watched behind my paper, I saw V. slip the driver Rs 30 --- baksheesh for steering the guests to the Kaveri Lodge.
Today was a day off. I went to bed at 10PM the night before and awakened to the call of the Mullah at 5AM... and promptly went back to sleep -- until 9:30. Although I've been sleeping through the night from the day I arrived, I'm apparently still jeglagged. Perhaps that explains why I forgot to lock my door when I left today (Harisha locked the door for me -- this constant scrutiny does have its benefits -- and later scolded me for my thoughtlessness. The good news is that the laptop was right where I'd left it).
Matrika came over and we shopped at an exhibition-cum-sale of Tamil handicrafts at the nearby Institute of Engineers. I'd had a dream that I was in Kashmir the night before and almost bought a beautifully hand-embroidered dress from the area.... but I already have a lot of dresses. Afterwards we ate at 3 Sisters and then headed over to the Southern Star, where like two memsahibs we sipped fresh lime soda by the pool -- until the rain started to pour. We sat in the air-conditioned lobby for a bit but it didn't stop, so we had masala chai and chocolate cake in the restaurant. Now that is living. Someone started smoking and we -- both wearing Indian dress -- looked and saw the source. It was a beautiful young Indian woman wearing jeans, a sleeveless top and a skullcap over loose hair. Very brazen indeed.
We made some enquiries at the front desk and learnt that the hotel, now called Regallis Mysore, has WiFi for guests (Rs 300/day extra); apparently it's not for non-guest yoga students who laze by the pool. Damn. Matrika wanted to see a room that can be rented by the month for about $55/day, and we bombarded the poor porter with questions. Suffice to say there is laundry and room service and a backup generator and satellite TV.
Later I braved the crazed polluted trip to Devaraj Urs Road and bought myself a silver wedding band -- to match my toe-rings. For those not the know, a favorite question here is "Why not married?" A ring on each second toe means you're married and tends to deflect such questions -- particularly when a band on one's poo-hand ring-finger backs up it. (As we already know, a single toe-ring on one foot -- which many western women favor -- means the wearer is a prostitute. Which could help explain why the men here seem to think we're a bunch of ready and willing harlots).
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*Just about everyone here who's not destitute dresses nicely. We westerners look like a bunch of slobs in comparison.
Friday, June 02, 2006
HUNGRY HUNGRY BRAHMINS
AND THE CRAZY LADY OF KAVERI
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Reservations - affirmative action set-asides
Browsing - internet cafe
Timings - schedule
This morning I performed in front of a live audience (ie, I ate breakfast) at Nalpak restaurant on Devaraj Urs Road, a main shopping drag. It was early and I sat in the family-friendly upstairs dining room where some men in white dress shirts sat chatting and reading the newspaper. While consuming Kesari Bath and Vada and reading The Times of India I looked down and noticed that the cars parked in below had people (men) in them who were eating breakfast. Then I saw that they were being served by a waiter. Imagine, iddly in your Tata Sumo. If only one had a car....one would probably be dead.
While unlocking the scooter afterwords I heard the Pink Panther theme. I turned around and saw its source; a big old white Ambassador with a red Chicago Bulls sticker on the back, backing away from Nalpak.
From today's newspaper: Hungry, out of work Brahmins in Uttar Pradesh are applying for jobs as sweepers (traditionally an Untouchable or Dalit job). But first they had to prove they were worthy. "The officers were so astounded by the frailty of the applicants that they did away with the physical test." It begs a band name: The Hungry Brahmins.
According to Matrika those men who push in front of one in line aren't doing it merely because they're men and one is not, but because they're Brahmin men with a brazen sense of entitlement. Speaking of which.....In Karnataka state, upper caste students and medicos have been protesting against reservations for "backwards" and lower caste students at state hospitals by refusing to treat patients. So much for the Hippocratic Oath... although I think they finally went back to work today.
In led primary series class today I stayed in Utpluthith for Guruji's entire count (ie, I held myself off the floor in lotus for an interminable amount of time). I also managed to hold Urdvha Dandasana (headstand with legs parallel to the floor) for the entire (rather slow) count -- but only because I felt Sharath's eyes on me.
Have I mentioned the rain? My hair is such a mess in the humidity -- never, ever bob your hair and let yourself to be talked into bangs just before a trip to India -- and I've become so adept at being inept (today I was in front of the newsstand preparing to unlock the two-wheeler when the flower man, who was passing by, looked at me and said, "That is not your scooter." Of course he was right) that I've dubbed myself the Crazy Lady of Kaveri.
I finally met blogger Joey today after practice, after nearly bumping into him in the foot-kissing line. He was none too impressed. No more stalking for him.
I'm so pleased I brought my rubbery Bata flip-flops, which unlike me are impervious to the rain.
But I am kicking myself for forgetting to bring the effing Stain Stick.
AND THE CRAZY LADY OF KAVERI
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Reservations - affirmative action set-asides
Browsing - internet cafe
Timings - schedule
This morning I performed in front of a live audience (ie, I ate breakfast) at Nalpak restaurant on Devaraj Urs Road, a main shopping drag. It was early and I sat in the family-friendly upstairs dining room where some men in white dress shirts sat chatting and reading the newspaper. While consuming Kesari Bath and Vada and reading The Times of India I looked down and noticed that the cars parked in below had people (men) in them who were eating breakfast. Then I saw that they were being served by a waiter. Imagine, iddly in your Tata Sumo. If only one had a car....one would probably be dead.
While unlocking the scooter afterwords I heard the Pink Panther theme. I turned around and saw its source; a big old white Ambassador with a red Chicago Bulls sticker on the back, backing away from Nalpak.
From today's newspaper: Hungry, out of work Brahmins in Uttar Pradesh are applying for jobs as sweepers (traditionally an Untouchable or Dalit job). But first they had to prove they were worthy. "The officers were so astounded by the frailty of the applicants that they did away with the physical test." It begs a band name: The Hungry Brahmins.
According to Matrika those men who push in front of one in line aren't doing it merely because they're men and one is not, but because they're Brahmin men with a brazen sense of entitlement. Speaking of which.....In Karnataka state, upper caste students and medicos have been protesting against reservations for "backwards" and lower caste students at state hospitals by refusing to treat patients. So much for the Hippocratic Oath... although I think they finally went back to work today.
In led primary series class today I stayed in Utpluthith for Guruji's entire count (ie, I held myself off the floor in lotus for an interminable amount of time). I also managed to hold Urdvha Dandasana (headstand with legs parallel to the floor) for the entire (rather slow) count -- but only because I felt Sharath's eyes on me.
Have I mentioned the rain? My hair is such a mess in the humidity -- never, ever bob your hair and let yourself to be talked into bangs just before a trip to India -- and I've become so adept at being inept (today I was in front of the newsstand preparing to unlock the two-wheeler when the flower man, who was passing by, looked at me and said, "That is not your scooter." Of course he was right) that I've dubbed myself the Crazy Lady of Kaveri.
I finally met blogger Joey today after practice, after nearly bumping into him in the foot-kissing line. He was none too impressed. No more stalking for him.
I'm so pleased I brought my rubbery Bata flip-flops, which unlike me are impervious to the rain.
But I am kicking myself for forgetting to bring the effing Stain Stick.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
QUESTIONS ANSWERED
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Stretchypants = yoga bottoms
Slips = tank top
The Interweb place is slow and we practice at 5AM tomorrow (which means 4:45; the shala clock is notoriously fast) so this will be brief....
