GOONDAS AND CHAI


Today’s Vocabulary Words:

Bathing Costume = swimsuit
Chai = tea
Chikadoo = small
Sulpa = just a little
Sacre = sugar
Tusker = elephant
Chat = snack
Bandh = strike
Goonda = gangster or goon

I’m in Room 19 of the Kaveri Lodge as I write this on the laptop – I’ll transfer it at the internet place later, using the thumb drive – and it’s pouring like crazy outside. The rain is actually horizontal, and it’s quite dark. Apparently the monsoon has returned. The power is out and it’s too dark to read but the computer battery is working and so is the transistor radio, which is pumping out Bollywood hits and Kannada gobbledygook. I’m being good by typing rather than watching Episode 11 of Deadwood.

I’ve tried calling Matrika, who last I heard was wearing her unusual new Indian bathing costume (long bottoms, baggy waist, festive pattern) at the Southern Star pool, but she doesn’t answer. I want to know if she’s headed indoors for tea and chocolate cake…. If so, I’d like to join her. Guruji gave us the day off because he had to go to a special puja three hours away (by train), and even though I did some intermediate series poses in my room this morning, I’m keen to be bad. And chocolate cake is just about as bad as it gets here.

I also had a caster oil bath /massage at 3 Sisters today and am feeling its effects: exhaustion and slightly cold. Castor oil is meant to be cooling and toxin-releasing and help your yoga by making you more flexible, but it can also make you tired. I can’t possibly have a third nap. But you’re not supposed to get caught in the rain and I’m not up for a trip in the rickshaw, no matter how fabulous the cake. I think I’ll just call down for a chikadoo chai, sulpa sacre.

Harini said, after my bath/massage: “I thought people from New York were the most tight. But they are not.” Does Chicago win? I asked. “Yes!”

I heard today that senior NYC teacher Eddie Stern is here with a video crew that’s doing a documentary on Guruji. Since “Guru”* is taken, I wonder what they’ll call it.

Now the thunder and lightening have kicked in. Definitely no chocolate cake for me.

Some more background on Ayodhya, mentioned in yesterday’s post, and Hindu-Muslim violence in Gujarat. Ayodhya is said to be the birthplace of Lord Rama (from The Ramayana) and is a pilgrimage site for Hindus. It’s also a pilgrimage site for Muslims, because until 1992 there was a centuries-old mosque on the site. But in 1992, 10,000 Hindu fundamentalists, under the auspices of a group called the RSS**, stoned the mosque to the ground (don’t ask me how they did this; but do keep in mind this is a country where people commit suicide over love or bad test scores, start themselves on fire to protest a movie, torch their wives over dowry issues, attack busses that run over two-wheelers -- and where villagers live in fear of wayward tuskers).

The stoning caused Hindu-Muslim violence that led to some 1200 deaths – most of them Muslim. It flared up again in 2002, when fundamentalist Hindus made a train pilgrimage to the site. The train stopped in a Muslim-dominated village, and words were exchanged between the Muslim chai and chat wallahs who got on the train to ply their wares; apparently the hard-line Hindu pilgrims wouldn’t pay them. Apparently these fundamentalist Hindus also started to build a temple on the site once they got there – which they were forbidden to do (they claim there was a Rama temple on the site and it was destroyed by the Muslims who built the mosque there). On the return trip, the Muslims torched the train and passengers (including women and children) were burnt alive.

Violence again erupted, and thousands of Muslims were killed (usually by being locked in their houses and burned alive), while the Hindu nationalist BJP, the party in power at the time, did little to stop it. At the same time, these Hindus called for the nationwide bandh or strike to honor the train victims; anyone caught not closing up shop was attacked by goondas. Hence, Mysore was dead that day (except for some reason we all went to conference at the old shala). Here’s an excerpt from my 2002 diary (NOTE: IT's long but it does include references to Mike D and the old shala):

2 MARCH 2002

11:30AM Kaveri Lodge

Drumbeats from the makeshift festival site down the street. Streets
strangely empty on my way back from telling the nice people with the new house "Thanks-but-no-thanks bla bla too expensive...very sorry, etc." Amy's friend M. Geetha not at her nursing school; they are on break. No traffic cops at their posts at the big intersections - no traffic. Me on the too-small blue Lady Bird bicycle zipping around, la-la-la, like everything is fine, just easier today. Then I ran into Craig outside of the Mandala, and he told me that there is a demonstration today at KR Circle, and to stay away. It's related to the train-burning two days ago in Gujarat. It's hard to piece it together from the bizarre and biased Indian newspapers [which in fact are no more bizarre and biased than their American counterparts], but from what I can piece together the victims were Hindu pilgrims to a holy site where they (hard-line Hindus)had razed a mosque a decade ago. They are starting to build a temple there - both Hindus and Muslims think the site is holy -- over the (half-assed) objections of the government. The pilgrims were on their way to put things into motion and passed thru the primarily -Muslim town of Godhra on the way up, and reportedly traded insults with them and stiffed the food vendors. On the way back the train stopped for 3 minutes and there was a mob and doors were locked from the outside and after it started to leave someone pulled the "stop" chain. Gas and burning things were thrown in through the open windows and 58 people (mostly women and children, of course) were incinerated. The police had to shoot up the mob to break it up (a detail carried by Reuter's but omitted by the Indian press). So today, against gov. orders, fundamentalist-led Hindus are staging a protest along with a massive bandh (strike) which is supposedly in honor of the victims.

