Genius Traveler has happy independence day

Taking the Indian rails for the first time made me feel like a Genius Traveler. I rocked up to the counter and was given the option, 1st or 2nd, AC or non-AC? First class 500-something Rs ('bout ten bucks), second's 200-some Rs. Both AC. I know this and have to ask, how much is 2nd class non AC? 67 Rs. About $1.50. It's a 2.5-hour trip (faster than the car), how bad can it be? I'll take the 10.15 Shabadti Express, 2nd class non-AC chair car, please. Holiday, ma'am. Train's at 11. OK, fine.

The holiday is Republic Day, commemorating the formation of the Republic of India in 1950 (not to be confused with Independence Day, the day they won their independence from the Brits).

At breakfast before leaving Thomas (the lovely proprieter of Shantosha's) tells me two things. I've bought a necklace indicating marriage, but I've bought only one circle. Only half. Should be two circles, one for the sun, the other the moon. I tell him I got it right then, I'm holding out for the moon....But also that today's a solar eclipse. Inauspicious for travel...)

At the station this porter takes my bags (I give him 35 Rs, a bargain considering I never would have found my correct seat without his help). On the way I grab a chai (5 Rs).

I'm a little nervous because of what I've heard about train travel, people packed onto the car like they pack onto the bus. But we have assigned seats. I got a "chair car."

The ceiling of the non-AC car is lined with fans. Plus there are windows. As for "chairs" however, that's a little subjective. They're benches.

Someone's in my seat (according to my porter, whose breath I now notice smells distinctly of alcohol) so I just head to another bench. I'm waiting as the minutes tick by. No one joins me on the bench. In fact, the train's kinda empty. We start chugging out. Between the solor eclipse and the holiday, I got my own bench the whole way.

The countryside streaming past is lovely, paddy fields and palms. I get a masala dosa and another chai from the vendors who stream through the car. It's breezy enough and just as it starts to get a bit uncomfortably warm we're at Bangalore Central.

I follow the crowd to the exit and the parking lot beyond. Not quite sure what to do but knowing I need to get to Indiranagar, I wade past taxi hawkers. A rickshaw guy says, 180 Rs! I keep following the crowd. Prepaid rickshaws! 85 Rs. Genius.

Mysore impressions

I've been withholding my impressions of Mysore to see how they settle. Since I leave tomorrow, settled or not, here they are.

The neighborhood we are in, Gokallum, is wealthy. The homes are modern and there's much construction, so you have everything in the way of accommodation from where I'm staying (inside a 2-story home, hot water, Western toilet, bucket shower) to apartment buildings with underground garages and washer/dryers.

Many who come here only come here. "Deepening my practice," they say. I can and can't understand. While I couldn't claim to have a deep understanding of Indian culture, I'm interested in it because it begat this amazing practice. What I love about it here is the multiplicity of faiths and traditions; the inherent capacity to accept nonlinear, sometimes conflicting belief systems without disonance. There is still so much more I want to see, and though I've come to love practicing here, I need to move along.

My practice is as much off the mat as on, and life here is a kind of hippie-ghetto version of my actual life in NYC, only with a lot more talk about yoga. This engenders some terribly intimate conversation, which strikes me as if we're at some kind of 12-step recovery meeting only without the steps. Sadly that means no guidelines on sharing, or anything else. There's a lot of unnecessary conversation, which I've taken advantage of to develop my listening skills.

Then there's a lot of boy meeting girl. On the one hand it's been gratifying to watch, happy to know I'm uninterested in a flame. (By which I mean fling, except the word flame is more precise.) On the other hand it's made me realize how much more difficult it will be to find someone someday. I was very afraid and sad about this for a few hours until I realized I've been (mostly) happily on my own since my divorce. I do think you can grow more within an intimate relationship, but that doesn't mean you have to stagnate on your own. It's all a choice.

At first I was very put off by the American-ness of this place. People start lining up an hour before practice to get a "good" spot in a led class. There is elbowing and pushing, then a lot of overexertion on the mat. Some people practice in the toilet. Others in the hall. I was lucky because Raoul and I were next to each other from day one, and from then on he'd go and save me a spot. Today was the first led class I went to without him and I practiced in the ladies room, but it was wonderful. I felt at liberty to be more gentle with my practice, which is what my elbow demands, and consequently, it was great. But under the watchful eyes of Sharath and Saraswati, I didn't feel I could do that. They would yell. "Why you hurry?" "Lift up. Lift UP!" "Don't leave your leg." Then I saw others adapting in the led classes, and then we were back to self-practice. And so I understand my own deep need to fit in on yet another level, which completely softened my initial reaction. And now I'm sad to go.

