the wedding

I got invited to a local wedding. It was easy to find. Just follow the blinking colored lights to a gaily festooned entrance over which sat a giant yellow lit up Ganesha. Below were the gatekeepers, dressed in some unplaceable traditional style which included fake handlebar moustaches. They opened and closed their aluminum foil tridents for each guest who passed. Just beyond them were 4 girls in white Little Bo Peep outfits throwing flower petals on all the guests. I walked in to the large open yard with food booths along the perimeter to see another Hindu style festival – lights, decorations, the dance floor with the teen age boys wildly doing the latest Bollywood moves. There were 2 Santa Clauses in front of me, but as I passed them I saw they were wearing elf masks. For a moment I almost expected to see a ferris wheel and cotton candy, but instead were women dressed in their maximumly sequined saris. The food was outrageously good and outrageously plentiful and outrageously consumed.

How sad it must be to be an NRI (non-resident Indian and the source of significant tourist dollars). The rest of the world must seem so bland and staid.

yoga class - day 4

Something happened after 3 days in bed in Delhi and my back was in such pain I couldn’t remember when it had been so bad. But I still didn’t doubt Kaushal Kaushik when he felt my back and said “3-4 days yoga – no more problem”. He’s got that kind of authority, tempered by an irrepressible twinkle in the eyes. Kind and confident, so clearly trustworthy that I just watch as the old thoughts come up – he’s a charlatan, he’s just in it for the money. I don’t go there. Why would I want to sabotage a chance for what I’ve been praying for – real help, the next step. I’m fascinated all the time now to watch my thoughts, to see how little they have to do with my experience of India and everything to do with a conceptualized, media-ized India. Not that they’re even wrong, they’re just thoughts, but believing them creates a barrier that doesn’t let me in to what’s happening. And what’s happening is simply amazing. I've met Kaushal Kaushik, a genuine yogi, healer, astrologer and lovely human being.

This is what I came to India for. I'm starting to understand, things are starting to be revealed. This is where I should be. The doubts in Delhi were left there. This, now, is worth the difficulty of saying good-bye to my life as I knew it. I feel like the luckiest person on earth these days. I love India, deeply, like a returning to something unknowingly longed for and now fulfilled. Plus there's no doubt I've been dropped into something very special. Still, it’s not like I'm believing or even hoping for anything, well maybe hoping. The yoga festival's coming up and I'm not even walking without pain. But Kaushal's not interested in the immediate, the problems he wants to address have been life long, pain enough to send me to orthopedic surgeons in my mid-20s. I really only know the Western approach – nothing on the x-ray, do 10 sit ups a day and live with it. Even yoga in America does not attempt to reorganize the spine in a matter of hours. But that's precisely what Kaushal is doing.

So now I’ve got an Indian yogi putting me in positions I swear are impossible. Kaushal tells me how to get in the posture and then he makes it correct, stretching me beyond anything I knew was possible. The amount of strength he uses is terrifying to experience and yet I’ve had not one iota of soreness, feeling overstretched or more pain. Only relief, with day by day rapid improvement. I realize I never knew what yoga felt like before. With 2 words of broken English I’ve learned more from Kaushal than in the sum total of all my yoga classes. And I loved those classes, but no wonder I couldn’t find what I was looking for in that yoga. Sincerity of teachers aside, it simply wasn’t there. Kaushal calls it lazy yoga or stylish yoga – it’s equally a problem in India too. He’ll only work with people who want to work hard, who want to prepare for real meditation. At the end of ½ an hour with Kaushal my whole body is trembling, with shock, with newness, with exhaustion, with relief. Each day quantum improvement, each day more difficult positions. In each posture I don’t know whether I’ll cry, break, fall or expire, but Kaushal counts the seconds and I stay in the asana. And then, relax. In this yoga, it’s shivasana after every asana and the body just lets go.