After talking to Craig I tried to stop at the tailor-who-hates-me and they were closed, as was everything up and down the street. I was going to visit the Internet place and email my brother and tell him what was up but drove right past; it too is closed. So I thought I'd call Michael, since he always gets the phone. But the STD/ISD place across the street is also closed. And so is the one a few doors down. And the drums are going and I pulled up to the Kaveri and the grate/gate in front is pulled closed - not padlocked (yet) and there are no bikes in front. I walked in and said, "Why is everyting closed?" to the manager who looks like Mr. Slate from the Flintstones, even though I knew. Of course he smiled and was, like, "No problem, Madam. Plumber is coming." And the small ponytailed guy of unknown ethnic origin who works at Mandala was there handing out flyers for tonight's performance (2 musicians named Kumar). He said he was in Bombay in '93 during the original riots over the mosque-razing, and it was intense, and the riot were everywhere and some people here in Mysore remember them, too, and he said it was politically motivated because it's election time and some people think the militant Hindus staged the train-torching and that there would have to be one or two more "incidents" for things to get out of hand all over India like they did back then, and that it won't this time…).

But it is like the Twilight Zone outside - the episode where a thriving place becomes a ghost-town, or the one where everyone's hiding behind their shutters - and I'd like my brother to know what's up and that I'm OK at this time. Craig and I were just discussing how this violence goes back to Partition and did you see the movie "Earth" and I can't believe this is still going on, why torch people over a stupid building? …

A guy did ride up to me on his moped today (all evildoers ride mopeds) and with all seriousness said, "I want to suck you." And waited for my reaction. I almost started laughing; it was such a refreshing departure from "Suck my d---!" - more like an offering than a command - but instead I said, "That's not a very nice thing to say" and yelled "Naughty boy!" as he sped off."

A few minutes ago the amplified off-key call to mosque went off as usual.

I cannot believe World Events are happening here and now and I cannot go online or make a phone call or, most important, cannot obsessively flip back and forth between CNN and the others. As I was leaving the lobby Mr. Slate turned on the TV and it was the news but alas, it was in Kannada.

I am thinking that I want to go to KR circle and see what's going on. I have my press pass but as we know from the Daniel Pearl case it offers no immunity and might as well be an invitation to whatever group to make a point. So I won't go. It's probably all men in slacks and dress shirts with rolled-up sleeves and moustaches shouting and sweating. Maybe I'll go downstairs to see what's on TV at least, and read the newspapers (even though the large, wild-haired men who hang out in the lobby can be quite intimidating). It's funny - yesterday at this time I was emailing and looking forward to seenig a movie in Kannada (it featured not one but two wacky buffoon-fools and dance numbers including one with rickshaw drivers and it made no sense whatsoever and was hilarious. About an hour into it I asked George, "Is this a different movie?" Fifteen minutes later we realized it we were watching a flashback) and today at this time I finally comprehend why all the houses and businesses and buildings have shutters that shut and grates over the windows and gates that lock. In a way it's a (weak) echo of the days of the WTC attack (it all comes back to that, doesn't it?).





2:45 KAVERI LOBBY

The paper says there was more violence yesterday in Gujarat (up north, near Pakistan) - mobs torching businesses, stabbings, etc. - and that the state cannot handle it and they're calling out the army. Someone at 3 Sisters said all the restaurants are closed - no wonder the place filled up with loud people all talking about their petty party tonight. Apparently there is some sort of competition to have the Best Party, and there are many pounds of marigolds in Mike D's backpack

On the way to the 3 Sisters I ran into one of the Portuguese girls, who only has Rs 100 to her name and was trying to find a rickshaw to take her to an ATM.

The Hindu newspaper also says that 30 people from the minority (Muslim)community were burned alive and that "the response to the bandh (strike) call was total. Hooligans forced the closure of most state and central government offices in Ahmedabad, Gandhinagar and other cities. All schools and colleges, cinema theatres and other establishments remained closed. Even cable television operators - "under instructions from the VHA [Vishwa Hindu Parishad, which called the bandh, which is in turn supported by the ruling BJP] - were forced to suspend the telecast of entertainment and sports channels; only news channels were broadcast during the day."

3:30 and I'm still in the lobby. We did convince Mr. Slate to turn on the BBC but they were airing boring magazine-style feature stories about the Middle East. Turns out Caroline works for them (the BBC) but I did not get a chance to learn what she does. She says it reminds her a bit of September 11, too, and that in the newsroom there are TV's everywhere and they saw it all, and no one talked to each other.



5PM YOGA SHALA / LAKSHMIPURAM

I paid Guruji. "Caca." He says it so nicely. I asked him about coming up from backbends and he said one more week of primary and he would help me with intermediate. We'll see. One woman told me that he's been telling her "next week" for years.