There is no conference today and I'll miss tomorrow's. As I was leaving I saw Sharath and so got to say goodbye and thank you. He said, "three weeks not enough." Now, here's this man who works CONSTANTLY. He has HUNDREDS of students. And yet he's kept a watchful enough eye on my practice to see where I am in it, and talk to me about it in practice, and here he even remembers exactly how long I've been there. Again, I am blown away. Now, just like the people I thought were nuts when they first told me, I'm hoping to see him in NYC in April. Will I be back? Who knows.

Karnaji Park

I went to the zoo yesterday to do some editing. Enormous stands of bamboo cooled a cement bench near the water where I sat for an hour editing.










And watching people rent boats.







I was meeting a friend for lunch and was about to head straight back but thought I should at least take a look around. These pics are the result of that decision.






The first thing to blow me away in the bird sanctuary is a giant, brilliant blue peacock.
















Then this ginormous turkey wanders up and settles himself at my feet.


















I'd like to think this was God's way of appreciating that I forwarded the Sarah Palin slaughter video to everyone I know...










Then I saw this gorgeous thing.
































Then I learned this is the tallest bird of its kind in India.












Then I went to lunch....

Sandhya's for lunch

Many Indians have businesses in their homes catering to Western tourists--Internet cafes, tailoring, but especially restaurants. These businesses are kind of illegal and so kind of hidden, but you can't walk down the street without tripping over one. Still it's worth the 20-minute ride to Laxmi Purim (the next neighborhood over where SKPJ's shala used to be) to eat at Sandhya's.


Reservations required. Yup she's that busy every day.

I'm beginning to see the light

The Devaraj market in downtown Mysore is government run. I don't know what that might mean in terms of the tourist trap factor, the merchants and patrons all seem very local. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just wanted to see what there was to see. The God King (deva-raj) did not disappoint. I came upon scented oils and figured I might as well pick them up for making the lotion I use at the end of yoga class. The young shopkeep, Maqbool, kept taking the glass tops off the bottles and waving the stoppers in my direction, blowing the scent into my face. Ick, but still I was charmed. As I was wrapping up my purchase a man comes along with what looked like a lump of brown sugar in a paper bag. "Take, take," he says. "My father," Maqbool tells me. "We're celebrating because my cousin just graduated in engineering." He points to a grinning kid in the shop next door (which sold tiffins and spoons and other stainless steel bits and bobs). "Now he must wait for a job," he adds. I wanted to refuse the disgusting-looking snack, but they so just wanted to share their happiness. "Just a little," I say, taking a pinch. "MysorePak," dad says. As desserts go, this thing was frakkin' AWESOME. "More please?"

Falling in love again...

A rigorous yoga practice forces you to stop lying. If you're committed to working hard on the mat and maintaining your practice for life, you can't fake it. You will injure yourself. Physical injuries tend to follow emotional ones. My knees (ego) were killing me that first week when Sharath stopped me at Marciaasana D. That's calmed down, but now my elbow is a wreck. That has to do with feeling trapped. What's frustrating about that for me is that I'm in a trap of my own making. Of course this is true of most traps, but in my case it's blatant. I'm in that frustrated spot with it, aware and yet continuing to scratch the itch. Despite mounds of evidence showing all will be well, I fear what will happen if I stop scratching. So yes, another healer. An energy worker I met in class, Angelina. I'm hoping a session with her will help me focus on realigning my physical self with my higher self so I can observe without the need to react. So I can fall in love--in the grand sense--again.

Paypaaayah, pineapple

The sound of the fruit vendors pushing their carts through the streets of Gokalum is drifting past the scent of chapatti coming into my room from the family cooking. Well, Grandma Tara cooking. She's the only one who ever seems to cook.

I've been holed up watching CNN all morning--takes forever to load--but even better was a brief bit of time I got in front of a TV yesterday to watch news reports from outside the U.S., one of my favorite things to do. For the first time ever in my travels -- I didn't travel soon enough after 9/11 -- the world is rooting for Americans.

