Upon my return I have been asked many times, "What was it like?"

It was like landing in a different world that was one of the most familiar places I have ever been. It was realizing the insignificance and the interrelatedness of my life when placed among greater humanity. It was seeing the impact of imperialism and slavery on a regal and proud people. It was disheartening, beautiful, overwhelming, glorious, and absurd. It was a reflection of my own neuroses, imperfections, shortcomings, and wealth. It was a reminder that intellectualism is a luxury. The Indian people that I met on a daily basis were kind and curious. It is a changing country that is being influenced by technology in the way that I imagine Western culture was changed during the industrial revolution. Imagine if you could go back to witness our own country as distance became shorter between East and West. You could see the rails being laid, the men working to create more tracks with a steam engine moving towards the horizon. There is a palpable change happening in India as "outsourcing" and IT has created a new class among its people and a new standard for living.

Driving in a rickshaw in the dark hours of early morning shrouded in blue mist. Over the humming of the three wheeler, I could hear a Muslim prayer being broadcast. At the same time, driving by a Hindu temple, people bowed in the dark - faces lit by candles, foreheads were dotted by a priest with bindi. This is a reverent culture. This is a peaceful culture. I am in the middle of a prayer. That's what it was like.

During the short 7 weeks I experienced a very small portion of the country. India is vast and diverse. I hope to return soon - It could take a lifetime to discover all of the many regions, landscapes and people. If you ever have the opportunity to go to India, do not hesitate and be brave.

A bird and a Bike

me and guruji - and I'm wearing a money belt under that shirt, people

A coffee shop in another time

Jasmine and saris

A sadu on the side of the road

The sheep are ever so fashion forward, note the matching bag

Yellow cow, need I say more?

Katakali dancer putting on Make up before the show

Tikka in the Market

Just a few shots - a colorful and unexepected India...

I vowed to wean myself off of chai today, but it is kind of rude to decline on offer when someone makes one and there were a few other weak moments. I am jittery and anxious as a result. I guess I can go through the withdrawal process during the long journey home. We leave Cochin in an hour - fly to Bangalore then Frankfurt, Boston, and eventually Nantucket. I have been enjoying the lazy beach vibe here in Kerala.  I was looking forward to returning to my own little island before I remembered that it is the dead of winter there. Yikes, I'm scared. Cold? Snow? Wind? Desolation? Am I ready for all of that? The truth is, yes. I am sad to leave India, but I know I will return here.  It feels like departing from a friend who I know I will see again soon.

I suspect this will be one of my last entries. I will post pictures soon, so stay tuned for that. Perhaps I'll even be able to sum it all up upon my return. Right now, I am still reeling in all of the sensations of India, too much so to be able to have a real perspective on my experiences here. I have learned/remembered some, though. Not in any particular order, things that come to mind:

1. Life is measured out in breaths, so I must take time to appreciate and sometimes even count them.

2. Money is not everything, and further more cannot buy happiness, love, life experience, time, enlightenment or understanding. So its uses are rather limited in the Big picture.

3. Everybody is out to make a buck (but, see #2).

4. Rickshaw drivers are some of the most serious hustlers out there(see #3).

5. Kindness and curiosity are at the heart of human beings. 3rd world or world power - people are all the same.

6. If I keep reaching for something that I don't have, I will never appreciate or experience what I do have.

7. It is better to be quiet than to say a bunch of crap that is gossipy, hurtful, judgmental, or complaining. I found the complaining thing especially difficult on this trip and noticed that I do a whole lot of it!

8. Yoga practice is not optional.

9. As my sister Korin put it, "The journey towards enlightenment is never done." In other words, I have a long way to go!

I would not describe myself as "an ice cream person". I am more of a cookies and cakes kind of girl, but when I saw the pink and white Baskin Robbins sign hanging from a distance, I knew I had to do it. Somehow that familiar sign and set up seemed just right after being sick for some time, and after the long journey from Mysore to Cochin (Kochi). I ordered a scoop of double chocolate almond and another of gold medal ribbon, a favorite since high school. Actually, I'm not sure if I've even had Baskin Robbins since high school, so when the ice cream men wanted to know what the difference between India Baskin Robbins and American Baskin Robbins was, I could hardly conjure up the comparison. In fact, it was one of the best ice cream experiences I have ever had, so you know, hats off to the Indian manufacturer. I did notice that they only had the handmade cones, which are a lot bigger - I liked that. I said, "At home we have these little cones, like these, but small."
The man in the pink baseball cap shook his head knowingly and said, "Those are su-gar cones."