No busses today, either, and no petrol. One loud guy who seems to know Guruji told him, "Rickshaw drivers charging double today." And then, "You're the only one making money today." Big laughter. Then someone asked (it's a conference, and when he's done w/ the mail we can ask questions about yoga, which is a rare opportunity, and he is a great scholar)"Why strike today, Guruji?"

After awhile Sharath notices Mike D. sitting on the floor (like the rest of us) and greets him. Then he points to his pants and says something to Guruji in Kannada, ending with with "own company" and inclining his head towards Mike D. Guruji nods, smiles, looks at Mike D. and says, "You working there?" Big laughter (from me only).

(Beastie Boy Mike D. is one of the forces behind Xtra Large, a hip hip-hop clothing line).
Mike D: "No time for working there. I just give ideas and pay bills."
Guruji: "Prana?" [this is the hip new company for overpriced yoga togs] "Prana is my friend."

Mike D: "Yes. Encinitas."

The conference wears on. Bob pokes his head in and asks what they think of passive stretching and sitting in supta baddhakonasana for 15 minutes at a stretch. "Does it help?" After much discussion and clarification - Bob has mispronounced the name of the asana, which even when pronounced correctly does not exist in astanga vinyasa yoga, where poses are held for 25 breaths max, but rather is from a different school)-Sharath says, "We don't know about this stretch. We've never done."

Guruji fields questions about teacher qualifications (they must have his blessing and adhere to his methods or it becomes "very dangerous on both spiritual and physical level") and we learn that pregnant women should not practice during the first trimester and the minimum age to start primary series is 15. Someone asked why he decided to start teaching westerners back in 1973. "They came." Near the end of course he reminded us that astanga is "99 percent practice and one percent theory."

LATER

After the conference there were busses on the street, and people. The gas stations were open and so were the restaurants (but not the tailors). After a long dinner at 3 Sisters (followed up by a frozen pineapple lassi) Craig and Madeline and I went over to the party. We sat in front for a long time looking at the pink light from the windows before venturing halfway to the door (the path was lit by votives). We stood for awhile and finally I was, like, "We're here. We should just go." (They want to see the place because they know Maya is leaving next week and they may want to move in. There's a shoe-pile at the top of the stairs - not as big as the one at the shala each morning, but impressive nonetheless - and Beck-the-coconut-guy is in the kitchen with (allegedly) 70 coconuts (this is instead of beer)and some traditional Indian dancer is doing her thing and everyone is rapt and it's impossible to see because the doorway is completely blocked. Madeline and I give up and go back to the street, where the moon is still almost full, and orange, and the Hortario from Sutra House is out there looking at it and the rickshaw driver has had it with us, so finally we leave. Of course he tries to squeeze extra rupees out of us "because of the bandh" and "no petrol."

Next day I learned that several people I know and like went "for five minutes" and hightailed it home. "It was a NYC-style party with a great DJ [apparently not one Tina Trash], and they even had video projection." And I thought about the English, and how they used to bring their furniture and china and ugly clothes to India back when they ran things here, and I wondered if anything had really changed.












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*Guru is the title of the short documentary made last year by students who attended Pattabhi Jois’ 90th birthday celebration. This year it takes place on July 11; his daughter Saraswati is hosting a function, and many female students are planning to buy their first saris. Pity the locals who must dress them.


**According to Elizabeth Kadetsky’s memoir/biography “First There is a Mountain,” famous Pune-based yoga teacher BKS Iyengar has a relationship with Hindu fundamentalist groups such as the RSS and BJP and even authored some of their school curriculum!

HEPATITIS HEAVEN

Today's Vocabulary Review:

Bandh = strike
Fillum = movie
Talkies = cinema
Interval = intermission
Frooty = addictive mango drink


Today I and P and a packed house sweated through three hours of Fanaa, the Hindi fillum that was banned in Gujarat (this would be the state on the middle left of the map where many bad things like earthquakes, riots, etc. seem to happen). Apparently male lead Aamir (Lagaan) Khan offended people's sensibilities by saying something to the effect that the poor people being displaced by a massive Narmada dam project should receive compensation from the government. The other day someone seeing the fillum at a Gujarat talkies started himself on fire during the interval -- thus closing the filllum.

Anyways...... It only occurred to me today, halfway through the fillum, that Mr. Khan is a Muslim -- a fact which may in fact have added fuel to the fire (Gujarat is the state where there were massive riots and killings (Hindu v. Muslim) over a dispute in Ayodhya, a spot that some fundamentalist Hindus say was / should be the site of a Ram temple because it's his birthplace, but which also happened to be the site of a mosque. Long story but it led to thousands of (mostly Muslim) deaths and the nationwide bandh that I experienced in Mysore itself back in March 2002 -- when everything was closed the city was a ghost town). It probably didn't help that he played a Muslim Kashmiri separatist terrorist in the fillum, which kicked ass; it took place in Kashmir (probably shot in Switzerland) and the women did all of the important killing.

Unfortunately Aamir Khan is starting to take on the craggy countenance of a latter-day Tom Hanks. Not a good look, by the way. But his character did kill guys while driving a snowmobile and ate chicken with his left hand -- which sure trumps talking to a volleyball.