So in fact, after 4 days, I do have a new spine. I thought the bumps and protrusions were just the nature of my back. No, no, no. Kaushal says my verterbra were badly out. But not now, 4 days later. I just keep reaching around to my lower back, feeling the smoothness, vertebra becoming properly aligned. Getting ready for meditation.

mobbed

This afternoon I ventured out to see the Aarti, the most touted event of this holy city of Haridwar. At dusk, hundreds of people buy a banana leaf filled with marigolds which, after a small ritual including drinking Ganges water, is set on fire and floats down the sacred river to more prayers and chants. A lovely, beautiful, spiritual ceremony – or so I thought.

I walk through the narrow streets taking in the plastic bottle wallah, a man walking with all different sizes of plastic bottles in large quantity radiating out like an oversized plastic peacock, translucent and blue, the young boy rolling a 4’x4’ cart of vibrant nuts and other edibles I’ve never seen, while shoppers, walkers, motorcycles, bike and auto rickshaws keep flowing down a road barely 6 feet across. It all works in India.

I come out to the Ganges, camera in hand and want to take a picture of a group of sadhus hanging out. Suddenly they start coming toward me – uh oh, have I shown disrespect? But no, they want a donation, but they can’t take money. So I head off accompanied by 7 sadhus to buy rice. As soon as they hear the generous amount I’m willing to buy, they immediately ask for triple. A hard negotiation ensues between sadhus, shopkeeper and me, but everyone ends up happy. Then, still inspired by Cristian, I give a beggar some money and – I’m mobbed. Kids, grannies, cripples, and other deserving pathetics all over me, at least 10 in the first encircling, grabbing and clawing at me. I start screaming NO and am fighting to get out. I suspect some kind Indians behind me pulled away the worst of the crowd and the grannies and cripples couldn’t keep up with me as I started running but the kids are tireless and have nothing else to do, so they just stayed with me, endlessly chanting, ten rupees, ten rupees. But you know what? This was not even the worst of the begging. Once away from the real ones, the ghat priests and administrators hit me hard with official paperwork. Each one has a different organization that demands money, though it is not obligatory. As soon as one leaves, the next shows up with the next receipt book. Suffice it to say that after an hour of being mercilessly financially hit up by anyone who possibly could, I went back to the hotel distraught and tired.

This unfortunately is not an atypical foreigner’s experience and it also unfortunately makes perfect sense. Of course these people want our money, it’s not there for them in their own lives and they know for us it’s nothing, if they can just figure out how to get it from us. They're beggars, so they beg. Sadly, the first tier of interaction with India is often with the forgotten, the hopeless and the desperate, unless it happens to be with the aggressive staring men, the cheaters - or all of them at once. Sadly, some foreigners never really see anything else, except in the safety of the hotel and through other insulating techniques. Sadly, it's a vicious cycle in which as a foreign tourist I can't not play my own despicable role, merely by being here. Shortly after this incident, my life in India took me completely out of the tourist areas and this experience has not been repeated. I’m staying in an area unused to foreigners. The children are friendly and there’s no begging, though it's a poor area. But the deeper issues still pain me. Is it inevitable that foreigners wreck something of India by their mere presence? And what can I do? I no longer give beggars money, I can't take that risk, but perhaps, as I stay on, it's time for me to find a way to be genuinely charitable, out of gratitude to this amazing place that is so, so, so much more than what I've described. I don't know how I got so lucky to be taken in, but I have been. So now we're going to enter another India.

Cristian

There’s one person in the dining room at the hotel besides me. I’m asking some question of the waiter and he speaks up to help and we continue talking. His name is Cristian and he’s a chef in Switzerland (along with being a very successful businessman amongst other things). He’s spending a month at this hotel to improve the cooking and the menus. He’s in his last days here and it’s obvious he’s done a fabulous job.

He later tells me he recognized some controlled terror in me and thought he’d best help out. Thank you, Cristian! It’s true, it’s not been easy for me traveling alone in India. I’d been coping, but with a definite lack of grace. Cristian and I become almost inseperable for the next day and a half until his departure and it was transformative for both me and my trip.

For one thing Cristian’s aesthetics are impeccable and his traveling style an art form. He’s gay, but wtih surprising immediate honesty, he also told me he’s been living with AIDS for 24 years. You’d never guess what he’s been through with all the confident vitality that pours out from his being. His fearless love of life helped me to see that bold and foolish are not be the same thing.

