RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY*






Saturday night's train got in late - around 9:45 - and then there was the queue for the prepaid rickshaw; for a single rupee they give you a fair fare (rs 21 to the Kaveri Lodge after dark - which is time-and-a-half and quite a good deal for the naive westerner, who on Friday morning, during daytime hours, paid Rs 20 to get to the railway station).

Then it was up at 3 for the 4:45 led primary series practice. It was raining on the way to the shala. The early group is quiet as they wait at the gate, in the wet darkness. Inside there was plenty of mat space, since the early group tends to have more advanced students, who do the led intermediate series class at 8. There was no "resting pose" at the end; Sharath just told us to go home and do it. And I couldn't help but think, no wonder there are so many unbalanced people here in Mysore (I'm a big believer in the idea that a long "Take rest" cures a variety of ills).

I met J for the last time this trip; since it was raining we avoided the unsheltered coconut stand and went for chai at Stand-Up Chats (Chats=Snacks), where they make fresh, wonderful snack and breakfast food that you order and pick up from the kitchen yourself, and then eat at a stand-up table. We chatted over chai at Chats for some time; I will miss her. J was here on my first trip in 2002 (it was her second) and she was the first westerner in Mysore to be kind to Bob and I - when she and Tony met us at the Kaveri Lodge and invited us to accompany them for chats at Krisna Prasad. This time, I had wada and iddly swimming in hot sambar (a watery, tamarind-tinged South Indian curry soup). Amazing.

After a bath and a nap (the daily ritual), I missed the alarm clock and drove through the rain to an 11AM concert at the shala. It was a flautist named Ravi Shankar, accompanied by an amazing tablas player and two female drone instrument players (tamboura? sitar?). It was a benefit for the Sri K Pattabhi Jois foundation (tickets were rs 200, or just over $2.25) and was utterly divine. They played a morning raga and an evening raga. I listened with eyes closed, and saw colors.

Next I exchanged some clothes at Loyal World. Apparently you are no longer allowed to return "undergarments" here - which includes bras and tank tops ("vests") - unless you dig in and make a fuss. A fuss was made, and then the exchange. I have been reading the book "The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna" and afterwards thought, "Is that how he would have acted?" Next time this must be kept in mind as the situation is happening, not after.





Feeling run-down, I ordered chana masala (chick pea curry) and jeera (cumin) rice at Veg Park, where I met K for lunch. She's smarter, and had the South Indian thali (meal) which was half the price and twice as good. But it felt like rice and beans were needed. Afterwards we went to her place (in Saraswati's house, across the street from the shala), where she deciphered the South Western Railway schedule. Despite asking at two counters at the Mysore railway station and twice again in Bangalore, everyone Suresh-the-driver and I spoke to said there was no train from Mysore to Whitefield or KR Nagar, which are close to QE's strange gated community in suburban Bangalore. After some study, K figured out that one could indeed get there rather easily by changing trains in Bangalore - thus saving over three hours of mini-van diesel fuel emission each way. Of course there will be some waiting at the station (which is still a novelty), but once the second train is boarded it will only take 30 minutes (vs 90) to get to QE's station.

After doing some writing at home, it was time for conference. It was raining again, rather hard, throughout the 20--minute ride to the shala, and again there was the thought, "Perhaps one should move closer to the shala" in strange suburban Gokulam. Sharath was on form despite having a bad cold.

He began with a prayer and went on to discuss everything from the goal of yoga (enlightenment) to correct posture (like Dharma, he says that a yogi should have a straight spine; have you ever seen Pattabhi Jois hunching his back, or pictures of Krishnamacharya like that? That is because they have correct bandhas, which you should do all the time, not just in class. Most people do not have correct bandhas. Karandavasana is easy if the bandhas are correct)

Some other highlights:

INSPIRATION
On days when the student is uninspired (or back home, after being in Mysore) and would prefer not to do asana practice, they should think that Guruji, Sharath and Saraswati are in the room with them. They should get used to doing it every day, like how we brush our teeth as soon as we get up. Without brushing the teeth, we cannot go out and talk to anyone. It is difficult to do this. Eighteen years ago, he got up and did not want to practice after just three hours of sleep. On that day you should push a little harder. That day will be the best practice of your life.

DAYS OFF AND FAITH
You should rest one day each week. You should not even stretch. In general, noother exercise should be done. Period. Because your body becomes very stiff if you do other exercise (funny, I was telling someone just last week that I rode a bicycle my first year here in Mysore, and it did not help my lower back and hamstrings - which is why I wouldn't do it again). Yoga is the opposite of other types of exercise. He got into the jogging craze when he was 17, and Eka Pada Sirsasana (a leg behind the head pose) and Kapotasana (the intense backbend I'm working on) were a struggle. He has struggled the whole time with his practice, especially since he had Rheumatic fever as a child - which affected his joints. "You have to keep struggling, because once you get [it], there is nothing like this." You should have dedication and faith in the practice. The guru can only do so much. It depends on the students' dedication to the practice, and faith.


ALIGNMENT
You do not need props. If you use them, you will be your whole lifetime using props. Guruji said you do an asana 1,000 times, then it becomes perfect. Life-long we have to do it, and it will come correctly. There are 100's and 100's of asanas.. In ashtanga we do 400-500. "I think that is enough for us to work on, in this lifetime."


WHAT IS YOGA
Even if you do all the asanas, it doesn't mean you're an important yogi. Asana is just one aspect of it. Yoga means to get enlightenment, to control the mind and sense organs. If someone pokes you with a pen, if you are controlled, you will not scream.....Enlightened men only think about God. They don't have any other thoughts or feelings or anything. It is easier to do this if one is not a householder (ie does not have a family).

Yoga means not just asana. It is the foundation. If you do asana, you will get good thoughts. But it is not just practice BUT READING BOOKS. PAST ENLIGHTENED PERSONS HAVE LEFT KNOWLEDGE. YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THEM, BUT FIND YOUR OWN WAY (emphasis here is mine, since I'm a huge fan of the book-reading, and this is the first time I've heard the AYRI recommending more than doing asana, thinking good thoughts and thinking god / being god).

Yoga is a lifetime study. It doesn't come at once. First the body and mind should get pure. IF the mind is not healthy, the body becomes healthy... try to think good. The main thing about yoga is to get purification to realize who we are.

The Inquisitor asked if a student could have a social life and become enlightened. "No. that is why yogis go to the Himalayas to meditate." That contained her - until she asked about Utpluthith (an arm balance that requires abdominal strength), and he suggested she may have some fat, which is why it can be difficult to access Uddyana Bandha (lower abdominal muscles). She was quite quiet after that.










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*One doesn't really want the rain to go away. The rain is important and necessary for crops and electricity. But now the dams are full; there have been landslides and people in Kodagu are flooded out and the farmers are beginning to lose their crops.

