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.