Pinky Purky Yogi Spy!

Sitting in a beach bar anywhere is usually a nice place to start a blog! I’m on Had Yao, a quiet Thai beach on the island of Ko Phangan, where the usual wanderlust dreams are happening before me. You know the ones, the soft orange glow from the setting sun, the gentle swish of the waves lapping to their demise, and a cool fruit juice at hand. A perfect spot for calm reflection and blog writing. Hemingway would’ve approved. Still recovering from a mountain mishap during my motorbike road trip when I ran out of real estate while overtaking a bus. More later. First, a yoga wrap-up.

AWARENESS IS KEY

73 yr old Saraswati Rangaswamy, daughter of the late Pattabhi Jois, outside her shala where I practiced for 3 months

Practicing yoga at KPJAYI finished at the end of February. 550 sun salutations later and copious amounts of coconuts, I’ve enjoyed my time immensely. Practicing ‘Mysore Style’ (self practice at your own pace) daily for three months with Saraswati was not only sweaty, enjoyable and fun, but also deeply rewarding and humbling too. I’ve been blessed, and I hope to be back.

Outside the main shala with my teacher from Dublin, the lovely Gillian Mooney

The intensity of practice opened mind and body to deeper realisations and understandings, as I learned more about myself and my practice. Still have tendencies to avoid difficult poses, but also more gentle on myself, able to quieten the inner critic and quell the competitive mind. Now closer to 50 than 40, I’m also mindful of my bodies current capabilities. While fit and healthy (and lighter now than I was at 25) and able to go deeper into many postures, there are some things I probably will never be able to do, and I’m fine with that. I can still challenge myself and probe limits with the body I’ve got (my days as a racing driver taught me that!), while remaining conscious of the red zones where injuries occur. Besides, the objective is to still the mind 🙂

The Mysore style of self practice puts the onus on you the practitioner to do the practice safely. More than anything else, it teaches personal responsibility for your practice, your body, and most importantly for quietening your mind. Awareness is key. It’s what Yoga is all about really, developing awareness, unveiling your true nature and realising universal truths  of life. You’ll be glad to hear I’m at ease and at peace with myself, most of the time anyway!

Erica, Aurelia, Rachel & Peter after breakfast at my place. They’ll kill me for using the fish-eye lens!

I’ve met many beautiful people along this part of my journey. Some connections were brief, others prolonged, such is the nature of the Mysore merry go round. Not enough room to mention everyone but a few stood out. The lovely and friendly Erica from San Francisco and the well travelled and engaging Aurelia from Poland, both of whom practiced with me at Saraswati’s the entire time.

Champion hugger and proprietor of Santosha cafe, Arun Pillai

I call them my two Moms, as they kept an eye out making sure I was ok. Peter & Rachel, a lovely English couple from London were also good company, and of course the main man of Santosha cafe, champion hugger Arun who always had a fresh coffee for me and serves the best omelette in Gokulam! There were quite a few Irish friends here too. Had some nice times with Gillian, my teacher from Dublin, and her very friendly Dad, Tom. I’ve been truly fortunate, thank you to everyone who made my time so enjoyable and fulfilling.

 THE MYSOREANS

Priyanka and her son Vikash of Madiwalla St., Chamrajmal

Before I left Mysore I spent a few days delivering photos to various people who had been kind enough to pose for my camera. It was the least I could do, bearing in mind many of them don’t have modern gadgets let alone a digital camera. It went down well.  Villagers, stall holders, mothers and kids, chai wallahs etc. all appreciated the gesture with rural villagers, in particular, lining up for more shots. Despite limited  communication, there was no way I was going to disappoint them even though I knew I wasn’t going to get further prints back to them. One thing that always strikes me as I photograph Indians is how serious they become when posing.

Been there

Their usual smiling faces suddenly turn serious, as if posing for a mug shot. It takes some gentle persuasion to convince them it’s not a firing squad they’re facing! I’m also taken by how happy they seem with so little. Maybe there’s a lesson in there for us all.