Yesterday (the day I lost the yoga mat and bag) ended on a good note; as I was walking from My Net to the Kaveri Lodge I ran into two of the Three Sisters; Go see Harini, they said. Of course I thought I was in trouble. Instead, she presented me with some yoga pants that were too small for her and too big for Shashikala, who is studying late mornings with Pattabhi Jois in Lakshmipuran (the old neighborhood).
There is a Muslim woman practicing at the Gokulam shala. She arrives near the tail end of things in full dark robe and headscarf, and emerges from the ladies changing room in a salwaar kameez (long top over baggy pants) with her hair wrapped in a tight scarf. Matrika's theory is that she comes when Saraswati is teaching (she's usually there long after Guruji and Sharath take their leave). Sharath is driving some kind of Honda SUV.....today his wee daughter looked at outside the shala me and said, "You have baby?" What? I replied "You have baby?" NO! Why? She pointed to my water bottle. Oh. Then I explained that westerners are a bunch of big babies. Later I was trying to choose an AYRI yoga mat bag and she said, "Blue!" so I got the blue one. From the mouths of babes and all that....
No adjustments today, and many open spots in the shala. My legs were in pain from yesterday's attempts to stand up from BB and I was weak and bounced and bounced but could not do it. It was more of a mental block than anything else. The whole time Saraswati was nearby but did nothing. After seven or eight attempts I went into a forward bend. Apparently this is something I have to do on my own. Since I bought a new mat today (Rs 325) I can work on it in my room; in fact I did some kapotasana and pasasana preps today. Not that I'll get that far....
Which reminds me; the former was on the recommendation of the blogger Matrika, whom I finally met today. She has some nasty bruises from her fall into the sewer. Still haven't formally met Joey though.
For those of you who've been asking: yes, Prashanth is Catholic (and da Da Vinci Code opens here tomorrow). Today I watched P's yoga practice at his behest and tried to correct some things; he's been studying with BNS Iyengar since I taught him a few things in 2002, and apparently Mr. Iyengar does not adjust him or tell him whether or not he's doing things incorrectly. But what is correct, anyway?
The Telugu film I saw was Pokiri and it stars Mahesh Babu. I didn't realize how fair he was til they did a very high-energy dance sequence wearing dhotis (sarong-type things) and I saw his thin white legs.
Today's Vocabulary Words:
Stretchypants = yoga bottoms
Slips = tank top
The Interweb place is slow and we practice at 5AM tomorrow (which means 4:45; the shala clock is notoriously fast) so this will be brief....
Yesterday (the day I lost the yoga mat and bag) ended on a good note; as I was walking from My Net to the Kaveri Lodge I ran into two of the Three Sisters; Go see Harini, they said. Of course I thought I was in trouble. Instead, she presented me with some yoga pants that were too small for her and too big for Shashikala, who is studying late mornings with Pattabhi Jois in Lakshmipuran (the old neighborhood).
There is a Muslim woman practicing at the Gokulam shala. She arrives near the tail end of things in full dark robe and headscarf, and emerges from the ladies changing room in a salwaar kameez (long top over baggy pants) with her hair wrapped in a tight scarf. Matrika's theory is that she comes when Saraswati is teaching (she's usually there long after Guruji and Sharath take their leave). Sharath is driving some kind of Honda SUV.....today his wee daughter looked at outside the shala me and said, "You have baby?" What? I replied "You have baby?" NO! Why? She pointed to my water bottle. Oh. Then I explained that westerners are a bunch of big babies. Later I was trying to choose an AYRI yoga mat bag and she said, "Blue!" so I got the blue one. From the mouths of babes and all that....
No adjustments today, and many open spots in the shala. My legs were in pain from yesterday's attempts to stand up from BB and I was weak and bounced and bounced but could not do it. It was more of a mental block than anything else. The whole time Saraswati was nearby but did nothing. After seven or eight attempts I went into a forward bend. Apparently this is something I have to do on my own. Since I bought a new mat today (Rs 325) I can work on it in my room; in fact I did some kapotasana and pasasana preps today. Not that I'll get that far....
Which reminds me; the former was on the recommendation of the blogger Matrika, whom I finally met today. She has some nasty bruises from her fall into the sewer. Still haven't formally met Joey though.
For those of you who've been asking: yes, Prashanth is Catholic (and da Da Vinci Code opens here tomorrow). Today I watched P's yoga practice at his behest and tried to correct some things; he's been studying with BNS Iyengar since I taught him a few things in 2002, and apparently Mr. Iyengar does not adjust him or tell him whether or not he's doing things incorrectly. But what is correct, anyway?
The Telugu film I saw was Pokiri and it stars Mahesh Babu. I didn't realize how fair he was til they did a very high-energy dance sequence wearing dhotis (sarong-type things) and I saw his thin white legs.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
MINIMUM CITY: MYSORE LOST AND FOUND
TODAY'S VOCABULARY WORDS:
Losted - to lose
Shift - to move
RUPEES PER DOLLAR: 46.3 (up from 45.9 last week)
Yesterday I lost my scooter key. After ransacking the place and the scooter itself I asked at the front counter and Vishwunath said, Yes, Madam, it is here. No problem. Apparently I had left it on the scooter. Oops.
And then I went and did it again today.
During the bucket-bath after class I also realized I hadn't brought my yoga mat up with me. I hurriedly finished and went downstairs and searched the scooter, where I'd tuck it between the seat and sissy-bar thing and.....nothing. I asked at the desk (hey, it worked before) and... nothing. I got on the scooter and retraced my steps... nothing. But during the ride I remembered a truck had been honking like crazy behind me at the scary intersection just outside of Gokulam. It had pulled up beside me and the guys had yelled something unintelligible, and, certain I was being harassed, I pulled the helmet's visor down over my face and ignored them. "I've shown them," I thought. Now I realize they were probably trying to tell me something. And now I'm out a Hugger Mugger eco-friendly mat and a carefully-selected quick-dry nylon yoga mat bag. Damn. Prashanth is loaning me his extra mat but now I have to buy a new (slow-drying, heavy cotton) bag. Yet another lesson about attachment, Madam.
Later I realize that if I had heeded the trucker and turned around / gone back there's a good chance I would have been beaned by a bus, which means that right now my brother would be trying to figure out how to fly my corpse out of the country. So maybe it's a good thing in the end....
But it was upsetting, especially after seeing Water last night (bootleg copy with subtitles, viewed on my computer). It's about how they treated (and still treat) widows here -- like pariahs. Prashanth, who's an aspiring director, had no idea that fundamentalist Hindus had shut down the shooting and that they had had to re-do the whole thing five years later in Sri Lanka. Then he volunteered that he has banned The Da Vinci Code (Da Da Vinci Code for all you Chicagoans) in his CD/video shop. Why, I asked. Because I have heard some things. Some rumors. Well, I said, have you seen it? No. Well, I said, why don't you see it and then decide. No, he said. If some things are not perfect, then -- ... BUT IT'S FICTION, I said. What? Fiction. Huh? Make-believe; not fact. That didn't go over so well....But far be it for me to let it drop.
Today I moved to my old room, Number 19, at the Kaveri Lodge -- where I stayed for FOUR MONTHS in 2002. I'd considered remaining in 17 with the recessed Indian toilet (it's a good prep for Pasasana, a twisted deep squat with the heels on the floor, which is impossible for me). But the old room was cleaner *and* has a hook for a mosquito net.