FOUR THOUSAND WORDS

Only a Couple of Which are Vocabulary Words:

Make a Move -- to leave

Roam -- to gallivant


Caca has become so tired and despondent after looking through and being sorely disappointed by her 2002 Mysore Missives -- which some have said should be turned into a book -- that she has taken to using a nom de plume and writing in the third person.

Perhaps that means it's time to post some photos -- a laborious project when one is using technology that makes her vintage iMac seem cutting edge in comparison.






Mysore sunrise, as seem from the loo in Room 17 of the infamous Kaveri Lodge







Coconuts after class; some use the right hand, others the left -- and there's nowhere to sit. This is where most of Caca's social faux pas take place.








Droopy poster for the Hindi fillum Gangster, which was easy to follow even without subtitles.









The real reason Caca is so popular among the locals.

EAST V. WEST

Today’s Vocabulary Words:

D.L. = driver’s license
Sakoo = Kannada for “enough.”
Sulpa-Sulpa = Kannada for “just a little.”
Baksheesh = bribe


Many of the women at the shala unwittingly bare their shoulders and ankles / legs in public. Apparently this is seen as obscene by the locals and it makes them, well, stick out like a sore thumb. (I once ate with a friend at Indian restaurant on a sweltering Chicago day, during which every Indian man in the place glared at us the entire time. Years later I realized they were upset by our brazen display of flesh via shorts and tank-tops. I’ve dressed carefully at Indian restaurants ever since).

So…The other day a not inappropriately dressed Western woman was asked why she doesn’t wear Indian clothes.

“It’s not me,” she said. “It’s not me.”

If they had asked *this* Western woman why she *does* wear Indian clothes, she might have responded,

”It’s not *about* me.”

For one, it makes it easier to move about in the world here.

Especially if one is also wearing a motorcycle helmet and dust mask.

It also earns one almost as many smiles as one’s feeble attempts to speak Kannada.


***

Today at the shala:

After I’d dropped back two times on my own, Sharath, who’d been standing in front of me the whole time, indicated he was ready to help me do a final dropback (ie, the last backbend of the practice, which is always assisted). But I was ready to do one more.

”Sakoo?” I asked, surprised.

He lauged; "Sakoo? Yes, enough."

Apparently nowadays students only have to drop back twice – not thrice. This was news to me.

In other words, I’ve been killing myself for nothing these past few weeks.



***


Later, at the non-anesthetized tooth-drilling:

Lady Dentist: What a lovely dress you’re wearing



***


Even later, driving home via scooter:

I was waved to the side of the road by a policeman standing in the middle of Kalidasa Road. I was too close to ignore him. Like all of his ilk he was wearing khaki pants, white shirt, white gloves, moustache and a rather jaunty white cowboy hat flipped up on one side.

Apparently Kalidasa Road is a one-way street, and I was going the wrong direction.

Oops.

Another officer, sitting in the shade, said the fine was Rs. 400. He began writing a ticket in Kannada and asked to see my D.L., which I produced. Then he asked to see my insurance papers. Those of you who’ve been following along know that I was pulled over in 2002 and fined Rs 300 or 500, I can’t remember which, for not having my DL. Others have been fined Rs. 500 for no papers. But this time I was prepared, and produced the insurance papers – which had taken days and days to procure from Prashanth’s Aunty. After squinting at them for some time the officer handed the papers back to me and said. “100 rupees fine.”

Which was fine with me.

When I handed him the bill (slightly over $2), he put it in his pants pocket.

Then he asked me to sign the ticket – which was written in Kannada (which I cannot read).

I signed. And then I signed my name again -- in Kannada. The Kannada alphabet is whimsical, to say the least, and my name looks like a snowman with a rolling “o” next to it.

Seeing my signature, the officer gasped in surprise, and smiled. “Kannada!” Then he called over the other officer and the nearby woman shopkeeper, and showed it to them.

”Kannada?” they asked, seeming pleased and surprised.

”Kannada sulpa sulpa,” I replied.

"Ah, 'Kannada sulpa sulpa,'" they repeated, laughing.

“Even she cannot write Kannada,” the arresting officer said, gesturing towards the woman (who was wearing a beautiful blue sari).

“I cannot either,” I said. “It is difficult. Fifty-two letters, and many sounds are there. Too much learning."

“Yes,” the arresting officer agreed. “It is very difficult.”

Then he showed me the route to take back to my hotel, and sent me on my way.



***


Most days:

One is not quite such a hit with her fellow westerners.

BUDDHA BEDA!*
AND SHARATH INTERVIEW

Today's Vocabulary Words:

Bayda = Kannada for "don't want"
Japa Mala = Hindu or Buddhist meditation beads, usually 108


And now, excerpts of Vinita Rashinkar's Times of India interview with Sharath -- co-director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute and grandson of its founder, Sri. K. Pattabhi Jois. This was transcribed by Satya "Bartelby" Cacananda the old-fashioned way -- in a dark room sans reading glasses. So please uh, bear with me. (Unless, of course, you prefer not to).