Here’s a link to the full gallery of “Mysoreans”

GOOD TO GO(A)

All set for the road…

Getting a Royal Enfield was the easy bit, keeping it in one piece proved more difficult. After an unintended late night meeting with a very well camouflaged kerbstone, my Classic 500 needed a few running repairs (and rider a few plasters!). The roadtrip to Goa was delayed two days getting things sorted, with much thanks to Krishna Murthy. The aim was to cover the 650kms in three days. I’d also get to pay a visit to my good friend, and yoga teacher, Tony Purcell who winters there every year. A beautiful sunny day greeted me as I loaded up my saddle bags, said goodbye to what was left of my dwindling Mysore community and set off. After a brief cold plug splutter, typical of Enfields, I was on my way.

One of many chai ‘n chat stops

The first day was magical. Once clear of the city it was fairly quiet, the roads surprisingly good. Running through aromatic rows of Eucalyptus trees with the sun picking out their beautiful pale trunks, accompanied by the soft rumble of the Enfield. My idea of heaven. Stopping every now and then for a chai was particularly enjoyable, a chance to chat with some local. After six hours and 260kms I reached the large town of Shimoga with a fuller understanding of the term saddle sore, having bounced over countless Indian speed humps.

Swedish thumbs up

Next day, the run over the Western Ghats was going to be a highlight, with many hairpin bends winding up and down through the lush green canopy of the tropical mountain range (it’s actually a fault line up to the Deccan plateau).

Jog Falls: not exactly in full flow these days

After a short stop at Jog Falls, India’s highest waterfall, and again at a viewing spot where I met some fellow Enfield road trippers from Sweden. We chatted briefly before I rejoined behind a slow bus….

IYARISH GUY IN ‘BIKE SKID’

I clambered out of the ditch grasping for air, clearly winded. My first thought was a punctured lung, such was the force of the accident. My little finger was at an odd angle, but curiously no pain. Then a crowd from the bus gathered, giving me water. “I can’t breathe”, was all I could say. Nobody spoke much English, but they got the bike out of the ditch and left me there! I could not stand up for the pain down my right side. 15 minutes before another bus stopped. This time they got a local van driver to take me the 5kms to the nearest clinic from where I eventually found my way to a hospital in Honnavar. The local policeman, meanwhile, kindly looked after the bike.

Dislocated Pinky wasn’t painful….until the Doctor re-set it!

Two nights in St Ignatious hospital in Honnavar being lovingly looked after (and spoonfed) by a multitude of eighteen year old student nurses eased the pain a little. I could not have landed in better care. They came at me in groups of five and six with each changing shift, each time asking where you from? What happened you?  I was the Iyarish guy in the “bike skid”, and famous for a couple of days in a hospital in Honnavar at least.

Mr. Purke from Iyarland!

The bike was ready for road by 7pm the following evening but, rather than ride at night, I stayed a second night in hospital before continuing on to Goa the next morning. Sure why would I leave all those lovely nurses!

In hindsight the decision to overtake the bus was fine considering its very slow speed. Being squeezed onto the dirt would have been OK too but for large rocks that separated me from the Enfield. Nonetheless, I was lucky, my camerabag saved me from worse injuries as the bike actually rolled onto me compressing me and the fuel tank a bit! Having endured the pain, I now feel a little entitled to do one of these….

My ten tips for Indian roadtrips:

GOA AT LAST

Spent a lovely few days in Anjuna, Goa with Tony, getting plenty of much needed rest and a few sea dips.

The inimitable Tony Purcell with yours truly

Tony showed me around, visited a few nice beaches, a fine juice bar in Chapora and eat some lovely food, but overall Goan life wouldn’t exactly be my style, far too much sun for my fair skin! I did enjoy seeing the ocean again, after three months of continental captivity. Tony’s was a welcome face too, after my travails, and in no time I seemed to be back on the road again.