My new post-Bylapoopie question for decisionmaking is, How will it affect my yoga practice (hence no village wedding today)? On the one hand, the Indian toilet is good for Pasasana. On the other hand, a Western toilet ensures I will no longer pee on my pants leg when I take a leak in the middle of the night -- which means I don't have to rinse them out and put on new ones, which makes it easier to sleep, which makes for a better yoga practice. Malaria is not so good for yoga either. And something tells me that being violently ill into a western toilet is a far less unpleasant experience.
Yesterday afternoon P and I were on our way to see a Telugu action film when I gave V. (hotel manager) the key to my room (I usually use my own combination lock), and asked him to look into putting a hook on the ceiling so I could use my mosquito net. He literally flew up the stairs once he had the key in his hot little hand. This was unsettling, to say the least. But I got on the back of the motorcycle anyway.
On the way to the theatre we passed a horse standing in the street with its rear leg lifted; blood was dripping from its hoof and a puddle of blood had already formed on the ground. I could not stop looking, long after we'd passed. I asked P if someone would help it and he said, "Should we?" Sure but what could we do? Someone owns it, right, I asked. Yes, he said. We didn't stop. While he parked the motorcycle I pretended to be invisible as men, men and more men streamed around me towards the theatre. It was not a Mentos moment. When P returned I said, This is too much; I want to go back to my room; I am worried about my things. We went; a couple of things had been moved but so far nothing seems amiss.
Today we did make it to the Telugu movie (the hero is a prince in Andhra Pradesh and is very pale with large ears; the heroine was beautiful except for some reason she was wearing someone else's butt; there were dance sequences every half hour and it was LOUD). On the way to the theatre we saw the injured horse eating grass on the side of the road, rear hoof lifted. I'd also seen it this morning on the way to yoga; at that time it was on its bony side, covered in flies. Maybe it's improving; it's distressing but yet I didn't do a damn thing. I'm thinking I'll bring it some carrots or apples or something but what would that do in the grand scheme of things? the sad thing is it's just one example of how hard life can be here for both people and animals. Where and how does one start to help, and where and how does one stop?
In other news...
Three of my five yoga tops are already getting stinky from not drying quickly enough. So much for synthetic fibers.
And I stood up from backbend today -- for the first time in months. But only once.
TODAY'S VOCABULARY WORDS:
Losted - to lose
Shift - to move
RUPEES PER DOLLAR: 46.3 (up from 45.9 last week)
Yesterday I lost my scooter key. After ransacking the place and the scooter itself I asked at the front counter and Vishwunath said, Yes, Madam, it is here. No problem. Apparently I had left it on the scooter. Oops.
And then I went and did it again today.
During the bucket-bath after class I also realized I hadn't brought my yoga mat up with me. I hurriedly finished and went downstairs and searched the scooter, where I'd tuck it between the seat and sissy-bar thing and.....nothing. I asked at the desk (hey, it worked before) and... nothing. I got on the scooter and retraced my steps... nothing. But during the ride I remembered a truck had been honking like crazy behind me at the scary intersection just outside of Gokulam. It had pulled up beside me and the guys had yelled something unintelligible, and, certain I was being harassed, I pulled the helmet's visor down over my face and ignored them. "I've shown them," I thought. Now I realize they were probably trying to tell me something. And now I'm out a Hugger Mugger eco-friendly mat and a carefully-selected quick-dry nylon yoga mat bag. Damn. Prashanth is loaning me his extra mat but now I have to buy a new (slow-drying, heavy cotton) bag. Yet another lesson about attachment, Madam.
Later I realize that if I had heeded the trucker and turned around / gone back there's a good chance I would have been beaned by a bus, which means that right now my brother would be trying to figure out how to fly my corpse out of the country. So maybe it's a good thing in the end....
But it was upsetting, especially after seeing Water last night (bootleg copy with subtitles, viewed on my computer). It's about how they treated (and still treat) widows here -- like pariahs. Prashanth, who's an aspiring director, had no idea that fundamentalist Hindus had shut down the shooting and that they had had to re-do the whole thing five years later in Sri Lanka. Then he volunteered that he has banned The Da Vinci Code (Da Da Vinci Code for all you Chicagoans) in his CD/video shop. Why, I asked. Because I have heard some things. Some rumors. Well, I said, have you seen it? No. Well, I said, why don't you see it and then decide. No, he said. If some things are not perfect, then -- ... BUT IT'S FICTION, I said. What? Fiction. Huh? Make-believe; not fact. That didn't go over so well....But far be it for me to let it drop.
Today I moved to my old room, Number 19, at the Kaveri Lodge -- where I stayed for FOUR MONTHS in 2002. I'd considered remaining in 17 with the recessed Indian toilet (it's a good prep for Pasasana, a twisted deep squat with the heels on the floor, which is impossible for me). But the old room was cleaner *and* has a hook for a mosquito net.
My new post-Bylapoopie question for decisionmaking is, How will it affect my yoga practice (hence no village wedding today)? On the one hand, the Indian toilet is good for Pasasana. On the other hand, a Western toilet ensures I will no longer pee on my pants leg when I take a leak in the middle of the night -- which means I don't have to rinse them out and put on new ones, which makes it easier to sleep, which makes for a better yoga practice. Malaria is not so good for yoga either. And something tells me that being violently ill into a western toilet is a far less unpleasant experience.
Yesterday afternoon P and I were on our way to see a Telugu action film when I gave V. (hotel manager) the key to my room (I usually use my own combination lock), and asked him to look into putting a hook on the ceiling so I could use my mosquito net. He literally flew up the stairs once he had the key in his hot little hand. This was unsettling, to say the least. But I got on the back of the motorcycle anyway.
On the way to the theatre we passed a horse standing in the street with its rear leg lifted; blood was dripping from its hoof and a puddle of blood had already formed on the ground. I could not stop looking, long after we'd passed. I asked P if someone would help it and he said, "Should we?" Sure but what could we do? Someone owns it, right, I asked. Yes, he said. We didn't stop. While he parked the motorcycle I pretended to be invisible as men, men and more men streamed around me towards the theatre. It was not a Mentos moment. When P returned I said, This is too much; I want to go back to my room; I am worried about my things. We went; a couple of things had been moved but so far nothing seems amiss.
Today we did make it to the Telugu movie (the hero is a prince in Andhra Pradesh and is very pale with large ears; the heroine was beautiful except for some reason she was wearing someone else's butt; there were dance sequences every half hour and it was LOUD). On the way to the theatre we saw the injured horse eating grass on the side of the road, rear hoof lifted. I'd also seen it this morning on the way to yoga; at that time it was on its bony side, covered in flies. Maybe it's improving; it's distressing but yet I didn't do a damn thing. I'm thinking I'll bring it some carrots or apples or something but what would that do in the grand scheme of things? the sad thing is it's just one example of how hard life can be here for both people and animals. Where and how does one start to help, and where and how does one stop?
In other news...
Three of my five yoga tops are already getting stinky from not drying quickly enough. So much for synthetic fibers.
And I stood up from backbend today -- for the first time in months. But only once.
Monday, May 29, 2006
DAY ONE AT THE SHALA
Today's vocabulary words:
round table = traffic circle
marriage = wedding
function = get-together
mela = really big get-together
Sunday was my first yoga class -- a led primary series class in which everyone practices in unison. I was apprehensive about making the 6KM trip on the scooter in the darkness; apart from a brief ride home the night before, I hadn't ridden since 2004 and thought I'd get lost. I got to the shala without incident at 5AM, and people were already waiting to get in. I didn't recognize anyone in line.... except blogger Joey, whom I don't even know. NOTE TO SELF: Stop looking at and talking to people you know from blogs and yoga videos as if they know you.
