pix at last

It's only taken me 8 months to get to the point where I finally realized I can upload photos with one click! Here's a few of a parade honoring Ganesh:  

As loud as it looks or maybe a bit louder. The right volume in India is distortion. All things to the max!  

Everyone totally enjoys themselves, dancing and celebrating, in the name of God. I think we got the short end of the stick with Protestantism.
 

Noisy, and beautiful. The glow of the lights at dusk carried by a harmonious group which needs be since everything is still connected by hard wiring and a hand pushed generator.
 

news break

My friend Alex sent me this funny story:

For the past several months, 40-50 monkeys have laid siege to the Mehrauli police station. They hang around because they have discovered the room in the police station where cases of illicit liquor seized during raids are stored. The monkeys stake out at the gates of the station, waiting to enter the case property office room, should they spot an open door or window. Having forced an entry, if they find the liquor store locked, they tear up valuable letters, shred case files and damage personal property. If the door is open, they head straight for the liquor and get drunk. Inebriated simians snoring or stumbling about in a drunken stupor around this police station are becoming a common sight.

peace

This morning I feel myself getting in a bad mood again. Two meetings cancelled with no phone call and now already KK is 45 minutes late. But instead of letting irritation start to blind my experience of the moment, I decide to relax. I lie down, in shivasana, and start some yoga nidra (the yoga of relaxation). Suddenly the relationship between negative thoughts, emotional anxiety and physical tension is abundantly clear. I note it and start to really relax, slowly, slowly. A minute later KK comes in. Without moving I say, "I'm busy. Yoga nidra." "Oh," he replies "I no problem". (this is one of my favorite expressions - this and "should be must" and adding "the" in front of people's names; I often hear people talking about "the Marcie" - how to keep the Marcie happy!) "I no problem. Your work carry on."

Only in India. I'm lying motionless on the bed - your work carry on! And indeed I do, finally I have the sense to realize what my most important work is - and to start to do it.

When I get up I feel good, much less at risk for getting excited, emotional, or depressed. We head off to find material for the curtains for the guest houses. We're going to the local market, a narrow road of a few kilometres packed with all the inexpensive and interesting shops as well as the crowds and every type of conveyance. The road there is broken and dusty and finally I admit to myself - India is not beautiful. Even the sky is not that clean, vibrant blue I've so often enjoyed and taken for granted. The dust fills the sky and the color, when not the polluted browns of Delhi, is a thin white, coating the nearby mountains so they fade into the sky and feel more distant.

Much of India is of course very beautiful. But day to day life in the city is not. It's the most dense country in the world and the government has no system of collecting trash. If it's done at all, it's done by the sweepers, gathering garbage in little plastic buckets and throwing it perhaps a few feet away, I'm not really sure. And could the trash habits be changed even if there were facilities? I watch young children throwing wrappers directly on the floor in their home, just like their parents, though Mummy, or the servant, will clean it up later.

Sometimes I long for the Bay Area. My lovely house alone, with the garden, stream, pond, fish, flowers, my worms, the spiral staircase up to my friend Jon's and Snowpaws and the rugs and Dana's art and taking walks at night, watching the weather and seasons change overlooking the whole Bay and the classical pianist who practices at midnight. The hot tub, the sauna, the violin and accordion duets with Nada, and sometimes Aron singing Ladino songs, the Breema, oh the Breema by the fire in winter, and the clean, fresh beauty of everything.

But today I made my peace. Today I accepted India as it is. I saw a train next to the road and for the first time since I've been here I saw all the people hanging out every door and all the people packed on the top. I just laughed out loud - it's just like in the movies. But here I am, and any and every interpretation is possible. Sometimes I like it here and sometimes I don't. But as everyone says to me over and over in response to my interminable questioning, the India is the India.

So we go to the curtain shop and the shopkeeper is rolling out the beautiful fabrics all over the floor. He and I see a rat at the same time and he starts chasing it, stomping hard on the fabrics trying to smash it. Luckily he didn't and maybe it was even show for me, no one else was bothered. But I retain visions of if he been successful, though with much less of a western emotional charge than before.

Across from the curtain shop is a Sony showroom. "Please can we go look?" I don't even know why I'm so interested. We walk in the clean, air conditioned store and suddenly I'm in America again. KK's engaged with the salesman and very happily learning about home theatre systems. I feign interest and nod while I just drink in the atmosphere. I'm home, I'm home. For 5 minutes everything is clean and high quality and materialistic. I want everything, a flat screen TV, a home theatre system, a new DSLR camera and more, more, more. I feel myself relaxing. No wonder no one's heard of yoga nidra in America! KK and the salesman are chattering away in Hindi and as usually happens suddenly I hear a "Come Marcie". I take a breath and walk back into the Indian heat, the Indian look of things, 1/2 way around the world from everything I know, every single thing here completely different.

But 5 minutes in the Sony store was all I needed. I'm restored. I'm ready. Mango season is ending, pomegranate season has begun.

Come, Marcie.

ripped apart and grateful

Sometimes I just don’t want to admit how hard this is for me. I worry my friends will worry, will want me to come home, but no that’s not it - I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed, I’m filled with doubts that create suffering and turmoil; the tumultuous surface atop my inner certainty.

I haven’t had a hug in months.

I have to see, examine and shed every unconscious cultural norm that’s allowed this Marcie machine to function effectively on automatic pilot.

In India people don’t cry, it shows weakness. Women don’t even cry out loud in childbirth. In my experiments with it, I’ve seen some great value. It’s an opportunity to rise above the transitory emotionalism of the moment. Personally, I’m inclined to indulge the transitory emotionalism of the moment. And here when I’m up/down, up/down, up/down a hundred thousand times a day, I’m learning to not let the tears seep out, not to even silently let them run down my cheek. But sometimes, when I’m alone, when I feel so isolated, when I think there’s no one here that understands being an American in India who’s not a tourist, but trying, trying, trying, when I can’t call my friends because I’m too depressed to talk, then I just let loose and sob.