Dropped off some ice-cream for my lovely nurses on my way back, including the bashful Archana (middle front)

HOME RUN

I decided to take four days for the return journey, allowing me two short days riding with plenty of time to hit a beach and have a swim. The quiet beaches of Agonda in south Goa and Om beach in Gokarna fitted the bill nicely before the run back over the mountains. After a quick stop at the hospital to deliver some ‘thank you’ ice-cream I was soon retracing my tracks through the Western Ghats. After about 30kms I came to the scene of my accident. I stopped, surveyed the corner, noticed how the road curved and narrowed as it approached the corner where I fell off. I was lucky. I had managed to turn the bike away from a stone wall. As I contemplated the scene I realised that things change in the blink of an eye, our lives are quite fragile and can be extinguished in seconds. Then, as I got back on the bike I checked the speedometer to gauge my distance.

4949kms…a sign?

The strangest thing. It read 4949kms.  My late father, Tom, passed away suddenly aged 49, and I’m due to turn it soon. Surely not a sign from the Gods telling me I dodged a bullet at this corner? After a poignant memory of my late father, I fired up the Enfield, selected first gear and rumbled on up the mountain. The next 40kms through the countless switchback hairpin bends and left/right/left combinations seemed to breeze by. Changing up and down between 3rd and 4th gears, the renowned torque of the Enfield made it seem smooth and effortless as it pulled me up the mountain. Maybe the old fella was right there with me this time – he was one smooth driver in his day! 🙂

STING IN THE TAIL!

The last leg of my roadtrip was a straight run of 260kms, but there was nothing straightforward about it. Despite four trouble free tummy months in India, the previous nights sweet and sour vegetables were looking for a fast exit!  Eventually, by twelve mid-day, having popped two Imodium pills, I was on the road again with a nervous clench….Two more punctures delayed me a further three hours, so I completed my trip in the dark. Whatever about driving by day, night driving is just for lunatics. Proper lights and illumination are really just optional. Thankfully it passed without incident, hair raising at times, but no close shaves. I was back in Mysore by 9pm, relieved to have made it in one piece, and looking forward to the next stage of my journey….a few weeks on a sandy beach in Thailand, from where I now listen to the aforementioned waves and write :-). Go n’eiri an bothar leat!

 

The Mysoreans

A photo gallery of people I photographed while in Mysore, Karnataka, India. All photos taken spontaneously as they appeared before me. A lot of Indians tend to look very serious to a camera, as if they’re about to be executed! With a little lightheartedness from me, they soften a little and give a glimpse of themselves as they really were at that moment.

Thank you Madamaya, Siddartha, Amrish, Priyanka & Vikash, Venkatesh, Manu, Ramesh, Chiranth, Venkatamama, Bhavana, Karippya, Rama Krishna, Poojitha, and the others for whom I was unable to get names.

Madamaya

Market woman

Village Embrace

Siddartha

Mother & son, Priyanka & Vikash

Chiranth

Third Eye

At Ease

Poojitha

Man with white scarf

Chai Wallah Rama Krishna

Girl at bus stop

Bhavana

Not scene by women. Mens parlour with Ramesh

Aditi

Grandmother and grandson, Venkatamama & Chiranth

Venkatesh

Piercing eyes of Amrish

Glum

Manu

Karippya

Mates

Pained

Hopeful

In the Porch

Woman with bucket

 

Ten Tips for Indian Road Trips!

I’ve always wanted to compile one of those lists. You know the ones, usually travel or self help related where people share their favourite places to visit, best things to do, ways to live healthier lifestyles etc. They usually come in tens and have become quite ubiquitous in the digital social media age, not just on the self development bookshelves, so I figured I’d add my tuppence worth. But on what subject matter? Hmmm..

Good to Go(a)

Having just completed my second Indian road trip, this time aboard a Royal Enfield Classic Chrome 500 motorbike (what else?) and having witnessed yet again the vagaries, the uniqueness and the utter madness that is driving in India, I thought I’d share a few tips with those contemplating one. Initially part of a longer blog, I thought it deserved a separate post all to itself. I’m sure readers will have their own unique experiences too, so this is by no means finite nor necessarily short, just my experience, and here it is:

(my first road trip btw was a three week ride around the Himalayas in the back of an Ambassador taxi about four years ago, but that’s an altogether different story)

One of many chai stops en route to Goa, the Enfield Classic 500 shines in the sun

1. First law of the jungle – might is right. The bigger you are, the more right you are. Buses are King, the Lions of the Road, motorbikes are somewhere between monkeys and gazelles, and as for pedestrians well…..probably just above rodents. Give the Kings of the Road plenty of room, they’re likely to drive wherever they want and that includes your side of the road when you least expect it ie. around the outside of a blind bend.