When they opened the gate everyone filed in quickly but it wasn't the mad rush I'm accustomed to, and no one yelled at me when I put down my mat. In fact I heard the girl next to me say, "?Quieres cambiar conmigo?" I didn't think she was talking to me but found myself replying in some slow John Wayne drawl I'd never heard come out of my mouth before, "I'll cambiar with you." She seemed surprised but we switched spots and that was my first contact with westerners since begging the male air hostess for water on Thursday (Lufthansa was literally rationing it, which seems very wrong indeed).
While I was putting my things in the changing room I heard someone say "Satya? Satya?" It was Krista from Manju's teacher training; she's here til August and wants to go to breakfast sometime, which would be lovely. It's so nice to be recognized and spoken to. I realize I spend most of my time walking around expecting to be attacked, and am so surprised when the opposite happens. But in past trips here that feeling has diminished little by little until my outlook has veered towards optimism. I hope it happens again. It is happening again.
The led class was a treat. Guruji's counting was not too fast, and that competitive mood that I'm accustomed to was missing. Maybe it'll show up at Friday's led class; we'll see. Sharath was not there but his sister (?) Sharmila, who teaches in Bangalore, was. She gave me a firm adjustment in baddhakonasana that was right on the money. I missed conference later (I felt awful that afternoon) but from what I've heard her explanations are excellent. Maybe next time. In any case I really enjoyed all of the female energy in the room.
Afterwords I went to Bik for a coconut. He recognized me immediately and handed me one that had mostly water and sulpa gunji (less "meat"). It was exquisite. The Indian coconuts aren't as flavorful as the Thai ones we get in the US, but they contain far more water -- which is just what one needs after all of that sweating. I also exchanged a few words in Kannada with Manju the tailor. "You were here two years ago," he said. Uncanny. I should learn to say more things in Kannada. Of course I should really be learning Sanskrit...
I picked up a copy of the Vijay Times -- the writing kind of sucks but it covers regional issues -- and headed towards GreenLeaf restaurant. I tried many routes before finding the right one -- which goes past a graveyard and some cows tied to cement blocks and standing in dirt. Those are the ones that Bindi and I fed desserts and bananas to last trip. I can't decide whether that makes their lives better (a treat!) or worse (creates craving) or affects them not at all. There's a pony family living near the Kaveri Lodge and I'm keen to give them some carrots; but the ones that really need it are the stinky tonga (cart) horses tied up by the park -- which is dotted with piles of dirt and is being redesigned.
I finally found GreenLeaf but it didn't open until 7:30 so I headed home. On the way I remembered that in 2004, Zoe had mentioned the Kesari Bath (a sweet breakfast food with raisins and cashews) at the Nalpak restaurant on Devaraj Urs Road. I sat upstairs, away from the rabble, and got to watch the street awaken as I ate very fresh Kesari Bath and Wada (fried lentil donut). I chased it down with two chai.
Today was a "normal" primary series class. I arrived too early and sat and waited for some time while the others went in. After awhile Sharath looked in and said, "Caca! You come."
Which reminds me. Contrary to conventional wisdom, SHARATH IS INDEED TEACHING AT THE SHALA. I was so focused on dristi I didn't notice how many adjustments he was or wasn't giving; I think he's suspended his private classes for awhile. The rumor is that he's building a new shala in Gokulam, near the orphanage. But he is definitely there.
My spot was in the second row right behind Joey, which I thought was auspicious -- although I hope he doesn't think I'm stalking him.
My body was rather tight and weak but the prana (energy) of the room carried me along; the guy to my right was doing advanced A and the guy to the left was doing intermediate series, which also helped. Saraswati gave me a light adjustment in Supta Kurmasana. At one point Guruji saw some students' infant lying on the stage and said, "When you come? When you come?" -- which something he usually asks students. The place cracked up.
Since it was my first real practice I thought I could get away with going straight into the counterpose after backbends. But Guruji, who was sitting on his fancy chair, saw me and said, "Backbending?"
I haven't dropped back in ages with help, let alone on my own, and the experience (where they help you drop from standing into an Exorcist-style backbend) was so intense and I was so nauseated that I thought I would faint at the end, when Guruji hugs you (if you're a woman) and tells you to "Breathe! Breathe!" I had to breathe through my mouth and then sit in child's pose for awhile after the forward bend adjustment.
So today has been another day of enforced rest -- after getting the newspaper (Deccan Herald) and eating at GreenLeaf there was a mandatory morning nap followed by lunch at Three Sisters (their food is the safest and healthiest and they're steps away from the Kaveri Lodge). Although what I really want to do is go shopping for a bowl and spoon (for mueseli) and Tupperware. But I'll try to be good instead. I'm not to the point yet where I'm drinking my morning urine (which is rumored to drive the immune system through the roof) but I am doing what I can to stay a little healthier this time 'round....
BONUS * BONUS * BONUS
I just realized that I stepped on the human turd Saturday with my left foot -- my poo foot.
Today's vocabulary words:
round table = traffic circle
marriage = wedding
function = get-together
mela = really big get-together
Sunday was my first yoga class -- a led primary series class in which everyone practices in unison. I was apprehensive about making the 6KM trip on the scooter in the darkness; apart from a brief ride home the night before, I hadn't ridden since 2004 and thought I'd get lost. I got to the shala without incident at 5AM, and people were already waiting to get in. I didn't recognize anyone in line.... except blogger Joey, whom I don't even know. NOTE TO SELF: Stop looking at and talking to people you know from blogs and yoga videos as if they know you.
When they opened the gate everyone filed in quickly but it wasn't the mad rush I'm accustomed to, and no one yelled at me when I put down my mat. In fact I heard the girl next to me say, "?Quieres cambiar conmigo?" I didn't think she was talking to me but found myself replying in some slow John Wayne drawl I'd never heard come out of my mouth before, "I'll cambiar with you." She seemed surprised but we switched spots and that was my first contact with westerners since begging the male air hostess for water on Thursday (Lufthansa was literally rationing it, which seems very wrong indeed).
While I was putting my things in the changing room I heard someone say "Satya? Satya?" It was Krista from Manju's teacher training; she's here til August and wants to go to breakfast sometime, which would be lovely. It's so nice to be recognized and spoken to. I realize I spend most of my time walking around expecting to be attacked, and am so surprised when the opposite happens. But in past trips here that feeling has diminished little by little until my outlook has veered towards optimism. I hope it happens again. It is happening again.
The led class was a treat. Guruji's counting was not too fast, and that competitive mood that I'm accustomed to was missing. Maybe it'll show up at Friday's led class; we'll see. Sharath was not there but his sister (?) Sharmila, who teaches in Bangalore, was. She gave me a firm adjustment in baddhakonasana that was right on the money. I missed conference later (I felt awful that afternoon) but from what I've heard her explanations are excellent. Maybe next time. In any case I really enjoyed all of the female energy in the room.
Afterwords I went to Bik for a coconut. He recognized me immediately and handed me one that had mostly water and sulpa gunji (less "meat"). It was exquisite. The Indian coconuts aren't as flavorful as the Thai ones we get in the US, but they contain far more water -- which is just what one needs after all of that sweating. I also exchanged a few words in Kannada with Manju the tailor. "You were here two years ago," he said. Uncanny. I should learn to say more things in Kannada. Of course I should really be learning Sanskrit...
