Badam milk is the drink of the gods. Give me badam milk and make me happy. Such a simple equation. I don't really have anything specific to say, I just feel like writing, so I am.
India is such a cool, amazing, ever-spinning, sometimes backwards place. Driving home in a bumpy, swerving rickshaw last night after watching Lost in Translation, I was smiling, laughing to myself watching the goings-on on Gokulam Main Road, the same way I do sometimes in Montreal when I see someone doing something like riding a bike while toting ski gear, skis, poles and boots. Same same, but different. I don't even know what it was that made me smile: the rickshaw driver trying to rip me off, the coconut stand still bustling under the half moon, the perfect temperature, the other rickshaw being pushed up a hill by running young men, the light bouncing off the sparkling bracelets in the bangle-seller's hut or just the general bustle? Thinking, wishing I could somehow snap a picture of it all, capture life in India and mail it home like a postcard. "Wish you were here. The chai is too sweet, the poverty is widespread, the air smells of burning shit, we just narrowly missed hitting a cow, and it's perfect." It's just so alive, so raw, so real. No sterile little strip malls, no fluorescent glow pouring out of McDonald's, no concessions made for tourists, just glimpses into real life, into every-day Indian realities. It sounds insignificant, but I've come to realise that in the Asia in which tourism is becoming so central so quickly, those brief glimpses into the quotidian routine, even the mundane, are rare, few and far between.
Luckily sleep found me last night, aided by the comforting warmth of badam milk. The night before I found myself wide awake, tossing and turning, having conversations in my mind with people back home that I haven't seen in years and may never see again, the obscure acquaintances, friends from the past who will remain in the past. I worry about things like whether Trudeau airport has a currency exchange desk, where I'll get boxes to start packing and what I'll wear to meet my parents when they roll into town. Maybe I'll find a place in Toronto with one of those vintage bathrooms with the 1"x 1" tiles; maybe I'll be allowed to paint my room taupe. These are the questions, the thoughts that keep me from my dreams...

- posted by Andrea @ 2:27 a.m. (0) comments

 
Here I am, finally in a decent internet cafe and entirely uninspired to write! I spent a couple days this week being sick, what a surprise, sick in India, how unheard of! I am in good health once again though, and the sickness afforded me a day of exceptionally bendy practice yesterday when, not only did I bind mari D all by myself on both sides (!) I also finished the series! Today was led class (AKA boot camp) and tomorrow is a day off, the organic market at the Green Hotel and potluck at my house!
Other than the obvious practice progress I don't have too much new to report. It's still hot, but not as bad, because it poured all night last night, which also had the pleasant effect of keeping me awake. Election campaigns are taking over the streets and the general bustle that existed previously seems like complete silence relative to the blaring music and announcements that are now broadcast constanly throughout the streets from giant speakers mounted on the tops of rickshaws. And the beat goes on...
I booked our flight back to Bangkok yesterday, so we're now officially leaving on May 11, which will give us about 15 days to tie any loose ends in Bangkok and go for a quick whirl round Lao before we head back to the glory and beauty of Newark, and ultimately back to Montreal for convocation. When the time comes I'm definitely going to be ready to go home: I've done my thing here, figured out my plan for the next while (which was so entirely unclear when I left in January that I refused to think about it, because it scared me too much) and I'm getting to the point where I'm ready to just get back and live that life. It will be time.
- posted by Andrea @ 4:50 a.m. (0) comments