VISITING FRIENDS IN THE LAND OF RAJAS





Due to my new start time I was up at 3AM for Friday's 4:45AM led primary series practice. I was the seventh person to arrive at just after 4. It was dark. This group is much quieter than the 6:15AM group. I got a spot front and center. I did indeed feel that it was Day Six of practice. In fact I was so tired I nearly fell asleep in some poses - which could mean that I"m doing them correctly, since the definition of asana is "stira sukam asanam: - a steady, comfortable seat. I did not fall asleep during Utplithith. Afterwards S. gave each of us a form to fill out, telling us to bring it back on Sunday.

After coconuts with J, who leaves on Sunday, I went to chanting at the ashram and then to breakfast down the street at Nalpak. Chow-chow bath again. I also got a lentil and wada to go ("parcel") for the train trip. While waiting for the food I studied the menu; they open at 7 (quite early compared to other places), start serving lunch at 12 (the usual time is 1:30) and dinner at 4:30PM (most places make you wait til 7), which was very good news indeed. I also read the paper; the headlines refer to Pakistan's president, Pervez Musharraf, as "Mush."

After the bath and morning nap I found a riksha (and argued for some time over fare) and went to the railway station. The train to Bangalore, the Tipu Express, was waiting on Track 1. There were only eight people in the AC chair car.



During the 2.75-hour trip, vendors for coffee, chai ("choy!"), dosas, wada and badam (almond) milk came through the car. Chai is rs 5 (12 cents). Other highlights; the stainless steel squat toilet drains directly onto the tracks and is spotlessly clean.







Rural women toil alongside the men in the rice paddies. LIke Ginger Rogers doing everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels, these women do it all while wearing saris and flowers in their hair (and the go home and take care of the house / children while hubby has a beedie)...




Suresh-the-driver was there to meet me at the Bangalore railway station, which is just as busy as I remember it. After a 1.5 hour drive across town - which is way WAY WAAAAY more contested than it was just six years ago - we were in QE's disconcerting gated community, where they were checking the unknown cars with a metal detector. The community has Indian-style houses and native foliage, but reminds me of an upper middle class British suburb. Very strange. QE and baby Sanbate (by far the cutest toddler in the world) were in the window waiting for me. Their furniture is still in Dubai and is slated to arrive any day now - as is their internet service. QE fed me and I drank all their (filtered and boiled) water before we headed to The Club, which has countless swimming pools and restaurants and a health club and even a special room just for toddlers. It seems most of the people who live in this place are German, English and Indian. Many blonde children were there.

After H came home from his IT job, we hung out on the terrace before walking to The Club for a posh North Indian dinner, complete with live musical accompaniment. It was wonderful. Then back home for some special Mysore Pak and sleep.

Next day I awakened to friends and soy-chai and real sourdough toast with real butter, which was consumed on the terrace, while watching the baby and the cats and chatting and keeping an eye on the street below (the cats are 14 years old and survived the 24-plus hour plan trip from Ohio, sans drugs, in coach except for the last leg of the trip). It was heaven.

Then Suresh drove us 1.5 hours to a massive Bangalore mall, where they wand you before you can enter. As I held up my arms,I remembered that Bangalore had been hit with a dozen bomb blasts just two weeks ago (they were delivered by terrorists on bicycles, and detonated with cell phones). After being waved through we started at the food court, where the grub was good but you could not find a cup of local chai to save your life (yet there was a Gloria Jean’s coffee shop). Then it was time for shopping (QE and H arrived last week, but all their worldly possessions are in Dubai and they need some things to tide them over). The lights, the colors, the sounds, the frenzy – the mall was the land of Rajas, or activity (BTW, the dressing rooms are called "trial rooms" - and the queue to get in was loooooooooong). It was all very draining, and by the time we left we were all quite happy to go; how nice it is to have a driver. Then we spent the next hour or so crossing Bangalore again, to get to the railway station where we said a sad goodbye. Hopefully the next visit will be a bit longer.

THE MYSORE MAGIC




I went again today to hear the chanting at the ashram before class.

When I arrived at the shala, Saraswati was on the steps, taking a breather. "Five minutes rest," she explained. "Only five minutes?" I asked. She works too hard - especially when you consider that she is nearly 67.

There were even fewer students in the waiting area, which means that people are leaving Mysore in droves, and those that remain are being given earlier starting times.

A guy who arrived on the same day and I were told to start coming at 6AM for self-practice, and at 4:45 for tomorrow's led primary series class.

There goes my social life.

There goes the chanting (although I can go after led practice days).

Actually I'm pleased. I prefer to practice early, eat, wash my clothes and take a morning nap before lunch.

I'm just generally pleased. While waiting to go into the shala, I caught of glimpse of Sharath's young son - who is too sweet. I was in the back of the lobby, waiting for the mat-space politics to play themselves out, when S told me to move closer to the door and go next. "No hiding," he said, and we all laughed.

During practice I worked hard in upward-facing dog, to open the middle back, and Warrior 1 and Prasarita C and Marichyasana A and C (hands off the back, arms straight) to open the shoulders. I also tried to use downward-facing dog to loosen the upper back, by moving the head towards the floor.

I held the backbends that come before Kapotasana a little longer than usual, and worked hard and each of them.

It paid off. On my second solo attempt at Kapotasana, my right fingertips touched something soft and strange. Then the left fingertips experienced a similar sensation. I was touching my toes! Without help. For the first time ever.

Then I heard Sharath: "Straight arms." And I did it, and he got the hands almost to the heels. Almost.

After coming up, I smiled broadly and told him "First time catching toes." There was no sensation in either arm.

S. said something like, "You take feet."

Coming, I said.

Because here, sometimes, anything seems possible.




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There probably won't be any post for a couple of days, since I'll be at QE's villa in India's IT capital, Bangalore - which, strangely, is not yet wired for the internet

TWO CAVITIES, NO NOVICAINE




Before practice this morning I went to hear the 7AM chanting at the Ramakrishna ashram.

Everyone was already chanting when I arrived; the ashram members in front, all in white, on a large purple cotton rug, facing the altar. The man in the middle was leading the chant and playing the harmonium.

A few civilian men were on the purple rug further back, on the right. The women were on the left. Everyone was following a book. When I asked about it, a young woman said, "It is in Sanskrit." Oops. So I took a seat with the woman, moved my lips and pretended.

The chanting ended just before 7:20. I stayed awhile longer and then went to the shala. There were fewer people in the entryway, and by 8:20 shala time (ie; 8:07) I had a spot in the back row. I was moved closer to the front later, by Sharath - just a few second before his mother told another student to go to the same place. I got there first.

But Saraswati got to me first in Kapotasana. Her adjustment was the more common one, where the hands are pulled closer to the feet. They touched the toes for a bit, and then jumped off. Oh, well. She also helped me in bacbkends. (BTW, standing up from BB is easier after Kapotasana - once you catch your breath and the heart slows down. So I've been standing up on the third one).

After two coconuts - one all juice, one with a little bit of gungy, or meat - I picked up a Deccan Herald and went to Green Leaf. I ordered kesari bath (a sweet saffron semolina dish with raisins and nuts) and kara bath (a savory semolina, or uppma). The waiter said, "Chow chow bath?" and I said no, kesari and kara bath only. Later I learned from Jammu that when you order both, it's called Chow Chow Bath. The things you learn your fifth time here.....