Please please when you travel, always say you are American. It's weird to me that people don't, and why? Less scorn? Not really. And it does a disservice. As President Obama said, Let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled.

What a difference a day makes

Sometimes the long and winding road leads nowhere.

A whirlwind couple of days...

Raoul's mother had a stroke and so he returned to Toronto. It all happened so quickly there hasn't been time to even write about our last adventure together--at last we made the Jain temple. And by the way, the Jains are Buddhists. Kind of. This fellow memorialized at this most holy Jain site, Bahubali (Gomateshvara), was the first person (say the Jains) to have attained enlightenment. As you can see conveniently from the photo of his statue below, was so deep in meditation that vines grew over his legs. I'd tell you more but that's what's keeping me from posting to begin with, this is not at all what's on my mind and I just can't be bothered. As you can see the statue is massive. It was carved in 981. And there are a billion different legends about it, just like every other story in India. This is one of the things I love about India, the lack of need for a precise explanation. The innate understanding that life is as series of impressions that's never "accurate" or "fixed."
What is on my mind is why did I come to Mysore in the fist place? Many people I know and trust had advised had told me enough about it that it seemed likely I wouldn't much care for it, but I wanted to see for myself. So often when a thing gets popular, people disparage it for the sake of disparaging it. Like Paul Auster. But I digress. This is the epicenter of Astanga yoga, the practice that made me fall in love with yoga. I wanted to pay homage to that, and I have to say Sharath and Saraswati are extraordinary teachers. Nonetheless it's unlikely I'd come here again. The first day Sharrath stopped me at Maricaasana D because I didn't bind on one side. And here I was worried about remembering the sequence of second series postures. Since then he's let me complete the whole first series, but I haven't even bothered attempting second. Though I want to. I catch myself looking at other people and thinking, I can do that. Better! You're just forcing yourself to get into that pose. What crap alignment. But then I'm as guilty as the rest, straining and pushing to get through the whole of the series. And since I didn't breathe properly, I'm too exhausted to even get into a backbend adequately, which is crazy because this is why I've taken so to the Jivamukti style -- its emphasis on backbending.

Interestingly, the straight-leg jump-through is not at all important. Man did I waste a lot of energy my first week. Given that up for sure. Altogether this means I'm less active than back home, so I'm taking classes.

Sanskrit. Chanting. And I was taking a yoga sutra class, which was great. The teacher was going through the sutras word by word and defining the words, which brought Pantanjali's yogic code to life in a way the flowery interpretive stuff you usually see (or I've seen anyway) does not. Ironically, as we study the spiritual laws, the other woman in the class and I, are hating each other. She wants to have longer classes but I have class afterward, so she feels she's missing out because of my schedule (though an hour and a half of going word by word through the sutras seems like a maximum class length anyway). I find her pushy and resent that she shows up late or not at all. Mysteriously she asks him to go over extra sutras one day after I left for class, and even more mysteriously, he does. I've asked him to end the class at the agreed upon time. When I ask the teacher to teach me the sutras she is not pleased. She says she wants to stay late every day and get extra sutras, then show up late the next day. I have no idea where she's coming from with this plan or what the outcome is since once again I have to leave for my other class. I show up today only to learn the teacher has cancelled the rest of our classes. Somehow she already knows this and isn't even there, which all strikes me as very very sad. But for two things. The timing sucked for me too, and now I don't have to deal with her weird energy. And I can study with Lakshmeesh!

Yes, the beautiful man who teaches Sanskrit and chanting at the shala is doing a sutra class and I'm hoping he'll let me join though I can only make two more of his classes. I can't believe it but already it's almost time. First I'm heading to Bangalore to connect with some old friends , then I'm taking another vipassana meditation. No talking, no writing, or reading for three days. Sadly this also means giving up the computer I've had to rent--my Mac died here and I've been hacking away on a rented PC.

Raoul, my prayers are with you.

Happy Sankranthi!

The winter solstice is celebrated with a festival called Sankranthi, which mainly consists of getting the day off, cooking and visiting friends and relatives with food.



And painting cows.



We celebrated with gelato.