I was diagnosed with Acute Gastritis (doesn't that mean serious gas, or something?). I was released from the hospital last night after a day and a half long stay. I was subjected to various tests, a blood screening, a sonogram of each organ, a chest X ray, examinations and prodding. I was surprised that no EKG or MRI were recommended. Mysteriously, all test were negative and normal, despite my 102 degree fever. I was surprised that the doctors had not found the horned dragon who had taken up residence in my gulliver. They suspected a bacterial infection and placed me on IV treatments. It was a fairly pleasant stay with old Magnum P.I. episodes and Full House to keep me from going beserk. I was treated very well and had a lovely private room (we splurged for the 21$), but I did insist on leaving even sooner than they would have liked.

I've been sleeping all day and feeling depressed and sorry for myself when I'm not. I am officially homesick. I miss my dog. A lot. The other day Alex and I came across a growling and scrappy boxer on the rooftop of a house. We stood in the middle of the street looking up to admire him. He stopped pacing to stick his piggish snout through the iron grate just long enough for us to sigh in appreciation.

I also miss food that is not, well, Indian food. Don't get me wrong - the stuff is really good here, but what I wouldn't do for some pasta carbonara. Or some of Ron's Bolognese and Colleen's bread, and don't forget the olive oil. Heavenly. My first stop upon my arrival to Boston will be the North End. Maybe Regina's for the pizza and root beer - with lots of ICE!! I realize home is not a place, but a taste!

I still have 9 days or so here. I will try to whip myself back into the present and enjoy it because I am sure that I will ache for India when I 'm gone.

"Pray your god," said Harini right before she started laughing a deep and throaty laugh.
Oh, Shit, I thought and closed my eyes tight. I was lying on my side, wearing nothing but a string and a strip of cheesecloth ("Indian special" Harini called it), and as slippery as a freshly caught fish. She stepped on my left heel with her right foot rotating my entire leg inside out, as she dug her left heel deep into my inner thigh above the knee. At first I was relieved by the bearable pressure, then a few more strokes and she was into depths of my groin that only god herself might be familiar with. I let out a yelp, a groan, and then a whimper. She laughed again.
"Oh, you singing a pretty song," she said. I could hear her smiling through her words, "No pain, no gain."
Harini rung my body out with her feet while she held onto a twisted length of fabric that hung from the low ceiling. I was prepared for all of this by one of my friends who described Harini's massage as, "Well, it ain't no spa experience." 

I walked out feeling lighter and taller. Most importantly, my yoga related groin injury that has been acting up seemed to disappear. I expressed my gratitude and said I'd be back soon (I'm returning tomorrow).
"Thank you, sister," She said, and sent me off in my rickshaw with a big beautiful smile.

As we ascended Chumundi Hill, a nearby temple complex, in search of the sadu who holds residence in a nearby cave, Alex and I were approached by three teenage boys. We were easy targets slow to climb the 650 steep and rocky stairs. I had noticed them earlier while we were taking a break about half way up where there was a pineapple salesman. They surrounded us, one on each side and one walking ahead. They began to pummel us with questions mostly having to do with cities in America and the WWF. "You see WWF?"
"On T.V."
"Not in real?"
"No we aren't really interested in wrestling."
Then they told Alex that he looked like one of the dudes in the WWF whose name I don't recall now. "Same structure," Said the sweetest one and he slapped Alex's arms and chest. "Beaut-i-ful."
The boy who was walking in front of us wore sun glasses, blue jeans, and lots of gel in his hair. He seemed what my father would say was "too cool for school". The sweet one went on and on about what a great body Alex had and even said he was "marvelous" and "cute". He looked back at me, as I was trailing behind a bit and said over his shoulder, "You are cute, too." I felt like he didn't really mean it, but I was sweaty and out of breath, so I couldn't really blame him.
Then the third and most quiet of the trio looked down at Alex from a few steps ahead and agreed with his buddy. "Yes you have a really good structure, rea-lly good, but you are too fat," He said as he puffed his own little belly out, grabbed it, and shook it up and down. After a few more laughs and what seemed like an endless interview I sent them off. "We'll walk in quiet now," I said, and they disappeared as quickly as they came.