Cristian showed me how you just give some of the beggars a little something and a smooth hassle free road opens up. He reminded me that in fact we want to do this. He explained that there’s 2 prices for everything and again, it’s fine. Why should we pay the same as the local people? These things flew against my conventional traveling wisdom and immediately felt right, made me more comfortable. We talked about how much fear there is about travel in India and how that makes it impossible to distinguish what’s really happening. In fact, India can be one of the safest places in the world with proper observation and behavior. Cristian brought me to a sidewalk chole stand, the biggest no no in all the travel books, where we had a delicious fresh meal. In fact most stands are using fresher oil than many of the restaurants. He pointed out things I should notice and expanded my observational vocabulary.

And then he introduced me to his favorite people. We went up to Rishikesh to have lunch with his travel agent. Once again I would’ve made the assumption that anyone in a tourist business just wants to rip you off for whatever they can get of which there are certainly plenty of this type and additionally, it makes sense even if it feels terrible all around. It was fascinating to listen to Rajkesh. He was a diamond merchant in Mumbai for 5 years when his father summoned him back because they wanted him close to the family. He started this business and his father talked to him about providing an honest service that whoever came would know they could trust them. His reverence for his father was tangible and not forced. This was just part of the light chit chat at lunch as topics came and went. But I was moved to hear a young successful businessman’s ideas, feelings and concerns about India and how he negotiates living a proper life.

Then up to the northern reaches of Rishikesh, away from the mega-ashrams with their name brand gurus, to a little place tucked away where Cristian spent three weeks, in partial silence, with lots of yoga, chanting and meditation. The woman swami is delighted to see Cristian and they take me on a tour. It’s located next to the Ganges which is so clean here it’s even safe for foreigners to drink, though don’t worry I won’t do it. It’s probably too cold for me to even take a swim, though I must get in at some point. This ashram has a large impressive organic garden from which they make their sattvic dishes (the gentler, milder, more religious food with no onions or garlic). At one point, I’m standing on a roof overlooking the garden, Ganges flowing mere feet away, looking up into the hills which are hiding the Himalayas beyond. A farm here and there, but this ashram is at the end of the road. Beautiful! If I come for this experience, this will be the place.

But meanwhile Cristian has told me about Kaushal, the man he’s getting private yoga classes from. He wants me to meet him. He says he’s the best yoga teacher in this whole area of countless yoga teachers. He tells me ½ hour with Kaushal was more significant than 6 years of yoga at home plus the ashram. He tells me he’s starting real yoga only now and only wishes he had more time with Kaushal but will be back. I trust Cristian and look forward to meeting Kaushal.

Cristian and I talk and talk and talk and by the time he leaves I not only have a friend I hope to know my whole life, God willing, but I’ve gone from terrified novice traveler to ready to enter an India I hadn’t even contemplated living in – real Indian life with basically no other Westerners. This used to be the way I traveled and I had thought it was me seeking it out. As I now am going deeper in than I’ve been before, I see it’s the opposite – the experiences are seeking me out. I just wish to keep my eyes open and have the wisdom and courage to say YES, when that is what’s called for.

Cristian’s my inspiration for the art of the YES. He leaves me with everything and everyone he loved on his trip plus a gift of an inscribed book of meditations by Krishnamurti and we both continue onward.

“There’s no meditator in meditation. If there is, it is not meditation.” Krishnamurti

it's India

Last post had me still trying to awaken from my descent into fear and doubt, manifesting as a cold, but indeed I emerged ready to leave the cocoon. I really couldn’t have started in a more welcoming place than the Hotel Shanti Home. Pooja, a young woman who ably managed the hotel, took care of me as one of her own, getting the kitchen to prepare special food and telling me when and how much to eat and why – Ayurveda is certainly alive and well here. Not only are we now facebook friends but at the end of my stay, she shared her spiritual path with me. Everywhere I’m finding the level of spirituality beyond anything I could’ve imagined, beyond my concepts of what it’s like in India. I guess I’d assumed it was more formulaic and less heartfelt, as I felt in Bali last time I was there, but what I’ve been experiencing around me is sincere and deep. Definitely more on this topic to come.