DID YOU IMAGINE THAT ONE DAY YOU WOULD BE SO SOUGHT-AFTER AS A YOGA TEACHER?

When I started teaching yoga, I was just trying to help my grandfather. But as time went by, I realised that I had found my purpose in life and now this is my passion. Today, yoga is an integral part of my life and it takes up 85 percent of my time. I love every moment of it and feel blessed because not everyone finds their vocation in life and not everyone is privileged enough to make their passion their primary activity in life.

THE ASHTANGA YOGA SCHOOL HAS ATTRACTED MANY CELEBRITY FOLLOWERS. CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT YOUR INTERACTIONS WITH SOME OF THEM?

Everyone knows that Madonna, Gwynneth Paltrow, Sting and his wife Trudy, Welham [sic] Dafoe and many other famous names in the West are all dedicated practitioners of Ashtanga Yoga. They are all connected to Mysore because they are students of Guruji and they are generous hosts who go out of their way to make us feel comfortable. However, to us as teachers, there is no difference between a celebrity and a common man. We do not offer private teaching lessons to anyone. The only time I made an exception was when Madonna was very late for class in LA and she requested me for a private lesson. She insisted on driving me in her car to her home and I told her that I was terrified of her driving. The only reason I made that exception was because she offered me 100 t-shirts of her tour and I could use them later to raise money for the charity I have started.

TELL US ABOUT YOUR JET-SETTING LIFESTYLE

I travel around the globe for around four months every year to spread the message of yoga. This is the time I met many students who are such gracious hosts. When we are in London we stay at Sting's home. In the US, Mike Dee [sic] of the Beasty [sic] Boys insists that we stay with him. There are times when I feel that our simple life in Mysore is so far removed from the luxuries that we are offered overseas. Our students charter jets for us and put us up in palatial mansions wherever we go. Guruji's 90th birthday celebration at New York, hosted by a very wealthy student, was the talk of the town for many months. Guruji is so revered wherever we go and we are given so much affection by students that sometimes it is a humbling experience.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE TREND OF STUDENTS COMING TO MYSORE FOR YOGA?

First of all, we have to thank Sri Krishnamacharya (Guruji's teacher) who chose to make Mysore his home. Guruji also received several lucrative offers to settle abroad but he preferred to be here because he feels that this is home and he can spread the yogic message best by staying here. I have visited many places in the world but I feel there is no place like Mysore and many of our students endorse this view. Our students come to Mysore not only to study yoga but also to learn about the Indian way of life. You could attend classes in Melbourne or Singapore but it is not the same experience as coming to India to study with Guruji.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PLANS FOR EXPANDING YOUR YOGA SCHOOL?

It is our endeavour to get as many students as possible to come to Mysore because they will then go out into the world and spread the word about yoga. I intend to build a yoga retreat in the near future. I have also started a charitable trust in the name of my grandfather and we are invovled in assisting the local community in various cuases such as providing artificial limbs to handicapped and helping mentally-challenged children. I feel that Mysore has given us so mucht hat we ahve to give back something in return. I know for sure that I will always remain in Mysore and it is my hope that the city is further recognized as the yoga centre of the world.


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*I visited the Mysore Silk Factory and the Jagamohan Art Gallery for the first time ever today. While leaving the latter, various shopkeepers tried to sell us sandalwood incense, sandalwood japa malas, sandalwood Jesuses and sandalwood Buddhas with wide-open mouths. When the last was offered I said "Buddha Beda!" (pronounced BAY-duh) and all of us -- including the shopkeeper -- had a very good laugh indeed. Puns and wordplay tend to go over well here; irony does not.

MOON UPDATE

Today's Vocabulary Words:

Hotel - restaurant
Lodge - hotel
Mess - low-end restaurant
Petrol Bunk - gas station

After seeing The Barbarian Invasions at the Raj Kamal (decrepit-looking theater with great sound) and doing some serious shopping and a little tailor-combat (never, ever trust someone who says, "I will bring you to my brother. He will stitch your dress, no problem."), Matrika and I dined on the roof of the very touristy Shipastri hotel in the city center. The last time I was there was with Bob on our first night in Mysore back in 2002; at that time every table was occupied and had a copy of Lonely Planet: South India on it. Many languages were repesented (the guides belonged to the people eating, not to the restaurant).

Maybe it's no longer listed because it was quite quiet. It was also quite dark but for the light of the full moon. The sun had amost set and the air was cool and millions of bats were flying west. Very pleasing. Afterwords we bought stickers on the street (Rs 4 each). My favorites were the Kannada actors (who tend to be portly and fair with moustaches and rather big hair) and Hanuman, Ganesh, Jesues, Sai Baba, et al superimposed over piles of rupees.

Today on the way to an island near KRS Dam I saw three female petrol bunk attendants. They wore red and blue salwaar kameez uniforms and matching baseball caps and stood like soldiers next to the pumps. They looked but would not smile back at me, so I didn't bother asking for a picture. So far though I have not seen the two female rickshaw drivers. I did, however, see one of the transvestite guys with overdone makeup and over-the-top sari, and steered clear. More on them later. And the interview with Sharath.

