Heaven and hell

On the overnight, 14+ hour bus ride from Mumbai to Goa, I asked myself why I'm taking this time to see another part of India.  It's not that I don't absolutely adore this hunk of a nation. It's just the crappy feeling I sometimes get about being a tourist on "holiday".  What's the purpose of it, really?  I end up feeling like a jackass, walking around some strange town, occasionally taking photos in the attempt to capture a snippet of a moment I perceive to be beautiful.  I'm not contributing much to these strange places, maybe some good energy through smiles and light conversation, and dollars besides.  On the flip side, I've selfishly realized the benefits that I reap as my heart gently leaps through the mazes of waves from darkness to light.  Here in India and a few other places I've been through, travelling becomes a twisted game of 'heaven and hell'.  


Hell is the hour it takes to get out of the hot, grimy, loud, thick city of Mumbai by bus.  Stagnant air meeting my face at the window that longs for the breeze brought only by greater speed. Heaven is the infinite number of amazing scenes that pass through that window: colorful markets, holiday lights, interesting buildings, traffic jams, goats, cows, families in poverty living on sidewalks among vendors and dirty happy children.  


Hell is trying to stay light and fun with the travel partner I don't really know, the travel partner who didn't seem to be as easy as I think I am... while walking on eggshells around her mood swings.  Heaven is when she gives thanks to me for being a great companion, when I see her smile with childlike wonder at animals and all things cute (fondly reminding me of a dear girlfriend), when I know she's well-fed and content, and she ends up emerging a strong, fun, wise, helpful, delightful travel buddy! 


Hell is trying to sleep during the overnight bus ride, full of potholes and hairpin turns, not able to stretch my long-ass legs, and wondering why the passengers had to shut all the windows, enclosing us in this grimy interior.  Oh, I never felt so filthy.  Heaven is the midnight pit-stops for toilets, chai, and a strrrrrrreeeeeeetchhhhh.  Heaven is waking up to see the lush, palm tree hills of Incredible India covered in layers of fog as the sun lazily emerges from behind low lying clouds.  


Hell is wandering around, bags in tow, in search of a suitable hotel.  Heaven is when we always seem to find a larger than expected room with a clean bathroom at a reasonable price.  There's nothing even remotely hellish about the food here.  Even unsure of what we order, every meal seems like the best EVER.  Here, the food, sweets, and chai are heavenly.  


Hell is where my mind goes when children follow me down the street, begging for food or money.  Heaven is in the smiles that come from those kids after simply taking their photo or slicing up a guava to share with them.  


Hell is feeling like a tourist.  Heaven?  Being invited into the home of a couple, around my parents age, for a special Diwali dinner.  Their two daughters are settled in the States, they were especially delighted to have us, and the food and stories were outstanding.  Life is a blessing, the beginning of heaven.  


Hell is a twisted, dark, imagined place that lies in pockets within the perception of my privileged, fortunate mind.  I don't think I've ever experienced hell.  Even the bout of traveler's diarrhea, which left me feeling as though I'd been hit by a truck, feverish, nauseated, and ready to die... was rapidly alleviated by neighbors and the ever-surprising travel buddy. This wandering that seems so silly at times will eventually lead me home, which still remains to be that undetermined physical location... where my heart is, where my sea-bag is.  

Ashram Life

Our first classroom lecture was on ‘ashram life’.  Most of us had been here before, but it was interesting to actually hear about the history and purpose of these places.  For many, ashrams are a way to escape the stresses of life.  For others, we mainly take advantage of opportune moments to learn more yoga.  Some come to the ashram to drop the roles they play on the outside.  Everyone here is equal regardless of race, religion, economic, marital, family, or social status.  

Normally, our awareness is externalized by stimuli of the senses such as food, drink, music, entertainment, & TV.  These stimuli fulfill our desires, making us happy for a while… until the desires return.  The main purpose of an ashram is to internalize awareness, giving people a chance to know themselves better and perhaps gain a glimpse into the divine nature that lies within us all.  The luxury-less simplicity of ashram life urges its community to learn methods of controlling (rather than suppressing) desires, which are often the causes of stress.  Through yogic practices (asanas, breathing, meditation, chanting mantras, & karma yoga), one can strengthen the mind.  These practices help remove expectations and judgments that cause unhappiness, while potentially dissolving the ego after time.  As for the nitty-gritty… I’ve only been to this one ashram, I’m sure there are broad ranges of differences with regards to luxury, simplicity, and privacy depending on location and price.