So arise I did, getting up at 5am for the train trip to Haridwar, the Gateway to the Gods. The driver drops me at the station and arranges for a luggage wallah to get me and my bags to the right place. As I’m struggling to keep up with him, I’m nonetheless enjoying watching him, experiencing natural life art through his posture, his movements, his confidence, as he quickly guides me through the throngs, answering the questions of many travelling Indians without pausing en route, stopping only once to check my ticket because indeed I had the time wrong and he caught it, navigating around drivers and workers with heavy loads and making sure I too could jump and dodge and still keep moving. All this with my heavy bag on his head. He dropped me off precisely at my seat, put the bag in the rack and I gave him the equivalent of $2. He gasped – only one bag, he asked. I answered yes and he was gone. Of course I later found out a generous price was 25 cents and this makes it hard for us foreigners because now they see a foreigner and they want the $2 and this is a genuine dilemma. But this time I didn’t worry. I was in awe. And I didn’t have any small change.

Getting off in Haridwar was a very different experience from Delhi. No one hassling me, no one even noticing me. I went to the taxi stand and someone helped me with my luggage and someone got me the proper transportation and someone arranged the proper price. No one’s job, it just happens. Indians are extremely helpful. When I’m not fearful, it’s quite easy. So I got in the bicycle rickshaw and just relaxed. I was on my own and on the move and I was happy. I turn my head to see this intricately beautiful temple and here I am. Completely happy.

The hotel, Haveli Hari Ganga, is yet another exceptional place - a gorgeous, old spacious hotel with a large open atrium in the middle in which there’s a temple, daily fresh puja flowers, prayers in the morning and singers at night. The hotel is expensive, but because they were not busy that day, the manager was willing to upgrade my room to a Ganges view and throw in all meals – for less than $100/night. Plus all money concerns dropped away when I saw my magnificent room, every corner, every space having a lovely little detail and then opening my doors to a balcony with the Ganges flowing right below me. Mother Ganges. Even now, increasing daily, my heart opens at even the thought of this sacred river.

Unpack a bit and out I go to explore. I’m walking toward the most famous ghat and I’m being filled with the incredible sights and sounds of India. At one point, I stop transfixed. A group of sadhus with drums and a makeshift loudspeaker are singing and praying at their small temple which has a brightly lit up hot pink OM and flashing colored lights circling it. At first, I think it’s a joke or a parody, but no, this is the real thing. I just look around and think – India is Burning Man, India is Burning Man, but no, India is real, with one of the most profound and long lasting cultures in the world and it totally tops Burning Man in unimaginable outrageousness. I walk onto a bridge and look out over a scene I could never make up. Hundreds of Hindus at a most sacred spot, bathing and partying with temples and beggars and everything to buy and eat and all the colors and all the sounds. Oh, here is where I wish I could really write. But I can say it’s a moment I’ll never forget. Just standing there, alone and at ease, taking in an incredible scene and just being so, so, so grateful.

ready

The original title of this post was 'rough start'. After sleeping for 48 hours, it's changed.

The cold I came down with got worse until my body took over and said - that's it. My energy was such that my only volitional act was which side to sleep on. The next day was better but I still took 7 naps. I'd walk around my room a bit and think, well, I'll just rest a little more and I'd be instantly out.

It's amazing how long time feels when you're sleeping. My semi-delirium was perfect ground for self-doubt and self-judgment. But somehow, that was balanced with acceptance. Nothing like being comatose to realize I'm not making the decisions.

And all the while, just watching, and feeling, some kind of reorganization happening, getting ready. I need it. Because I am in India.

my hood

OK, I got scared. And let's just say that's probably not a bad thing. Then cold I'd been fighting for the last month erupted full blown and I spent yesterday quite contentedly in the confines of my hotel room. This morning I woke up early. My very first thought was HAPPY BIRTHDAY NINA who turns 17 today and is one of my favorite people on earth. May anyone reading this join me in wishing her the best!