 
I have become a delinquent blogger, and so early on in my blogging experiment, but alas, such is the life in Mysore. There's always something to do, or at least a book to read or a nap that needs to be taken. The days have begun to fly by at a speed that even I couldn't fully comprehend until I sat down last night with a calendar and realised that I only have two more weeks of yoga and 5 weeks and 2 days more of this whole trip. The brakes have started to be engaged and it seems like this whole experience, this crazy idea that blossomed into the best four month span of my life, this whim, is coming to a screeching halt. Where has all the time gone? Meg and I were sitting around the apartment last night, chatting, waxing deep and observing that despite our best efforts at resistance, this trip really has taught us a lot more about ourselves and has encouraged a great deal of self-realization (as much as I hate to admit it, for fear of sounding flaky!). It was during that conversation last night that it dawned on me that my dad used to always tell me that as your get older time slips through your hands at an ever-increasing rate. It's so true, and it's really alarming that despite your best efforts to cling to it, time flies, especially here in Mysore.
Things are going so wonderfully. Last week I had some great times. On Friday night there was a big dinner/dance party on Ken's rooftop, catered by Tina. It was a great evening with tons of lounging spaces, Nigel spinning fantastic music (as usual), the coconut man handing out free coconuts downstairs and a moonless sky full of millions of glittering stars. It was great to have everyone in one place; it really reconfirmed, for me, the sense of community that exists here. Being all Cancerian and stuff, I love Mysore for the community that I am now a part of: I fit here, this is a great place.
This weekend a group of eight of us headed up to Coorg, where we stayed at Palace Estate and enjoyed three days and two nights of fresh air, and silence that we didn't even realise we were missing until the absence of noise in Coorg reminded us of its constant presence in Mysore. It was nice to be able to breathe, climb mountains (which we did on Sunday), eat family style meals around a candle-lit dining room, table and sit on the verandah, drinking warm Kingfisher and playing Scrabble. No noise, no pollution, blankets required at night and only one rooster, it was perfection.
Now here I am, back in Mysore, at my little neighbourhood internet place, chilling out and thinking about how sore my shins are from coming back down the mountain the other day. It was great to be back in practice today after the long (moon day) weekend. Last week I was given baddha konasana, and Sharath told me today that tomorrow I will start uphavista konasana...almost through the series. Today in practice I practised awareness meditation, something that we talked about over the weekend, which involves acknowledging the thoughts that wander aimlessly through your brain, identifying the emotions they stir up (i.e. "That girl has an amazing mari D, I was my mari D was that good. My mari D really sucks. Hmph..well, there goes some jealously.") and then letting them go, it was a nice way to deal with all those little things that pop into your mind in the middle of practice ("Hmm...what should I have for breakfast this morning: fenugreek rotis with tomato chutney or oat porridge with bananas?").
This afternoon I went downtown, which I've been promising to do for a while now, and I bought out Rashinkar's entire inventory, well, almost. 2 skirts, 2 blouses, 1 tunic sort of thing, 1 pair of pants and 4 throw pillows. All made out of pure silk, all made to measure, ready on Monday. 10 items for a price that would never happen at home. I'm so excited to get the finished products. As you can see, I've never deluded myself into thinking that yoga has led me to some divine detachment from all things material; I do love my clothes, perhaps a little too much. Banana leaf thali after my spree for a whopping 32 rs. (approximately 75 cents), so good!
Meg and I talked a lot over the weekend about extending our stay here in Mysore, but to our chagrin, it looks like we're going to have to stick to the plan and head out in early May so that we still have time to do Lao. When we arrived we couldn't quite get our minds around the fact that so many people come here for so long (3+ months), but now it all makes sense: time goes so quickly here, the lifestyle is lovely and being in a place full of like-minded people is superbly comfortable. I want to come back. The other thing that's really dawned on me recently is that this trip, for whatever reason, I can't quite put my finger on it, has really honed my intuition, taught me to listen to myself and act on decisions without questioning myself over and over again until I talk myself out of something. Do it, whatever you're considering, or are passionate about, do it, jump in head first, without a clue, without anything or anyone to guide you: it will work out, things will fall into place, your mind will be at peace.

- posted by Andrea @ 6:49 a.m. (0) comments

 
It's hot. Oppressively hot. Until now, Mysore had been the coolest place I'd been in the past two and a half months. Sure, it was 30 Celsius, but with only 30% humidity it sure beat Bangkok and Bali which were both at least 35 Celsius and about 90% humidity. Cole Porter knew what he was talking about when he wrote "It's too darn hot." I wanted to go downtown today, get lost in the market taking photos (and hopefully not have to make a scene this time, berating a man for stalking and grabbing me), get some clothes made, browse the fabrics at Rashinkar to see what other glorious, cheap things I can have made (curtains? Throw pillowcases?) and maybe pick up a salwar kameez that somehow has the flare to smoothly make the transition from pragmatic dress in India to fashion statement in Canada. But alas, here I sit, in my room, fan blaring, getting lost in yet another Carol Shields novel, listening to Sarah Harmer, stretching my sore hip flexors (what did it this time? Navasana? Tittibasana after bhujapidasana and supta kurmasana?) while simultaneously attempting to organize all the different options I could choose for my life in the coming year. Nothing is clear.

Stay in Montreal or move to Toronto? All the good jobs are in Toronto, jobs I would love to have (e.g. internship at Toronto Life Magazine), but I'm still so in love with Montreal. My friends, my apartment, independent cafes that make the best café allongé, my yoga studio, baguettes from Premiere Moisson and the florist down the street where I buy my weekly $5 bouquets, overflowing with dahlias in August, tulips in April, painted red with Poinsettias in December. But the jobs are in Toronto, and as sad as it is, it's time to think about pragmatism, about being able to afford grad school tuition for an American school. I think this means I’m supposed to be an adult now. Stop going to parties and start talking about life insurance policies, funeral planning and meetings with the accountant! Geez, this all happened so suddenly...real life, hmph.