People are happier in India. At first I thought it was cultural pride talking, but I’ve been watching. Seven months living only in people’s houses, in their lives, and I have no doubt it’s true. So now I want to understand; I’m impressed. One friend says, “In the west you make small problems big and here we make big problems small.” My own experience bears this out. But how to not worry and be happy? I ask Rashmi who says, “That’s the time we pray, meditate, go to God and find comfort there. If we let ourselves think about the problems, we’ll go mad.”

In the west, we talk and talk and talk about things. I like it a lot; I’m a Gemini. But the need to talk and talk comes from the fact that we believe the things we think and think. The only thing that brings real change is raising our level of consciousness. And that we do alone, though let me amend the verb to ‘prepare for and receive’.

What is it that’s so hard about my life after all? I have everything I could possibly want or need. Spare by our standards for sure, but luxury here. I enjoy washing clothes by hand once I make my peace with how long it takes. And therein lies the rub. The path to inner peace demands making peace with EVERYTHING, one by one by one by difficult one. In my life to date, there’s been no Buddha to hold up a flower that could cut through all my illusions in one fell swoop. One by one by difficult one.

India is stripping me bare, ripping me open, exposing my negativities, identifications and suffering. Isn’t this what I’ve prayed for?

Thanks God! But could I have a hug now and then?

Or maybe I could have some gratitude for those moments of knowing, of basking in your light.

Bhakti. If anyone doubts the wisdom actually present in this place, in this country, think of the vocabulary alone India has given us, let alone the teachings that bring the definitions to understanding.

carpenters

OK friends, it’s official. I’m in business in India! I have 2 partners, local Haridwarians. One is KK, my dear friend and yoga teacher, and the other is his best friend and an exemplary human being, VS. To say I feel lucky is an understatement – in the minefield of partnerships, let alone in India, I have undoubtedly been blessed. I’ll keep you updated with all the exciting plans, but first I have some funny stories to relate.

The first project we’re working on is setting up 2 flats as guest houses. Each one has 2 bedrooms, 2 baths, a living/dining room and a kitchen. They’re fabulous and brand new and in fact I’ve been living in one since I returned from Nepal. It’s tremendously amusing to me that I’m actually living in a gated community but the gate is primarily a children’s plaything in the daytime, the cows still come and go at will and the poor Bihari children who have nowhere to go while their parents work as the lowest of laborers are always at my door staring. But it’s very clean and I’m very comfortable.

The flats are empty, so we’re designing the furniture and having it built in situ by local carpenters. It’s been outrageously hot so it’s not surprising to see the carpenters sleeping on the marble floor in the middle of the day. Men have a lot more freedom in their dress, which means there’s no stigma in going around in one’s underwear. So I’ve quite gotten used to discussing measurements with an adorable young carpenter in his ochre cotton boxers and little singlet. I almost didn’t recognize him coming to work one day fully clothed, but his “Hello Mam” is unmistakeable. I’m completely at peace with being called Mam and have come to enjoy it like I love the sound of a Southern black woman calling me honey.

Everyone in India dies their hair black, though there’s an odd red that’s also popular, but it’s kind of garish. I’ve also come to enjoy the meetings with men with hair color in their hair, sometimes with a torn plastic bag covering the head, with a bit of color dripping off the forehead, down the ear to the jaw if the meeting goes long.

I, on the other hand, am not even allowed to wear shorts in public and in my last homestay I couldn’t even wear capris in the house. But abdomen baring is not a problem and it’s a part of sari wearing. The larger the woman, the more the exposure. The male version is just to pull up the t-shirt and let the stomach hang free, whatever the size.

Yesterday one carpenter went to get some pieces of wood turned to put together a mock up of a chair we need to finalize. By the time he comes back, another carpenter’s asleep on the floor again and when I ask KK if we should wake him, he says – let him rest. Fellow Americans, when do you get to do that at work?

Today we signed off on the chair. It, by the way, is a rough replica of an Arne Vodder chair. I wanted to show my partners and the carpenters some Western design that I love. They took one look and said, that’s the chair for us. So today the young carpenter squatted over a piece of plywood in his ochre undies looking at one computer picture and drawing a scale model of a chair that would work with the remaining wood we have, then building it. The result is beautiful! And it took less time than a nap.

pigs and poverty

Yesterday there was a pig family in the mosquito breeding pit outside my new flat. At first I was a little nervous – Mama is huge, but the 8 babies are so cute. I decided I must take pictures. Today the pigs are gone and 6 Indians are digging in a trench in the 100 plus degree heat. They don’t stop to let anyone pass. You can’t lose your rhythm in this heat or it’s all over. It’s become easy for me to understand the Indian men lying sleeping on the ground in their underwear. In fact I’m jealous. I can’t even wear shorts. I’m learning to function in the sweltering heat. I’m almost constantly dripping. At first everyone teased me. I sweat, they don’t sweat. But the monsoon is late, alarmingly late, and the heat is high and unabating. Everyone is suffering and worried. But worry here is not like in the West. It’s not emotional, it’s not stressful, it’s not depressing. Things are as they are and always relaxation and enjoyment is possible. But do not think this implies passivity, or rather any more passivity than in the West. How many of us do anything about global warming? As a topic, as an understanding, as a tragedy, as heartfelt consideration, it’s’ no less here than in the West – and we’re the ones who brought it into being. Good ol’ U.S., but not to take the full blame. Thoughtless, selfish corporate and personal greed knows no geographic boundaries. And let us not forget the other side either. Poverty, lack of education.