2. Be prepared for flight: Speed humps (as they are known in India) are not always marked and sometimes come in combinations of up to ten. If taken too quickly can lead to airborne experience!

Roadside repairs are commonplace. Here my puncture saviour was just 3kms back the road. Up and running within an hour. (Saraswati overlooking)

3. Carry a spare tube: Incredibly puncture repair shops don’t always carry spare tubes, they are for repairs after all, not replacement! You might need to find a “showroom” for something like a tyre or a tube ie. a dealer in parts. If you’re lucky he’s about three hundred yards away, but it could take you an hour to find him! Else, it’s the next town. My third repair lasted 20kms, but I landed in a big town and was able to get a new tube.

Even with one wheel, the Enfield still looks too cool for school!

4. Go with the flow: Treat vehicle signals with caution, better to watch where the driver is looking – a far better indicator of his intentions! No signal is better than a signal.

5. Only drive at night if absolutely necessary: Night time driving is India’s equivalent of Russian roulette. Lights, reflective clothing or anything else that might help illumination are optional. Street lighting is fair to non-existent so your lights and eyes are your only guides. Oncoming traffic may or may not have lights…

They’re not joking when they say “Blow Horn”. You drive with your ears as much as your eyes in India.

6. Forget mirrors: In India you drive with your ears as much as your eyes. There’s a reason for the incessant horn blowing. Some of course over do it. I had a taxi driver once blow his horn with nothing in front of him but the open road, seemed just out of habit really.

7. You don’t always need a map or GPS: There are few signposts, and fewer still in English. You won’t get lost easily though, as there aren’t many roads to chose from and the main routes are fairly self evident. Straight on sounds remarkably like right when an Indian says it with his arm waving wildly. It’s like a silent “st” as he says ‘raight away’….If you do get lost, you can always resort to GPS on your smartphone…

8. Dealing with the police: Not all policemen are looking to make money out of you. If you decline a receipt, it’s going in his pocket. The good guys are the ones who insist you take a receipt, so you don’t get fined a second time!

The sacred cow. Can sometimes be painted so it blends in with the rickshaws.

9. Some animals are more equal than others: Cows are sacred and roam freely. It’s easy to get around one, but they can also come in herds of four or five, usually in a line and invariably out of nowhere. This goes for goats too. Be prepared to stop suddenly, the former are much bigger and heavier than you (see 1. above)

Full face or not, a buff is essential in the dry dusty season.

10. Safety precautions: An oxymoron in India really. If you’re not wearing a full face helmet then glasses and a buff are essential. Dust and flying insects the size of golf balls are commonplace. Good gloves and boots are a minimum.

My trip turned out to be quiet eventful. A 1400km round trip from Mysore, Karnataka to Anjuna, Goa over ten days, including two nights in hospital recovering from a mountain side mishap with one of the aforementioned buses. Running repairs included a damaged exhaust, rear brake and headlight as well as bruising and a dislocated little finger! Also, four punctures and, you guessed it, an oily plug. Still, despite a few injuries to body and pocket, it was thoroughly enjoyable. The freedom of the open road, with the wind in your face, the sun on your back and the glorious and unmistakeable sound of the single knocker Enfield keeping you in rhythm. I particularly enjoyed the run through the mountainous Western Ghats, with the many switchback hairpin bends and left, right, left combinations. Changing up and down between 3rd and 4th gears, the renowned torque of the single pot Enfield 500 made it easy, breezing along in an effortless flow as it pulled me up the mountain. Heaven. I intend to do it again some day.

50 not out and catching!