Madhu the Magnificent

Some people want to be opinion leaders on movies. Others want to be experts on restaurants. Me, I like to be your source of information on area spas. Hell I've picked vacation destinations based on spa amenities. Thus it is no small thing to tell you that here I've one of the best masseurs ever--Maddhu.

A South Indian native from Kerala, where the ayurvedic massage tradition comes from, Maddhu brought to Mysore the table that's been in his family for the past 14 generations. He also keeps the scrolls he's had to copy, four exquisite books, hand-written on leaves, that detail his craft. One book deals with the physical aspect, another the spiritual, another finger techniques, and the largest of all, psychological. Each time I go I spend about three hours with him. He tells me about the tradition, his home in Kerala, Hindu culture. Yes, I have a crush. But it's mostly an intense respect. He's amazing at digging in deep and opening up the body. It's not a pain-free experience, but the end result is a sense of wellness and wholeness . People who are able to give massage like this are truly channeling. It's not a rote approach to palpitating the muscles.

Mike the Body (in Goa)... here I come!

Hooray for Bollywood

Mysore is known as the City of Palaces and yesterday we hit the second largest (after Mysore Palace), the Lalitha Mahal. Completed in 1921 to house the royal's guests, today it's a 5-star hotel. Yesterday it ws the backdrop for a movie. Or an ad...

We enjoyed the pool.

The tour.

The wildlife.

But skipped high tea in favor of Pizza Hut...God it was delicious, in a way it never would be at home.

The Jain Buddhists

We practice six days a week with Saturdays off, but a full moon also means no practice. This week moon day came on Sunday, which meant two glorious days off in a row. Some ambitious types headed off for Goa or Bangalore, but I thought it might be worth checking out something closer to home. The Jains are one of India's oldest religions and hold all human life sacred, they will harm nothing (but they'll let you kill plants for them). Some go naked. Others wear masks so as not to inhale bugs. They've built a massive temple 2 hours north of here, an easy day trip. Or so I thought. The first sign that things might be amiss was when we hopped in the car at 6am and said, "Jain temple" to the driver. "Yes, yes." He said. "Golden temple." Jain temple, we repeated. Golden temple, he repeated. We went around like this till finally he said. Ah. Jain temple.

The next sign was the flags. "Those are Tibetan flags," I said.

"Golden temple," the driver repeats.

It's early (we were advised the rising sun hits the stones of the 30 meter high temple beautifully) and we're the only ones in the parking lot. (From the giant bag of popcorn I assume they're planning on loads of guests.)

Even the toilet is closed. But we start seeing the monks everywhere. (Yeah, he's on a mobile.)

We head toward the gate and I love that we're the only Westerners there, wherever this there happens to be. Beyond the entry the sun is hitting a golden temple. Spectacular.


"Oh, the Jain Buddhists!" Raoul says.

When we stop laughing we hear horns and cymbals. Then chanting begins. We walk into a building surrounded by frightening images of gods trampling out evil, decorated with skulls and flashing their spears. At the head of the room is a giant golden Buddha and two smaller gods, and in the center hundreds of young Tibetan monks chant from these books.

The Golden Temple sits in the center and is locked. It's a weird cross between a Chinese pagoda and, well I guess a Tibetan temple, which I've never seen before. The details are amazing.

I wander the grounds, there are four such buildings (North, South, East and West?), all filled with incredible paintings, sculpture and other exquisite detail.

But my favorite sighting is the shriveled woman who walks around one of the shrines constantly (a form of worship). At last I'm treated to a tour of the Golden Temple itself (I've lost Raoul at this point), by this young man. And when I emerge they're lighting sandalberry (says my guide) in these giant stoves, sending a fog across the grounds. Smelled divine.

After an obligatory tour of the gift shops (we pick up some prayer beads for 60 Rs each), we head for a coffee plantation.

First we stop for breakfast at a roadside stall where we're treated to a masala dosa the size of my arm. Delicious, but man, that was the sucker meal for sure. 177 Rs for breakfast in the middle of nowhere was a HUGE gouge, but then again, only about $4 between the two of us so we can handle it. It's so easy to turn very Ugly American. (Whether you're American or not...)

On to the plantation, only it's private property. Not a tourist destination at all. The driver tells us just to walk along the road to check it out because there are snakes among the coffee bushes. (Has his English suddenly improved?)

Yeah, it's a theme. Raoul and I can't seem to ever get where we're going but it's not stopping us.