I picked up a copy of the Vijay Times -- the writing kind of sucks but it covers regional issues -- and headed towards GreenLeaf restaurant. I tried many routes before finding the right one -- which goes past a graveyard and some cows tied to cement blocks and standing in dirt. Those are the ones that Bindi and I fed desserts and bananas to last trip. I can't decide whether that makes their lives better (a treat!) or worse (creates craving) or affects them not at all. There's a pony family living near the Kaveri Lodge and I'm keen to give them some carrots; but the ones that really need it are the stinky tonga (cart) horses tied up by the park -- which is dotted with piles of dirt and is being redesigned.
I finally found GreenLeaf but it didn't open until 7:30 so I headed home. On the way I remembered that in 2004, Zoe had mentioned the Kesari Bath (a sweet breakfast food with raisins and cashews) at the Nalpak restaurant on Devaraj Urs Road. I sat upstairs, away from the rabble, and got to watch the street awaken as I ate very fresh Kesari Bath and Wada (fried lentil donut). I chased it down with two chai.
Today was a "normal" primary series class. I arrived too early and sat and waited for some time while the others went in. After awhile Sharath looked in and said, "Caca! You come."
Which reminds me. Contrary to conventional wisdom, SHARATH IS INDEED TEACHING AT THE SHALA. I was so focused on dristi I didn't notice how many adjustments he was or wasn't giving; I think he's suspended his private classes for awhile. The rumor is that he's building a new shala in Gokulam, near the orphanage. But he is definitely there.
My spot was in the second row right behind Joey, which I thought was auspicious -- although I hope he doesn't think I'm stalking him.
My body was rather tight and weak but the prana (energy) of the room carried me along; the guy to my right was doing advanced A and the guy to the left was doing intermediate series, which also helped. Saraswati gave me a light adjustment in Supta Kurmasana. At one point Guruji saw some students' infant lying on the stage and said, "When you come? When you come?" -- which something he usually asks students. The place cracked up.
Since it was my first real practice I thought I could get away with going straight into the counterpose after backbends. But Guruji, who was sitting on his fancy chair, saw me and said, "Backbending?"
I haven't dropped back in ages with help, let alone on my own, and the experience (where they help you drop from standing into an Exorcist-style backbend) was so intense and I was so nauseated that I thought I would faint at the end, when Guruji hugs you (if you're a woman) and tells you to "Breathe! Breathe!" I had to breathe through my mouth and then sit in child's pose for awhile after the forward bend adjustment.
So today has been another day of enforced rest -- after getting the newspaper (Deccan Herald) and eating at GreenLeaf there was a mandatory morning nap followed by lunch at Three Sisters (their food is the safest and healthiest and they're steps away from the Kaveri Lodge). Although what I really want to do is go shopping for a bowl and spoon (for mueseli) and Tupperware. But I'll try to be good instead. I'm not to the point yet where I'm drinking my morning urine (which is rumored to drive the immune system through the roof) but I am doing what I can to stay a little healthier this time 'round....
BONUS * BONUS * BONUS
I just realized that I stepped on the human turd Saturday with my left foot -- my poo foot.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
CACA AND THE CACA
Today's vocabulary words:
pancher = puncture or flat tire
take diversion = detour
road hump = speed bump
ladies' toilet = turditorium
On the flight from Frankfurt they showed a program touting the upcoming World Cup matches, which starts in June in Germany (and for which Lufthansa is a major sponsor). Apparently Brazil has a famous fair-skinned one-named player called Kaka. But he pronounces it "Ka-KAA." Brazil is favored to win the cup. Uganda has a team with white guys on it; they are out to prove that the country isn't just about crises. They have mixed feelings about playing their former colonial masters, Portugal, in the first set of matches. But I digress...
Yesterday Prashanth and I motorcycled out to Bylakuppe, the Tibetan refugee settlement that's home to several lovely Buddhist temples. When Sean and Kike ("KEY-kay")and I visited in 2002 we hired a car with a surly driver and got a flat tire.
The roads have gotten even worse since then, but like everything else here they are widening and improving them -- and hacking down age-old banyon trees in the process. I had slept the night through, from 10 to 6 and was feeling quite good. It was pleasantly cool and drizzling and we saw hills and green fields and dark clouds and pink lotuses growing in water.
But about an hour into what should have been a three-hour trip we got a puncher. The nearest village was three kilometers away. Since it was a slow leak, one person could ride to town if they went fast. Prashanth flagged down a private bus so full that men were hanging out the doors. Somehow they made a spot for me and I stood, one foot on the bottom step, one foot on the platform and holding on for dear life in front of the open door, traveling along awful Pancher Road.
Not one of the men leaned or bumped against me, yet they all watched -- perhaps to marvel at the pastiness of my skin, perhaps to make sure I didn't fall out, perhaps a bit of both. They dropped me off at a bus stop in a village that's pronounced Ba-LEE-ka-dee. In no time a crowd of men with moustaches (oops, redundant) had gathered round the Firang-girl, and I was thankful that I'd decided to wear Indian dress that day (I'd considered jeans and a t-shirt, since in Tibetland they don't really care what you wear, but went with the Salwaar Kameez because it dries quickly).
After we'd gotten through "What is your name" and "Where are you from," more and more men gathered, and we began a dance in which they would inch a step closer to me and I would inch a step back. This went on for several minutes, until I'd gone several feet down the hill. Meanwhile they wanted to know if I'd like chai (no) and I asked their names in Kannada and the population of the village (6,000). They told me the name of the village means White Lake. "Like me," I said, pointing to myself. No one laughed.
Finally the cell phone rang, which seemed to amuse them. It was Prashanth, asking where I was. Apparently he'd passed the bus and had been at the pancher repair shop long enough to know he needed a new tire (Rs 750, or $18). He picked me up in a rickshaw and brought me to shop -- about a block away.
Across the narrow street a woman and her daughters sat in the sun weaving those colorful plastic bags I like (shaped like a Kenya bag, but far more festive). I went over to sit with them and asked their names. No one knew English and I can only say about five things in Kannada. Nonetheless there was a lot of smiling and soon I had the camera out and we were laughing and taking pictures, which they showed the husband in the shop next door. I called Prashanth over to translate and learned that the basket-bags take about two days to produce and cost Rs 160 ($4). I hope to return to get one. In any case I got their address so I can mail 'em the pictures if I don't.
Then it was on to Bylakuppe, which is home to loads of Tibetan refugees including many many monks (who eat every type of meat imaginable, it seems -- even beef). The most famous temple is the large, colorful Golden Temple which features three massive gold versions of Buddha. We did some sightseeing (one building had a huge sign painted in the side: Boycott Chinese Goods, which seems almost impossible to do -- especially when most Indians I spoke to had never heard the word "boycott" before). We sat in the temple for awhile and then of course I had to urinate. A nice Tibetan monk boy directed us to the Ladies Toilet, and, shoeless, I went in. It smelled barnyard-bad but not that awful in the overall scheme of things.
When Prasanth heard my scream he thought:
1. A man had attacked me in the bathroom
2. I had fallen down
3. I had seen the devil
But it was none of the above.
