A foamy blanket washes up on the newly laid sand on Greystones south beach
After the storm, the heaving energetic sea cleared a path for healing soles. And souls. Foamy pulses found their way into each crack and crevice Forming new channels and escape routes to return to the one. Laying down new layers of soft sand to smooth a path for tired feet.
The gulls basked in a warm and tingling air Swept fresh by Ellen, or so the storm was called While busy Turnstones fetched up on newly laid sand and salty seaweed And little children ran away from the rushing waves.
Oh, take me away on the tide And toss me about on the breeze Electrify my senses And cleanse my beating heart
An electric avenue bursting with post storm negative ions…
Amidst the leafy greens and sunny yellows, The oceanic blues and puffy whites. Amongst the crimson reds and pretty pinks, Fiery orange and earthy browns. One nestles quietly, fragrantly in wait. It takes the crown of colour, and anchors the rainbow Behold the regal purple, Of lavender and princely rain Designed to take you higher And transform our earthly pains Give it time, give it space And give it your attention For it will lead you to a place Of wonderful intentions And grace you with an everlasting love 💜
While I never tried Kopi Luwak, which was expensively available in Malaysia, the cup of brown beans here in America tastes pretty much the same as any other I’ve tried on my travels. I say this as I sit in Petaluma’s Aqus Cafe, with a cup of Organic Blue Dragon (wherever is that from) at arms length. Maybe it’s just my insensitive tastebuds. Whatever. It’s another day on my journey, another cup of coffee paid for with another dollar. Well, $2.50 to be precise.
Sonoma Sunset
I’ve been in Northern California two months, with almost half that time spent meditating in silence and serving at the Vipassana Meditation Centre three hours north of San Francisco. The rest of the time I’ve been hanging around Sonoma County, initially staying with my old school friend from Cork, Kevin Richardson and his family in the historical town of Petaluma (an hour north of SF). On returning from retreat, thanks to Kevin, I’ve been house sitting for near neighbours Jerry & Marlene who’ve gone fishing in Alaska for three months, leaving me look after their cosy 3 bed. There’s a delightful plant filled back garden patio where I usually have breakfast to the gentle tumble of water from a corner fountain. My job is to cut the grass, water the cactii, top up the hummingbirds sugary water and start the car once a week. It’s been challenging! But not half as challenging as trying to shoot (camera, not gun) a family of hummingbirds as they swoop in and out for water. They are far too fast for me. Might have to spike their drinks with something to slow them down, marijuana perhaps. Incidentally, pot might soon be legal here after Colorado generated millions in tax revenue from the weed, but that’s another story.
The Four Horse(men) of the Apocalypse
Aqus (pronounced ackwuss) is a nice spot to sit and write. It’s got a slightly warehousey feel with simple, functional furnishings, local artists decorating the walls and middle of the road American music filtering through. A nice lunch menu of salads and sandwiches, and unusually, plenty on offer for a vegetarian. Not that I am one, but I have the spinach, walnut and blue cheese salad.
My kind hosts here in Petaluma, the Richardsons L-R Kevin, Christine, Jack and Liam
I finally made it for one of my Godsons big days – Jack’s (Kevin’s eldest son) high school graduation. This young man turned out very well, getting great grades and leading the football team from quarter-back. He starts college in Oregon next month. Good luck Jack!
The Inside Job
The meditation retreats were a wonderful experience giving a much needed boost to my practice. I served one and sat the other. Serving from 5.30am to 10pm was a long day, punctuated by three 1 hour meditation sessions. Myself and seven others fed, watered and cleaned up after 85 people. It wasn’t as hard as I imagined when I first raised my hand to be cook! There’s nothing quite as rewarding as serving others. Superfood for the soul. After three days rest I was straight into my own retreat with 10 hours meditation each day from 4.30am to 9pm.
A Trunnel aka a tree tunnel
Rusty Gun
The Vipassana technique is an embodied practice, much like yoga, where you fine tune your attention inside. It teaches us to recognise that every sensation, whether pleasant or unpleasant, never lasts, it is always arising and passing away, always changing. The objective is to remain equanimous to whatever arises, knowing that it will shortly pass. Developing an equanimous mind is the key to being able to gain greater insight into our underlying awareness of who or perhaps what we really are (answer: Stardust!). It also helps us to be less reactionary in our day to day lives, knowing that within each of us lies the same feelings of fear, anger, love, joy etc. Have a mind that’s open to everything, yet attached to nothing. A universal heart centred truth. Simple really. OK, lesson over.
I’ve found another wonderful Ashtanga yoga teacher about a half hour north in the pretty town of Sebastopol. Certified teacher Johnny Smith has been keeping tabs on me, pushing me along nicely with his hands on and caring approach. There’s a very nice community of yogis here too – artists, wine growers and yoga teachers all fully committed and rocking it out each morning, but no bankers as far as I can see. Should all bankers practice yoga? Another time.
Nicasio Mist
I also recently got to see and hear the wonderful mindfulness and vipassana meditation teacher Jack Kornfield at the Spirit Rock meditation and retreat centre. Author of bestselling book A Path with Heart, he spoke beautifully for almost two hours, with poet Alison Luterman reciting some of her work in an easy, effortless and enlightening two step.