I recently read about how busy eyes can quickly tire the mind. For example, riding in a car or train can become quite tiresome just by looking out the window to take in the sights. The mind processes like a computer; working like a machine to take in the environment, digesting it, storing the images becomes exhausting and forces the eyes to close and one to sleep. So I experienced during the journey from Mysore to Bangalore where I was to meet Alex a few days ago. In the inside of the old Ambassador were stickers of Ganesh - the god who takes away obstacles, a good one to have in your car here in India, garlands of flowers hanging from the rear view mirror and strewn across the dashboard. A traveling altar, of sorts, was set up and I was grateful for it. My driver laid upon the horn for most of the journey, but I didn't mind. Some things I saw that made an impression:

A deserted amusement park surrounded by dessert and palm trees, the Ferris wheel spun slowly, as if powered by the wind.

Bright green patches of cultivated land, rice paddies, palm trees in rows upon rows.

A lonely tombstone on a hill painted bright blue, a cross and a mound.

Various road side stands selling food, smoke pouring out of bamboo huts, men and women squatting, working, and washing.

Villages which were there and in a blink, gone.

Hand painted concrete buildings, Hindi writing - loopy and colorful.

Road signs reading "You can Dodge the Law but Not Death" and "Diversion Ahead".

A flock of sheep whose backs were spray painted fluorescent pink.

The rouge rickshaw inching his way down the highway.

Ribbons of color dancing everywhere.

Jasmine blowing in a woman's hair, she on the back of a moped.

Marshes with deceptively pristine waters reflecting the noon sun, garbage at the edges.

Goats standing on hind legs to reach the leaves of fluffy trees.

Shanty towns made from corrugated aluminum, blue plastic tarps, bamboo and thatched roofs.

Dogs, cows, chickens, horses, pigs, e-i-e-i-o...

A Banyon tree, set upon a grassy platform and surrounded by a low stone wall and painted around its enormous trunk white, red, and white again.

Every color of sari and skin, hard working, leisure walking, alone, together, and children.

Hawks, twenty or thirty of them floating above it all.

"Outsiders who go to India have no idea of the country, even when they are there..." V.S. Naipaul, Half A Life

As I walked home from my cooking class yesterday, I came across a cow who was struggling with a plastic bag on the dusty road. I stood there for some time watching him nose his way around the bag, he snuffled and snorted and I imagined he was becoming frustrated, although even under pressure, cows are pretty laid back. I figured that he would not give up his quest, that he would continue his slow and inefficient way of moving the bag around until finally he would access its contents. I looked over my shoulder, first right and then left, and when I was sure no one would see me I leaned over, turned the slightly wet bag upside down and shook it. A couple handfuls of pea pods spilled onto the ground and the cow began to eat them, gratefully I thought, but with cows one can never tell.

In the end, I often end up doing more than I had planned to in the beginning. Tonight I waited tables at my friend Tina’s. Her backyard strewn with pillows and lit with gem like lanterns becomes a romantic restaurant on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. I have offered to help her serve dinners this week. This is in addition to my chanting and Sanskrit classes, cooking classes, kirtans, and my well planned meals at various homecook places throughout the neighborhood. There is also socializing, shopping, sometimes napping, and of course, there is my yoga practice. Luckily, yoga takes place between 6:00 and 8:00 in the morning, so I have all day to do the rest. I’m not complaining. Just observing, really, the habits that I fall into no matter where I am.

disclaimer: the spell check feature is not working, so...