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.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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....

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!

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.

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.....

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.

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.

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.

STRING AROUND THE YOGI


1. The workshop today kicked arse. I had an usually slow and mindful practice this morning, with excellent breathing -- until I got to the few Intermediate twists and backbends I do. Many students were stopped in poses (particularly backbends, including Ustrasana) and told to get a strap and a block. Apparently it's not a crime to do ashtanga *and* use props (hard-liners don't allow it).* The real crime, according to Chuck and Maty, is practicing improperly and "working through" pain. "We do yoga to reduce suffering, not increase it." The afternoon backbending segment was exquisite and afterwords instead of feeling sore/agitated/aggressive I felt calm. Even during the backbending I felt calm. So how can I get a yoga block to India?

2. What is the string that some yoga workshoppers wear tied around the waist? From what I can tell, they're not Brahmin. Danis? Franciscans? Kabbalahists? They are all quite thin though.

3. How amusing to see yogis wearing shirts that say "Satya."



4. It's apparent that the city's new Lululemon shop already has a loyal following. At least five women sported the pants with the two-tone waistband. At least it's not the yoga prom. Or the Academy Awards.





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*The first time The Hex visited Eddie Stern's old shala on Broadway he looked around and asked, rather loudly, where they kept the blocks and straps.

NOW THAT'S THE STUFF

Friday afternoon I gave blood for the last time this year (you're ineligible to give blood 12 months after going to India). That made me woozy and stomach-achy for the evening's Chuck and Maty workshop, where we spent no less than 2.75 hours deconstructing Surya Namaskar A. Boring? On the contrary. It was challenging and illuminating and invaluable for teaching. Potentially esoteric principles about shoulder alignment and lower rib movement, which some have turned into metaphorical hogwash, were made clear and accessible. We used blocks, yet at no point did the Ashtanginazis storm the doors and remove them (or us).

The pair, who have innumerable years of experience between them and founded LA's Yoga Works (which they have since sold, and is now a chain), have equal billing and switch off adjusting and speaking. They're also quite funny. It was encouraging to hear many of the things I say while teaching ("Samasthithi is the root of all poses" and "Move your head last" in up-dog, which Chuck calls "Don't drive with your face") reinforced and sometimes spoken verbatim.....although they stopped short of my common admonishment, "And if you can't get Samsthithi you're going to have trouble with every other pose in the series." They didn't have to threaten.

What was surprising was the absence of prominent local ashtanga teachers in at the workshop.

Perhaps they'll show at this morning's Mysore class. On a moon day no less.

WHY ONE SHOULD NEVER VENTURE OUTSIDE THE CITY*



Last night Dorian Black and I made our way to REI, which is in the suburbs far, far away. I was in search of a computer sleeve, a back-friendly bag and a rain-poncho-in-a-pouch for my trip to India. The pickin's were rather slim and the prices were high -- apart from a well-made Timbuk2 commuter bag with laptop pocket ($70, marked down from $100). Unfortunately my very large and heavy laptop would never fit in it. But I'm bringing it to Mysore with me anyway, dammit. I did find a quick-dry towel for yoga ($7.50), which seems like it'll come in handy during the monsoon; apparently nothing dries in the humidity.... Which reminds me -- has anyone else noticed that outdoors folks are just this side of hippie-zombies? Pass the granola bars, bro.

Starving, we crossed the street and came to a crossroads: China Buffet or World Buffet? I'd never even seen one of these places but Dorian Black had had a good experience at one of the the former. After a quick walk-through it appeared that World Buffet was the more veggie-friendly. It was massive and brightly-lit, with a bar and dance floor (after hours it turns into a night club) and innumerable tables and chairs. Every other diner was an immigrant of some sort. There were several buffets, representing the five countries that make up The World: China, Japan, Korea, Mexico and the USA. Apparently that just about covers it. But upon closer inspection it turned out there wasn't much that was veggie-friendly after all. So we filled up on Korean glass noodles, Japanese tofu, Chinese bean buns and desserts. And felt rather ill for the rest of the night.

But at least the food was cooked.



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*One should never leave except to buy spraypaint, which is verboten within city limits. Far more pleasing is the fact that foie gras was just banned -- in the former Hog Butcher to the World, no less. Which is in a state that placed a moratorium on the death penalty. Take that, NYC.

PFFFFFFFFT! INSTANT KARMA.

Is there any stranger gap than the one between noticing a strange vibrating sensation through the haunches while sitting on a student's arse and pulling their shoulders back in bhekasana and the slow realization that it's not their stomach that's growling but, rather, a very intimate gift in the form of a full-blown fart?

Of course it's payback for one's own accidental, humiliating and very loud loss of control just inches below poor David Life's face during a danurasana adjustment at Jivamukti's long-ago workshop in Chicago.

No, Mr. Life did not return for seconds.

Nor did Caca.