This ashram life is charming simplicity.  For our month here, we are four girls to a room, sharing a modest bathroom that’s just outside.  There’s a window by each bed, but no screen.  Because of the abundance of bugs (ants, crickets, beetles, centipedes, among others unrecognizable) we close them in the evening.  That didn’t stop the 4-inch, speedy centipede from finding its way into my roommate’s pants in the middle of the night.  Laugh out loud- she wasn’t bitten.  I have a ‘bug cup’ that we use nightly for the harmless evacuation of critters.  Each bed has a mosquito net, but I don’t use mine- no problems so far. 

There’s a ceiling fan that sometimes sounds like a helicopter when it’s on high speed.  It’s not terribly hot, so it’s no big deal when the electricity goes out- which is multiple times per day and the majority of the night.  (There’s a generator for the kitchen).  After hearing a story of a snake being found in a toilet, I give 1000 thanks to my dad for the flashlight.  With a light, midnight pees aren’t feared, and if the electricity is out… I can look up on the way out- to see so many unbelievable, dizzying layers of more stars than you could imagine.

Hot water for showers is available, but our tank is out of gas.  We haven’t had trouble going without.  Hand washing clothes is nice, but drying was a challenge during the first two weeks because of the almost daily bouts of rain (unusually late for this time of year).  We have Internet access when we go to town (two days for my class).  A few people have mobile phones but, for the rest of us, a phone call entails tracking down the guy with the phone at an hour that’s decent for whoever we’ll be calling.  It’s nice not having a phone.  There’s a small shop in which we can purchase books, basic hygienic necessities, and limited food (dried fruits, honey, rose jam, nuts, and delicious homemade sweets made with sugar, chickpea powder and ghee). 

5:00 comes early for most, but I love it.  We get a hot drink first thing in the morning.  Nothing like un-caffeinated herbal tea, enjoyed in silence, to get your day going.  Another joy is karma yoga.  For two hours almost every day, we’re required to perform the act of “selfless service with no reward”.  It’s actually nice.  I might have to sweep & mop, clean the common toilets, or pull weeds.  If I’m lucky, I get kitchen duty which involves chopping veggies, prepping herbs, or sifting through rice to remove stones and such.  If I’m really lucky, I get to read essays written by former students.  We’re also planning to give English lessons to one of the Indian volunteers here soon. 

A month at this place is a trip.  So many people in the neighborhood:  a priest from Belgium, a yoga & tai-chi instructor from Thailand, a retail gal from Ukraine, a server from Portugal, a dancer from Colorado who installs eco-friendly counter tops, a grad student who sings & plays harmonium in a kirtan (Hindu devotionals) band, and an Egyptian with dreams of designing a line of sportswear for women. 

Some mornings my legs feel too heavy to carry up the stairs.  Some days I walk everywhere barefoot.  Sometimes the food is the best I’ve ever tasted, sometimes I wish those carrots were raw.  Sometimes I like hearing about it, whatever it is.  Sometimes they talk too much and I really enjoy the silence. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been awesome.  Life is good.   

Today’s the first day of the rest of your life

As I write this, it’s day 18 out of 28 at the ashram.  A lovely time, though quite a different experience than the teacher training course days of 2006.  Those days were filled with memorizing Sanskrit chants & names of asanas (yoga postures), preparing practice lessons to present to small groups, and studying.  These days, there are more lectures to sit through, more karma yoga to attend to, and more unusual shuddikriya (cleansing techniques) to attempt.

As far as classes go, it seems less personalized than before- there are currently two classes in session.  The days have been a journey within, seeming like a retreat.  I don’t feel as connected to the place and other students this time around.  There’s a great sense of detachment, which is wonderful.  There no longer exists the novelty of being a first-timer.  Logically, rather than soaking it all up like a sponge, I’m doing more inner work than I previously had the capacity for. 