While speaking to Jammu on the phone a man in mustache and white dress shirt interrupted with, "Madam. Madam!" I told him I was on the phone, please do not interrupt. When I was putting away the phone, he returned and asked, "You are Kannada bhajan singer? Ganapa, Krisna singer, you?" I was like, What? "On TV I have seen, you singing Kannada devotional songs." Thank you, but no you haven't. Later, Jammu said, "I haven't heard THAT pickup line before."

Then I went to the railway station to buy a train schedule (Rs 35, or just under $1, it is the size of a pre-wireless phone book) and purchase a ticket to Bangalore for this weekend. I decided to get a reserved ticket, since it was nearly as cheap as unreserved and, well, you're guaranteed a seat. I figured I could go in the cattle car and if it got too crazy I could go to the assigned seat.

First, though, I had to find the special office.

Then I had to fill out a form. The posted train schedule tells you what time the train arrives from Bangalore, but not when it leaves. It tells you when the train to Bangalore leaves Mysore, but not when it arrives. I did the best I could.

Then I got in the queue.

It was long. People sat in several rows of chairs, and when someone went up to the window, everyone shifted seats. It was like some strange volleyball rotation.

Only it was not moving.

I eyed the shorter queue for credit cards and senior citizens. I headed over.

The man in front of me, a Christian from Kerala, helped me figure out which train I wanted. Then he told me to go and get another form, for the return ticket. I'd forgotten how much they like forms here. I filled it the second one. And waited. And waited. The man in front of me looked over my form, and asked me what type of seat I wanted. "Just reserved," I said. "Put AC chair," he said. So I wrote AC chair.

When I finally got to the head of the line, I was stunned by the price: Rs 450 for a round-trip ticket to Bangalore, three hours away. The unreserved seats would have been around Rs 70 (nearly $2). I felt mightily ripped off. Until I translated it into US currency (about $12).

After taking a quick bath and hanging out my wet yoga clothes, I visited Dr. Shetty the dentist. Apparently I have two new cavities, which she drilled (no novicaine) and filled on the spot. That, plus the cleaning, took only 30 minutes and cost Rs 1200 (just over $25).

I asked her to look over the filling done recently by my US dentist (Rs 7,000, or $168), which has been paining me. She said it was OK but the gum is receding and the root is exposed and there's nothing they can do. She agreed with his recommendation to use a sensitive-teeth toothpaste and a special rinse, and added that I should massage the gum each and every day.

Then it was on to another amazing lunch at Shaila's house in Gokulam. Her food is too good.

Later Ammu picked me in the car, and we drove to a temple near the bird sanctuary "for some peace." But the temple, which is on the Kaveri River, was closed. So we sat and watched the water for some time, and explored the area. People were washing dishes and taking ritual baths in the river, which was swollen and moving rather quickly. It hasn't rained here lately; the water was from upriver, in Madikieri. A man and his wife rode up on a motorcycle; she dipped her feet in and left, while he stripped down to his underwear and jumped in, splashing like crazy as he washed himself and his helmet.

In an attempt to get to some steps on the river, Ammu knocked on a door that seemed to lead to them. But it was some man's house. We apologized for disturbing him, but he insisted on letting us in; on the other side was the river, and he was having his dinner on the steps. There was a plaque in Kannada on a little island; I asked Ammu what it said. The said that some of Mahatama Gandhi's ashes are scattered there.

I also learned that this dilapidated little village sits on top of a gold mine, and that no one can dig there without the police looking over their shoulder. It is very busy during the upcoming Ganesh festival, since it is one of the only places where you can legally submerge your clay deity in the water.

While leaving, Ammu accidentally impaled the car on a cement spike. It was stuck. As he tried to get it out, every single passerby stopped what they were doing and helped push out the car.

That's what I came to India for.

PRASAD FOR DINNER



I guess K and i won't be going to the Balaji temple over the next moon day weekend after all. After doing some research last night, we learned that all of the train tickets are sold out. I'm not one for spending 12 hours on a bus, so we'll wait until the upcoming Ganesh festival. "No one will travel at that time," Harini says. No one except crazy westerners, that is. In the middle of my conversation with Harini, there was some load shedding (ie the power went out) and the discussion took place over candlelight. That's what I came to India for.

Afterwards Ammu drove us in his car - which is really difficult to maneuver in Mysore and makes no sense to drive unless it's pouring rain (which it wasn't) to Shipilstri, the rooftop restaurant in the city center. The corrugated metal steps are more rickety than ever.

Notice the handy dung-guard on the flip-flops. This also makes it difficult for locals to discern whether the wearer is single, married, or a working girl by camouflaging the second toe, where rings are worn. Zero toe rings = single, One on each second toe = married, One on one second toe = prostitute. Apparently there are several prostitutes practicing at the shala.

But now they have a new elevated area above the old rooftop (where Bob and I dined on our first night in Mysore in January, 2002 - and noticed that every group of diners had a copy of Lonely Planet: India with them). The steps were concrete, and the air was cool. We haven't had much rain this week, and the cool, sunny weather makes it feel like January. Which reminds me - if you're planning to come to Mysore this winter, send your application NOW. Word is that they're already full-up.

Practice this morning was sweaty. When it came time for Kapotasana, Sharath was right on me. Again I tried to straighten the arms, as again he tried to put the hands closer to the heels. This time I realized that i can use the fingers to get a better grip on the foot, so the hand doesn't slip. Afterwards I did three backbends and stood up, did three dropbacks and then mopped off some of the sweat so I didn't drench the teacher during the assisted finale. First Saraswati was there.

Sharath arrived one second later and shooed her away. I was glad. I adore Saraswati, but it's Sharath who's been on me about backbends (and everything else) since the old shala, when over four months he got me to drop back on my own (couldn't come up yet, much to our great disappointment) and touch my left heel during the "walk! walk!" segment of backbending. I stood up from backbend for the first time in the new shala, in 2004 (granted it was after three weeks in Kovalam, and LIno was practicing right next to me when I did it. But it was Sharath whom I was doing it for).

After two coconuts Krista (Ashtanga Yogini blog) rode up on her bike, and we went to Tina's new place. Kimberly is right; it's exactly like the old place - same layout, only bigger - and it's like being in a dream. The coconut dosa and masala chai were also quite dreamlike. I also met Elisa (Mysore Musings blog) and ran into J and S, who leave on Sunday (much to my great disappointment).

Mysore bloggers CK, Krista and Elise

Mysore bloggers Ursula and CK at Green Leaf (where we were both still suffering from jet-lag)

Afterwards it was time for a sit at the Ramakrishna Ashram, which is a stone's throw from Gokulam. I was about to leave, when a man said, "Wait five minutes. You take prasad." Thirty seconds later a priest or sanyassi appeared with a bowl of fruit. People pulled out plastic covers (bags) and lined up. I simply held out my hands, right palm over left, and he shoveled bananas and some jackruit into it. I found a bag, and put it away for later.