Which brings me to Nepal. What a beautiful and tragic place. Too small to attract the attention given to slums with millions of inhabitants, it’s been possible for royalty and politicians to bleed the country dry. In fact a book on the history of the management of the Himalayas is entitled Bleeding. Oh human nature. Do the mountains teach us nothing? First of all, the country has no industry, no train, in many places no electricity, no water. The villages are poverty stricken, so people are moving to the cities desperately hoping to get in on the tourist business because that is all there is. I’ve always felt like a walking dollar sign, but never as much as in Nepal. The people are gracious about it, mostly polite and helpful, though of course there’s always the constant harassment from beggars. But I saw few signs of possibilities of friendship or genuine warmth. Of course there are many exceptions, but basically under a thin veneer of warmth it’s cold calculation of what you’re worth and what can be gotten from you. If someone is successful and makes it out of the rut, they turn around and pay their employees nothing and/or move out of the area into the nicer suburb, again taking anything they’ve got with them. It’s the most hopeless place I’ve been to, but the friendly facade and the ease of travel protects the tourists from the in your face shocking honesty and deception, generosity and cheating of India.

A word about trekking. It might be the best single business in Nepal, so everyone understandably wants a piece of the action. I chose the Poon Hill Trek, the most basic and simple trek for someone with 5 days. This trek is so popular that much of it is merely walking up and down endless stone steps as one village merges into the next, with guest house after guest house after guest house. The first day and a half I was horrified. I couldn't feel the nature. Apparently in high season there are hundreds, maybe thousands of trekkers on this one route which becomes a dusty, non-stop highway of walkers. Before I make it sound too terrible, there was another day and half spent in exceedingly beautiful forestl. And of course there's the mountains. I can't even begin to describe their awesomeness. The unbelievable massiveness of Dhaulgiri and views of Annapurna and the gorgeous Fishtail almost throughout the trek. It's amazing to sit watching the clouds and then a moment of clearing and a mountain pops through at a height you can't believe. I was so fortunate to be there at a quiet time. As amazing as the mountains are, there's no way I could handle the crowds. After all, unless you're in better condition than I am, the mountains are far away and the people are all around you. Sometimes there's even a non-stop line up Mt. Everest.

Speaking of which, I saw Everest from the plane on the way back home to India - unforgettable!

But I will not be disappointed if my travels never take me back to Nepal. Though I will certainly keep that amazing country in my prayers.

nepal

I’m at a cyber café – again! But this time the owner just came by, told me the internet was down and helped me to save everything. I’m in Nepal. It’s clean, friendly, easy and beautiful. And yet, I can’t wait to get back to India, but that’s another story. I’m fully here now. One thing that’s changed in my months away is that I’m genuinely more relaxed; ridiculous though it may be, it’s been hard won. On the other hand, I can hardly say – hip hip hurray and pat myself on my spiritual back. I’m in Pokhara, a world famous beauty spot. Pokhara surrounds a big lake, with low mountains rising almost immediately and on a clear morning like today, the Annapurna range is in view. At 5:30 this morning I was rewarded with my first view of Fishtail, a strikingly beautiful 7,000 meter mountain, just far enough from the Annapurna range to jut sharply into the sky with nothing else nearby. It's slopes are so straight and so steep that there is a law against climbing it. Not only has no one made it yet, but no one has even survived the attempt. Apparently the ground shifts during the night. It's only when our lives are in danger that nature can exist as it is. Fishtail is safe from our garbage, our egos and our greed. Not much else is.

I’ve always wanted to come to Nepal. But my traveler’s arrogance was strong. Nepal was too touristy, too established, too well known. I needed hard travel and I sought it out. Ironically enough, when I finally realized ease was well, easy and that difficulty is not always necessary for enjoyment, only then did I find myself in the truly most difficult, nearly impossible situation of all. Living in India, in a city with virtually NO facilities or infrastructure for foreign tourists, living completely dependent on the kindness and trust of new friends and somehow, slowly, building myself an amazingly rich and challenging new life.

Nonetheless practicalities required a visit to Nepal and how cool is that? After a shockingly blase period, I became quite excited about the trip. I decided to come with an Indian friend. Kathmandu is a cheap and easy playground for the Indians, not requiring a passport or visa, plus Indians pay Nepali prices and foreigners must pay 3-10 times more for everything. But I don't know all this yet. I’m thinking about Buddhist temples and nature; my friend’s thinking casinos and discos. Always a surprise in store, including the fact that through some connections, my friend arranged a very inexpensive 3 night stay at the Hyatt Kathmandu, a gorgeous, elegant and classic resort and the premier hotel destination in Nepal. I must admit it was a great relief after the heat and difficulties of India just to relax and indulge and affordably live a luxury life for a few days.

Kathmandu’s crowded and polluted, but not like India. There's a big tourist area called Thamel and everything is available there. I've spent days now, just thinking - this is so easy, it's so easy. It's been a good trip. One evening of drinking and gambling and watching the amateur dancing show was a blast, the second time was a drag. They wouldn't let me into one of the most sacred and beautiful Hindu temples and that had been the top thing on my list, but after recovering from disappointment some very successful and cheap shopping took place getting things I've very much needed. The visa requirements took up much more time than necessary because I was not prepared, surprising myself at my poor planning, but then letting go after only brief self-torture. A mixed couple of days but then we took a short flight to Pokhara and the beauty of this place immediately restored me.

Pokhara's an interesting place, a world class resort, but still simple and mostly upscale backpacker's style. The Indians call it a mini-Europe and for them, it's very expensive. It's a dollar based economy, which is quite effective because prices seem reasonable when quoted in dollars and outrageously high when quoted in rupees. At first my friend and I are shocked at how much hotel and food cost. But he needed to go back to India after only one day here and I've stayed on, just relaxing and enjoying and not bothering to think about prices. I have to be here, it's as close to a job as I have right now! So if my task is to have a good time while here, I can handle it. The streets are clean, the food is excellent and the variety a total treat. I realize I've had not one good restaurant meal in India and in the past 2 days, I've enjoyed delicious Chinese, Italian and Korean, all much better than the average in U.S. Plus someone told me about a small Tibetan hole in the wall, that the tourists don't know about, and I had the best momos I've ever had for $1.