My diary says I’m on practice day 50 which, give or take the odd moon day (no practice), and a six day practice week, means I’ve been here in Mysore 75 days, with about 25 more to go (I’m going for the century!) Really enjoying my time so far, loving the early morning yoga practice, refreshing coconuts afterwards, meeting dozens of beautiful souls from all corners of the world, enjoying the variety of food on offer, scooting about the place as I get to grips with the madness, frustrations and utter beauty that is India. Oh, and finally the owner of a Royal Enfield Classic…

On the way home from Bangalore with a Royal Enfield Chrome Classic 500. I’m good to go(a)!

Coming here fulfilled a long held ambition to practice at the home of Ashtanga Yoga. Over the years (almost ten), like many others I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the Ashtanga method, primarily because of the intensity and discipline it demands as it challenges you physically and mentally like no other form I’ve tried. It’s a rare breed that will stay the ashtanga course. Some might say a little obsessive or masochistic, but that’s unfair to the many truly dedicated practitioners and wonderful teachers who go through more pain barriers than long suffering Leeds United supporters!

Since the start of January I’ve been getting up at 4am for my 5am slot. Practice takes about ninety minutes and with 25 in the studio at a time, a nice energy pervades. My teacher, Saraswati, now in her seventies, is there every morning from 4.30am guiding students of all levels from beginners to advanced. Her deep brown eyes ooze lovingkindness and affection, but don’t let that fool you as she also has tremendous strength and will grapple you, somewhat unceremoniously at times, into a posture. Nearly every other day she will come to me and ask “you catching?” meaning am I grabbing hands together behind my back as I contort my body into a bound shape. As the sweat pores out of me I smile and say “yes, catching” to which she nods her approval and walks on, repeating the famous mantra “keep practicing, all is coming”!

Sunset at Kukkarahalli Lake, Mysore.

What matters most to me is ‘how I practice’ rather than what I practice. Yoga postures are essentially mindful movements to the breath which stills the mind and builds awareness. Not wanting to oversimplify, because there is a lot more to it, but essentially it develops a healthy body and mind, that’s prepared for sitting still for long periods of time in meditation. As you grow inner awareness, so you become more present in the outside world, you develop greater compassion and understanding, maybe realise the universality of human suffering, and the meaning of unconditional love – this is what yoga means to me, as I try to become more fully human. It’s why I’m committed to practicing ’til the end of my days!

My diary is quite brief, just short notes about challenging postures and subtle energetic things that can quickly be forgotten once practice is over. There is a tendency to focus on the physical postures rather than more subtle energies which are also encountered on the mat, but rarely investigated. There is no escape on the mat. It’s you, the mat and all your mental and emotional clutter coming together in an energetic dance. You deal with whatever comes up. I won’t bore you with my baggage, suffice to say joy, sadness, anger and of course love have all arisen (but that’s almost everything right!). Physically I’ve noticed changes as my body slowly opens. As I go deeper into postures I have what I call my personal “Star Trek” moments (you know the line – “Space, the final frontier, going where no man has gone before”!) While I’m not yet my own proctocologist, I’m not far off! 🙂

Two Hosahalli villagers pose happily

I’m reminded of my yoga journey to date and to the many people I owe a debt of gratitude. Firstly, my great friend David Power in Sydney for putting me on the path in the first place, I hope to meet up with David soon for a yoga retreat in Thailand and maybe spend some time with him and his lovely family in Sydney. I have been truly fortunate to have had the guidance of some of the best teachers Dublin has to offer. My first teacher was the beautiful and inspiring Ciara Cronin of the Yoga Room, who also guided me through teacher training. The very knowledgeable David Collins of Ashtanga Yoga Dublin, who taught me the value of discipline and diligence. The humourous and playful Tony Purcell who taught me about compassion and softness in my practice, and of late the deeply committed and very caring Gillian Mooney who has inspired and encouraged me to come here. There are others that have been a big influence, principally the renowned David Swenson, the wonderfully talented James Higgins and the gifted Donna Fahri. To this list I now add Saraswati Rangaswamy, and I am humbled. Maybe next year Sharath! I hope I can do them all justice and maintain the new found momentum once I leave Mysore, so it supports me along whatever path I take.