Being unsure of the next move, there are signs that I must to be receptive to.  I’ve been writing down the vivid, sometimes disturbing, sometimes comical dreams that have graced my sleep for the past few weeks.  Though I’ve given seated meditation a go, daydreams and gazes out into nature and up to the sky have been, as usual, more effective. 

As the second day of a three-day-silent-stretch winds down, I embrace the moment.  I’ve acquired a mass of new music and am listening to the pleasing, gentle, New Age-y sound of a group named Bliss. 

If your friends jumped…

I have some sweet photos, but for some reason they're not showing up... I'll get them online in two weeks or so... 

Before the official start of class, we had a half-day to go out and about.  A group of us shared a taxi to the nearby village of Trimbakeshwar.  Just a few kilometers away; its edges and lights are visible from the ashram.  We were dropped off on a main road in the center of town and walked toward the temple that contains one of only 12 Shiva lingams (a special stone monument for Shiva, the God of destruction, the god of the Yogis). 

Street merchants offer grass to feed the cows, flowers and sweets for the temple, and Om bindis (markings placed between the eyes that offer protection and bring awareness to the inner strength that lies in that Ajna chakra area).  We decline the vendors, instead heading around the temple to a chai stand.  As we wait at the street side counter, we watch the man make the sweet drink- boiling the milk, adding spices that include plenty of fresh grated ginger, and sweetening with sugar.  Yum. 

 After a nearly glorious glass of gingery chai (because the only truly Glorious glass of anything comes from Marlboro ;) off we went towards the green, rolling hills.  We circled around a large pond and heard a man ask, “Which country”?  As we paused to answer, he informed us that we were in front of the President’s house, the President of Trimbakeshwar, Mrs. Sujita Sanjay Shikhare.  I asked if we could take a photo, and he invited us in for a view from the balcony. 

 The house was nice, seemingly new, and he led us up to the second floor.  Out on the balcony, there were a few men preparing for a puja (the blessed Hindu ceremony that involves a small fire and colorful flowers as offerings). 

 After photos, the man invited us inside and led us to a room.  There were nearly 50 or 60 people inside who were finishing up what appeared to be the first part of the puja. 

After a moment, they proceeded out to the balcony.  We were then taken up to the roof where we walked around admiring the solar panels and the view, peeking down to watch the people out on the balcony. 

 As we headed out and thanked the man for graciously welcoming us into the house, we asked how to get to the ghats (steps along the bank where people tend to congregate for washing away sins from the soul and dirt from bodies & clothes) of the holy Godavari River.  The man pointed, and we headed again towards the hills.  The path took us to a gorgeous body of water that was probably part of the river, but seemed like a lake.   

Across the way, we saw a group of boys jumping into the water.   I had to check it out.   We carefully walked across the cement-pillared wall that seemed to be a dam, meeting up with the boys.  The water looked relatively clean, the platform wasn’t too high, and there was one taker in the group to join me.  Rather than jumping from the highest point, where the boys were diving from, we opted to jump into the same area, but from the top of the railing.  Panty & camisole clad, in we went.  Best jump ever.   

First day, second time around

4 years later, 4 years older, at the same ashram in the heart of Incredible India.  Then, it was the Teacher-Training Course, now I’m attending the Advanced Course.  Some things have changed; teachers & volunteers come and go, buildings have been added to accommodate growth.  Some things remain the same, such as the incredible meals (though the food is even more delectable) and the silence that must be kept while enjoying them. Surrounded by green rolling hills, the air here is fresh and calm.  There’s a constant chorus of birds during the day, taken over by the buzzing, chirping insects at night. 

After a 30-minute ride from Nashik city, we pulled up to the quiet ashram.  A man raised the gate to let the vehicle, piled high with bags, enter the grounds.  There was never a gate here before, let alone an armed Indian Army guard.  I suppose everyone feels safer now.  All bags must be inspected.  Really?  What the hell!?  Though a zip-loc bag of baking soda was ignored, each book was carefully fingered.  After lunch, I settled into the room I share with a Canadian, Northern Irish, and Egyptian.