In my search for a clean toilet I came across a tarlike pile of poo. I was backing out of the stall when the arch of my left foot made contact with a different fresh slippery human turd, which was in front of the recessed toilet. In my rush to get to the foot-wash I noticed piles of turds here, there and everywhere -- except the toilets. It was the like those invisible ink kits they used to have, where you'd write something but couldn't see it until you passed over it with the other marker. Suddenly, all I could see was shit. Or maybe it was the devil.
When I came out a small crowd had gathered to watch the crazy Western girl act crazy. I felt like an uptight English Lady in some Jewel and the Crown / Passage to India drama, who just couldn't deal with the "native" experience.
Something tells me they were thinking the same thing.
A few moments later I had disinfected the pads of both feet and searched for open sores (none)and put on my shoes and made my way to a pay-toilet (Rs 2), which was halfway decent. But I felt awful for a long time afterwards.
The irony of course is that I had expected to find a spotless stall in Tibetland. However during my late-night car trip from Bangalore to Mysore I'd expected to find a shit-smeared toilet at the male-dominated filling station. Instead, it was one of the cleanest toilets I've ever used.
Yet another India lesson about expectations is there, Madam.
Today's vocabulary words:
pancher = puncture or flat tire
take diversion = detour
road hump = speed bump
ladies' toilet = turditorium
On the flight from Frankfurt they showed a program touting the upcoming World Cup matches, which starts in June in Germany (and for which Lufthansa is a major sponsor). Apparently Brazil has a famous fair-skinned one-named player called Kaka. But he pronounces it "Ka-KAA." Brazil is favored to win the cup. Uganda has a team with white guys on it; they are out to prove that the country isn't just about crises. They have mixed feelings about playing their former colonial masters, Portugal, in the first set of matches. But I digress...
Yesterday Prashanth and I motorcycled out to Bylakuppe, the Tibetan refugee settlement that's home to several lovely Buddhist temples. When Sean and Kike ("KEY-kay")and I visited in 2002 we hired a car with a surly driver and got a flat tire.
The roads have gotten even worse since then, but like everything else here they are widening and improving them -- and hacking down age-old banyon trees in the process. I had slept the night through, from 10 to 6 and was feeling quite good. It was pleasantly cool and drizzling and we saw hills and green fields and dark clouds and pink lotuses growing in water.
But about an hour into what should have been a three-hour trip we got a puncher. The nearest village was three kilometers away. Since it was a slow leak, one person could ride to town if they went fast. Prashanth flagged down a private bus so full that men were hanging out the doors. Somehow they made a spot for me and I stood, one foot on the bottom step, one foot on the platform and holding on for dear life in front of the open door, traveling along awful Pancher Road.
Not one of the men leaned or bumped against me, yet they all watched -- perhaps to marvel at the pastiness of my skin, perhaps to make sure I didn't fall out, perhaps a bit of both. They dropped me off at a bus stop in a village that's pronounced Ba-LEE-ka-dee. In no time a crowd of men with moustaches (oops, redundant) had gathered round the Firang-girl, and I was thankful that I'd decided to wear Indian dress that day (I'd considered jeans and a t-shirt, since in Tibetland they don't really care what you wear, but went with the Salwaar Kameez because it dries quickly).
After we'd gotten through "What is your name" and "Where are you from," more and more men gathered, and we began a dance in which they would inch a step closer to me and I would inch a step back. This went on for several minutes, until I'd gone several feet down the hill. Meanwhile they wanted to know if I'd like chai (no) and I asked their names in Kannada and the population of the village (6,000). They told me the name of the village means White Lake. "Like me," I said, pointing to myself. No one laughed.
Finally the cell phone rang, which seemed to amuse them. It was Prashanth, asking where I was. Apparently he'd passed the bus and had been at the pancher repair shop long enough to know he needed a new tire (Rs 750, or $18). He picked me up in a rickshaw and brought me to shop -- about a block away.
Across the narrow street a woman and her daughters sat in the sun weaving those colorful plastic bags I like (shaped like a Kenya bag, but far more festive). I went over to sit with them and asked their names. No one knew English and I can only say about five things in Kannada. Nonetheless there was a lot of smiling and soon I had the camera out and we were laughing and taking pictures, which they showed the husband in the shop next door. I called Prashanth over to translate and learned that the basket-bags take about two days to produce and cost Rs 160 ($4). I hope to return to get one. In any case I got their address so I can mail 'em the pictures if I don't.
Then it was on to Bylakuppe, which is home to loads of Tibetan refugees including many many monks (who eat every type of meat imaginable, it seems -- even beef). The most famous temple is the large, colorful Golden Temple which features three massive gold versions of Buddha. We did some sightseeing (one building had a huge sign painted in the side: Boycott Chinese Goods, which seems almost impossible to do -- especially when most Indians I spoke to had never heard the word "boycott" before). We sat in the temple for awhile and then of course I had to urinate. A nice Tibetan monk boy directed us to the Ladies Toilet, and, shoeless, I went in. It smelled barnyard-bad but not that awful in the overall scheme of things.
When Prasanth heard my scream he thought:
1. A man had attacked me in the bathroom
2. I had fallen down
3. I had seen the devil
But it was none of the above.
In my search for a clean toilet I came across a tarlike pile of poo. I was backing out of the stall when the arch of my left foot made contact with a different fresh slippery human turd, which was in front of the recessed toilet. In my rush to get to the foot-wash I noticed piles of turds here, there and everywhere -- except the toilets. It was the like those invisible ink kits they used to have, where you'd write something but couldn't see it until you passed over it with the other marker. Suddenly, all I could see was shit. Or maybe it was the devil.
When I came out a small crowd had gathered to watch the crazy Western girl act crazy. I felt like an uptight English Lady in some Jewel and the Crown / Passage to India drama, who just couldn't deal with the "native" experience.
Something tells me they were thinking the same thing.
A few moments later I had disinfected the pads of both feet and searched for open sores (none)and put on my shoes and made my way to a pay-toilet (Rs 2), which was halfway decent. But I felt awful for a long time afterwards.
The irony of course is that I had expected to find a spotless stall in Tibetland. However during my late-night car trip from Bangalore to Mysore I'd expected to find a shit-smeared toilet at the male-dominated filling station. Instead, it was one of the cleanest toilets I've ever used.
Yet another India lesson about expectations is there, Madam.
Friday, May 26, 2006
IT'S THE PRESENT (, STUPID)
The plane made it to Bangalore and so did my luggage. But when I finished changing money and going through customs and locating said suitcases, Prashanth was nowhere to be found. A quick phone call from the STD booth revealed that he'd waited for me til 4AM the previous night. Apparently he never got the message that I didn't make the connecting flight. When he did get it he thought (as did I) that I was flying in on Friday. Whatever; it was Friday when I made it to Mysore (let's not forget that I left Chicago on TUESDAY), after overpaying for a prepaid government cab (Rs 2100 instead of Rs 1800). You really haven't lived until you've had a painfully full bladder at 2:30 AM on the bumpy, all-but-deserted except for men, men, and more men, Mysore-Bangalore road.... or until you've tried to find the obscurely-located Kaveri Lodge by memory while jetlagged at 4:30 AM....or until you've dismissed the taxi only to learn your room had been given away but if you'd just wait on this plastic chair for a couple of hours there will be one for you. Apparently the look on my face said 'I don't think so' because suddenly I was given the owner's room for a few hours. When you hear 'owner's room' you can't help but think 'posh' == but that's absolutely not the case. 'Dive' and 'not cleaned in ages' would be more accurate.