On a lighter note. Recently while in savasana (the corpse pose yoga students take at the end of each class), the woman in front of me managed to sit on my head as she rolled up her mat backwards! I kid you not. To make an embarassing (for her I’d have thought) situation worse, she seemed completely unaware of contact, even when I moved my head to one side it still didn’t register. I figured she was either blissed out after practice, has a psychiatric issue or a numb ass! Next time I’ll try biting 🙂

This is Suddartha, no playstation just a tyre, but he seems happy nonetheless

Colourful Painted Storks at Kukkarahalli Lake

Every so often I get out and about camera in hand, looking to capture Mysore life. The hustle and bustle of city life or the peace and quiet of the nearby Kukkarahalli Lake, with it’s wide variety of bird life such as Painted Storks and Spot-billed Pelicans. Street photography can be challenging, if not life threatening, but usually very rewarding as you mix it with traffic, cows, the odd monkey, and local people who have no conception of personal space. A twenty minute ride and you’re in the countryside where villages throw up interesting people and scenes. Kids here have low expectations and play happily with little more than a used bicycle tyre or a cricket bat, animals roam freely, women dress in many splendid colours, and there’s always some kind of celebration going on. Recently, they celebrated Makar Sankranti, a harvest festival, a bit like halloween at home. Neighbours offer each other food and they dye wash cows yellow with tumeric – any excuse to add colour, that’s India. Oh, and I was done for not wearing a helmet again the other week. This time I was ready with my 100 rupees and when I refused a receipt, the smiling policeman said “thank you”. That is also India!

Hard to tell the cows from the rickshaws! Makar Sankranti, when they paint the cows yellow..

The cage on the left is where you put your infant.

Life here can be a real challenge, the laws of the jungle are never far away. There’s a certain dog eat dog attitude running side by side with a fatalism ready to accept whatever. Incapable of saying no, Indians always say yes even if they know they cannot deliver. Being negative will bring negative karma, or so they believe. It can be frustrating at times. While charming and portraying a certain spiritual quality there is nothing very spiritual about the caste system, nor the way women are treated. Too often I have seen inappropriate behaviour from menfolk and I have heard countless stories of western women being groped and abused. India remains deeply mysogenistic, women are simply second class citizens. It is perhaps best summed up by a sign I came across outside an orphanage nearby that is truly shocking. “Do not kill your baby, leave it here” it reads, next to a cage where mothers can leave the infant to be taken into care. Baby girls are the main victims of fillicide, as arranged marriages and dowry provision remain an integral part of the culture here. This I find hardest to deal with.

There are many extra-curricular learning activities here from chanting sacred texts and philosophy, to learning sanskrit, ayurveda or traditional Indian cooking. Massage and healing services are also available. For January I signed up for Sutra Chanting and Philosophy classes with eminent teachers Dr Jayashree and Professor Narasimhan of the Anantha Research Foundation. We gather in a small room in their home in the heart of Mysore city every Mon-Thurs from 10.30-1.30. The teachings are from the ancient Indian sage Patanjali, are universal in nature, and are delivered in the Sruti Parampara tradition (call and response). Both teachers are beautiful, happy and generous people, always in good humour, extremely humble and respectful. While it may not be everyones cup of tea, for me it has been a highlight. Dr Jayashree delivers sutra chanting, while Prof Narasimhan gives a one hour philosophy talk around a different sutra each day. Here’s a clip of the “Living Masters” in action if you want to know more.

Foodwise, I’ve had some beautiful meals in some of the most unlikely places. Home cooking by the “three sisters” is something to behold. Sitting on a mat in a cold porchway that fits no more than six people, they serve you more than enough beautifully seasoned and cooked traditional Indian food. In general, most of the time I haven’t a clue what I’m eating, but it all tastes great, and I’ve avoided the you know what (Delhi B). Usually, I aim to eat a western style breakfast (porridge/fruit/coffee/eggs) which I have at home or out in one of the yogi cafes, an Indian lunch, and a little fruit and tea in the evening. Haven’t watched TV in 4 months and I’m in bed by 9pm. I’m a saint.

My landlords grand-daughter Aditi on her 4th birthday

I get on well with Bhagva, my extremely kind and generous landlady, and her retired husband Swami. They cooked me a lovely traditional Indian lunch recently, which went down a treat. They also have the most gorgeous grandchild, Aditi, who has just turned 4 but already commanding the place whenever she visits. When she opens the door for me, it’s always with a “welcome Tommy Uncle” (as I’ve come to be known) and a wave of the hand inviting me inside, just adoreable! I was kindly invited to her 4th birthday party recently and 15 friends and family all gathered for a lovely meal in a downtown Mysore restaurant. I’ve been made feel very much part of their family making my stay here all the more special.

Not scene by women! A typical mens parlour near Gokulam

My visa runs out by mid-March so am starting to make plans. Already many have departed leaving a tinge of sadness, but a desire to meet again. I’ll be here practicing yoga until end of February, then it looks like north to Gokarna and Goa for a short break, meet up with Tony Purcell, before I leave India. The Enfield has been acquired (a beautiful 2012 Chrome Classic 500 with just 3,000 kms on the clock), so I’m good to go(a). After that it looks like Thailand, then maybe Australia but I’m not sure yet, as a good friend of mine likes to say, the universe will provide, it always does!

Namaste

I feel like Mowgli!

I’m sitting on my balcony in the shade, sipping a cold orange juice. It’s been 30 degrees in the sun since I got here, a bit too hot for this fair skinned Irishman. I live on the first floor of a two story house in Gokulam, Mysore. If Gokulam was in Ireland it would be  a leafy suburb. My apartment is comfortable, clean, and spacious with three large roof terraces (thinking of holding a rooftop party!). The owners are a very nice older couple from Bangalore, Swami and Bagdah Ramakrishna Krupa. They only spend a couple of days a week in Mysore and they occupy the ground floor. We share the same entrance. On my first morning I encountered Amma, an old lady who minds the place and waters the plants. She’s tiny, toothless and half blind and bemused me as we tried in vain to communicate about keys. She has no English, and I no Hindi. A week in, we now smile and wave at each other, I give her some fruit and she opens the gate for me to get the bike out.

The shaded balcony outside my bedroom overlooks a scrub green area where I spot many birds, all sorts of flying insects and colourful butterflies (the odd cow and goat too and I’ve seen ants the size of small spiders). It seemed idyllic until I realised it also doubles as a local man toilet. Every second bloke seems to stop off.

Some local characters are a delight, like Mahesh, a young lad full of enthusiasm whose business card promises he can arrange “everything” from accommodation to transport, and even flowers if I needed them! Before I met Murthy (the guy who organised the place I’m in), I agreed to meet Mahesh to look at a few places and gauge standards and prices. He tried hard to “sell” me a double room in a nice serviced apartment block. I can still hear him: “many people are coming sir, you take sir, 23,000 rupees, yes please sir”. And see his head bobbing from side to side in that typical Indian way that suggests indifference to us. I’m glad I waited.

The big news here at the moment is the wandering wildlife, like the man-eating Tiger. There’s been three recorded human deaths in villages near Mysore recently, so the locals are terrified. After three failed attempts to tranquilise the animal, Shere Khan remains at large. He came from Bandipur wildlife reserve, about 50kms south of Mysore. Not to be outdone, a herd of eight wild elephants managed to get to within 3kms of the Mysore ring road last Sunday. That’s about 8kms from where I am in Gokulam. From my room I could hear the firecrackers used to guide Hathi and co. the 50kms back to the sanctuary. Increased harvesting of bamboo and their rising numbers has put pressure on their food supply, causing them to wander. There are now over 1,800 elephants and 100 tigers (up from just 11 a few years ago) living in Bandipur reserve. There are also monkeys on the loose in nearby districts, and I’m reliably told they throw coconuts at unsuspecting passers-by! Any wonder I feel like Mowgli from the Jungle Book 🙂