Then it was on to the railway station to inquire about taking the train to Bangalore to see Queen E. on Friday. I didn't feel like filling out a form for a reserved seat, so I'll come back tomorrow and buy a general admission one. This can be iffy -I've been one of a dozen sweaty people in seats for six - but it'll be an adventure if nothing else.

Later I went to see Sachin, the greatest maker of woman's dresses in South India. I wanted him to stitch the two-top, one-bottom, one-duppata ensemble I found at the Andra Exhibition-cum-Sale yesterday. As he was taking my measurements he said, "You have lost some several kilos since last year." Now that's what I came to India for.

The plan was to meet A. for lunch. He's the old-old night manager from the hotel. My second night in Mysore, after Bob moved out of the hotel, I became so ill I could barely make it down the stairs. I was in pajamas and socks slipped into flip-flops. When I made it to the ground floor, I nearly fainted. They sat me down and brought a bucket. I put my head between my kees. A. got on the phone and started calling down for a "Lady doctor who speaks English." All of them required rickshaw rides. "No rickshaw!" I said, lifting up my head for a few horrible seconds. A man from Texas said there was an ayurvedic doctor in his room at that very moment, treating his wife. "Go in," he said. So, holding the wall, I made my way down the hall to the room and knocked. The wife was not at all happy to see me, and would not let me in. "I don't want to get what you have," she barked. So the doctor came out. He took one look at my eyes and said, "You need western doctor."

Finally A. found one that didn't require a rickshaw ride. "Just five minutes walking," he said. "Yeah right," I replied. But it really was just five minutes walking - with him on one side, making sure I didn't fall down, and another man on the other. I didn't have any money, so they paid for me. Then it was across the street to the pharmacy, where there was a problem with the prescription. A. ran back to the doctor to find out about a substitution, and then returned to pay for the prescription and help me back to the lodge. It felt wonderful to be so well taken care of. Which is why I still stay at the Kaveri Lodge.

Anyway A. now has a car and a moustache and a wife and a son. He and I caught up over thali meals at Shiva Prasad, where we ran into his Swami - who pointed at my neck and said, "Krishna." I thought he was referring to my pendant, and said, "Om." Later I realized he was referring to my tulsi (sacred basil leaf) mala, which is worn by followers of Krishna.

Afterwards A said "Where do you want to go?" and drove to the bird sanctuary, which is incredibly peaceful.






But the water level is so high you cannot take boats out on the lake. He said he will pray for a suitable partner for me. Everyone here seems to be concerned about either my weight or martial status or both. It's almost like having parents again - parents who care.

After resting and chai and laundry I visited the Vankateshwara temple behind the hotel ("backside"). It was nearly empty; just a few ladies and the sound of some girls learning bhajans. The priest served me along with everyone else, and I was grateful; light, holy water, and then, finally, flowers and prasad (a banana). Afterwards I sat for a bit, and noticed him trying to replace a tube light in back.



Later I had all of the prasad for dinner. I'm not sure if it's RC (religiously correct), but it was exactly the right thing at the right time.

S. TORE ME A NEW ONE

Actually, he didn't tear anything. He just made it move.

And it wasn't the arse (the triphala is taking care of that).

It was the shoulders and upper back.

Let me explain.

Yesterday completed my first week at the shala. When we arrive, we do only primary series for a week. So today - Day One of Week Two - was the first day I added the few intermediate poses that I do.

Last year, I left off at Kapotasana, an intense kneeling backbend where the forehead is on the floor and the hands are meant to clasp the heels. It requires open shoulders and upper back.

My hands have yet to touch the feet without help.

Today it did the pose twice on my own (in my home practice, I do it three times; usually the first two tries are hell, and the third feels like heaven - even
if the hands aren't anywhere near the feet)

Today, the third time down, I sensed Sharath's presence at the front of the mat.

He grabbed my right hand, and told someone to straighten their arms.

I thought he was talking to the person next to me (Sharath is very good at keeping an eye on everything happening in the shala and policing the waiting area, even as he gives expert adjustments). I'd never heard of straightening the arms in a Kapotasana adjustment.

But he said it again, more firmly, and I realized he was talking to me. So I tried to straighten my arms.

Next thing I knew, he hand my hands on my feet.

He said again, to straighten my arms, and again I tried to do it. One at a time, he pulled the hands nearly to my heels. The pads of my feet were strangely soft.

After completing Part B, I came up and looked at him and said, "Wow!"

And he said something like, "Now stretching."

Indeed. Parts of the body that haven't moved since birth are now waking up.

Then I slapped my left arm a few times. It was numb.

And I thought, This is what I came to Mysore for.






OTHER HIGHLIGHTS:

Today while walking towards the shala gate I had the most pleasant surprise. I saw "Road to Mysore" Joey, waiting outside. He'd just arrived, which is wonderful news.

After breakfast at Chakra House - where Ravi and Rajesh shared some of their breakfast, kara bath, with me - I picked up some adaptors for QE at Loyal World and then visited the temple at the Ramakrishna Ashram. It is too peaceful; there is no pushing and shoving and rajas - just quiet contemplation. It feels like home.

Which reminds me. I always like to stay at the Kaveri Lodge and ride the scooter 6km to the shala. But now I'm finally figuring out why it might be good to live in expensive, suburban Gokulam. You can walk to the shala, regardless of the weather. You can walk to everything you need. You can take an evening stroll in peace. You can spend less time running around in circles. You can be as social or reclusive as you want. It makes sense now.

I forgot to call Three Sisters about coming to lunch today, but they let K and I come anyway. Lucky me; Kimberly was there (It's her last day in Mysore), telling stories about Guruji (who told her today to come to the new shala in Florida in November). Zoe and others were also there, and it was like olden times; every seat was taken. Many stories were told, and food was eaten, and more food was brought out, and more chappati, and more vegetables, and more stories were told, and a box was opened, and it was wonderful.

THAT PETROL EMOTION / BRUSHING MY TEETH WITH KAMAL HASSAN







At 2:30AM I was awakened by some chanting blasting form the loudspeakers at a nearby temple.

I awakened again at 4 to the alarm; time to get up and get ready for led primary series practice at 6:15 shala time.

I put the heating coil into a glass of purified water and turned on the TV.

Bad decision.

They were showing a classic Kamal Hassan film on the Tamil TV station.

I couldn't turn away. He is a great actor – and a handsome actor – and hence a great distraction from the path of brahmacharya. (Bindi turned me onto him in 2004). As they would say here, He is too handsome.


Fortunately his fillum ended at 4:30 - just as I was brushing my teeth - which gave me plenty of time to do a little sit before going to the shala.

As I was turning off of the Gokulam main road, I saw a woman scurrying - running - towards a nearby house. Where had she come from? And where was she going in such a hurry? She certainly didn't look like a maid. And it was so dark outside.

I was the fourth person to arrive at the shala; I staked out a spot on the stairs and proceeded to sit still for the next 30 minutes.

During the middle of it, I heard the most beautiful bhajans (devotional singing), which sounded like it was coming from a procession going down the street. Perhaps that's where the woman had been going.