THE NEW COOKED


Last night we checked out the new raw food restaurant. My old bosses from the vegetarian place were eating there front and center; apparently they're now raw foodies, although their restaurant is not. Yet. Because raw is the new cooked. (And after that everyone will be fruitarian, wait and see). Suffice to say we ate our way through most of the menu (at home, Dorian eats with an oversize fork and spoon). The mock burger, pista falafel, flax pizza, pulverized kale, zucchini "pasta" and stuffed slimy mushrooms were tasty, yes -- because of all the garlic, onions and oil (cold-pressed of course). The fake cheesecake and mock mousse were divine.

But afterwords Dorian was starving and I had The Gas and unquenchable thirst. Today we both felt hung over. My yoga practice was torture and I was so run down I had to cancel my blood donation. Coincidence? I don't think so.





TWO BAGS FULL...

....of good junk is what I brought to The Ark today. Unlike the B.E., they don't chase you down the street and force you to take back your stuff on what is already a very bad day. No, there are receiving bins in the front of the store and they actually thank you for your donation.

When I told Dorian Black-the-Packrat about my need to shed he said, quoting George Carlin, "Your house is just a place to keep your stuff while you're out getting more stuff." Ouch.




SUBCONTINENTAL CONTENT




Deepa Mehta's new film Water opened here today. It deals with widowhood in India, which sucks in ways we can only imagine. Like her previous film, "Fire," it incensed the Hindu fundamentalists. They rioted and stormed the set in Varanasi and burnt effigies of Mehta and the government finally closed down the production; the shooting secretly resumed nearly five years later in Sri Lanka. Mehta, who also made 1999's harrowing "Earth," (about Partition) was interviewed today on the public radio show "Worldview." To hear it click here.

In today's Salon, Sandip Roy riffs on Harvard plagiarist Kaavya Viswanathan and what an impossibly high bar overacheivers such as Mehta, Lahiri, Roy, Rai and Rushdie have set for other Indians.

Lucky for me there are no similarly successful Danish-Swedish-French-Norwegian-German-Russian role models that I've failed to emulate, thus allowing me to wallow guilt-free in my mediocrity. Phew.

THERE GO THE MINISKIRTS


From How to Conquer Clutter (purchased at a yard sale for 25-cents and immediately disinfected):

"Get rid of anything that doesn't fit, is the wrong color, is stupid and / or is out of date."

From Trinny and Susannah's What You Wear Can Change Your Life:

"When your hair gets too long and the ends become split-ridden you get it cut. If your appendix explodes you have it surgically removed. Well, the same has to be done with your clothes...

"Culling is relevant to every stage of a woman's life, and particularly for women going through menopause, who may hold on to clothing from the time they felt their most feminine and sexy. Get these clothes out of your wardrobe; the will only depress you. And then you can get something new to replace them."

Yes, but with what money?



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For the record, both tomes recommend recruiting a critical, sharp-tongued friend to help with the task.

A DAY WITH IMMIGRANTS

Update on India: After many calls and many hours on the phone with United's incredibly patient Mileage Plus folks, I managed to get a flight to Bangalore during high season. If all goes as planned I leave for Mysore on May 23 and return July 21.

So today, my first day off in what seems like years, I rode my bike down to the Indian Consulate at NBC Tower (above). Many immigrants were there. I took a number (43) and a seat and waited. And did some work. And waited. And when my number was called I went up to the window and asked for not a six-month, not a one-year, not a five-year but a ten-year visa.

Then I headed over to the Savvy Traveller and purchased a couple of travel clotheslines -- probably a good idea during monsoon season -- and pilot earplugs and a luggage scale. I noticed that they also sell very costly disposable panties called OneDerWear and expensive one-packs of quick-dry underwear that you can re-use for an entire few-week trip. One couldn't help but wonder whether they had a cotton panel, and where they keep the yeast infection meds.

While cycling back to pick up the visa a few hours later I ran into Miss Y, who was instrumental in getting me to Mysore in '02. There she was, right in the middle of downtown Chicago. Auspicious? I think so.

The waiting area was nearly empty when I arrived; only men, including a fellow firang who sported a red liberty spike mohawk. I picked a number (86) waited a short time and when I got the visa I checked and it does indeed expire in 2016.

I'm hoping it's not like when people come to yoga diligently once a week for months, paying for one class at a time, and when they finally do purchase a series or a monthly unlimited they suddenly stop coming....

Time will tell, Madam.

D.I.Y....
A REPORT ON THE DAY W/O IMMIGRANTS, WINDY CITY STYLE

6:30 AM
Satya finishes up a g-rated dream of traveling to India and landing in a posh hotel near the ocean (???) that stars Filipino immigrant Joey and his cohorts; apparently he's not taking the day off.

7:30 AM
The line of cars at the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru on Ashland Avenue is moving, albeit slowly (as per usual). At least three people (read; Southeast Asian immigrants) mind the counter.

7:55 AM
No attendant at the parking lot behind the downtown YogaNow. The white plastic chair sits empty. Parking anarchy reigns.

8-9:30 AM
No immigrants (or so it seems) at Mysore class at YogaNow, where the studio temperature hovers around 80 degrees. Nor are there any Native or African Americans -- ie, the people who technically aren't the spawn of immigrants who came here looking for a better deal...although when it comes to Native Americans and the Bering Strait land bridge, well, it does get kind of messy.