The cow (or was it a yak?) was painted yellow with red strips down his back. His horns were purple and seemingly dipped in glitter - they shined and sparkled in the morning sun. No, this was not some tripped out hallucination; just an everyday spectacle on my way to the internet cafe. This and many other scenes, which upon my arrival seemed fantastic and surreal, have now become quite normal. Imagine this cow sitting in times square, or on the cobbled streets of downtown Nantucket.  Here the colorful bovine is lovely, revered and perfectly in place.

I feel perfectly in place, too. This morning I have the sense of settling in. Practice was intense - emotionally and physically. One adjustment from Saraswati in Marichiasana D ( you know, the one I "can't" do) , and I was toast. Sobbing like a big baby, but with the sweat that was pouring from my head, I don't think anyone noticed except Saraswati - when I looked at her with eyes pooling in tears she touched three fingers to her heart, smiled and bowed her head a bit before moving on.

Breakfast was at Anu's. She is a woman who cooks for yoga students in a makeshift restaurant constructed of bamboo and palm leaves on the roof of her house. Going to these "homecook" places is so much better than eating at restaurants. There are plenty of good restaurants here, but none as good as the women who cook from their homes with love and expertise. My meal began with a small bowl of utma which is seminola cooked with chilies, onion, and other spices. Utma is a traditional breakfast food and can be served savory or sweet. This morning it was paired with a smokey tomato chutney. I also had a masala (herb, spice, etc) omlette with plain roti, which is a lot like a tortilla. I washed it all down with grape juice - fresh squeezed -and a chai sweetened with palm sugar. Luckily, I haven't had to give up my gourmet tastes.

note: Saraswati is Guruji's daughter and Sarath's mother.

They were all lined up when I walked into the shala for this mornings led practice. The students from the previous class were waiting in front of Guruji's chair which sits on a platform at the front of the room. One by one they kneeled down, touched the guru's feet, touched their foreheads, and if they were female stood up and leaned over the guru to give a hug and kiss. I noticed that more than one girl got a good one right on the lips. He sat looking pleased, like a mixture between a Buddha and a very jolly Santa Claus. His expression changed to a more disinterested mask when the men kneeled down and quickly went back to the jolly old guy when a woman's turn was up.

Finding a spot for my mat was no easy feat and I ended up between two uber-yoginis at the very front of the room. The one to my left was German, and all business. She is not all that graceful, but she gets the job done. The one to my right, a Brazilian and clearly a former gymnast or athlete of some kind, floats lightly through the 1st and 2nd series and is working on the 3rd (I thought only Madonna could do that one:). I found her ease and her incredibly shaped legs to be quite distracting. I kept thinking, Was she born like that? Has she been at this a long time? Was she the one wearing the thong at the pool yesterday?

The practice that followed was, as I said, a led practice. Sarath called out the postures. At one point I think he saw me flounder around a bit before foregoing a jump back when he told me that I was "done". I finished up my practice in the dressing room, which is basically the bathroom, and where one is sent when one's practice has been interrupted.

So, you want to know what it's like at the shala. Well, it's like any other studio, I guess. After all of my anticipation and nervousness, it's really just me and the mat. It is great being in a hot sweaty room with so many people - the collective energy helps to create heat that I rarely achieve in my own practice. I had heard about being stopped in certain postures during the series if you weren't doing them "right". When I asked Sarath (Guruji's grandson) about this he was clearly insulted.  "How do you determine when to 'stop' a student," I queried.

"Just like that," He answered by furrowing his brow and shrugging his shoulders a bit.
When he realized that I wasn't finding his answer sufficient, he told me that I was the first person to ever ask that question and his upper lip sort of curled to meet his flared right nostril. So cut to my first practice...

I had anticipated being stopped in Marichiasna D, that's when you are in half lotus and with on leg up while twisting in the opposite direction and grabbing your wrist behind your back. Right, well that's not happening. I had anticipated this pause in my flow so much that when I got through my flailing version of the posture, I looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one seemed to notice or mind that my Marichiasana D was really lame, so I kept on rolling with things. I got to Supta Kurmasana - this one I got some help with . Sarath came over to wrap my hands behind my back and put my ankles behind my head (I'll have to show you a picture, if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about). After a good push on my back, he told me to do the finishing series. Boy, was I relieved.

Today was the same thing. I kept moving on until I got to a posture that apparently required some instruction. Sarath came over to bark some directions, but I guess I wasn't understanding him because he made a 'tsk' sound by sucking the back of his teeth and then looked at me disgustedly before saying, "that's enough for today, finish up." I felt like I had a great practice, I was all high and stuff, and I really am learning some new things about the postures and what my body is capable of. The tough love thing is a little intense though.

Today: Tuesday January 11, 2005

Events: First Day at the Shala!
Made new Friends
Discovered THE Mysore Market
Enrolled in cooking classes with Tina – the local chef
Got Palms read by Vedic Astrologer (long life, lots of love, travel – go figure)
Experienced after effects of Manchurian Gobi – you don’t even want to know
Missed Friends and family
Bought some gorgeous used sari petticoats for .75 to layer into long skirts
Jackie Departed
Listened to Nashville Skyline

Vibe: Relieved, Excited, Lonely, Exhausted

Complaints: Sore throat coming on

Wisdom gleaned: There’s always something new to learn, absence makes the heart grow fonder, Best friends are forever (I miss that girl already), and go easy on the spicy stuff!

We are still in Ooty. Yesterday, Mani a Christian Ooty native who was about 50 years old, took us on a 3 hour "hike" around the hills. More accurately, we walked around the town, into the back yards of once royal retreats - now only boasting tired gardens - through tea plantations where hunched women nimbly picked young leaves off the tops of full bushes, through pine woods planted by German visitors, across fields of vegetable farms, around country temples honoring Shiva, Vishnu, or Ganesha, and into eucalyptus forests hazy and misty blue.

One of the places we visited was a small colony where country people farm and make eucalyptus oil. The hut where the oil is refined is made of a simple wood frame and a thatched roof. Between the thick branches that are vertical and horizontal and make up the sides of the structure, are dried eucalyptus leaves filling in the wooden lattice. The eucalyptus wall is about 2 feet deep. The women who collect the dried leaves stuff them in. The leaves are then removed from people inside the hut to be placed into a large vat half filled with water. What is left over after they are boiled down is pure eucalyptus essence. We had tea with Mani and the owner of the farm, who relayed to our guide that we were probably very rich in America. We laughed and bought a bottle of the good stuff, and I plan to give some to my uncle who enjoys a sauna every night in some other hills far away from here.

p.s. don't worry about the yellow hands, the color seems to be fading, and we think it's from eating too many carrots and tomatoes.

I've spent the last hour trying to upload images so that you may get some visuals of the trip. Apparently this is not going to happen this morning, so you'll just have to use your imaginations. Jackie and I are experiencing jaundiced hands, but don't be too alarmed. We feel alright for the most part and worst case scenario is a touch of Hepatitis A. Lovely.

Still in Ooty. Although we are practicing our yoga everyday, I am looking forward to getting started at the shala. The anticipation is killing me.

We are currently in Ooty, in the Nilgiri hills 3 and a half hours Northwest of Mysore. This mountain village is well known for Kasmiri goods, cardamom tea, chocolates, coffee, and eucalyptus. The smell of dried eucalyptus leaves fills the air here. On our way up we drove though the Bandiphur National Forest. Our driver stopped at every spotted deer in case we wanted to take pictures. We were much more interested in the monkeys which gathered in the road, unbothered by oncoming traffic. He didn't stop for any monkey photo opportunities until we requested, and even then he thought we were joking. That was probably the equivalent of someone wanting to photograph squirrels back at home.

We are staying at the Mysore Maharaja's summer palace. Doesn't it sound grand? Well, our accomodations are more reminiscent of a Catskills cabin. We are staying in the cottages where English guests used to stay during colonial times. The whole place was built about 150 years ago and looks as if it hasn't been touched since then. It is rather dingy and even the palace, which they are renovating into a hotel, has clearly lost its luster. We actually had the pleasure of catching a glimpse of the queen of Mysore today. She was up visiting the palace to inspect the renovations. One of the queen's guards who gave us an impromptu tour pointed her out and said that although the maharaja disapproves of the whole hotel thing, the queen has made it her pet project since they are not generating a whole lot of income these days. We doubted that he should be going around telling people about the monarchs money problems, but we liked hearing the gossip, nonetheless. The hotel, the palace, and the town of Ooty are faded postcard pictures.