And tomorrow I'm going trekking - for 5 days, with my own personal guide. I need the mountains!

living life on a bed

I came back from my trip to Himachal happy but tired. Not a moment was spent without people and I was very ready to get back to some quiet and my practice. It was great to see Kaushal again and he helped me get set up back in the ashram where I'd stayed before. What a different experience now with a few months in India behind me. In my enthusiasm for the ashram experience I hadn't noticed how filthy the place was, how ill cared for and how uncomfortable. This ashram was funded by a very rich and miserly Malaysian woman for her guru. She spared no expense in making a beautiful building and then resented every further rupee she had to pay. So it was staffed by poorly paid teenage boys who, if they knew rugs needed cleaning, didn't care. Every step I took sent nasty things into the air and I felt sick when I tried to do yoga. But I was a trooper and stayed until I did get sick with a bad cold in which I gave in to my well wishers and tried allopathics but the best I can say is that they were no help. Now I have a new tirade which goes something like this - India created Ayurveda, what the hell is going on with this allopathic bullshit, but anyone who knows me, can well imagine. Enough said.

Ashram hunting. First it's hard to get a room. Haridwar is a holy city and summer is pilgrim time. The best places are mostly booked. A lengthy search placed me in ashram #2 which was run down and depressing, but clean enough. The grounds were nice but I only entered the dining room once and had to turn right around after feeling the dirty floor under my barefeet. I managed a week, but was delighted when Kaushal said he was going to his favorite Himalayan place and did I want to come?

Oh, the mountains. I'm missing them so much as I sit in the heat of this cybercafe because my computer's broken for the 15th time. We took a quick but great trip to this very special place with an ancient Lord Shiva temple and then continued up to the mountaintop which has a spectacular 360 degree view of the Himalayas. We couldn't see anything, however, because it's fire season and the smoke was too thick. Yet another sad story involving global warming, lack of firefighting resources, loss of precious few remaining forests and so on. The mountain men of these places are heartbroken, but how can anyone not be when we see what we're doing to the planet? Nonetheless for me it was a powerful and life changing experience. When I first saw the temple I just spontaneously burst into tears and I still can't explain it, except to say something's happening for me here and I'm exploring it, fully.

Came back and a room at a beautiful ashram along a beautiful stretch of the Ganga was available. Lucky me! I settled in. But the growing difficulty in ashram life is the food. They offer all the chapati, rice and dhal you want, but there's no guarantee of actual pulse in the dhal. Often it's just a soup, jokingly referred to as prison food. What they call vegetables, when available, is usually some potato pieces with a hint of something green on rare occasions. But the worse thing is the color. Variations in yellows to browns, tonally representing the least appetizing colors that exist. Haridwar, however, has no restaurants, or at least no good ones, though I'm happy to say I've found some that are almost mediocre, but not always convenient. I spent a lot of time in the heat walking back and forth to Kaushal's house so Sonia could feed me and then I'd take Bhava on walks. This was actually not bad for me. Mornings I'd do some practice and then things would just happen, as they do in India. I was not delighted when I got kicked out. The ashram was having a big program and I got a morning's notice to pack my bags and get out. The only smile I ever got from the ashram manager was when I promptly paid in full.

Once again, Kaushal steps in to take responsibility for my living situation. He's working as fast as possible on the house, but it's not ready for me to move in. He has some friends coming from Delhi to stay at a nearby forest guest house so he adds me into the plans. Nice place but hot, hot, hot and as usual I'm unaware of what's actually happening. He's bouncing back and forth between 3 different situations, his Delhi friends, a family of clients who need healing, advice, astrology and gem purchasing and me, who doesn't get the complete picture until it's already past and I'm in the next confused state.

Which is that now we're leaving the forest and looking for ashram #4 for me. Kaushal's yet again pulled out a miracle and talked to the head of a big yoga university to get me a place at their famous and historical ashram. We get there at 3 and sit with the university head for what feels like an hour before he decides to talk to someone about my room. At which point we find out in fact a room is not available and I've not eaten yet today. Suffice it to say, this is not one of my finest moments considering that Kaushal's been working his ass off to find me something, anything and the whole client family is driving me around in their SUV.

I cooly and politely decide enough of the fucking ashrams and their fucking food. It's time for a hotel. Fuck the money, fuck everything and what about lunch?

The next 3 days find me unmoving from the luxury of my air-conditioned hotel room. I really did enjoy every minute of it, but I am now living in India and I can't afford to be spending $50/day on lodgings. Kaushal comes through again and asks a friend of his if I can live in his family's house.

Thus begins an amazing adventure in Indian culture. I have been staying with the Saini family for almost a month now and it has been one of the most difficult and incredible and uneventful and mind blowing experiences of my life. I have to immediately mention Shalini, the 19 yr old brilliant daughter who will no doubt be a friend for life. I live in her room, share her bed and we talk and play and laugh and cry and she's a dear one. Plus the sexiest dancer I've ever seen in my life and she's taught me some moves, though mostly we just laugh hysterically - at me, of course. She says I'm a very good beginner, but that's after she's fallen on the floor saying I look like a duck. Could be worse!

Shalini's had some issues with her family and is mostly confined to the house, meaning her room, meaning her bed. That's mostly where I live too - I sleep, eat, exercise, meditate, nap and do my computer work there. I've never lived on a bed before. I spend hours talking to her on the bed and then Vishal, her brother, will come in to use the computer and we'll talk and his friends will come and go and Shalini will leave and come back but I never leave the bed. At other friend's houses I play with the children on the bed, but yesterday I nearly killed a 3 yr old by standing on the bed and lifting him high into the air, a mere inch from a rapidly whirring fan. Even living on a bed there's safety concerns!

This has been a hard period to know what to say. Basically I'm facing myself. Everything has been stripped away. There's nothing I need to do. There's no way to escape myself. There's not even the comfort of unconscious cultural norms. I desperately want to start on my practice but the reality of no privacy is constant interruptions. Calling it Shalini's room is not quite right because there's no such thing in India. Everything is everyone's, including all my belongings. Shalini has the only mirror in the house, so people are coming and going 24/7. That's not an exaggeration, many events don't start until 11 and go all night.