9:45 AM
E-mail from Scottish immigrant The Hex, reporting the impossibility of getting a cup of coffee in Park Slope as both Dizzy's and Red Hen Bakery are closed.

10:00 AM
Speculation as to whether the young Romanian woman will be working at the chiro's today and whether or not Blogger has a significant number of immigrants on the payroll.

10:15 AM
A woman with a thick accent calls from a local Lithuanian newspaper, to talk to Miss Y.

10:45 AM
While practicing, Satya realizes all of her favorite yoga teachers including Guruji and Sharath have accents: Suddha (American citizen from Austria), Manju (American citizen from Mysore itself), Dharma Mittra (American citizen from Brazil) and Lino (world citizen from Italy).

11:15 AM
Midday parking attendant graciously moves the Lexus blocking Satya's Civic.

11:30 AM
The Romanian lady is indeed AWOL.

12:00 PM
A Sun-Times newspaper box screams a headline about Chicago gang graffiti turning up in Iraq.

12:30PM
Traffic patterns normal. The threatened rain continues to hold off. A small group of black-jacketed Latinos holding small American flags congregates at a southbound bus stop.

12:35 PM
Satya realizes she left her (expensive, Swiss-made) water bottle at the Chiro's.

12:45 PM
Hedge Fund lady cancels 3PM yoga lesson; turns out her nanny has called in sick.

1:15 PM
Dorian Black reports normal activity in Little India. "[The immigrants] own all the businesses and they all work there themselves," he explains. "There are no Mexicans on Devon Avenue." That last bit is debatable, as Satya has seen them toiling away in various tandoori kitchens.

3:15 PM
Satya awakens from nap to hear public radio traffic reporter give an update on the "ingrates'" march and rally in downtown Chicago.

4:00 PM
Report from Gridlife that famous meat-pusher Hot Doug's has closed for the day (see comments for details).

4:45 PM
The Hex calls while standing in front of NYC's National Wholesale Liquidators but is barely audible due to the march passing by. Apparently it's nowhere near as big as Saturday's peace protest. "There are a lot of busboys and cooks on Broadway right now...I'm waiting for them to sing 'The Star Spangled Banner' in Spanish -- or some other language." Like Farsi?

6:45 PM
One-third of Satya's ashtanga students do not show up for class. Is it a walkout? Are they all sick? Perhaps it's just a lousy day to be out and about. The woman with the trans-Atlantic accent does show up, albeit a bit late.

8:30 PM
Dreaming of a delicious fish sauce-free Pad Thai, Satya rolls her bike over to Penny's Noodle Shop. But the branch that's usually open on Mondays (at Diversey) is closed. A sign in the window says something like, "You support our business. We support your cause."

9:30 PM
Dorian Black reports that his teenage grandson, who is half-Mexican, decided not to do his chores in honor of the strike.

10:00 PM
The media can't decide whether the protest drew 300,000 (the police) or 700,000 (the organizers); they do agree however that it wasn't just Mexicans but also Eastern Europeans, Asians and at least one Swede. Best sign: "I'm Juan. Not Saddam." Si Juan pero ya sabemos que el enemigo es Osama, no Saddam. !Por su puesto!

10:30
Between hearing Led Zeppelin's "The Immigrant Song" and U2's "A Day Without Me"* in head, speculation that there are some immigrants who are taking highly-paid jobs that Americans actually do want -- entertainers. Such as Russel Crowe (Angry Kiwi), Nicole Kidman (Aussie), Bryan Adams (Canadian, very popular in India), Neil Young (Canada), Donald Sutherland (Canada), Jason Priestly, Norm McDonald, William Shatner, Keanu Reeves, Tom Green, Christopher Plummer, Matthew Perry, Martin Short, Dan Aykroyd, Mike Meiers, Howie Mandel, Jim Carrey, Alan Thicke, Leslie Nielsen, Michael J. Fox, Sarah Polley, Kim Cattrall, Neve Campbell, Geneveive Bujold, Margot Kidder, Jill Hennessey, Mary Pickford, Jennifer and Mel Tilly, Fay Wray, Sandra Oh, Rufus Wainwright, Avril Lavigne, Celine Dion, Sloan, k.d. lang, Corey Hart, Sarah McLachlan, Rush, Glen Gould, Burton Cummings, Joni Mitchell, The Guess Who, Barenaked Ladies, Tragically Hip, Jane Siberry, Crash Test Dummies, Bachman Turner Overdrive, Daniel Lanois, Paul Anka, Shania Twain, Alanis Morissette, Bruce Cockburn, Gordon Lightfoot, Leonard Cohen, Loverboy, Paul Shaffer, Cowboy Junkies, Anne Murray, Peter Jennings (all Canadian), Anna Paquin, Naomi Watts, Elle Mcpherson, Mel Gibson, Cate Blanchett, Flea, Erroll Flynn, Heath Ledger, Hugh Jackman, Olivia Newton-John, Geoffrey Rush, Rick Springfield, Rachel Griffiths (all Aussie) and so on.....But you don't hear about anyone trying to deport them, do you?



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*"A Day Without Me" is actually about the suicide of Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis