Oh beautiful India...

Only one more practice is available at the shala until it closes for a two week holiday break. The few streets the yoga community repeatedly traverse are at rest of their usual small chats or passing smiles. The majority of the team ran north to Goa for the two week vacation. Goa is a west coast tourist stop with renowned beaches, temples, and architecture; It is a one day of travel away from Mysore. There seems to be two Ashtanga teachers there which everyone will be dispersed between until they return to Sharath mid-January.

Today seems like the day I should depart. It seems easy to leave, with the mellow atmosphere and vanished comrades (its not really quiet, that guy is still screaming "PA-pie-YAHHHH" as he pushes his cart of fruit.)

Juliana stuck around to give me a hug goodbye. The taxi came promptly at 5:30 p.m. The driver was so cute to try to carry

my duffle bag (upon arrival so empty, now pregnant with yoga and Ayurveda books.) Hopping into the taxi to leave Mysore makes me all the more certain of my return- like hell if I am not having another fresh coconut with a straw in the top, a dosa at Tinas Cafe, and a thali at Green leaf. I want to continue to strengthen my practice with Sharath and learn Ayurveda with Doctor Kumar.

Bangalore: 139km. We are driving on the wrong side of the road heading directly for a bus at an amazing speed. 5 minutes out of Mysore and I already have concern for my life ending again. I smile as we charge toward the bus with a tight swerve at the last moment to get us back to the left side of the road. India is crazy and I love it for what it is. This driver has played this nintendo-like road game his whole life, and it is not our time to stop breathing yet!

I conclude that this is the main highway to the Bangalore airport, my clues being the pavement and abounding buses. Oxen driven carts, motorcycles, bicycles, and wandering pedestrians flood the two lane street. There are no "exits" on this "highway". Sometimes we pass through what might be considered a town, or at least a gateway to a community, but we are surrounded in ever extending fields of agriculture. Coconut trees, sugarcane, cotton and tea fields stretch as far as the horizon. The raw land around us is so immense here, I wonder how so many people are still pouring into the road. The overpopulation in India is so prevalent, people are seeping in and out of every corner. Everyone is heading toward or from somewhere, but there is NOWHERE TO GO! A few corner shops selling god-knows-what are scattered randomly on the roadside here and there, but bodies are everywhere!

People are just running across the busy road as traffic blazes their horns and swerve around them. Parallel to the road is a dark skinned old man wearing all white- from his huge head wrap to his dohti (ankle length skirt.) He is herding his cattle, crossing paths with a 6 year old girl with an empty tin bucket used for carrying the beloved milk. Women strut with brush-loads twice their body size on their heads,

passing the dawdling shoeless school kids in uniforms. Neither seem to notice the possessionless sheep herders with their long sticks or the graceful women walking with large buckets on their heads.

The truck that we are passing has a "BLOW HORN" sticker on it where you might expect to see a "hows my driving?" sign in the states. It is stacked three stories high with a poorly roped load of goods. The smell of burning garbage mixed with pollution makes me appreciate my life in Jackson Hole. Nothing about the quiet and well manicured landscape and lifestyle of Jackson or Saint Paul resembles anything about the world that surrounds me now. I will say that the median in the center of the two lane "highway' is decorated with bright flowers, splashing bold magentas, flaming oranges, beautiful reds and loud yellows into the middle of all this chaos and poverty.

Oh India- how strangely beautiful this place is. Indescribable and uncontrollable, an ancient culture stuck in its prehistoric lifestyle. I thank you for opening my eyes- to myself and to a life a never knew.

I will return, so that next time I can give something back to you.

Feeling thoroughly detoxed

Ironic that I choose to spend my second-to-last day in India at the doctors office. I am clocking in to this clinic for a nine hour shift and I am not getting paid! Laying

on a makeshift bed in the office, I stare vacantly two feet in front of me at the desk where

I sat discussing my dosha with Doctor Kumar about two weeks ago. Not sure why he is not at the office today, maybe because they "ran out of rooms." and needed to put me somewhere?(Actually though)

A warm breeze blows in through the barred windows, a garden in

its beginning stages is out front. With my ipod dripping music into my ear and my concentration on breath control, it is peaceful. Not like spa peaceful- I am fully aware that the 2" mattress I lay on is tossed on Dr.K's shelving unit. Not to mention, that I am laying here waiting for my next "moment of cleansing" to occur.

Day Five of my five-day ayurvedic cleanse, the Virechana Day. But I knew what I was in for today. The bullet pionted hand-out clearly states that "-Medicine for purging as decided by the physician is administered after the bath." Well the medicine of his choice was a black paste thicker than peanut butter, tasting rich in sugar (I imagine to disguise the herbal medicine taste.) It was not easy to choke down the half cup of dense paste. For a moment I thought "what am I doing eating some random clump

of said herbal medicine that some lady in a tunic handed to me," but memories of my trusting characteristics in college reminded me that if I am supposed to survive this experience- I will.

The medicine was administered at 10 a.m. and then I was shown to "my room." Nothing happened too quickly after that. My assignment to f

ill out a handwritten chart regarding my "time and nature of stools" seemed easy enough. Although the fact that they gave me an entire page of computer paper for documentation had me a little nervous for the upcoming events.

The swings of dizziness and weakness accompanied by slight nausea have been fully manageable, but after being in this one 10' x 12' room for five hours I am just so bored. For the first time in five weeks I have thought about wanting a drink! (I see why prisoners take to smoking.) I reflect on the past week.

At my initial consultation, Dr.K told me I was a healthy and balanced tri-dosha. I was happily shocked. I was going to this assessment expecting to hear how unhealthy I was, and I was secretly hoping he was going to tell me one trick that was soooo obvious to all ayurveda doctors that would change my life. "pumpkin seeds at midnight" or "eating mangoes in yogurt." Somehow I answered all his questions to be

not only healthy, but balanced. When answering his question of why I have come here (ie. issue, disease, disorder) He suggested a panchakarma cleanse that treats chronic arthritis, liver disorders, and skin affections. My joints are hurting, I have a history with the sauce, and my face has been breaking out ever since I moved to Jackson- I was totally down to experiment!

Day one I showed up expecting nothing. After about a 30 minute wait I am called into the hallway that is almost in the same room as the front desk and the waiting couches. A man pulled up a white plastic yard-chair for me to sit. I take a seat and I am looking into a doorless closet which has been transformed in to a huge alter. Framed images of gods I am not familiar with lean against the white tile walls. Lit candles and incense, strung flowers, and clay bowls containing crushed color powders are some of the ornaments on the alter that I remember, but my mind was shaken as the chanting began.

A man and woman sandwich my seated position chanting in Hindu. To whom I do not know. Probably the chick in the frame, or is that a guy... maybe it is both? Anyway, I don't know what they are praying for; I assume for me so I

joined in by start talking to whoever is listening inside my head. The more energy asking for help the better.

"Hi gods, just adding on to what ever they are chanting about. Thanks for all you help with this whole travel/adventure thing I have going on here... um, if you wanna stick around through the cleanse- I would really appreciate it."

After the chant, they handed me about 3/4 cup of "medicated ghee" (melted clarified butter with herbs in it.) They told me to drink it and to try not to smell or taste it while drinking. huh. Slugged the liquid down and proceeded to the second glass they handed me which was just warm water. I was then sent home.

Day Two was the same as Day One except the amount of ghee was doubled (so gnarly) and it affected my 'ness a little bit more. During these first two days, I was told to eat only warm,freshly cooked foods when I was hungry. What a novel idea, eat only when you are hungry. Of course no alcohol, drugs, caffeine, or sugar. Oh, and only hot water for the entire five days! The first ghee drinking session left me a little high for a bit, while the second day gave more of a sick feeling (I didn't eat that day until 3 or 4

p.m.)

Day Three I showed up ready for a pint of ghee, but they reassured me that the next three days consisted of hot oil massages and steam baths. Oh, so great! Well... a woman who speaks no English showed me to my massage room. I introduced myself and she said her name too. Since the language wasn't there, she had to mock how the paper thong tied together. She left me to myself, but after binding into the panties I felt stuck.

My eyes scanned the room. One wood table was in the room and I knew I should hop on it, but it was cold and felt oily. Of course it was oily- it is a hot oil massage table, but I couldn't stop thinking about who the last pair of butt checks wearing a paper thong belonged to. The pillow was plastic and had a six inch laceration going through it. I flipped it to the other side and quickly flipped it back again. The laceration side seemed less wounded in comparison.

The Indian woman who demoed the thong busted in. "hello" she said slapping the table. I knew that the massage was done by two people and when I asked if it would be done by women I didn't get a clear "yes." Once on the table, I immediately decided to close my eyes and to try to mentally relax myself into a warmer state. After I was chanted over once again, the second person came in. Hot oil and hands were rubbing everywhere. And I mean everywhere. (this blog is rated PG so I will not precede into any more detail) I knew when it was over when I heard "hello" as I was slapped a few times on my leg. Although I managed to enjoy the multi-handed vigorous rub down, I was happy when it was over. I was cold and dripping with oil. My thong was starting to fall apart and the wood table was slip and slide. The second person ended up being a woman, and she walked me over to a wooden box that upon entering the room, I had not noticed . (I had some other things going on in my head at that time I guess.)

She opened the side of the box facing us. She gestured for me to sit on the small seat inside the box which leaves my head coming out of a small hole at the top of the box. She shut the door and the steam begins. Again, the bare butt thing was freaking me out- calm down brit!- but I can't stop thinking about how the heat and the moisture make a breeding ground for bacteria, and if I get an STD from some fake hospital in India I am going to be so pissed (is that word PG?) Plus, my neck really has to strain to stay comfortably above the box and the extra board they added so steam wouldn't escape was almost choking me.

At one point someone came in.(did I forget to mention the wet blindfold until now? It was made out of the same wet cotton as the small pieces swatted on my heart and at the crown of my head) This woman asked if I was finished and if I could be in there longer, somehow in the same sentence. I said "okay" and she said "five more minutes." I guess if someone is really freaking they can say "done" (like a cake in an oven.)

The opening of the box was like pulling off the comforter on cold morning. No, it wasn't, because you want to stay in your bed and I didn't really want to stay in there... maybe like leaving the bathroom after a hot shower. No. I think it is safe to say its not like anything else at all. It is just like getting out of a hot wooden box with a slippery naked body in the hands of two Indian women and not knowing what to possibly expect next.

She handed me a bowl with a green powder and walked me to the bathroom in the room (which on one of the days someone used while I was sitting in my box, pre-blindfold!). She drew the water for me (into the blue plastic bucket.) Single use soap and shampoo are handed over as she showed me through actions that the powder goes on my body first. I am left in a half bath with a pail of water to commence the bath! The shampoo said it would enhance my natural black and shiny hair, which is exciting because the sun has seemed to make me real blonde lately.

After toweling with a towel you might dry your dog off with if you were to own it. I headed to the front desk and they said "see you tomorrow."

You don't make appointments here. They would ask what time I was done with yoga and then say "come sometime after that." My rickshaw driver Appu, on the other hand, was in to making an exact appointment for what time I wanted him to pick me up. He would arrive exactly at 8:15, giving me barely enough time to wash up after yoga. He would drop me off and then two minutes later come in to fill his water jug at the water stand next to the front desk. He would happily wait the two hours it took for the massage days and I would pay him extra for doing so (the wait and the 15 minute drive both ways would cost about $3-$4) He would be sitting in the waiting room talking with anyone available when I returned from a treatment. He would say "sister, you rest. I wait, no problem." and then maybe for a few seconds, speak in a tongue that I don't think anyone knows.

So that brings me back to Day Five. Which started with a hot oil massage and steam, which are both getting longer and hotter. I am much more comfortable with the women who have been helping me with the treatment this past week, and more used to the style in which is it delivered. After my bath, and a second round of the chant that I recognize by now (which I finally asked about and they explained it is to a medicine god, requested their assistance) I am given the black paste and told to swallow it all. One of my helpful chanting ladies rubs my shoulder a little while I am choking down the goo, it helps. I am sent to Dr. K's office with no one but myself for the day. Me and the thoughts carry after five weeks here.

It is a good mental "grand finale" of some sorts. I allow my concluding thoughts on my experience in India to explode on to paper. My new realizations light up the many options for my future. This cleanse was more than the physical session I am going through at Dr. Kumars this week. A mere physical representation of the detoxifying going on in my mind and with my spirit. I have loved coming to Mysore, dusting out all the thoughts that were in my head so long I forgot I could remove them.

Practice, practice, and all is coming!

The moon is still high in the sky although the sun is softly lighting the eastern horizon. I walk home from today's practice in the dark with hips that have that wet noodle sensation from all the twisting, flexing, and turning. Town is quiet save for the sounds of the straw brooms cleaning the pavement in front of the houses on my street.

The alarm went off at 3:00 a.m. I woke up easily, eye lids much lighter than I anticipated. It must have been the 8:00 p.m. bedtime combined with the fact that it is my first 4:30 practice. Not like first day of school excited, but more like not exhausted with a routine yet. I head toward the bathroom to draw the water for my bucket bath. I have to chase a gecko out of the shower before pulling the plastic bucket under the faucet. The first week I was here I had convinced myself that the shower was great, but the water pressure seems to have diminished a little each day. I now have come to appreciate the "bucket baths".
As the 30 liter bucket begins to fill, I start the coffee maker Thomas passed on to me two days ago. The coffee maker does not have the filter compartment so it actually is a water brewer. My first visit to Doctor Kumar's office to begin my Ayurvedic cleanse was yesterday (the cleanse will be blogged about soon- that is a promise, only day one of five has occurred and you definitely want to hear about it!) He told me to only drink hot water, it is better for digesting and releasing toxins. The warm water I ladle over my body gives my mind a sense of alertness and prepares my body for the morning practice. The body seems to creek at this hour of the morning. Two days since my last practice and I can feel my hips have tightened. I stretch and lengthen all my most tight places, and I try to forget how early it is in the day... or is it actually late at night?

At 4:00 a.m. I hear Thomas whistle twice but I let him walk alone to the shala as I roll up my mat, gather my keys and some tissue for if I need to use the shala's bathroom. I lock my room with the only necessary key of eight on my over sized chillies key chain that Ganesh handed to me over four weeks ago. I step down my stairs to unlock and re-lock the large front metal gate (okay so I use two of the eight keys.) The gate creeks loudly compared to the silence of the hour. Arriving at moments after 4:00, I am a half an hour early but not surprised to see over 20 students already waiting for the gates to open. I am used to arriving to open gates and sitting on the stairs to wait for the first class to end. At this hour we stay outside the large metal padlocked gates, pouring into the narrow street that no one is driving down.

Headphones on, I love this moment. Feeling the daybreak energy I am receiving from my new ipod stacked with music that I love. Audible vibrations combined with the power of the full moon gives me hope that I could do this everyday for the rest of my life. What a commitment! I have to find a comparable community where controlling my mind and having a healthy relationship with myself is easily attained. No problem!

The interior lights flicker on. You would have thought Willy Wonka himself was coming out to pick five lucky winners. It flashed me back to my past few winters- standing in line for the gondola after a fresh blanket of snow had covered the mountains. The "gondola push" happens around the time everyone is expecting the lift to open, on new movement or noise sounded everyone to wedge themselves closer toward their passion and excitement for the day. Same feeling here- no one wants to seem pushy, but if there is more than an inch in front of them they make their way in to that space.

The shala had more bodies than it could hold, people were practicing in the waiting room and in the two changing rooms. I had a nice place in the front corner. The two walls next to me seem to still my mind, I let my mind flow in and out of focus without judgment. Sharath came to adjust me into Supta Kurmasana. He gave me the pose four days ago, and then he left two led classes for his mother Sara Sooti while he went to BKS Iyengars birthday. He came back and out of the 70+ people in the room, he knew where I was and that I needed his help to attempt to bind. He aggressively shoved and pushed me around until my body was in a pose I never imagined I could do (even last week). This guy is amazing. It makes me sorrowful that I leave this week because I feel that I am just starting to really improve my practice. I guess it is merely a fantastic challenge I have been given!

One of Pattabhi Jois' lines is "Practice, practice, and all is coming!" I now see that he wasn't merely talking about the physical poses of yoga. To live life with determination and commitment is a gift we are given through practice. To flow gracefully in and out of situations, knowing that focusing on the breath will get us to wherever we need to go next. To accept where we are, drop the ego, and keep practicing with a smile on our face. I will practice everyday for the rest of my life.

namasfrickinste!

Talk of the Town

Above photos are of downtown Mysore, completely unrelated to the blog post. Except the examples of job opportunities I might be searching for when I return to the states...

I have now been here over a month, I can barely believe how fast the past four weeks have gone. It seems like just yesterday that I was dealing with that damn fence and trying to figure out what "shala time" meant. I have met so many wonderful people, all living such fascinating lives. This place is definitely an incomparable revolving community, it has such motivating energy and outstanding faith. Being that yoga was derived from India, much of the philosophic/religious qualities seems to parallel ancient India culture (which I know very little about.) It is fun to talk to those around about life and see what yogic philosophy seeps in to the conversation...

I have found that most dialogue around Gokulam, India leads to a discussion about yoga postures (I might now add that I do not speak Kanataka so probably most of the conversations in Gokulam are actually not about yoga at all). You can tell if someone is fresh on the scene if they utter something along the lines of, "you know that pose where you are sitting on your bent leg and reaching for your toes..." (this is usually accompanied with an amazing arm gesture) instead of saying, "tiriang mukhaika pada pashimottanasana..." Judgement does not seem to occur, but I sat and wrote the sanskrit names of the poses over and over until I learned almost all of the 40-50 postures I do each day (which still is not even the entire primary series.)

Recently my friend Meghan has come to Gokulam for a few week stint. We have enjoyed many dosas, walks around town, hand made cookies, and pots of tea discussing life, love, dreams, and setbacks. At a recent dining experience I was discussing with Meghan how I feel that the literal distance from my friends seems to be more evident recently. I knew that a few of my emails have probably sounded as if I was eating equal parts gogi berries to hash by the "every one is a divine ray of light" and "it all happens for a greater reason later in life" sort of talk. Meghan gave it to me straight- we realized that I need to stop with this because I am probably starting to freak everyone out a bit... So I thought I would write and tell you some of the stories and conversations that pop up around this karmic and energy focused community to show you how my crazy nature is truly encouraged!

My first week here, Laksmish (my chanting and Yoga Sutras teacher) told us a story of his neighbor who is deaf, dumb, and crippled. In his fabulously broken Indian English, he recalled that for years everyone was very sad for this woman, and the community took much pity on her sad and lonely life. Then, one day they took her to get her horoscope read. The horoscope reader explained that in a past life she had beaten a pregnant cow. Then they all understood how her previous life had given her horrible karma had created her current situation. I don't remember if my jaw dropped or my head tilted to one side, but my eyes burrowed deep into Laksmish's soul- searching for the answer of how we were born on the same planet.

The next day, as I walked to enjoy "the best chai" with a new friend Kate, she told me that she strongly believed that if you are doing yoga in this life, you must have done yoga in the previous life as well. I did not speak my wondering thoughts of "Don't we need to start somewhere? I am pretty sure this is my first go at this yoga thing...did she not see my ugly bind in Marichyasana D today?" I let these thoughts go, and quickly realized that belief in reincarnation is the norm here.

For that following week I assumed that my next life would be as an unkempt shoeless Indian beggar. I had denied money to so many sad eyes. I had heard so much about that if you give money to these beggars it will only encourage their current lifestyle. I can not imagine that a few rupees would hurt, but with a day totalling 20-40 hands extended complimented with a guttural "uhh-uhh" your desire to give any of them anything quickly diminishes.

Plus, I don't think beggars practice yoga and since I am doing that in my lives now I guess I have that going for me...

Last week I hiked up Chimundi Hill (1000-stair climb to a temple and an amazing very of the city) with a group of cool women. We sat down to eat some food, literally, at a hole in the wall. This place was shady and after my meal I started to feel pins and needles through my body like I was about to faint. I went outside to calm down and as we descended the stairs I heard that the man who cooked my food probably had put his anxiety and bad energy into the food I ate.

Two of my friends have come down with a mean fever/ achy flu situation. I heard a woman call it the "Ashtanga Flu- that everyone gets within the first month or two" but Juliana was trying to tell me that she was sick because her bad karma was burning off or an over abundance of prana from her last practice. I was taking this in with a nod (I have found this is an accepted response to comments of this sort) when Meghan, one week here and still a bit grounded, says "I think you are just sick, it's a germ. That is how we get sick- germs."

When I was worried that I was get sick from my friends my landlord told me that I won't get sick because I smile a lot...

Meghan's landlord explained that her sore throat would never have happened if she was wearing a scarf around her neck...

Sharath disclosed that a teaspoon of ghee (clarified butter) and a glass of milk each day will make you live until you are very old...

Napping stops the releasing of toxins...

Cold foods vs hot foods and how they cool and heat our inner doshas...

More than one coconut a day is bad for my face...

Mosquitos are okay to kill (violating ahimsa- the non-violence law for yogis) if they are indoors because that means they are not following their dharma (their obligation to the earth) by going indoors...

I am sure I could go on. Loads of talk on karmas and next lives- so fun! But just an excuse for my tone in emails and skypes... and remember, we are all breathing bodies carrying the light of something greater within us ;) right?
love you!

The house where I rent a room is a very social location- Internet center and healthy buffet with lounge-y atmosphere bring many yogis in this direction. Although I love to read while I sit on a few cushions on the balcony, with all the action during lunch and dinner hours, sometimes it is hard to study. So I find a coffee shop to do some work in...

There are two cafes in Gokulam which resemble US coffee shops. Resemble is not a strong enough term- they fully belong in the US, standing out on the streets as much as I do in a crowd of Indians. They are fully equip with "leather" couches, milk frothing machines, well organized merchandise shelves, a random assortment of American music ("I'm a Barbie Doll in a Barbie World" song to an old Kanye West album) and their coffee is reliably delicious. Indian coffee (instant coffee mixed one part water, one part milk) is available at most chai stands, but the atmosphere at these spots are very different (and wonderful.) They consist of only men, most of them smoking. Here you sit street-side on plastic chairs or the cement stoop inches away from piles of street garbage and/ or a loitering cow. Your 3 oz shot of coffee (or chai) is 5 ruppees and is served to you with all five fingers touching the circumference of the small glass (a no-no I learned long ago from serving tables, but something I have become totally okay with in the past four weeks.)

About once a week I make the half mile trek to BARISTA LAVAZZA (middle A in LAVAZZA is twice as big as the rest of the lettering) to enjoy one of my few vices I have access to here- coffee. As for the walk, I have my choice of either a residential neighborhood or the two main streets in Gokulam. I usually take the residential route. The main road forces you to be on guard of swerving traffic, barnyard animals, and random stretches of dangerously disintegrating walk ways. The neighborhood walk is still on streets sprinkled with trash and school children asking for your "country coin," but the air and noise pollution are much more tolerable.

The building is clean, crisp, and welcoming (my first indication that I am not in India anymore.) BARISTA LAVAZZA- "this season we are going nuts about coffee" The fact that they acknowledge seasons, and that things will change in a season (other than the fruit you are selling off your cart) is very western. Most things around here don't seem like they have changed in hundreds of years (if ever) and no one is going nuts about anything, especially for just a season...

My double cappuccino is expensive at 61 rupees ($1.50) I could buy two lunches with this much money, but it is worth every cent. They place 5 huge packets of white sugar on the saucer under my cup (which they bring to me on a tray with no fingers touching any part of the perimeter of the glass.)

Although the heat has heightened my sweet tooth, I am resisting adding sugar. At my recent visit to the Ayurveda Clinic, Doctor Kumar recommended that I only eat natural sugars. I LOVE that I think twice about my sugar intake now that "my ayurvedic doctor told me that unnatural sugar isn't good for my dosha." Like I had no idea that sugar was bad for my health prior to this visit! He also mentioned that I should stay away from fried food.

"ohhhhh..."

I think I actually wrote those things down in my notebook when he said them!

At the BARISTA LAVAZZA I can take my scarf off of my shoulders without receiving any scolding eyes. I am so sick of this scarf on the shoulder thing. My guy friends can all wear tank tops, I do not understand why I am actually following this culture's norm. My shoulders are offensive? Well I find this rule to be offensive. And I find it offensive that there are never any Indian women in this coffee shop because they are busy at home cooking and cleaning in the heat (with their shoulders covered). I can tell I have been drinking milk-water instant coffee, I am starting fights in my head with cultures older than dirt because of the strength of this cup of coffee.

Other than the 5-men staff in orange Polo's and black sweater vests (Indians get cold in air conditioning) and baseball hats with "more coffee?" embroidered with orange thread, the bathrooms are what impress me the most.

I pray that I do not have to use the restroom while eating at the two Indian diners that I most frequent. Be their toilet squat (hole in the floor) or western (damn if anyone isn't squatting anyway) I often feel as if I am playing the game Twister, except if I lose I get Diphtheria (please note- this is a thing that I made up. mom, I will not catch Diphtheria from these bathrooms. end note.) Right hand on Purse, Left Hand on Toilet Paper (BYOTP here in India) Left and Right foot aware of the random faucet and bucket situation going on to the left...and staying away from the puddles of water on the floor.

Then you step out to wash your hands (which does not make them feel clean.) And last night I had the treat of washing them next to the sink where a woman was vomiting. If I was only allowed on item to bring to India it would be hand sanitizer. period.

This is something I will not miss when I leave India. The BARISTA LAVAZZA has a bathroom that by far surpasses the cleanliness of even the doctor's office that I visited last week. Truth.

So BARISTA LAVAZZA is where I forget about the pollution, the horns, the sexism, the sanitation issues, the praised cows, the wild dogs, the beggars, the poverty, the jump back from Bhujapidasana... Here is where I write, I read, I get my second and final buzz of the day- yoga being my first and usually the only: )

I leave the air conditioned safe zone and hit the thick confrontational wall of India's reality. I walk home, stopping to get fruit from the man who pushes his business on a flat-bed cart with two giant prehistoric looking wheels. He measures the weight of the bananas with an ancient hand held scale, bananas in the dish on one side and metal weights are placed on the other dish until the two sides fall even.

This is his life. I love the simplicity. Maybe that is what I can do when I return to the states... or I could string flowers for alters and carry them in baskets on my head if I want to sell things but fruit is too hard to get... Just some ideas. This is just a day and I am living here and thought you might want to hear about it. In case I failed to mention- I am so happy!

It was the journey that I enjoyed

The sky has been overcast the entire week. Unusual for this time of I year I have been told, I expect it was a foreshadow for the devastating events that occurred in Mumbai. Pray for peace.
As this fierce fighting by terrorists occur my immediate community is enjoying a "Moon Day Holiday." At conference yesterday, Sharath described moon days as "a day where the ocean has a lot of energy and crazy people get crazier." The theory is (loosely) that our bodies are mostly water, and on full and new moons gravity is pulling our body of water with such force that our practice is energetically off balance. Alright, I'm into it.

Juliana, Thomas, Sean, Rachel, and I decide to take this vacation day to Mulavalla to see the Shiva Samutra Waterfalls (spellings are probably totally off, but this is what we are going with team.) At breakfast, with Thomas and Sean, we realized that none of us had any knowledge on this place. At this point we didn't even know as much as you do... we just wanted to go see "some waterfalls that took a 2 hour bus and a 45 minute rickshaw ride to get there." A few phone calls and we had some pronouns to go off of...

The five of us meet at my place at 9 a.m. We walk down the street toward Rickshaw Corner, a walk that I must make at least half a dozen times a day. We grab two rickshaws (they seat three tourists in the back or up to six natives with some sort of Jenga set up going on.) and we are off to the bus station.
Sean, Juliana, and I quickly realize that Thomas is the man with the info and we aren't even sure if our driver is bringing us to the proper station. We are dropped off in a busy parking lot where all the bus drivers seem to have fallen asleep, laying on the horn. The lack of infrastructure is extremely evident at this moment- no underlying framework or system of organization going on here to my knowledge. 5 minutes has passed and no Thomas. Sean and my eyes meet and we agree that we are totally happy to call off this episode. The volume and street capacity levels are already beyond a stressful level and it has only been 15 minutes since we begun this outing!
We see them. The "bus station" (parking lot with buses honking) has no signs or information desk. You are simply in charge of figuring out which bus is going where you would like to go. We climb the three stairs into each bus and ask "Mulivalla?" With quizzical faces, we found it helps to try again, but say it a little faster.
We found it about 15 buses later. Then we entered, sat, and waited. No specific time of departure, just as many honks as it takes to reach the exit. Two and a half hours of bumping down unpaved roads with some passengers never losing their strong gaze towards my face. A man makes his way down the aisle to collect money in return for your ticket. (Trip to Mulivalla= 30 rupees, about $ .75) Then he sits across the aisle from me and asks me what my country is. I respond and proceed with a few attempts to lengthen our conversation, but his English stops us here. I am from the United States and he lives in Mysore, "all his life."
Everyone knew us on the bus because we are the five white kids taking pictures of everything we pass. Also, when the bus jumps a trench at about 20 mph, one of the girls screamed as our bodies levitated 1.5 feet off their seats before slamming back into their places. The men all got a kick out of this scream!
We asked a few people to tell us when we had reached Mulivalla (including the ticket salesman.) There are no signs, people just know when they get off. No one understood our request to be told when we reached our destination, but somehow we found our stop.
Mulivalla bus station has the similar unpaved parking lot meets men's urinal theme going for it. I was feeling a touch nauseous and it began to rain. The next step was to find a ride to the falls. I am a pushover when it comes to the game of wheeling and dealing for a cheaper rate. I just took photos of the crowd that followed us as we bargained from the rickshaws to the taxis and back to the rickshaws. We ended up with 2 rickshaws at 300 rupees round trip per rickshaw (a way better deal than one taxi for 700 rupees- we saved ourselves $2 with this move!)

At about 10 mph I watched the unfamiliar lifestyles flash before my eyes. We were in a rural landscape. Families riding on tiny trucks sitting on top of crates of apples that they must have spent the past week picking. A boy, around 14 yrs, shepherding a herd of sheep down a dirt road. Women with enormous bundles of sugar cane perfectly balanced on the crowns of their heads being passed by men on bikes transferring twice the load. I quickly realized that no one here can just decide they are going to travel to the other side of the world for 6 months. I imagine they might have to save for weeks just to visit a neighboring town. I watched, my mind trying to take it all in.
The falls were amazing. It was raining and we were across the canyon from the falls so 30 minutes was ample time to feel satisfied with our destination. A monkey tagged along in expectation of food, which Sean gave to him. I realized here that I came on this day trip, not only to see the waterfalls.
As we returned, I did not attribute to much of the conversation between my friends. My mind was much more stimulated by observing my surroundings. Uneven barbed-wire fences parallel rough dirt and gravel roads. Unmarked streets decorated with piles of coconuts, tiny decaying sheds, and hung laundry. Ancient styles of construction work- barefoot boys digging trenches to alter the natural water flow toward their crops, men carrying dirt in shallow bowls on their heads, a few pounds of dirt at a time. Women herding their cattle (in their saris) by throwing rocks.
I wonder what they are thinking. Are they attached to the same sense of ego and desire that I am struggling to overcome? Is their impoverished life that I label undeveloped and undesirable bringing them closer to God? The land that surrounds us is vast, the difference between this life and mine at home is much more enormous. I let all these new views and fresh thoughts swallow me for awhile...

A bit of India

I imagine that your thoughts of my experience in India are similar to what my thoughts where a matter of weeks ago. INDIA- fear, anxiety, loneliness, filthy, dangerous, busy, strange, and struggle to name a few words that initially came to my mind when anticipating this adventure.

On the contrary, I am living a very comfortable life. I walk out of my room and down the stairs to write this on a high speed computer, waiting for a smoothie (made of curd, banana, and chocolate) to be delivered. Tonight is the first night that I am washing my clothes. Although many people here have to wash their clothes in a bucket with soap, Anu and Ganesh have a washing machine (and a woman who is in charge of it.) I put my clothes in a bag outside my room and they are clean in the morning. Others also have to use a bucket to wash, but I am living the lux and have a shower at my disposal.

Today, I woke up before the sun, an hour before my 6 a.m. led practice (classes are led Friday and Sunday.) The lights were still out, temporary black outs occur about twice a day here. Usually early morning and between 7-9 p.m.
After practice, I skipped the coconut stand and walked across the street from the shala for breakfast. A few friends happened to be there too, so I had great company as I enjoyed a bowl of fresh tropical fruits, a delicious warm dosa (wheatless pancake) and a bold cup of coffee- all totalled $3.
After breakfast I returned to the shala for my month long Sutra class. Ashtanga Yoga, being much more than merely a series of poses, is a sacred science of life. The Sutras is a practical handbook (written two thousand years ago after being handed down orally for thousands of years prior.) The book educates the readers on how to elevate ourselves, broaden our attitudes, reduce our selfishness, and make us masters over our own body, senses, and mind. This book is pretty much rocking my philosophical world right now : )
After Sutras class, a friend from the class and I walked to the supermarket, approximately one mile away.

Here is where I see a bit of India.
We walk in the street because there are only side walks on a few of the streets. The boulevard we walk parallel to is depressing; broken pavement littered by garbage. The grasses are short and patched with dirt, possibly because all the goats and cows that roam the streets. The pollution is noticeable and disturbing. There is so much exhaust coughing out of the back end of all the rickshaws and motorcycles that pass much too close to the pedestrians. Often, piles of leaves and garbage are burning as you walk down the street. Animal feces is in the street and male natives have no problem peeing in any field or on any wall around town.
Houses are all well guarded. Tall cement walls surround the cement homes, and a metal gate 6' high is the entrance. In the front of each domain I noticed a different hand drawn white chalk symbol. Upon asking I learned that the woman of each household must wake up before her husband in order to sweep out the front entry. (I have seen the broom that they use and I wonder what they would think if they saw what we use in the states .) Once she has swept and mopped the driveway, she draws this geometric symbol which I have been told means "welcome." I find this particularly odd since the women who must draw this each morning are less than welcoming with their gazes as I meet their eyes on the street. They are dressed in beautiful bright traditional saris, covering from their neck down. Long dark hair, rich brown skin, and a bindi in between every pair of dark eyes. They look beautiful and mysterious to me. The men wear anything from jeans and a t-shirt to a towel wrapped around their waist (I learned what this was called and forgot...)

The streets are lush with trees and behind the cement fences are gardens and potted plants, but through my eyes the trash and debris takes away all the beauty of nature. I enjoy walking around, but some days I swear I won't do it again. The harassment, the pollution, and the near misses by motorized vehicles is just too much sometimes. I return to my little safety net in Gokulam, the few blocks I have considered my neighborhood.

Most often I eat around the neighborhood, but there are a few lunch spots half a mile away or so that are fabulous! At first I went in to restaurants by myself and just asked what I should eat... I have never been so open to eating what ever is suggested to me. I wouldn't know a single word on the menu, but everything I have eaten thus far has been delightful! I was so worried about getting sick, but everyone here seems to know where westerners can eat. My new friend has taken me to restaurants I would have never walked into by myself! He has been here for five months so when we eat food he explains what everything is and how it is prepared. He is fantastic to have around : )
Water can be dangerous here. It must be filtered if it comes out of the facet and can't even be used to brush the teeth. My friend took me to a place for dinner that had water (from washing) on the plates and I swore I was doomed! That night was the first time I put 15 drops of grapefruit seed extract oil, a natural antibiotic, in my water. I drank this down with my nightly handful of pills- (malaria meds, pro biotic, multi-vitamin ect.) Overall this place is much safer than I ever could have dreamed. I don't doubt that I may get a little sick here, sanitation has a different definition, but I have a tough stomach and hopeful intentions of wellness!
Alright this is long enough, and now I am just rambling... I will write again.
Love you all, know that I am happy and well!

I am in Mysore, India!

I have moved in and feel settled at Anu and Ganesh's. They are the most friendly people that I have ever met. Anu is a fabulous cook and runs a very popular cafe which serves buffet-style lunches and dinners in a hut on the balcony (three large tables about a foot off the floor and tons of pillows to sit on and against.) Ganesh, her husband who arranged my airport taxi, runs the internet biz out of their garage. Six computers fully equipped with high speed internet and vid chat. Seems like everyone I have met visits Anu's and Ganesh at least once a day, and it's probably not only to see me.

I live in the one room they rent, which is also on the balcony but is not a hut. It is a well lit spacious room with a clean bathroom. I have a bed, a desk, and a closet. The room has the linoleum floor and fluorescent light look going for it. It definitely has a simplicity theme, with a dash of third world added to it. The girl living there before me left because of a snake under the bed (just kidding- she was homesick) and she happened to leave the day after I arrived! Thanking lucky stars once again.
I have been here five days now... wake up around seven and roll right onto the yoga mat. Get the blood circulating. The past three days I have practiced with Sharath at the shala. My practice time is 8:30 a.m, which actually means 8:15. Everyone here has explained to me that the shala is on it's own time zone. okay. I have the latest available practice because I just arrived. The longer you are here, the earlier you practice. My friend Thomas has been here five months and starts at 4:30 a.m.- no thank you...
I head toward the shala around 8:13 (shala time.) The walk takes two . Today I counted four bicyclers, eight motorcycles, seven rickshaws, three cars, four scowling Indian woman, one beggar (with a monkey) and three yoga students. I cross one relatively mild intersection. Here, an intersection is like combining the games "Red Rover, Red Rover" and "Dodgeball" - except a little less fun.
I take my left turn and the shala is at the corner. Across from its gate is "the coconut stand" where two Indian men have a mini-truck with the back end FULL of coconuts. One man is in charge of the straws and the money (10 rupees, approx $.20) I do wish that the hand that takes the money was not the same hand that put the straw in the coconut, but the other man is busy with the machete so I understand their thought process here. Eight whacks to the coconut and there is a golf ball size hole and juice slipping over the sides of it! The juice is so refreshing and replenishes all the sweat you just lost in yoga practice.

Oh right- the practice! So the first day I was scared to death. Actually I still get a little nervous upon entering the waiting room. Mysore Style Yoga is a "not led" yoga practice. This means no teacher is verbally guiding you into the series of poses, there is a specific series you do every day. If you can not do one of the postures in the series, then you are stopped and cannot continue until you have accomplished this pose. I am a beginner, therefore, I do the Primary Series. Next comes Intermediate (with years and years of practicing the Primary Series,) then the Advanced Series, and after the Advanced Series I think you can actually fly.

So you drop your flip flops at the stairs and enter the waiting room. It is a warm room (bodies have been heating it up for four hours now.) The doors to the practice room are open, and about 8(ish) people are circled around the practice doors... waiting... and watching. The first day, as I looked at everyone in a different pose of whichever of the series they are practicing, I forgot the whole series for a moment. I hear "NEXT PERSON" in a strong Indian accent from the practice room. Some girl hops in; People ask "what's your time?" so that no one is cutting the line. "ONE MORE" is his alternative summoning shout. There is a lot of "you? me? you?" looks around the waiting room.

When I enter the room I can't even find an open spot to lay my mat. It feels like I am swimming through a sea of flowing bodies. Sharath points to my spot, and I now begin! To my left- down dog, to my right- a headstand, in front of me- a bridge pose, and behind- one leg up in the air. I inhale to begin, Ujjayi breath- a victorious breath that does amazing things for the body and weirdly sounds like Darth Vader. The breath is all you hear in the room, and it feels amazing!

I get in to my head, silently chant the opening prayer, and begin my practice. I zone in. Today was my best practice yet. I was adjusted into a bind that I had never reached before, so I was given a new pose to work on. I felt light yet strong through all the poses. As I exit the practice room, I bow to Sharath in thanks. I cannot believe I am here. I am in Mysore, India doing Ashtanga yoga with Sharath, grandson of Pattabhi Jois, in his shala! It feels like a first kiss, heart pattering and eyes sparkling- I go to get my coconut.

If you are ready to believe the unbelievables, this is the land.

I meet Sateesh only because I move seats, he talks to me about his culture's tradition. He had a friendly face and spoke proudly of his arranged marriage, belief in only Ayruvedic medicine, truths behind horoscopes, and the Hindu belief system. He excited and inspired me to learn more about his country. The flight was 3.5 hours over the Bay of Bangal. He was the one to tell me, "If you are ready to believe the unbelievables, this is the land!"
Walking off the plane I was pleased to feel the cool temperature of the night. I find my small duffel bag and barely have time to grab it as Indians are pushing me to get to their own bags. I slowly head to the exit. Behind a small gate are hundreds of people waiting to pick up new arrivals. Although in the plane there were a few non-Indians, here it is impossible to spot another white face. I am not looking for a white face, I am now looking for my name. Dozens of men are pushing against the gate holding 11.5 x 13 inch sheets of paper with names written on them. Heat flushes through my face for how close I have to get to read some of the signs. My name is typed in big bold letters and I exhale all worries!
Yogesh does not speak much English, or doesn't want to talk. When I ask if we can make a stop for water he knows enough to say, "there is none on the way." I am so thirsty (damn those airline peanuts and glasses of wine at Teresa's!) I try to sleep this issue away... the ride flashed me back to a memory of my family at Disney Land going on the Indian Jones ride over and over again. The bumps and quick turns seem less amusing now, there will be no sleeping on this ride. The honking on the horn seems to be the trend here in India, every time two cars passed on this packed road two horns would sound. Needless to say, lots of honking.
Besides one quick stop where Yanesh went "to go get a cup of milk"... at what looked like some sort of lemonade stand filled with adults at 2 a.m I felt safe. I stayed in the taxi during this stop and covered my glow in the dark hair as people drifted near the car.
We arrived in Mysore around 3 a.m, and came to a quick stop in the middle of a desolate street. Yogesh hands me the keys and starts to get back in the cab. I panic inside! "I don't know where to go." I tell him and he points to a cattle gate in front of what looks like a house. I walk to the gate and struggle for awhile to open it, praying he doesn't leave until I can figure it out. Finally I get the gate open and walk up the drive way not knowing what the hell I am supposed to do. I walk around and the taxi pulls off. I am in India, alone and outside some house and can't find a door- HOLY SHIT!
After what seems like five minutes (I am sure the count on a clock would have been 60 seconds), I find a door and after fumbling with the keys on the chain I find the one which opens the door. I am in and there is a dog and a note, both very friendly! I find my room and won't even brush my teeth because I am so scared of the bathroom. I want to sleep but I also fear the cleanliness of the sheets. I am so glad I brought my own! I am paying $30 a night to stay at this spot, and all I can do is fear the room I am renting for $140 for the month. I lay my sheet on the bed and use my towel as my pillow. Fully dressed I fall in and out of a bizarre sleep.
The next morning I awake to the sounds of breakfast being made outside my window. "Alia's Om Cafe and Guesthouse" has begun serving breakfast. Five Indian men are in the kitchen, I ask for the two owners but they are not here yet. I decide to take a walk.
I exit the dreaded gate with minimal trouble. I walk down the street and smile as I see two cows in the middle of the road and a few goats eating grass around a coconut stand. I turn, fearing that at any moment I will see one of those guys playing a flute with a cobra in a basket. Richshaws blazing by me. Bikes everywhere, and ten motorcycles to every one car. Horn festival might as well of been going on... for a few moments I could not tell if cars had a particular side of the road they were legally bound to. Two kids asked if I had a country coin for them. I have never felt so aware of my skin and hair color, I stood out real bad. Where are all the yogis who have come to study? When I returned to Alia's I found them, and the owner. Everyone was very friendly.
More stories to come, no pictures yet.