How to express the extreme gratitude I have for this family and still talk of my suffering? And what is my suffering? On my birthday, a day in which every single plan I'd made fell through, I took a walk along the Ganga and thought what is wrong with me? I have health, wealth, love, friendship, support, adventure and I'm being called by God. I'm miserable because the day didn't go as I'd expected? I'm blaming India?

Facing myself, lying on a bed. Moment by moment, despair, exhilaration. Yesterday there was a big poojah that I thought the priest had said was for me, but in fact I was only watching. I sat there, very upset and very disappointed because I'd been looking forward to this for weeks. Suddenly I catch my negativity - like a shock. I see it's not a fact but an interpretation. I think - can I be here and relax and enjoy, the 2 main themes of Indian life. On my birthday my friend Rashmi explained to me that there isn't much disappointment in India. When something changes, it's because it's changing for the better. I've been thinking about that long and hard ever since. I sat at the puja and started to have well wishing for the family that it was actually for. I had gratitude that I was getting to watch. I realized I didn't understand anything and it probably would've been wasted on me anyhow. I realize my direction is meditation, not chasing pujas. And then the question came so clearly and keeps reverberating - why be negative? why be negative?

The other day, in another low moment, I was complaining to Kaushal that in the 5 months I've been in India I've spent 3 of them with computer problems and the other 2 doing nothing. Today I saw I'm a different person. My health is better, my body opening up in ways unimaginable before I came - and I haven't even properly started my yoga training. I'm learning to relax and enjoy. After a decade of Breema talking about being present and me saying - how, how, how and learning to be content with a moment here or there, now I'm remembering. The moment is. I am. My dreams are being fulfilled. But in this moment. In this moment when I can finally let go of the relentless thought - I should be doing something. I should be doing something different, something else, I'm not being productive. What the hell is productive? Stress?

The other day I caught another long established thought and I realized that whatever I'm doing, I think I should be doing something else. WOW!

No wonder this facing myself is painful. I have time to see the thoughts as they arise and to question them. Over and over I examine my thinking and see that's it's not so. And further, I don't know what is so. But I can relax and enjoy.

Speaking of which, it's quite late now and time for me to return to the house. Tomorrow I go to Delhi and then to Nepal to renew my visa. This chapter's concluding, it is indeed time for me to leave the Saini's. Tonight I place the period, tomorrow I watch the page turn. What's next? Here I come, Kathmandu.

Part 2 - Bobbie

We start the trek slowly. I feel the altitude right away and it’s only 5-6,000 ft. My heart is beating faster than I’d like, right from the get go. But these are mountain men I’m with, born and raised here. They start slow; there’s no energy wasted. I’m doing fine, but I’m nervous, I’m honestly not in peak condition, but I’m determined. I pull myself out of psychological debate and start to look around.

It’s beautiful forest needless to say. Do people do treks that aren’t beautiful? Pine trees, meadows, small villages and an amazing temple that I’m not allowed in (due to the caste system, not my gender!) but apparently it’s all gold inside.

There are 5 concrete rest houses along the way to the mountaintop temple. Up to the first one is gently rolling meadow with various animals grazing, idyllic scenes. At rest house 1, the climb begins and it’s steep. At rest house 2, the incline increases. I find myself looking up at the trail and it’s straight up. Every time I look up there’s more straight up. The closest I can describe it to is Yosemite without switchbacks at a higher elevation. But despite rumors of thigh high snow, we still haven’t seen any. In my mind that’s the turn around point, but there’s also time considerations. We agree to turn back at 2:30, but no one is paying much attention to the clock, so I don’t either. Finally we see the first patches of snow just before the 3rd rest station where we stop for a discussion. It’s 3pm and it’s been a vigorous and enjoyable hike for me. I’m sad to turn around, but ready. So I’m completely surprised when the guys ask me – What do you want to do now? Continue to the top? First I think they’re joking, we’ve never discussed nor prepared for an overnight, but no, they’re quite serious and furthermore, it’s actually and truly my choice. They will not even say what they want to do.

My brother remembers my classic line from hikes we’d take with my Dad – just around the corner, please, can we just see what’s around the corner. I’ve never in my life been the one to say it’s time to turn back and I’ve never yet had anyone willing to test my limits. I literally can’t believe this is happening. It’s my choice? I decide? But I still really think we’re turning around, so I play a bluff. If I say yes, do you really want to keep going? I look at them, right in the eyes, one at a time, and each one says yes, I want to keep going. At that moment, I understand, this is Chudhar, a very special trek to a very special place and they love this trek, love this temple in their bones, in their being. They’re this far, yes, they want to continue. But it’s my choice.

Whoa! I’ve not saved my energy, I’ve never hiked in snow before, it’s 3 pm and we’re only ½ way with altitude increases I’m not used to and I don’t have additional warm things or even a toothbrush. Plus what I don’t know is that the steepest part is yet to come.

So of course I say YES! Yes, yes, yes, let’s go! And we start, but now we pick up the pace.

Let me just say I was immediately and totally step by step challenged. This is not an easy hike. I’d been walking and talking mostly with Bobbie, the only English speaker of the group and now I need his help. Luckily for me, he’s a pro, actually winning a state award as some kind of best trekker. He gives me a hand over the big rocks and makes sure I don’t slip on the snow. By now I’m conserving every bit of energy I can, the camera’s put away and I force myself not to talk, not to ask all the burning questions I always have. I’m completely focused on foot placement and keeping up the pace and breathing. We stop and I say feel my hand – it’s icy. Bobbie puts my hand in his pocket and while he holds and warms it, he’s keeping me on the path. He walks in the deep snow next to me. I know it’s hard what he’s doing, but I need the help. My other hand starts to freeze and we switch sides. I also have to add I’m quite enjoying this. As sexy as he is, it’s really fun that his help is so necessary. Mostly he’s quiet but then when my hand is frighteningly cold, he says low in my ear, I’ll warm you. I’ll wake up early, go out and get some exercise to heat my body and come back and warm you. Sounds good to me! But then maybe I’m enjoying too much and I tell him, I’m OK now. I can walk on my own and I try a step and start to slide and he grabs me and I suddenly wonder – am I actually walking on my own or is he pulling me up the mountain? He knows exactly, precisely the amount of help to give, not more, not less. He’s so perfect he makes me feel capable, though I don’t know if I would’ve made it without his help. From stations 3 to 5, it’s incredibly steep and slippery and there’s not much visible trail and the sun’s going down and a light snow is starting to fall, but now I’m beyond worry – there’s only complete concentration and holding Bobbie’s hand.