Once inside the shala, I put my freshly-washed mat in the front-and-center spot. There wasn't time to go to the bathroom before class (the line was too long), plus I was constipated. The goal was simply to make it through class without leaving, FAH-ting or crying. Fortitude and all that - like we learned at Dharma's.

Before we started, Sharath spent some time rearranging the chairs on the stage. Then he led the opening chant. As soon as he finished, Saraswati stepped up and began leading the class. She sat down on Guruji's throne, just inches from my mat.

Her count was more consistent than it had been in Florida. Steady and slow. Still, there was very little sweat.

At Marichyasana D, she got off the stage to help people, and Sharath also appeared and gave some adjustments. I did not see Guruji.

By Navasana, the body felt like its old self, and the full bladder and coolon were no longer in the forefront.

During Utplutith (a long arm balance that requires a lot of strength) Saraswati went around the room, encouraging people to "Lift up, lift up," just as her father does. Then she got back on stage. "Backside is cheating," she said.

("Backside" is one of my favorite expressions here; it seems to mean "rear" or "in back." On Friday when I was confirming the location of the bathroom, the man pointed and said, "Backside." Indeed).

After about four seconds of "Take Rest" pose, Saraswati said, "Sorry, you go home. Next class starting," and that was that.

After two coconuts, I went back inside to watch the intermediate series class. I wanted to make sure I'm doing (and teaching) the correct vinyasa. It seems I'm about 97 percent on the mark.

On the way out of Gokulam I stopped at the Ganesh temple. The priest more or less ignored me; there was holy water and aarti for everyone but the sweaty westerner. I tried not to take it personally.

During breakfast at Green Leaf I finally saw some familiar faces - including the gentleman who reads the newspaper over my shoulder and asked me to give him a gift before I left Mysore last year (instead, I simply stopped going to the restaurant).

On the way home I stopped at the Ramakrishna ashram. Then it was back home for a bath and morning nap. After lunch at Shiva Prasad (I still don't know what American Chopsy is), I spent some time a the browsing center and then headed back to Gokulam for conference.

This time, a couple of psychiatrists who work with children with learning disabilities spoke about their work. Their group receives funds from Guruji's charitable trust.

Midway through their talk, Guruji himself came out and starting moving towards his big chair. He was rather spry, and moving fairly quickly. After sitting, he looked out over the group and smiled. I kept sneaking glances at him and doing the guru mantra in my head – and smiling.

Later we were able to go up to him and pay our respects. THIS is what I came to Mysore for.

When it was my turn, I said "Tumba santosha," which means something like "I"m so happy."

He seemed to recognize me. "Your birthday?" he asked.


"Last week" I said. "26 July. Same as you. Same-same."

(NOTE: Guruji was born 26 July 1915, a full moon day or Guru Purnima. Caca was born on a non-auspicious 26 July. For those keeping score, David Roche shares a birthday with TVS Krishnamacharya)


Guruji smiled widely. "Oh, good good," he replied.

I was smiling so hard my face hurt.


***





* * *


After dosas at Gokul chats and cake at Cubs with Ursula (and a brief chat with J and S on Gokulam main road), I decided to stop and get petrol, or gas, at the 24-hour petrol bunk across from the Hotel Metropole (aka the "Petropole Bunk").

To open to the gas cap, you must get off the scooter and lift the seat.

This area under the seat also serves as storage, and is where I keep the orange rain poncho, orange yoga mat, and papers for the scooter.

The gas station attended wasn't very attentive. He didn't just overfill the tank - he sprayed gas all over, dousing the poncho and yoga mat.

It was almost like he was aiming for them.

To add insult to injury, he shrugged unapologetically when I showed him the doused items, as if to say "Yeah? So?"

“Jasti doo-doo,” I scolded, pointing towards the poncho and mat. “Very bad. Ruined.”

Strangely, I wasn't angry - just annoyed. For some reason I wasn't taking it personally. This is a new one for me.

The man made a halfhearted attempt to wipe off the poncho.

And then he proceeded to try to overcharge me.

At least he failed at that.


***


There's no way I can practice on a gas-stinking mat tomorrow. I tried to wash it when I got home - it takes a full day to dry - but could not get the petrol stench to come out. So I tried to air out the backup mat, which has been on mothballs for the last year. It too has a terrible stench, and is giving me a sore throat at this very moment.

Petrol or mothballs, that is the choice.

Either way it'll be an interesting practice tomorrow.



***


Later I was reading a story in The Gospel of Ramakrishna, about a snake that met a satguru, who told him how to behave in order to reach enlightenment. He was told to remember God always, and to not harm anyone. So when some boys came and caught him and beat him, he did nothing. They beat him nearly to death. He somehow survived, and subsisted on weeds and other plants for a year. When the satguru met him again, he was barely alive. “What happened?” he asked. The snake said he’d been subsisting on a vegetarian diet. But the satguru persisted, “Something must have happened to you.” The snake scrolled through its memory, until it recalled the incident with the boys. The satguru was disappointed. “I told you not to harm anyone,” he agreed. “But why didn’t you hiss in order to protect yourself?”

I thought that was very important to remember - that it’s OK to speak up and protect yourself, as long as you don’t hurt anyone. So perhaps my mild scolding if the petrol bunk (in)attendant was OK after all.

AMERICAN CHOPSY







There was a lot of hunger after Friday's big trip to Bylakuppe, so I stopped at Nalpak restaurant on the way home from Gokulam. It was around 4:30PM, which is considered between-meals here (lunch is at 1:30 and dinner is from 7 onwards). Usually you can get South Indian chats or snacks, such as dosas, at any time of day. But Nalpak was closed and the gate was locked, which is unusual. In fact, the streets were quite deserted. I am always on the lookout for cops these days, and didn't see a single white cowboy hat as I drove towards home.

I decided to stop at the hotel formerly known as the Southern Star. During my first couple of trips here, I didn't know how to find between-meals food in my neighborhood, and suffered the consequences (hunger, crabbiness and depression). But sometime around Trip Number Three, I realized you can get a grilled cheese at any time of day at the Southern Star (now called The Regalis, it's in the process of expanding next door). I freshened up in the (lovely) bathroom before sitting down in the posh dining room, where only one other table was occupied. Sure enough, toasted cheese with lady fingers was on the "snack" menu. I decided to splurge and have a fresh lime soda with it.

While waiting.... And waiting.... And waiting for the food. I read the Mysore MIttra, or Star of Mysore newspaper (there's a link to it on the right). The headline was about the solar eclipse taking place that day, starting at 4:45PM. No wonder the streets were deserted. No wonder Bylakuppe was half-empty. No wonder everything was clos-ed.

According to this website:


It is suggested that the inauspicious period actually begins about four praharas before a solar eclipse and three praharas before a lunar eclipse, (prahara being the unit of time equivalent to one-eighth of a day). Since food prepared during this period is not supposed to be consumed at any time, Hindus generally observe a fast. The water, clothes, food grains, etc., are sprinkled with the sacred tulasi leaves. People take a bath as soon as the eclipse begins and also perform rituals like tarpana, sraddha, homa, prarthana and give donations. After the eclipse is over, one is suppose to take a bath once again. To erase the unholy shadow of Rahu that has fallen on one and all and avoid its ill-effects, another bath is prescribed after the eclipse is over. However, married women are not allowed to wash their hair.