I registered at the shala yesterday. Pattabhi Jois lovingly counted out every rupee. Actually, there was a price discrepancy, and I kind of got into it with him for a moment before his grandson came in and resolved the issue. There is more of a story to the whole experience, but at the moment I feel like moving on despite the possibilty of a comical recount.

If you have sent me emails, by the way, I love that about you. I send you love and good wishes and hope you continue to write when you feel so inspired. This journal is a letter to each one of you, so sorry if I may lag on the individual attention. Bottom line: don't hold your breath for a quick response.

Today, Krishna the one man yoga-student-hook-up took us to a Tibetan settlement an hour and a half outside of the city. It was truly like being transported to another country. The only Indians I saw there were driving rickshaws. The scene was on a hilltop. Temples. Incense. Chanting. Saffron Robes. Drums. You get the picture.

Krishna also organized a roadside picnic in a wide open pasture. He snapped open the tin containers filled with beautifully colored food. One tin stacked on top of the other, each layer more delicious than the other. Yellow lentils, Squash, chapatis, rice, and other more unfamilair food. We ate with our hands, chatted, and soaked up the sun. It was truly one of the best meals I've had so far.

As we were eating, a band of children approached. Eight in total ranging in age from 3 years old to 9. Their shiny dark eyes gleamed from faces caked with dirt. Their three mothers trailed farther behind. As they got closer to our picnic blanket Krisha spoke to them in their language (he speaks seven) telling them to go back down the hill and wait. Although I didn't know exactly what he was saying, I got the gist of it in his commanding but gentle tone. They retreated apprehensively.

When we were done eating Krishna called the children and gave them each a paper plate. We spooned our left over food, of which there was plenty, onto their plates. They ate hungrily, the bigger ones taking what the littler ones were not eating fast enough. I gave the oldest of the bunch, a pretty girl with a glittery pin in her nose, a cup of fresh squeezed grape juice. When I noticed that she might drink it all herself I made a noise of disapproval and she looked at me shyly before passing the cup around. When we were all finished Krishna spoke to the children again and in unison they yelled a loud "Tanks", before running back down the hill.

Last night we met Fish, a hard-core sports fanatic who is biking his way around India for six months. He seems to do everything - from rock climbing to guide training, and snowboarding to break dancing, he is an active dude from Canada who is most at home searching out whatever adventure the world and wilderness might have to offer. He said he has been biking from village to village where he has slid around in waterfall rock formations with little kids and has been invited to stay in people’s houses where they are honored to have him sleep in their bed, while they stay on the living room floor. One night he was riding with thoughts of having to sleep on the side of the road. I told him that he was courageous and he said that time he was really scared.
“So what did you do?”
“I just kept pushing it,” He said.

“Pushing it” was our theme for yesterday. We woke up with a plan to possibly leave Mysore for Chennai to study with Srivatsa Ramaswami because, for the life of me, I cannot figure out who I have been called here to study with. So Jackie and I have been going back and forth debating the better decision. Weighing out days that Pattabi Jois’ place will be closed, how much money it will cost in the end, etc. So we asked for some divine direction and planned to wing it until the very end of the day. Part of our plan was to not register at the Ashtanga Institute, but to go and vibe it out.

When we arrived at the imposing Ashtanga shala in the modern and upscale neighborhood of Gokulam, we were greeted by Sarath, Guruji’s grandson who nodded his head towards the back office to register. Sitting behind the desk in a darkened room was Pattabhi Jois himself, counting out thousand note rupees. I made a gesture of “Namaste”, but he did not look up from his stack when he told us to sit down. He seemed more like an old mob boss at that moment (complete with bling on every finger) and I was actually relieved that I didn’t feel the need to kiss his feet or anything. Being from New Jersey, I am definitely more comfortable with the mob type. So we talked a bit, mostly logistics – time of practice, cost, etc. He was very old and really cute and his undemanding posture put me at ease about practicing at what I have been building up as a very intimidating place.