Since getting a room (w/ Indian toilet, which they keep apologizing about) I've had a bath, watched some Deadwood, had a nap and went with Prashanth for lunch. He also helped me to find a phone charge cord, to change money (Prashanth kicked back the kickback from his friend to me), to pay Guruji (nearly $700 for one month, ouch), who wanted to know who I was, and to pick up some necessities (clothespins, soymilk, muesli, nail polish remover, hair pomade) at Nilgiri's supermarket, which I always want to call El Corte Ingles. We also took a walk along the path around the lake at Mysore University, and later I enjoyed saffron lassi at Three Sisters, where they all actually remembered my name.
And now I'm here at ye olde internet cafe where, if I'm not mistaken, we're still using Windows '97 -- and where, if you type an "M" into the search engine, this blog address pops up. Scary.
The plane made it to Bangalore and so did my luggage. But when I finished changing money and going through customs and locating said suitcases, Prashanth was nowhere to be found. A quick phone call from the STD booth revealed that he'd waited for me til 4AM the previous night. Apparently he never got the message that I didn't make the connecting flight. When he did get it he thought (as did I) that I was flying in on Friday. Whatever; it was Friday when I made it to Mysore (let's not forget that I left Chicago on TUESDAY), after overpaying for a prepaid government cab (Rs 2100 instead of Rs 1800). You really haven't lived until you've had a painfully full bladder at 2:30 AM on the bumpy, all-but-deserted except for men, men, and more men, Mysore-Bangalore road.... or until you've tried to find the obscurely-located Kaveri Lodge by memory while jetlagged at 4:30 AM....or until you've dismissed the taxi only to learn your room had been given away but if you'd just wait on this plastic chair for a couple of hours there will be one for you. Apparently the look on my face said 'I don't think so' because suddenly I was given the owner's room for a few hours. When you hear 'owner's room' you can't help but think 'posh' == but that's absolutely not the case. 'Dive' and 'not cleaned in ages' would be more accurate.
Since getting a room (w/ Indian toilet, which they keep apologizing about) I've had a bath, watched some Deadwood, had a nap and went with Prashanth for lunch. He also helped me to find a phone charge cord, to change money (Prashanth kicked back the kickback from his friend to me), to pay Guruji (nearly $700 for one month, ouch), who wanted to know who I was, and to pick up some necessities (clothespins, soymilk, muesli, nail polish remover, hair pomade) at Nilgiri's supermarket, which I always want to call El Corte Ingles. We also took a walk along the path around the lake at Mysore University, and later I enjoyed saffron lassi at Three Sisters, where they all actually remembered my name.
And now I'm here at ye olde internet cafe where, if I'm not mistaken, we're still using Windows '97 -- and where, if you type an "M" into the search engine, this blog address pops up. Scary.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
IT'S THE FUTURE
Remember when they first put phones on airplanes and people would call their loved ones and say, "Guess where I am?! I'm calling FROM THE PLANE!" Well I am over Bucharest at this very moment and paying top dollar for the hour. What is meant to be satellite-enabled broadband is in effect slower than dialup and far more expensive than AOL in the early years. But here I am on the aeroplane hunched up typing on my very own laptop (the seat in front of me is tilted into my knees) and listening to Tamil pop music and waiting for my Special Meal....
Which reminds me. You know how sometimes someone will come down with cancer and some know-it-all will intone, as if they'd brought it upon themselves, "Well, they have the cancer personality after all." I'm no fan of that blaming the victim BS but others believe in it wholeheartedly and far more still believe you can conjure up events and whatnot with your thoughts. Which brings me to the botched Chicago-Montreal-Toronto-Toronto-Frankfurt leg of my journey.... Did I bring it on myself via all of my PMS-fueled* anxiety and fretting? Or did I have a premonition?
I'd like to think it's the latter. In fact my sixth sense tells me this is so.
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*Too much info alert...........My holiday became a literal one when Aunt Rose came to visit at O'Hare. Fortunately this trip is so long I should no longer be polluted and incapable of defilement when it's time to practice at the shala.
SPARKASSE EXTRA!
-All of the food trucks at the Toronto airport say "CARA."
-Buying Earth Sandals and wearing them with SmartWool for the journey was a brilliant move. My back hurts not at all. Yet.. My neck, on the other hand -- ......
-Number of people who've cut in front of me since leaving Canada: At least 30.
-Air hostesses must like it best right after they've served the meal and we cannot move, held hostage by our tray tables. No wonder it takes them so long to remove the things.
-Possibly another Mysore-goer on board; wan, white late 30's woman with stringy hair and glasses -- only she's in Business Class.
-On Air Canada to Germany the language priority is: English. German. French. No wonder the Quebecois are so angry. But their airport has WiFi, while Toronto's does not.
-From today's Hindu newspaper: All patients at government hospitals in Imphal were forcibly discharged as part of an intensified "cease work" agitation by gov. employees demanding "higher dearness allowances and other service facilities....Doctors and paramedics stopped treating patients in emergency wards."
-So far no one has looked twice at my (heavy) carry-on baggage. Perhaps I could have brought deodorant after all.
-Many pregnant Muslim and Hindu women with children, unaccompanied by husbands, brothers or fathers, are traveling this week. And the World Cup hasn't even started yet.
-I've had wine with the last three meals and could easily become quite the boozer.... When in Germany one should always order the white, as the red is acidic to the point of carbonation.
-From Frankfurt to Bangalore they show one bad American movie (Cheaper By the Dozen II) and one bad Bollywood movie.
-Why am I inevitably seated in the baby and family section? The infection section.
-Vat ist und Purser? She has the watch with two dials and walks with authority.
-I can't help it: hearing "Duty Free" makes me laugh. As does "Casual Friday."
WUNDERBAR!
After yesterdayäs travel debacle the smallest gifts are treasures-- a hotel voucher with two BUFFETT meals, a shower with unlimited hot vasser, a European outlet that is compatible with my new converter (so that an episode of Deadwood can be enjozed on the laptop at 3AM), the rain outside, the feeling of being still rather than still up in an airplane and clean, clean hair.
And the food! I was living in the moment.... since I knew I was unlikely to have the opportunity again anztime soon I filled up on amazing whole grain German bread, butter, sour cherry jam, bread, fresh vegetables, gorgonzola ravioli, bread, mineral water, muesli, thick creamy yoghurt, etc. etc. etc.
And then I donned Indian dress -- the best slimming, expanding-waistband buffet clothes ever created -- and I am now prepared to check out and find the shuttle to the aeropuerto....
BTW nothing but excellent service from Air Canada after the last leg of the journez. And Lufthansa was quite nice as well. So far anywaz....
After yesterdayäs travel debacle the smallest gifts are treasures-- a hotel voucher with two BUFFETT meals, a shower with unlimited hot vasser, a European outlet that is compatible with my new converter (so that an episode of Deadwood can be enjozed on the laptop at 3AM), the rain outside, the feeling of being still rather than still up in an airplane and clean, clean hair.
And the food! I was living in the moment.... since I knew I was unlikely to have the opportunity again anztime soon I filled up on amazing whole grain German bread, butter, sour cherry jam, bread, fresh vegetables, gorgonzola ravioli, bread, mineral water, muesli, thick creamy yoghurt, etc. etc. etc.
And then I donned Indian dress -- the best slimming, expanding-waistband buffet clothes ever created -- and I am now prepared to check out and find the shuttle to the aeropuerto....