Then suddenly we’re at station 5, we get the first sighting of the temple and I can see the incline is not as extreme. We’ve made good time, we get a 15 minute rest and the pace eases to the top, allowing us to arrive with the last rays of the sun. I made it!!!!!

The temple is amazing. Actually it’s a big beautiful wooden building housing a little tiny temple inside, an ancient one, perhaps more than 6000 years old. We take off shoes and I touch my head to the ground with reverence and peer in. It has a naturally occurring Shiva lingam (very rare and very powerful) and there’s also a beautiful solid gold Durga tucked away in a corner. The energy was very strong, but I was, unfortunately, a little too cold and too tired to take full appreciation. After a short puja, we are led into the priest’s house where we spend the rest of the evening. I don’t know what would’ve happened if the priest hadn’t been there. Everything was locked. But he was and he was friendly and we had a great time. The guys had fun joking with me, first saying there was no food, only chai and as I’m accepting that they show me the kitchen in which they proceed to make a fresh delicious rice and dhal meal. Then they tell me we’re sleeping on the stone floor which again I believe to find out later that we’re being put in the VIP room and we have all the blankets and comforters we could ever need. Did they know how any of this would turn out? I don’t think so. We all agreed it was a very lucky trip and on the full moon no less.

For those of more prurient interests, I have to say that the last thing Bobbie said to me, as we were settling down to sleep next to each other was – you are safe with me. And I was. So later as the stories about Bobbie started rolling in, I both knew they were true and also knew that I’d experienced something, well, perfect.

Bobbie told me that he’d killed a tiger with a stick. He may be the only person I’ve ever met that I totally believe it to be true, even if it’s a lie. He told me about winning trekking and farming awards and these he later showed me. He’s kind of the unacknowledged leader type, never the actual leader though he’s the one who speaks English and the one who puts the spices in the dhal after all the prep work’s been completed by others. He’s tall and rangy, extremely thin, but radiating power and sexuality with I suspect some black magick thrown in. That’s unconfirmed but I don’t need to know. I feel things in India. I feel the energy in the sacred places, I feel the gods here. That Bobbie is dangerous is immediately apparent, it pours out of his eyes but so do a lot of other things. Though no one ever said anything directly, there were great efforts taken to keep me away from being with Bobbie. And very clever maneuvering on his part, to have me where he wanted me. Once down the mountain, I became the hunted one. He’d keep me in his sights and at just the right moment sneak into where I was staying and whisk me off before it could be prevented. And all that he wanted was for me to come to his house and meet his family, well maybe not quite, but this was the focus.

So what did I see in Bobbie’s house? A devoted father, adoring of his 2 beautiful boys, a lovely, but perhaps resigned wife and his mother who welcomed me with open arms and fixed delicious organic greens for me. Life is not simple. The Bobbie that Bobbie wanted to show me was all goodness and light, but I kept remembering the story of the scorpion that has no choice but to act from his nature. Why that story? Why was I so drawn to this person who was so easy to talk to and so understanding and so dark, not negative, not evil, but dark. Dark and talented and fascinating and smart. And I’m becoming secretly obsessed with the whole thing.

It took over a week for Bobbie to pull off my short stay at his house, so then it was show and tell time. First his paintings. Brilliant – of uniquely imaginary landscapes, looking real and yet not like anything that exists. He showed me his family heirlooms because he too is another grandson of the King. He showed me his gardens and we talked about organics and the environment. He knows a lot about all this stuff, permaculture, the pesticide levels in apples, grafting – very impressive, but later I feel clearly designed for me. Can genuine interest be a manipulative tool and if so, isn’t that part and parcel anyhow?

He showed me his photos. There are photos that will probably be in my mind’s eye for the rest of my life. These are real mountain men I’m hanging out with and Bobbie’s cream of the crop. At one point he’s the chosen heir of a great climber, someone who’s done Everest 3 times and more high peaks than I even know of. There is one picture of this man with his arm around Bobbie. There’s an expression on the man’s face I’ve never seen before, it’s like I’m looking at someone who’s free, who understands, who is. I look at the picture and I know there’s more for me in these mountains, more in life. I look at the picture and recognize something beyond my own experiences, but I can see it. I remember having the question on the trek – is one closer to God at higher elevations? In the Himalayas? It can’t possibly be true, but maybe one’s receptivity is heightened.

I know what I saw in the picture, I saw Self. There was no ego in that man’s eyes, the high mountains had taken that from him; there was presence.

Do I imagine all these things? But what does that question even do but block one’s sensitivity and create doubt. The other day I’m questioning something with Kaushal – something’s actually happening and I’m asking how is it possible. He simply says – why doubt? I’m continuing to ponder that one. Because I’m an American? Oooops, wrong direction.

Why doubt?

Bobbie had told me many stories of leading treks, of carrying big men with broken bones up and down the mountainside. Now I was viewing a photo of a rescue Bobbie had made. They were on a high rigorous trek and during the night a crack had opened and a Russian couple in their tent had fallen into a 200 ft crevasse. There was Bobbie, in full gear and roped in, going into the hole. Even in the small photo, dominated by ice, there were those eyes. I’m alive, I’m ready, I was born for this moment.