Life here is treating me well though. I've been playing the role of the bad yogi, staying out 'late' (i.e. after 10 pm), drinking wine and beer, eating chocolate (70% Lindt, God bless Nilgiri's, our grocery store) and banana crepes, oh, life is good! Social engagements have been keeping me busy: dinners out with friends, potlucks, goodbye parties. And yesterday I spent more time at the orphanage, being swarmed by children who stick their gold bindis on my head, chatting with the teenage girls and being patted affectionately on the head, back and bum by the older women (Aunties) who look after the children.

Practice has been lovely for the past two mornings. Twice Sharath has deemed my supta kurmasana to be "very good," and today I was given garba pindasana and now the bruises above my elbows are blossoming.

Tonight, after dinner with friends at Green Leaf, I will be content to come home, drink tea, and watch a stupid move on TV until I crawl into bed with my book, at the late hour (for a yogi!) of 10, and then hopefully sleep well for what would be the first time in days. For now I think I'll continue to confuse myself by trying to decide my future by way of total and utter complacency: laying on my bed, reading my book, listening to some tunes and trying to ignore my racing thoughts.

- posted by Andrea @ 5:41 a.m. (0) comments

 
(Written on Saturday April 10, 2004)

The two months before I came to Mysore (Spent traveling around Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore and Bali) flew by, and I was interested to see whether spending a whole month in one place would cause time to slink by a little more slowly. Apparently it doesn't. My time here in Mysore is quickly becoming a blur of surya namaskars and the deep ujayi breathing that is the soundtrack of my daily practice.

On the yoga front, things are going well. On Wednesday I was given bhujapidasana, kurmasana and supta kurmasana, and yesterday Sharath told me, "More next week." Whatever, I'm happy to be where I am and if I didn't progress any further that would be fine, but moving on the garba pindasana would also be lovely. I do miss backbending, but I'm not quite sure how my back feels about the prospect of Mysore-style (i.e. brutal) backbending! Yesterday my practice was weak, mostly because I was weak and tired after only 7 hours of sleep (I'm neurotic about getting 9 hours of sleep) after last night's potluck at Meg's and my place. I'm happy to have today and tomorrow off (normally, Sharath's students have Sunday off instead of Saturday, but he switched it this week and gave us Saturday off instead, but I already had a Thai massage booked for Sunday morning that couldn't be cancelled), as is my right knee, which got strained yesterday on the second side of mari D. Sharath pushed down on my knee and it went, "Snap, crackle, pop." I think that it's generally a bad sign when your knee starts imitating breakfast cereal.

Otherwise, things here in Mysore are just swell. The sunsets I see from my terrace are sublime and I continue to be infatuated with India. Cows wandering up and down my street, stopping occasionally at the garbage receptacle for breakfast or a midnight snack, carrot halvah's buttery sweetness lingering on my tongue and the jingle of glass bangles. It's all so sweet. Take it all in, absorb it, go to bed with coconut oil in my hair, dream of Bollywood films.

I've been really tired the past couple days after practice, so I've been taking naps after yoga and just being a typical Cancer: hanging around my apartment and enjoying the comfort and stability of living in one place for a whole month, with my own bedroom and bathroom! I'm so perfectly content right now to be at home with myself, a book and a cup of chamomile tea. Perfection.

Today I began volunteering at a local orphanange. It's home to fifty children, ranging in age from one month to early twenties. I arrived and was immediately greeted with a chorus of hellos, and children asking me, "What is your sweet name?" One girl in her early twenties immediately grabbed me by the hand and wouldn't let go. She led me from room to room, introducing me to the Aunties (the older women who are the caregivers) and showing me the nursery. I began by working with the babies: holding them, feeding them, providing them with human contact and mothering that they need, since they've all been abandoned. I love babies, I have this whole maternal thing going on, it was wonderful. The girl who was holding my hand asked, "Are you a mother?" I told her I wasn't and that I'm only 21. This didn't compute for her, there are many mothers here who are only 21. I followed up with, "And I'm not married," and her face lit up with instant understanding, as in India the thought of being an unwed mother is entirely foreign. We ate lunch with the children: idlis and dahl on the concrete floor. Occasionally one of the Aunties would pass by and pat me on the back or grab my face in the same fashion that your great-Aunt Ida might...There is such camaraderie within the female community in India (as well as in the male community). There is so little contact between sexes that very strong communities are forged among the same gender. After lunch Meg and I helped a little boy with Cerebral Palsy do his exercises. His smile is dazzling and he loves clapping.

The director of the orphanange is originally from Maine (she's been living in India for 25 years), and she explained to me that she's generally had bad experiences with yogis, as they can't seem to keep commitments. In her words, "These kids have already been abandoned once and they don't need to be adandoned again by you." Exactly.