BTW nothing but excellent service from Air Canada after the last leg of the journez. And Lufthansa was quite nice as well. So far anywaz....
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
OH. CANNADA.
greetings from frankfurt. as predicated i did not make the connection in montreal. well actually i sprinted against their orders and made the gate just in time but they would not let me board w-o my checked baggage. some cannadian law or something. so they flew me to toronto, which was in the wrong direction. and then to frankfurt. we were in the air 45 minutes and then they turned around due to some generator malfunction. then we sat in the airport for an hour. then we boarded another plane and sat on the tarmac for an hour. they announced the engine was messed up and we deplaned again. another hour or so in the empty airport. i did some yoga. my ears are messed up from all the takeoffs and landings. the third plane worked. now i am at some weird inter city hotel, where it costs a euro for two minutes of internet. but tomorrow i will allegedly go to india.
it took me TWENTY FOUR HOURS TO GET HERE.
and the germans have really weird keyboards.
...at least i now have some euro coins, so i can stop and get one of those amazing bretzels i passed by today.
and the yoga mat is in the carry on!
greetings from frankfurt. as predicated i did not make the connection in montreal. well actually i sprinted against their orders and made the gate just in time but they would not let me board w-o my checked baggage. some cannadian law or something. so they flew me to toronto, which was in the wrong direction. and then to frankfurt. we were in the air 45 minutes and then they turned around due to some generator malfunction. then we sat in the airport for an hour. then we boarded another plane and sat on the tarmac for an hour. they announced the engine was messed up and we deplaned again. another hour or so in the empty airport. i did some yoga. my ears are messed up from all the takeoffs and landings. the third plane worked. now i am at some weird inter city hotel, where it costs a euro for two minutes of internet. but tomorrow i will allegedly go to india.
it took me TWENTY FOUR HOURS TO GET HERE.
and the germans have really weird keyboards.
...at least i now have some euro coins, so i can stop and get one of those amazing bretzels i passed by today.
and the yoga mat is in the carry on!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
LOOGIES
I've been hacking up phlegm so loudly and in such great quantities that I'll feel right at home when/if I get to Mysore.
I doublechecked my ticket and I finally noticed the FIVE HOUR layover in Frankfurt.
I'd put the Mysore rug in the carry-on (for sleeping) but it's already three pounds over the limit. Apparently they're getting quite strict about weight.
I think they should come up with a new formula that also takes into account the passenger's own poundage.
I've been hacking up phlegm so loudly and in such great quantities that I'll feel right at home when/if I get to Mysore.
I doublechecked my ticket and I finally noticed the FIVE HOUR layover in Frankfurt.
I'd put the Mysore rug in the carry-on (for sleeping) but it's already three pounds over the limit. Apparently they're getting quite strict about weight.
I think they should come up with a new formula that also takes into account the passenger's own poundage.
Monday, May 22, 2006
HIGH ANXIETY
Despite the fact that I've been there not once but twice I'm not sleeping and the heart is beating too fast and I can't eat and all I can think about is the fact that I'm taking three legs and two airlines to get there, and they do not like each other (let alone United, which actually issued the ticket) and that I may wind up re-enacting scenes from The Terminal if I miss a connection. But hopefully not the scene from the autobiographical Aerpuerto '98, in which the O'Hare Mexicana agent tore off my paper ticket for travel to Mexico City and from M.C. to Cancun, and I was stuck ticketless and friendless at the Mexico City airport for hours suffering through one of my most massive meltdowns to date (it being the one-year anniversary of my mother's death and all), trying and failing to convince them to reissue my ticket and having them search through the garbage for it at O'Hare and finally being forced to buy a brand-new new one for top dollar. Argh. The Air Canada agent I spoke to yesterday was not at all optimistic that I'd get to my destination if I missed one of my flights.....something about the award ticket from another airline making the holder some kind of pariah. It's enough to make one turn back, or at least postpone.
At least there are credit cards.....
Despite the fact that I've been there not once but twice I'm not sleeping and the heart is beating too fast and I can't eat and all I can think about is the fact that I'm taking three legs and two airlines to get there, and they do not like each other (let alone United, which actually issued the ticket) and that I may wind up re-enacting scenes from The Terminal if I miss a connection. But hopefully not the scene from the autobiographical Aerpuerto '98, in which the O'Hare Mexicana agent tore off my paper ticket for travel to Mexico City and from M.C. to Cancun, and I was stuck ticketless and friendless at the Mexico City airport for hours suffering through one of my most massive meltdowns to date (it being the one-year anniversary of my mother's death and all), trying and failing to convince them to reissue my ticket and having them search through the garbage for it at O'Hare and finally being forced to buy a brand-new new one for top dollar. Argh. The Air Canada agent I spoke to yesterday was not at all optimistic that I'd get to my destination if I missed one of my flights.....something about the award ticket from another airline making the holder some kind of pariah. It's enough to make one turn back, or at least postpone.
At least there are credit cards.....
Thursday, May 18, 2006
MYSORE BY THE NUMBERS...
RUPEES PER DOLLAR: 45.26
FIRST MONTH OF YOGA AT THE AYRI: Rs. 27,900 = $616.43
SECOND MONTH OF YOGA AT THE AYRI: Rs 17,900 = $395.49
ONE NIGHT IN CHEAPEST ROOM AT THE GREEN HOTEL: Rs 1250 = $27.68
ONE NIGHT AT THE KAVERI LODGE: Rs 240 = $5.30
CURRENT TIME IN INDIA: 10.5 hours ahead of Chicago
TEMPERATURE IN MYSORE: Highs around 91, lows around 68
YOGA STUDENTS WITH WHOM SATYA IS TRAVELING: 0
NUMBER OF YOGA STUDENTS SATYA KNOWS IN MYSORE: 0
COUNTRIES TO BE TAGGED DURING FLIGHTS TO AND FROM BANGALORE: 5 (US, Cannadia, Germany, India, Netherlands)
DAYS LOST WHILE FLYING: 2
FLIGHTS FOR WHICH SATYA DOES NOT HAVE A SEAT: 1 (Amsterdam to Chicago)
COST OF TICKET: $85 + 80,000 miles
NUMBER OF CALLS NECESSARY TO REACH AN AGREEMENT WITH CINGULAR: 4 + 1 e-mail to the CEO.
SATISFIED CUSTOMERS: 1
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Links for Mysore time and temperature and a rupees-to-dollars currency converter are now listed at the right, so that you may play along at home.
The photo above depicts today's surprise Windy City mini-monsoon, which has Satya geared up for Mysore and took place just after wet clothes were hung out. The good news is that the new travel clothesline ($5) works just fine.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
POST-HASTE
India Departure date: 23 May
So far one has:
Arranged for substitute teachers.
Arranged for forwarded mail.
Arranged for bill payment.
Arranged for cat-care
Arranged for car-watching
Arranged to put on hold:
The New Yorker
The New York Times
The Chicago Sun-Times
The Chicago Tribune
The Cable TV, Phone and Internet
But not the cell phone.
Why?
Because Cingular no longer does vacation holds. One must pay $39.99/month plus taxes and whatnot (i.e.; $50 x 2) to retain one's telephone number.
One has spent over an hour on the landline trying to get around this.
One has been with Cingular for a decade -- since it was Cellular One.
One is poised to defect.
Or to lose one's number altogether and say (all together now) to the hell with the cell.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
1870 MOTHER'S DAY PROCLAMATION (FOR PEACE)
by Julia Ward Howe
Arise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God -
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.
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