Later in the day we went to see our friend and tailor, Babbu. When I told him that we might move onto Chennai he shook his head, slapped a folded news paper with the back of his hand and said, “You don’t go to Chennai, look at this picture, this is Chennai – very bad. Everything you need to learn, you learn here in Mysore.”

That’s when Fish rolled onto the scene. He came into the tailor’s shop and sat with us for a while. We exchanged some stories. He had arrived in Chennai about a month ago. He said that he really didn’t like Chennai and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Fish couldn’t handle it? The adventurer, the tailor, and the guru-mobster all seemed to be telling us to stay in Mysore. To be continued…

Many friends have written me to ask what it's like over here amidst this incredible tragedy. It is truly a strange time to be here and I honestly don't know how to reconcile my own experience with this catastrophic event. I mean, essentially I'm on vacation in a country pained by a tremendous loss. I imagine the experience to be like visiting Louisiana from another country, during September 11th. There is chaos and suffering in those regions hard hit, but life goes on here (Mysore) with a mournful eye and a sense of reverence for those affected. Has there been such a natural disaster in this century? Or in modern history?

Although people are talking about it all the time, there is also a sense of getting on with things. There is also fear. This is so much bigger than anyone is able to deal with, and one man told us that he didn't think the minister of India could help all of the people or tend to the necessary restorations even with help from other countries. He estimated that it would take "many, many years".

The manager of the hotel just walked in to chat. He told me that his close family friends, a family of 22 were on vacation when the tsunami hit. Seventeen of them perished in front of the other 5 relatives. He said that the survivors are in shock and have not even cried, and have to be forced to eat and drink because they are so traumatized. He has been spending every night at their house to be with them and he said that even more than money, these people need moral support.

We had our first experience with a big street market today - whoa, was that intense. "Stimulation overload" would be a major understatement. I feel like I am processing everything a moment after it happens because it is all just too much to take in. Vendors beckoning, children kissing my feet and pulling at my pants, cows eating garbage, under fed puppies running between my feet, vibrant storefronts selling mysterious goods, the random westerner voice, "Right, well I was studying yoga for 6 years before I started Ashtanga." Then there are the smells - perfumey sandalwood, cow dung, spices, and sugar cane. I feel so outside, so foreign, and then I'll meet the eyes of a dark skinned woman wrapped in a colorful sari and she'll smile at me. Not so different, not so far away.

Since my last post, the reality of the Tsunami has hit. We were a bit removed from everything (ie. reality) upon our arrival. On New Year's eve, we took part in a beautiful and touching ceremony for the victims. Listening to traditional Kannada Raga was heartbreaking. It is a very strange time to be here, obviously. There is fear among many especially since scientists (?) are reporting a repeat of the disaster, maybe on the other coast. One man I spoke to today said that he fears that even Mysore will be washed out to sea.

What strikes me the most is the graciousness of the Indian culture. I really don't know how to describe the innate strength and beauty that radiates from the people here. I am mystified and in awe.

Jagadeeswaran means “ruler of the world”

Yesterday Jackie and I stumbled upon a letterpress printer. I saw the sign and thought I’d price out some business cards. We were greeted by the gentle manager, Jagadees. He explained that his shop was the oldest printer in India – three generations and over 150 years in operation. The equipment they use is just as old from Germany and England and as impressive and imposing as you might expect a 2 ton printing machine, typesetter, binder, or perforator to be. We agreed on a price and quantity (400) and then he offered us tea, but we politely declined. He offered us coffee which we also politely declined. Then he offered us tea, then coffee again. Then finally he said, “In India, I treat you like you are in my home that is our culture, so please would you like some tea?” How could we refuse? “This is India, I cannot change our tradition, I am sorry,” He joked.

We chatted over our tea. He told us about his family. One of the workers joined us and explained that Jagadeeswaran means "ruler of the world", an explanation that Jagadees seemed to enjoy. Upon discovering I was married, he asked if I had any children to which I replied, “No, I’ve been married for just a year.”
“It is only nine months work, is it not?”