So that’s the story. I meet this guy and I’m as intrigued as hell. And also irritated with myself. What is it with the bad boys? I’m here for sadhana, my practice, I confess this little situation did not help my spiritual concentration, but what the hell does that mean anyhow? We get what we need and clearly I need to explore these light dark issues. I don’t want to be afraid of the black magick and its power nor do I want to be a moth to the flame. And here the story jumps into the bigger questions and all that the lovely, complex, confusing, mysterious and sexy Bobbie engendered. But then I’d need to write about Lord Shiva and I’m not sure I can or should at this moment. Let me just leave things with – life’s very good! And certainly interesting! And fun! But with feet on the ground, so help me God.

p.s. After I posted this I thought it's awfully anticlimactic, furthermore what's here is honest, but all is not included, particularly that which I've still not fully digested. But the writing of this post was cathartic and completing it has freed me. Bobbie went back to Dubai and we've exchanged a couple of very sweet emails. Meanwhile, being in India, the next gigantic things were about to happen. (About which I never got into the computer, so we now skip a couple of chapters which unlike a novel will never be missed).

travelling with kings, saints and bad boys, part 1

Kaushal had been suggesting a trip to Himachal Pradesh for a while. He couldn't go, but he told me he'd set it all up for me with a good friend of his who I could trust. He would take me trekking to a very special, not well known mountain temple, ChuDhar. Great I thought, just tell me when. But when can come quickly when you don't know the language and don't know what's going on around you. Suddenly I had 1 hour to pack and then I got the details of my trip. From Kaushal - "I take you to bus at 5am and my friend meet you, but he no English." That's what it's like for me here. Suddenly someone says Marcie, come and I come, Marcie, we go and I go. It's never gone wrong yet, but it's still pretty crazy. Though I can pack for any situation, known or unknown, in about a minute now. I laugh at how much stuff I used to bring and the time I spent preparing for little journeys. In fact, not much is needed. I'm glad to know that.

So off I went, not even having the right pronounciation of the village or my host's name, but things worked out, as they do. Like at the first stop of the bus when I desperately needed to go to the bathroom but no one spoke English. I called Kaushal on my brand new cell phone, handed to me minutes before, and asked him to ask the bus driver where was the toilet and when the bus driver handed the phone back to me, the battery was already dead! But time enough for someone to lead me down the road, into a building of long hallways and up some stairs. Public toilets are not readily accessible. I've learned to carefully moderate my liquid intake.

A bit later and the bus is starting to climb in the mountains and we stop at what looks like a new temple inauguration. I'm taking pictures out the window of this big steaming vat of who knows what and suddenly they hand me a leaf bowl of a hot steaming delicious sweet potato connoction with some kind of yummy nuts on top. Then they start handing them to everyone on the bus and it's a 30 second party of enjoying fingers in delicous mushy stuff and we're off again, but now I'm friends with the boy next to me who looks about 25, but tells me he's been married for 20 years and this is his 18 year old son sitting in front of him. He starts rubbing the head of the boy saying, lovely son, lovely, lovely, lovely son. It's so beautiful I just decide to believe as we bump along unpaved mountain roads, laughing together when we nearly hit our heads on the ceilings, ignoring the pain upon landing. Luckily I'm off the bus before he's completed arrangements for the marriage of me and his son.

And there waiting for me is Karanvir, the handsome grandson of the King of Jubbal. At this point I still don't understand that I've landed with royalty, but indeed I have. Over the course of my 2 week stay I met at least 50 people from 4 royal families and heard many stories, saw many antiquities and rarities and experienced a family of such love and integrity, I was constantly humbled. I didn't even realize how I too have all my unconscious judgments. It was with horror that I saw too I am a victim of American superiority thinking. But, as we say in Breema, gratitude for the seeing. The King of Jubbal was an educated forward thinking man, the first to bring electricity into the area, the first to cultivate apples, a great source of wealth for the local people, and many other impressive things in the field of education and improving life conditions. A good and respected ruler, but independence came and the family lost much of their vast holdings, though the palace remains. Everyone still has some big chunks of land and heirlooms, but each generation has hit harder and harder times though I certainly didn't hear any complaints. There's not much complaining in India in general in fact and more on this point later. But it was certainly fascinating to both hear of the past and to be participating in the present, seeing what fate has brought these good people. Thinking too of my own humble background - my father's father a junk dealer and window washer who didn't make enough money to feed my own father during the Depression. It's been only anecdotal to me with the short sighted understanding of a materially well off child.

But back to the bus. Karanvir in fact doesn't speak English, so I'm in follow mode. Here, there, wait, sit, chai, sit, wait. Then I'm at someone's house and I find out I'm to stay there which at this point wasn't great for me because I've been around a lot of people with almost no English and this was not the only time I've longed for solitude. But there I am with Karanvir's cousin brother, Kuldeep. The trek is confirmed for tomorrow and off Karanvir goes. I take a nap and then slowly begin to get to know Kuldeep and his family. His house becomes my home base and his family my touchstone. Kuldeep is a slow, thoughtful man who speaks slow, thoughtful English and I go to him many times with questions of India and the religion and I learn much. His mother, Krishna Kanwer, had become a major inspiration in my life. At age 50 she started an NGO, a non-profit to benefit the local women and children of the nearby villages. This is a rural area and it seems to me I've forgotten to say it's incredibly beautiful. But life is hard. A small house here and there, many without roads, it's a 20 minute steep walk to Karanvir's house and he's fairly close to town. Krishna has been working tirelessly for more than 20 years. Now, at 75, she gets up at 6 every morning and spends 2 hours in spiritual practice and then she works for the NGO and then she cooks all the family food. And she's always smiling and laughing and well, radiating. She spoke not a word of English, but I was so honored to connect with her deeply. We shared some very special moments and there was love there, no doubt.

Writing that reminds me of a moment much later when we were at someone's house watching an extremely hunchbacked old Muslim man laboring up the road. The kids are twittering and again I don't see my judgments happening until someone starts translating for Krishna as she says how he was burned in a fire and tells of his difficulties and those of his family. Even writing now I want to weep as I can still hear the compassion in her voice as she spoke. I forget all is love, though I remembered at that moment. My friends, I must confess, I forget a lot. I forget my aim, I forget God, I forget goodness is possible. But I met a saint and she took me into her heart, a heart big enough to hold all. Thank you Krishna. How lucky I am, how blessed, to have met such as she.