I think that far too often people turn volunteer work into something about/for themselves, as though they're doing it as part of some self-growth regime. While it surely will change you, that shouldn't be your motivation. In some ways, Mysore resembles summer camp or Club Med: purely pleasurable and there solely for your personal enjoyment. India is constantly dropping huge hints in your face to reach out and give back: it's not all about you! Many yogis come here and give a great deal back to the community in many ways, but there are some who seem so absorbed in themselves, in their practice, in their "spiritual growth" that they are blind to the culture and the country that surrounds them. Growth will come with experience and perspective, and surely it is difficult to gain this perspective if your feet are always dangling in the pool and your mind is in the clouds.

I can't believe it's already Easter. In my mind, time's been frozen at home since I left in January, but the reality is that crocuses and snowdrops are poking their heads through the earth. Time passes so quickly, and with it you grow.

Happy Easter, Passover and Spingtime to all!
- posted by Andrea @ 2:44 a.m. (0) comments

 
(Written on Tuesday, April 6, 2004)
Here I am, two months into the trip, more than halfway done and I'm finally in one place: mentally, physically and emotionally. It's been awhile, heaven knows. I've left behind the crazy streets of Delhi, the lecherous men in Agra and Mrs. Keswani's radish parathas and now here I am in Mysore, with my practice.
I'm sitting in my comofrtable room in my glorious flat, admiring my new duvet cover (made out of a sari), lentils on the stove (thank goodness I can cook again!), listening to Rufus (which Meg claims has become the soundtrack of my trip --and it has), stretching in the crazy ways that all yogis do, as I write this, and thanking myself for agreeing to come to this crazy, enchanting place.
I've been in India for two weeks now (it's gone by so quickly) and Mysore for one. I've eaten enough paneer to choke a horse and probably drank enough masala chai to fill a swimming pool. I still feel like I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of understanding Indian culture. It's so dense, complex and much of it seems simply innate and otherwise inexplicable. The crazy driving, the head bobble, the sacred cows, the thalis and the pujas, where did they all come from? Thank God they've continued to exist in this world that's becoming increasingly McDonaldized by the second (Aloo Tikka burger, anyone?).
After reading the emails that I've sent to my friends and family back home, depciting garbage hearps and sweet lassis, gender inequality and genuine hospitality, all things opposed, bitter and sweet all at once, many have replied and said, "India sounds fascinating, culturally robust, but not very nice." But it is nice. To quote my favourite President (okay, it's a toss up between him and FDR, on whom I have a huge crush), "It all depends on what your definition of 'is' is." Maybe in this case the word in question is 'nice.' It raises a lot of questions: are there criteria to determine 'niceness?' Does one have to be able to answer 'yes' to four out of five questions for a place to be nice? Is it in the geography, or the people, or the number of swimming pools per capita? Furthermore, since when did travelling become only about nice places? Wouldn't it be better if it was about learning, cultural appreciation and self-reflection? India is nice. Indeed, there is garbage strewn everywhere, and maybe the bathrooms smell bad and the occasional tourist returns home with a friend living in his intestines, but if you were looking for the West, you should have stayed there.
There's something about this place. Maybe it's the melange of the people and the tenacity with which they cling to their culture, their traditions, their India. Whatever it is, this certain je ne sais quoi, it grabs you by the hands and pulls you into the party. Sensory overload becomes part of the every-day and Bhangra songas are the soundtrack of your dreams.
Practice foe me began with led class on Saturday morning. After bhujapidasana ("Put your head on the floor," and I did) Sharath says, "You go to shoulderstand," and points to the changeroom. I knew my difficulties binding marichyasana D were going to land me in finishing somewhere around navasana. It will come.
Today was my second practice here in Mysore (Sunday: day off, Monday: full moon), and my first in the traditional Mysore style. Sharath's hawk-eyes amaze me. He seems to know intutitively when you need him there to push you further in paschimottanasana A or to help you bind mari D. My twists were definitely better today, I just needed a little tug for mari D. Sharath says, "Tomorrow we do more."
I'll say it again, there's something about this place. The energy during practice is incredible and intense. You stretch and twist like you never have before knowing that Sharath's eyes are on you. He tells you to put your head on your knee in Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana, or your head on the floor in bhujapidasana and you do, even though you never thought you could. Refuel with breakfast at Tina's or Holly and Tony's and count the hours until you can repeat it all again tomorrow.
This morniong I was more focused on my breath than I've ever been, it was insanely meditative and it took me longer than usual after class to come out of the usual post-practice 'yoga stone.' "Tomorrow we do more..."
- posted by Andrea @ 8:33 a.m. (0) comments