The Southern Star has moved the dessert case from downstairs to right in front of the restaurant, and it was impossible not to pick up a piece of chocolate cake on the way out (Rs 45, or just over $1). Back home I called Queen E, who is now in Bangalore for the long haul (3 years). Everything there was closed too. She seemed to be in good spirits. Then I ate the cake while watching the beginning of Mr. Holland's Opus. Yawn. I fell asleep partway through, and awakened again just long enough to clean up and turn on the ceiling fan (I was too tired to place the mosquito net around the bed, and the fan is just as effective).

I awakened to the sound of the phone ringing at 8AM; it was Dreyfus (not Mr. Holland or the thespian but my brother, who looks just like the actor Richard Dreyfuss), with all of the latest news (he's finally reinstated his Skype account). After bathing and doing laundry and sitting, I took the scooter the internet cafe and then to Gokulam, where I ran into K. We went to lunch at Shaila's, an Indian woman who cooks lunch in her home (and offers classes) for westerners. It was delightful (although the inquisitor from last Sunday's conference wanted to know why I was "so dressed up," asking, "Are you going somewhere special?" I didn't have the energy to explain that it's only the westerners in Mysore who dress like slobs, not the locals - and that I identify with the latter).

Afterwards we had chai at Chakra House with Ursula, who has a really cute place (with its own balcony) just up the street form the shala. Then K and I went looking for the Krishna temple, we found it, but it was closed. I dropped her off and drove over to the coconut family. The younger sister was with the baby, who is (duh) a year older and much, much bigger – and is learning to walk. Sneha is sooo cute; she kept clapping, and so did I. After chai and some gesturing (and some drunk guys trying to engage me in conversation until the sister chased them off), I went home.

After dropping off some things I went to the Venkateswara temple directly behind the Kaveri Lodge. It was prime time (apparently it is bad to go to the temple at 5PM, good to later, because evening has ended and night is beginning), and I missed aarti (where the priest waves the flame around the deity and then offers it to the worshippers) the first time around. While waiting for the next one I ran into Deepak (who works at Chakra House), which was a nice surprise.

Apparently there's a festival every Saturday this month; on the way out they gave us a large cup of sweet rice prasad (blessed food), which was very tasty indeed. But I was still hungry, and took the scooter to Shiva Prasad restaurant. I was there two years ago for a soda with the Indian woman down the hall, and haven't been back. They were nice to me even though I was a westerner and by myself (not like Mahesh Prasad, where they act as if you're the antichrist in a salwaar). Among the items on the menu was "American Chopsy." I decided to go for the rava idly, which was more than enough and came on a banana leaf.

And now I feel like the fattest person in the world. If only I'd thought to bring the pineapple corer with me, maybe I could stick with a mostly-live diet.... Oh, well.

But I pity da fool who's next to me on the plane ride home.

BYLAKUPPE






On Friday, the moon day, I awakened with some loose motions - which was a relief, since not much had moved since I'd taken the pharmacist's special tablets.

After some sitting I met J and S at Anu's, where our car was waiting to take us to the Tibetan settlement, Bylakuppe. This settlement of refugees from Tibet has at least three major temples (including the stunning Golden Temple) as well as some monasteries and universities.



In the past, the drive along "puncher (puncture) road," has taken up to three hours. But they've since re-paved the entire thing, and it only took a reasonable 1.5 hours - complete with honking, speed bumps, darting cows, passing busses on curves, villages made of mud and of course thumping Bollywood salsa music.




I've been to Bylakuppe two or three times, but this was far the best. It wasn't a weekend, which meant there were very few visitors.




And I was with sattvic (calm/peaceful/pure) people - which meant we were able to sit for some time and soak up the devotional ambience. The first time I was Sean, who was cool, and a pair of arguing Spaniards - one of whom wanted to leave as soon as we got there (as did the driver, who kept pressuring us to leave), and the other of whom wanted only to go shopping). We got a flat tire ("puncher") on the way out. The second time I went with Ammu, on his motorcycle, the day after I arrived in Mysore. On the way out we got a puncher. Or was it two punchers? I think for the second one I Ammu drove while I had to take a bus back to the nearest village, where I was surrounded by locals who peppered me with questions in rapidfire Kannada. That was the trip where I stepped on a human turd. This time, I knew to use the pay toilet - where I saw this sign:



This time, we visited three temples, going from smallest to biggest. At the middle one, there were two monks still chanting to themselves and doing japa or prayer beads (which they were doing with the LEFT hand. Apparently they don't subscribe to the left=dirty, right=clean idea of cleanliness). It looked as though they'd also just eaten, too; along with watches and prayer scrolls and malas (beads), there were empty mugs, pieces of bread and food crumbs.




After milling about and taking pictures, J. asked if we could sit; it was, and we did, and it was wonderful.

Beck-the-coconut-wallah. Coconuts were Rs 4 or 5 on my first trip. Now they're Rs 10, or about a quarter

TOP TO BOTTOM

I took the pharmacist's magic tablets yesterday - the brown one and the yellow one, after lunch and dinner - and felt bloated and stopped up. I drank the rehydration salts and gallons of water. But when I got up at 4 this morning the urine was amber in color, which was rather alarming. After some hot lemon water and a brief sit, I went through the pitch dark morning to the shala - where there were to be two led primary series classes, since Friday is a moon day.

When I arrived the first session (4:45AM shala time) was already in progress. Apparently I was the first 6AM person to arrive; No one else was around, and the first batch was only on Uttitha Hasta Padangusthasana. I'm so used to Guruji's fast count ("The Guruji Express") that it didn't occur to me to come later. Since the lobby / waiting room was full of people practicing - it was a full house - I parked my bottom on the top of the steps, in front of the door. The situation was conducive to a nice sit, and I took full advantage of it. As more students arrived, they began to chat and chat and chat. But I did not shussh.

When we finally went in, I parked my mat front and center, just a few feet from Sharath on the stage. His count was as slow as I remember it, if not slower, and the body was a bit weak from the stomach problem and/or the mystery drugs taken to alleviate it. I did not recognize a single person in my batch, by the way. Either the place is full of newbies, or I'm out of the loop. Anyway Sharath's count became even more slow during poses such as Navasana, which no one likes because it requires a lot of strength. Of course he made a joke during the final one, referring to tomorrow's moon day (there's no class on the new and full moon) followed by the Saturday (the weekly day off): "You can do it. Two days off you can rest."

Sharath did part of the class while sitting in a small chair behind Guruji's thronelike chair in the center of the stage. It was oddly symbolic; the empty chair, the small one behind it. Then his daughter Shradda came in, hugged him, and plopped herself in the throne chair. She then picked up a spray bottle of water (used for a pose called Garba Pindasana) and proceeded to aim it at the students in the front row. But she did not shoot.

Near the end of class, Sharath poked his head out the front door and shusshed the people making noise outside, and I felt somewhat vindicated. "Copy the teacher," Dharma always says.