Then I thought it's time to venture out again. Delhi's very quiet until about 7:30. So I wrapped a scarf around my neck and went out to see where I am. My hotel is in an interesting neighborhood - quite far from the center of town, though on the metro line. It's a bold location for a "4 star" hotel, a neighborhood that's just starting to be gentrified - Delhi style. There's some new homes with lovely iron gating mixed amongst socialist style concrete block houses. We're at least 4 blocks away from rotting hovels and not that many people are living on the sidewalks, though I did pass some smoldering sidewalk fires which hopefully provided night time warmth. The sidewalks here are primarily used for men to make a quick stop and take a leak, anywhere, anytime. Which does not stop them from staring at me. But then again it's not a neighborhood that's used to a middle aged white women walking alone and blowing her nose (considered uncouth, much better just to hack the stuff up and spit it out). This neighborhood is completely residential which means there's not even a shop for me to buy water. Luckily the hotel's food is excellent, though not cheap. But they've done a lovely job here and if I'm going to be trapped in Delhi, this is not a bad place, though I certainly miss freely walking around. I actually think I'd be safe, but I tire quickly of the way I'm stared at, the way men have no compunction about trying to engage me. This of course is not all men, only the worse sort. And then it's also the pollution, like none other I've experienced. The car fumes are low to the ground, mixed with rotting garbage everywhere and I shudder to think what else. I don't know how the human body can endure it and there are still plenty of bicycle powered rickshaws. I'm so glad I chose the foothills of the Himalayas to spend my time. My main question today is how soon to go. But this cold has not only sapped my energy, but blocked my sinuses and I can't bear to go out without the benefit of the nose's filtration system. So I'm holing up again.

Notes on the photos: old Delhi on top - a sacred cow gets first dibs on the garbage just out of smell shot of my hotel. An early morning puja flower delivery bicycle with a boy who can unerringly throw onto any height of porch. new Delhi below - The nicest house in the hood with 2 cars no less. And a funny sign, but really things have not changed hugely for women. There just aren't that many on the streets. At the metro at rush hour, the line of men waiting to get through security (after Mumbai) was a block long, the women's line, empty.

history repeats itself

Twenty years ago I told my mother I was going to India by myself and that was a little alarming to her. My brother saved the day by being willing to accompany me and we had a great time together. Flash forward and now I am alone in India. Mom, you were right!

When my brother and I first arrived here, we went to Connaught Circle, the hub of the city. We were walking around this horrible, filthy, run down circle. I was watching the Indians spit out big wads of red betel nut juice which thickly colored curbs, corners and crevices, when a begging leper came up and touched my brother's elbow. Gary just turned and gave me a look I still remember vividly and said, Where have you brought me?

Guess what Gary? It's even worse and add in pollution that makes me wish I didn't need to breathe. Which begs the question of why would I choose Connaught Circle as my re-entry to India? Soul searching has begun. But to those of you who know me well, not to worry. For future outings, I'm hiring a guide. That said, I did find some peace and beauty at a temple and a park. But GET ME OUT OF DELHI!

...still, look at that photo. I'm in India!

en route

It’s the final leg of the start of the trip. Perhaps soon we’re landing in India though it’s hard to tell. Hours keep passing in the eerie sameness of stale air as I make my way from arctic (that's melting ice pictured here) to tropics (real orchids all over the Singapore airport) to ½ way around the world. The sky is now dark, so this must be night though I don’t feel it. I’ve taken at least 8 catnaps, had at least 5 meals, and used up countless plastic cups of water, discovering trying to save cups does more damage to unexamined systems than it does to the planet.

I’ve been thinking and thinking about this blog entry, wishing to say something profound that might sum up this whole experience of leaving. But what I'm feeling right now is just – here I am. The getting ready to go was among the most difficult things I’ve ever done. But that’s already past. And all that suffering had a silver lining. Going deep into the dark of my own anxiety and finding it not just empty but tolerable. I had moments of panic, so what? It's only thought that could judge being nervous as some kind of failure as a human being.

So here I am, not nervous, not excited, just here, learning how to work the Singapore Air entertainment device. And now someone's coming by, offering me orange juice and water. Thank you.