Aqus is run by an Irishman named John Crowley, a gregarious man who, when I met him about a month ago, wanted to know what musical instrument I could play, presumably so he could rope me into one of his weekly gigs. His face plunged a little when I revealed that my musical talents didn’t even stretch to a set of spoons. There are times I wonder am I really Irish, this was one of them.
A Love Affair with the Motor Car
Soon after I got here I stumbled upon a classic car rally passing through town. The Peggy Sue All American Cruise (the film When Peggy Sue Got Married was shot in Petaluma and nearby Santa Rosa) was underway with a parade the following evening in balmy downtown Santa Rosa. I dragged Kevin along to see evocative scenes of rockers, bobby socked ladies and teddy boys lining the streets, but for me, as always, the cars were the stars! Not a fan of customized hot rods, of which there were many, I preferred the stunning Thunderbirds, Corvettes, Mustangs and Cobras.
Grille
Chevvy
Vents
Street
Hot Rod
50’s
65 Mustang
Thunderbird
Shelby
Cobra
Back Seat Attitude
Peggy Sue
ZZ
Corvette
Furry Dice
European classics proliferate too with many well kept models such as the VW Beetle, Triumph TR4, and Mercedes SL. It’s easy to understand America’s love affair with the motorcar what with everything so far apart, and little in the way of public transport, it’s essential to have your own wheels to navigate California’s almost 20,000 miles of State Highway. But it’s not only getting around the sprawling towns and cities. Getting out into the vast countryside is a national pursuit. The US is incredibly well served by more than 4 million miles of highways that will take you to innumerable natural amenities, magnificent national parks, forests and coastal beaches….
…..and lo another motorbike had to be acquired….
Triumph Bonneville T100 – another one of my seats of prayer!
There are now 12 wheels on three continents in the TB global garage! Picked up another modern classic, a Triumph Bonneville T100 (complete with saddle bags wouldn’t you know). Got a great deal from the very helpful David Morton at AS Powersports, who lived up to his title of ‘Director for Adventure’, by kindly showing me some interesting routes to explore. Nice guy.
Nor Cal, almost as nice as Wes Cor!
The Bonnevilles super smooth 865cc parallel twin engine has been propelling me about the very pretty Sonoma County the past couple of weeks, helping me get some nice photos.
Sonoma
Shed
Bodega Bay Birds
Bugs Grave
The Four Horse(men) of the Apocalypse
Stinson Beach
Nicasio Mist
Misty Bonneville
Sonoma Sunset
Barn
Sonoma Square
Amongst Redwoods
It’s a beautiful countryside, with rolling brown hills, valley vineyards, and many large dairy farms (producing super cheeses). It also has some beautiful redwood forests and the stunning Pacific Coast Highway (No 1) winds its way along it’s coast. I’ve been up and down stretches of it from Jenner to Stinson Beach, stopping off at Bodega Bay on one occasion to look for Hitchcock’s angry birds…
Biker Cousins
You can get whatever you want here….
Took a run down to Santa Cruz last weekend with my cousin, and fellow biker, Dan, stopping off at the famous Alice’s Restaurant (named after the counter culture anti-war song of the late ’60’s). Heading south out of San Francisco we took the oft foggy, and aforementioned coastal Highway 1 to Half Moon Bay (home to the Mavericks big wave surfers), drifting inland along the sunnier sweeps of 84 through La Honda and up to the “you can get anything you want” restaurant to sample a Norton burger. The sweeping Skyline Boulevard in the Santa Cruz mountains would lift any spirit, keeping the rider fully focussed and vividly present on his seat (of prayer). By the time I got home 280 miles had been covered, re-acquainting me intimately with the term saddle sore. More runs in the pipeline, hopefully I’ll make it to Yosemite, and maybe further, who knows…safely too I hope.
Helen Putnam Trail
A variety of interesting characters come and go at the cafe. As I write a group of four older ladies knit while they chat, a recent urology test seems to be the current topic. Three or four others, like me, tap on their Apple Macs. A couple of bookish types read, as they would, and another couple chat. I’m one of fifteen in the cafe, perhaps two younger than me, a sneak preview of life in a retirement home perhaps. Appropriately, John Lennon’s “Watching the Wheels” drifts to my ear…
As I move from country to country I seem to be traveling two journeys at once, the inner self reflective one of yoga and meditation practice, and a fascinating external social and economic voyage. In yoga we work with internal energies, off the mat we deal with external energy (matter and relationship/money and people). Here in the home of modern day capitalism, it’s impossible to avoid consumer culture. Great store is placed on working hard and earning money engendering incessant doing, rewarding the creation, sale and consumption of stuff while largely forgetting our inherent natural state of being. Here in California, yoga is more mainstream with many options, sometimes more commercially motivated, but again, probably a post for another day.
Tomorrow, after yoga practice, I hope to go for a coastal ride on the Bonneville, take a few pictures and see what happens…and maybe pick up some hash for the hummingbirds!
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.
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….
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!
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!
A World of Wanders 