After class and two coconuts, KU and I did some research on the Balaji temple in Andra Pradesh (can you believe it - Saraswati's house now has wireless internet!) before going to breakfast at Vivian's, which is across the street from the shala and is run by a woman who lives here with her two children. You haven't lived until you've had grilled cheese on ragi toast and masala chai there after one of Sharath's led classes. The vibe was very mellow, like at Chakra House.

On the way home I stoped Subbu's beauty parlor to see if they could fit me in for eyebrow threading and a pedicure. The woman said, "In one half hour we open. You wait," and gestured towards a chair. I sat, and prepared to wait. Exactly two minutes later she returned and said, "Come," and lead me to the threading chair - where she proceeded to remove 3/4 of my eyebrows. This was my first threading experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It's far less jarring (and painful) than waxing - and requires much greater skill. The threader-cum-manicurist has a BA in GPS (not sure what that is) and is from Coorg, the land of rain, hills, coffee plantations and the mouth of the Kavery River.

After a warm bucket bath, I washed all of the clothes I could find, and hung them on the line. For some reason it only drizzed once today, which means everything is fairly dry and I'm finally caught up on laundry. I hung it out just before visiting the pharmacist to give him the thumb's up. Then S, J and I went to Sandhya's for lunch. Her place is near the old shala, in Lakshmipuram, and the food is AMAZING. I'd looked at rooms to rent there in 2002 and was so freaked out by them (they were dark, small, scary) that I never went back to eat there. Wow, it was good. And again the vibe was laid back; the others at the table were all very mellow, and I learned from a pair of Indians how to put a line of jaggery and ghee in the middle of a chapatti, roll it up and eat it for dessert. Wonderful.

Sated, we walked around Lakshmipuram, taking pictures and catching up.

The famous Double Tanks, on double-tank road.

The old shala is stll there, looking fairly abandoned (although Lakshmish-the-pujari-cum-Sanskrit teacher and his wife live there).

and we saw a traffic cop get a guy for not wearing his helmet (he had perfect hair, and it was locked to the seat of his scooter). The cop was standing at the traffic light. He walked over, said something, and in one quick movement pulled the key from the ignition and told the guy to pull over to the side of the road. Busted! It turns out that S. too has gotten a ticket for not having an international DL - which can be had for just $15 from Triple A.

This is the park we used to walk through to get from the Kaveri Lodge to the old shala. Notice the new (lack of) eyebrows.

There is nothing better, by the way, than enjoying a cool foot wash after a walk around the old neighborhood.

Later, Ammu and I went up to the temple on Chamumdi Hill. This time, we had darshan (a viewing of the deity). And it was amazing.

MYSORE DAY 5: CHITTA VRITTI*

I was resting nicely yesterday evening when Ammu called and asked if I wanted to see the footage for his documentary about his local ashtanga teacher, BNS Iyengar (who is not to be confused with the famous Pune-based props-and-alignment "Light on Yoga" BKS Iyengar. Both Iyengars were students of TVS Krishnamacharya (also Pattabhi Jois's teacher) as well as relatives of his. Iyengar is a common Brahmin name in South India, and many of them seem to own bakeries that bear their name).

Anyway BNS Iyengar , the ashtanga one, was also a student of Pattabhi Jois for six months before leaving and teaching on his own (he teaches at the temple where Krishnamacharya used to teach). It was interesting to see the similarities and differences in his approach; he does teach Malasana before Pasasana in the second series (rumor has it that it used to be taught this way and was somehow deleted), and in his Marichyasana B and D the left side is done first. When he helps students to stand up from backbend, he simply grabs their right hand, which they hold up towards him. It seems to put very little pressure on his back. But it also seems like it can result
in a sort of spinal twist for the student.

After I got home and went to bed, the men down the hall decided to start a chat-cum-shout fest. This was at about 10:30PM. So I stuck my head out the door and let out a long, loud "shush," which worked for about five minutes. Then they started up again even louder. Finally I padded down the hall, stuck my head in the door and put the index finger to my lips and said, "shussh - sleeping." They did the head-bobble.

Fifteen minutes later the noise started up again, got louder, and did not subside. So I went down the hall, and started to close their door. The man closest to it stopped me and made a "just a minute" motion; apparently he was about to leave. I panomimed "Please knock it off, I'm trying to sleep,' and they seemed to get it.... Until about 2AM, when they all started up again in the loud voices. This time I no longer had patience. This time I yelled out the window near the ceiling (which opens into the hallway), in a loud, clear voice that startled even me, "SHUUUUT. UUUUUUUUUP!" It worked. But it wasn't very yogic.

This morning the stomach was again up in arms, gurgling and being annoying even after the lemon water. Again there were a few eggy loose motions and a lot of gas. The urine was quite yellow. Nonetheless the pre-asana practice sitting practice was quite good.

The sun began to shine as I rode to the shala. The waiting room / lobby was crowded. I only did one shush - to some people who were having a long conversation in a normal tone of voice. The stomach was upset, the body felt weak and I considered leaving (in other words, I was not up to policing the lobby today). Instead I tried to teach myself the mantra for Aarti. At one point a woman sat down next to me on the bench and asked if she should open the window. "Yesterday I was closing it and they told me to keep it open," she explained in a foreign accent. "I think you should leave it alone, and let them decide what to do," I said. She nodded, and then proceeded to open the window.

The stomach was so annoying I considered leaving, but then decided to wait and see what happened on the mat. After a few sun salutations the body felt fine. I started in the next-to-last row, until Saraswati moved me up (to make room for her students, who start later, in back). I was in the middle of Triang Mukh Eka Pada Paschimottanasna on the right when I heard, "Cara, you come!." My head popped up, and I saw Sharath gesturing towards the front row, where he was about to give someone a forward bend adjustment. I went, and was very happy to be in the same spot as yesterday. Also it is nice to be known. I've been thinking a lot about Sharath lately, and his back pain, and the awesome responsibility he has taken on. On top if it, he is in the midst of losing not just his grandfather, but his teacher -- who's rarely been seen in the shala lately (although I heard he dropped in on Laksmish's Sanskrit chanting class in the shala last week). Of course we students are upset about Pattabhi Jois's health. But imagine what it must be like for Sharath, who has had Guruji's one-on-one attention and guidance for so many years.s

Sharath was nearby again when I got to backbending. Because of the parasite, or whatever it is, the body felt light and I decided to test the waters after just three backbends. Boom, I started to float up before I was even ready. Of course Sharath was nearby. I tried again, and came right up. I'd dropped back twice (and stood up twice) when Sharath appeared at the front of my mat. "One more?" I asked in Kannada, and explained that I'd done only two. Yes, he said, one more. I did it (sloppily), and when he helped me with the final bit I tried my best to put as little pressure on his back as possible. Again I went on the stage for the closing sequence.