Meanwhile, I've only been in this small town of Nerwa for a couple hours when it starts raining. Global warming, folks, no rain at all last rainy season and it's never rained in April before and now it's thundering down. The trek is postponed because it's snowing at the higher elevations, but that's OK with me because now I'm going to visit one of the village health programs with Kuldeep and his mother. Plus I've had quite a surprise in terms of this trek. Kaushal had asked me if I could hike 6 kms - well of course! He neglected to mention it was straight up, not even switchbacks, climbing from 5,000 to 13,000 over the course of that short distance. And the report is that there's thigh high snow. I'm kind of nervous about the altitude, so a few day's delay is A-OK.

The next morning I get up and do my yoga and take it easy because we're leaving at 10. At 9 I'm finishing breakfast when Karanvir and his cousin Bobby arrive. Let's go, they say. What? The trek is on! So we agree to only go for the day and just to the snowline and I make my peace with some secret relief that I won't be going all the way to the temple. I grab a couple things real quick, put on my trekking shoes and off we go with Kuldeep's son, Dishu, who's also coming along. I never did make it to an NGO event.

And the next post will tell of the trek and of Bobbie, the most dangerous and sexy man I've ever met.

diet

My meditation is interrupted yet again by a loud pounding on the door. It's the maid who's been instructed to prepare breakfast for me and here she is now, at noon, with freshly made paratha and delicious potatoes. The constant interruptions with cheerfully given cups of chai and needs for things stored in the room are now starting to wear on my practice. Plus there's the practice requirement issues - no pranayam or meditation without first bathing, no yoga until 2 hours after eating. Ideally I'd wake up and do yoga, bathe and meditate. But almost no day actually goes like that.

Oh my goodness. I sat down to write about diet and I find myself complaining. After writing only yesterday about things not disturbing me as they used to. Well, a moment of gratitude that at least I can see this. The real yogic path is a brilliant and scientific method to bring every aspect of one's self closer to God. But what does that really mean? It's an assiduous purification of human nature. Acceptance yes and acceptance no. And here a caveat. The main thing I've learned in India is that I had not one iota of understanding of what yoga really is. Please bear with me as I put together my fledging observations about a profound system that I know less than .00000001% about and yet, even that is filling me with awe and gratitude. Because knowledge is not necessary for experience and the experience is alive for me here in the home of Lord Shiva. How I came directly to this holy place, Haridwar, that I'd never even heard of, still amazes me. Last night Kaushal suddenly stopped his motorbike in the middle of a bridge over the Ganga and we stood at the railing. He pointed out Chanda Devi Temple on a hill to the East and Mansa Devi Temple, at the same height on another hill to the North, with the Ganga flowing between, where we stood. He asked me just to feel the place. Haridwar, Gateway to the Gods, where the Ganga comes down from the Himalayas.

As we get back on the motorbike, I see another person, a young man alone, who's also just stopped his motorbike right on the road and is sitting there, feeling the place. There's energy here. The temples are powerful. Of course not everyone is religious, but those who are sincerely devoted have an energetic interaction with the divine that's not a part of American life. But because I wanted to talk about dhal, I will leave this topic for now - it's not exactly an easy one in all honesty. But it's clear to me that this is why I'm in India, eating this very strange diet.

Not the most elegant of transitions, but only to say I find the diet both bizarre and very effective. I feel great, but I don't really understand. I seem to be living on sugar, caffeine, wheat, white rice, potato and milk products - none of which I wanted in my diet. But I'm on my faithful travel plan - eat what I'm offered with gratitude - and it's working. I hope to write more about the fast and the rituals of Navratra later, but time's up for this post.

Closing with love to any of my friends who are still keeping up with me. By the way, a phone is in the works, though I don't know how long it will take as foreigners are no longer allowed to own phones, due to terrorism! Don't ask me, though I will say I have new insights on Pakistan being over here. Meanwhile, rest assured, I'll be able to get a phone, though not immediately. There's a popular saying here - impossible's not in my vocabulary.

some disturbed?

That’s the question Kaushal asks me this morning before leaving to teach his yoga class. His house, where I’m staying, is under construction. After days of waiting the mason finally arrived, followed by the bull powered cart bearing a huge load of bricks. Even though I live here now, it’s still a thrill to walk out my front door and see something out of National Geographic. Less entertaining though is the looks the mason’s workers are giving me. I’ve already become very friendly and comfortable with the cabinetmakers. They’ve been here a few weeks and I’m helping with kitchen design. The head cabinetmaker is quite delighted to be considering new aesthetic issues and he now gives me a big smile, saying very good design (his only English) as he brings me cup after cup of chai. But the mason workers are another story. They’re quiet in that smoldering way and there’s one with that particular Indian male stare I loathe giving me yet another opportunity to practice self-remembering and not be bothered. Nonetheless, I’ve shut myself in the bedroom, unable even to bathe as this morning also began with no power and no water.

But truly I’m finding that nothing is much of a problem these days. My old habits and difficulties are just no longer plaguing me. Some anxiety arose and I lay down on the old folded blanket on the marble floor where I daily practice yoga and meditation (I’ve yet to see a yoga mat in these circles) and I lay in shivasana, corpse pose, until my heart’s rhythm started to slow. Then I slowly began my yoga routine, starting with the Himalayan joint opening exercises, but focusing on my breath and the relaxing of the internal body. Full concentration is not only required, but I now understand that only with full concentration are big gains possible. In my life in America, I somehow came to believe that full concentration, full participation, was outside my ability, available only in a rare moment here and there. Though at least I tried. Here it’s happening. And in all honesty, I’m not quite sure why or how, but I am doggedly and devotedly taking advantage of this opportunity. Speaking of which, back to it. I broke from my practice to jot down a couple of things for the blog, but while in the past I would’ve gotten lost in the computer, now my dusty blanket is calling, Marcie, your work is here. As they say here – I go.