As I write, a couple of hawks hover overhead searching for prey, one caught what looked like a small snake the other day. It’s mirrored in the local economy where many human hawks also prey on unsuspecting yogis and tourists. At breakfast today in Santosha’s (a home style cafe run by the very friendly Arun) I discovered some lower price levels for accommodation and transport. I’m not overly concerned as I’m happy with where I’ve landed. Murthy, the guy I’ve been dealing with is very nice with very good English. He’s also the local Western Union agent and probably makes a small fortune dealing with the thousands of yoga students that come each year. I’m feeling right at home with a currency dealer! The rule, it seems, is negotiate everything. I don’t have a problem bargaining over the bigger numbers, but it bothers me to haggle over relatively small sums, like 50 cents, which is a tidy amount to a local. A fellow yogi told me at breakfast, by not negotiating hard it encourages them to ask higher prices, which doesn’t help those on tighter budgets than me.

Foodwise I’ve been a little underwhelmed by the local Indian cuisine, but it’s early days. I’ve had some nice meals, and some only so so, but most importantly I’ve remained healthy, touch wood! I’ve also been ON the menu quite a lot, as I accumulate mosquito bites faster than Man Utd accumulate points. With so many international yoga students in Gokulam, some homes have turned into little restaurants serving lovely home cooked buffets and western style breakfasts. It’s almost impossible to know where they are unless someone directs you to the house, and then you have to keep your eyes peeled for a name on a gate or parked sandals on the ground! Anu’s, Vivian’s, Santosha’s, Anuchi’s are all popular spots where yogi’s gather to eat, hang out and chat. I’ve had some really tasty meals in these semi-secret locations and met loads of very nice people. They also have wi-fi which has been very helpful while I await connection at home but sometimes makes meaningful conversation impossible. Apple gadgets proliferate, and the sight of six or seven people round a table with heads buried in a machine is quite common.

I practice yoga at 8.30am each morning. Despite a Camino tightened body (hamstrings, shoulders and lower back) I eased myself back and got through the first week fine, a little low in energy but otherwise fit and healthy. My teacher is Saraswathi Rangaswamy, daughter of the illustrious Pattabhi Jois who founded the Ashtanga Yoga school that has given it’s name to this style of yoga. She’s a short, stocky, no nonsense type of gal. She’s now in her seventies and barks out instructions using no more than two words – “catch toe”…”straight leg”..”suck in”…”more up”…”lift head”…etc. It costs 18,000 rupees (€200) a month to practice here, which, oddly enough, is more expensive than at home. With a worldwide draw of c.2-300 students practicing each month, it makes for tidy revenue.

On my second day while admiring a Royal Enfield motorbike, the enthusiastic young owner offered me a test ride, but I baulked, fearful of the traffic, and took a ride on the back to a nearby cafe instead. The deep thudding sound of the single cylinder engine is fantastic, and the retro look is far too cool. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one someday. In the meantime, to get used to the traffic, I picked up a Scooty from Murthy for 700 rupees/week and it’s been getting me around. I’ve got lost a few times while figuring out the local area and finding my bearings. The rules are pretty much “go with the flow”. While they drive on the left, it isn’t always so, particularly if you’re “only going down the road a bit”! Fellas come at you from all sides…and horn blowing is incessant, it’s a national pastime, like cricket. I got fined 100 rupees (€1.20) by a traffic policeman the other day for not wearing my helmet (it’s only compulsory on big roads). When I told him I didn’t need a receipt, he waved me on and trousered the cash! I’m told it happens a lot to tourists. Met an Aussie guy Kieran (born in Antrim) after practice today. He rides a Royal Enfield Thunderbird 350 and he’s agreed to let me run out the lease, which has two days left, after he leaves at the end of this week! Looking forward to that.

There are a few familiar faces here too. Caught up with my old teacher training friend Claudia a few times. She’s given me a few pointers as she’s been here a month already. And my teacher Gillian is here for 3 months, as she has been each year for the past number of years, developing and deepening her practice. And many others from all over – Brazil, Canada, Czech Rep, Reunion, Poland, Finland, Australia, Japan, New York, UK (Leeds!), and from Dublin, Cork and Kerry too like. Namaste!