After two coconuts I went to Anu's to use the internet. The USB port didn't work, and when Ganesh said it had just broken, and was to be serviced. He said I could I wait for another machine or come back later. For some reason I became a bit testy about having to wait. I was surprised by my behavior. It was like I was watching someone else. Later I apologized profusely to Ganesh. As I did, he said he remembered me from two years ago. He remembered who my friends were and even some of the bile I'd spewed about browsing centers that use Windows 97 and don't have USB ports on any of their machines. I was horrified; someone is always listening. And I realized how important it is to learn to shush myself first - before I go around telling others to control their mouths.

On the way home from Chakra House pancakes, I got caught in some rather heavy malay (rain), and joined some others who pulled over their two-wheelers and took shelter under some trees to wait it out.

I rather enjoy these enforced time-outs. After a hot bath (for some reason there was still warm water at 12:30PM), I walked over to see my pharmacist friend. As I listed my symptoms he said, "Is there flatulence? Farting? You call it farting, don't you?" I nearly burst out laughing at his proper upper-class English pronunciation of "FAH-ting." He fixed me up with some pills (rs 4) to take after meals ("nothing spicy!") and told me to come back tomorrow if the problem has not been solved.

Then I washed some clothes (some of which were the ones from the trunk, with the bugs and the mothball smell). It began to rain 20 minutes after I put them on the clothesline. But by then Ursula and i were dining at 3 Sisters, whose food is very strength-building and sattvic (ie; their vegetarian food does not contain hot spices, garlic or onions, which are not part of the yogic diet because they are thought to disturb the mind and impede meditation).

Afterwards I needed a nap, and had a big one before waking up and watching Indian MSNBC. Then it was on to dinner (set dosa) and mosquito net shopping (this is the fifth one I've bought from the same seller (Rs 400 this year), whose daughter lives in the Chicago suburbs). When I arrived back home, I asked the night manager for two heavy old pillows - which I stuffed into the window in my room, where the sound from the hallway comes in. No more shusshing for me.

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

*The post title comes from the well-known yoga sutra, Yoga chitta vritti nirodha (yoga is the cessatio of the mind-stuff).

UP & DOWN

After lunch on Monday I went down for a nap - and ended up sleeping until 7PM. I dragged myself out of bed, and realized the body felt like crap; there was no energy, and something was going on with the stomach. I organized my things and ate something; there was gurgling in the stomach, which became bloated (never a good sign); that was followed by some foul, eggy loose motions that reminded me of the amoeba I once had. Or was that the giardia? While flipping through the channels I noticed there was a Seinfeld episode on TV. In Inda. Kind of like a ?Seinfeld episode. I ended up I watching a bit of Aishwarya Rai and the guy from "Lost" in Bride and Prejudice (in Hindi, no subtitles) and was asleep again by 10.

Just before waking at 6, I had a dream in which I was in Florida, enjoying the sun with a group of other people. Suddenly some scary dark clouds appeared. "We have to get inside - fast," I said, urging everyone to get away from the water. But the storm came so quickly there wasn't time to make it to shelter We hugged the ground and crawled towards the nearby building as the storm engulfed us. The wind kept pulling us away from the ground, but we held on, and finally made it into the building. We went to the open end of the basement, but it was at ground level and the storm was bursting through the broken windows. We ran towards the other side of the building, where a yoga class was in progress. The students were all doing Uttitha Hasta Padangusthasana (a difficult balance pose) and did not want to interrupt their practice. I told them to stop, so that we could escape the storm. "Ahimsa is higher than Asana.," I explained, referring to the yoga sutras. That did it; they stopped the class, we all took shelter and everyone survived the storm. End of dream.

After sitting practice this morning (there was no hot water for a bath), I tried to start the web scooter. It took several tries and some pulling of the choke before it finally it sputtered to life. There was light drizzle on the way to class but it was nothing like yesterday. Bick was there with his coconuts outside the shala and said a hearty hello.

There was a long wait in the lobby, and I did some "shusshing" of other students who were talking their heads off. They did not like it; I felt their daggers boring into my back. Not only is it disrespectful, but you can hear these people when you're practicing near the door, Plus, part of the ashtanga or eight-limbed yoga practice is Pratyahara, or withdrawal of the senses - which includes controlling the mouth. I think it's OK to exchange (in a whisper) some short, relevant bits of info while waiting - such as, "Are you starting at 8:00?" or : You should go next: or "I"ll call you later." It is not the time to catch up or gossip; that should be done outside, over coconuts or breakfast or chai (actually, real yogis don't gossip). I made a lot of enemies shusshing people back at the old shala in 2002, and apparently I still haven't learned my lesson. I suppose someone has to do it, and it may as well be me.

Asana practice was so much better today; the body was the fairly flexible one I'm familiar with. Plus I was in the front row, a foot from the stage, which meant very few distractions. All students do primary series during their first week at the shala, and since it consists almost entirely of forward bends I worked hard in each upward-facing dog (a backbend done during vinyasa, or sun saluations). It paid off; during backbends there was little to no pain. I did five, going deeper each time. During the last one, Sharath came over to adjust the person next to me in Supta Kurmasana (a leg-behind-the-head pose). I thought, "Now's the time," and tested the waters; I did three bounces and the back felt fine. The next time I tried it, I stood up. Then I did three fairly smooth (for me) dropbacks without hurting anyone - including myself. Next thing I knew, Sharath was standing in front of me, helping me with the final backbending sequence. It was wonderful.

After doing the closing sequence on the stage (which is far warmer than the dressing room), I changed clothes, gathered my things, had two tender coconuts that consisted mostly of juice and very little gungy (meat). -Beck says there are 200 people here; Zoe says about 50 left in the past week. Afterwards I got a newspaper and had lunch up the street at Sutra House. There I saw our old friend Deepak, who still looks likes a star of stage and screen. Then I went to Anu's to look for Ursula-from-Munich, who was there updating her blog ("My Yoga Blog"). We rode the scooter to Green Leaf for a cup of tea, then around Gokulam.

Later I did some final shopping at Loyal World - where I fell while going up the stairs, which is a typical jetlagged westerner maneuver - and managed to avoid the police on the way home. I had a cold bath, washed some clothes (which are still not dry, since it seemed to drizzle every 20 minutes today) and rested. I must remember to slow down here - especially during Jet Lag Week.

Later I walked over to Three Sisters (two doors away) and showed them pictures of Guruji opening the new shala in Florida over Memorial Day Weekend. We chatted and laughed about a variety of things. We were having a gay old time when the youngest sister dropped one of her bombs.

"Forgive me for asking, but if you are single and have no children- who will take care of you when you grow old?"

I thought of Anne, my former neighbor (the one who is now in a nursing home - whose things were piled outside the dumpster last week).

The sister suggested I marry, and have just one child.

"But I'm too old," I protested.

"A woman who is 64 just gave birth. You can too."

Her sister chimed in, "Madonna had hers at 44, 45."

I love India.

Here, anything is possible.

What I didn't say was that on this path, an unsuitable partner is a distraction.

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Photo on left = one of the greatest chemical-y products ever made (and discontinued, I think): Coppertone Bug & Sun - which covers just about everything here in monsoon Mysore. Photo on the right is of Chakra House, with the lovely, mellow breakfast.