We enjoyed the little sweet cups of chai and within minutes I was high as a kite on the caffeinated stuff. He then took us on a tour of the print shop were 10 or so men were working. They would type set my card the old fashioned way, placing the tiny type on a composition board with tweezers, and spacing the card with blocks of lead varying in size. The men were eager to be photographed with their machines – head binder, head typesetter, etc. Some posed serious while others mocked working on the shiny iron machines wearing big grins.

I picked the cards up this morning. They are perfect and clean looking. The surface of them is slightly bumpy where the letters were pressed by hand onto the stock. Jagadees was proud of his work and wrote out a bill for 580 Rs, approximately 12 dollars.

What day is it? I'm not sure what's going on around here since I have had about 4 hours of sleep in the last day and a half and 2 incredibly strong cups of tea this morning. We arrived in Bangalore at around 1:30 am. I was worried about typhoid, malaria, scamming and kidnapping before I arrived, but after a hair raising taxi ride from the airport to our hotel early this morning, I think I can withstand anything over the next 7 weeks! Fearing for my life so honestly and completely, so early in the trip was a good experience, I think. Now I can move past the fact that death is always a possibility.

I chatted (extensively and sometimes reluctantly) to my seat mate on the plane. She was born in Bangalore and lives in D.C. She didn't seem too worried about the catastrophic effects of the Tsunami on India, but I haven't gotten a read on anyone else around here yet. I got the feeling the the papers at home may have been minimizing the state of things. All the European stations are covering the aftermath 24-7. I am still unsure how the disaster will shape my trip.

Jackie is still sleeping. I am exhausted-insomniac right now. The hotel is comfortable for the most part. Apparently "A/C" and "hot water" are interpretive phrases. Everyone I have met so far has been lovely. I tried some traditional South Indian breakfast foods like little rice patties with a spicy tomato soup - yummy. And delicious fruit along with aforementioned tea. Jackie wants to stay in the hotel all day and watch Bollywood movies and order room service as a way to recuperate from the stress of travel. I am more interested in getting out into the city.

I read a fabulous little book on the Boston-Frankfurt leg of the trip - The Alchemist by Paulo Chuelo. It was the perfect book to read on the beginning of a journey. More on that theme later.

Well, it's a winter wonderland up here in Boston. I depart later this afternoon and expect to arrive in a balmy Bangalore sometime in the early morning, in a day or so. My total travel time will be something in the neighborhood of 20 hours - yikes, good thing I have a window seat and some sleeping pills! I haven't seen a TV for the last couple of days, so I have to go find a newspaper to read about this tsunami/earthquake/hurricane that apparently swept thousands of people right off the earth early yesterday morning. My travel companion left a message last night that was a bit garbled, but she mentioned something about aftershocks...Having lived in L.A. for 5 years, I'm not too worried. Oh man - I just went online, this is apparently much more serious than I had imagined. Wow, this is a bit scary especially since some of the areas I have planned to visit have been really effected. Disease and death tolls high.

On a lighter note... As many of you know, I had originally planned to study Ashtanga with Pattabhi Jois, and then was redirected by Mark Whitwell to study with his teacher, Srivatsa Ramaswami. Well, the path has changed again, and I will be spending the majority of my time in Mysore, afterall. I guess it was just in the stars, but I will be visiting Ramaswami in Chennai towards the end of the trip. I have been brushing up on the Primary series, and I realize that there are entire portions of the practice that I have omitted entirely. Like, all of these Marichiasanas A, B, C, and D?? Who has the time? I'm wondering what am I thinking, anyway? I mean I have a bunk knee and a rickety hip these days, so I could be asking for big trouble. Oh, well - please send me some good juju and I'll keep you posted. Next time you hear from me I will be in the exotic and far away India. Peace.

Cassius, Buddha reincarnated.


Monday 13 September

This section of the website is a journal that will document my trip to Mysore, India this winter. I will chronicle, or "blog" the time leading up to my departure, travel in India, study and practice with Sri Pattabhi Jois, and my return to Nantucket in February. Today's journal entry is a test, but is also an invitation to return to this site, to chart my journey, and to marvel at the wonders of technological advancements in communication. Please feel free to contact me with questions or comments about yoga, practice, teaching, travel, my dog Cassius, or anything else that might strike your fancy. I will write more soon. Until then, practice and peace.