India Diary
4 August 2007
I’ve been thinking about the floods at home as I listen to the monsoon rain come pounding down. It feels as though the mountain will melt – but so far it stays in tact. I’m very pleased to hear that people I love are still dry – and about the Blitz spirit being reignited over the sandbags.
It’s VERY wet here. Extraordinary supremely drenchingly wet. The damp has got to me and I’ve got a chest infection. But there are some pretty sublime compensations. It is gloriously abundantly fecund EVERYWHERE. Even the stone walls grow in front of your eyes. And in the brief moments when the rain stops and the sun comes out the colours are amazing. Even without the sun the colours are more vivid than a sunny day in Bognor. All the vegetation increases at this incredible triffid like rate. And when it’s raining and there’s a cloud wrapped round my bedroom and you look out and all you can see is little flashes of trees where you know the mountains ought to be its magical. And when the cloud moves so that its 100 feet away and you can see bits of mountain peeking out from the top of it one has a little optimistic flip that maybe it’s clearing up. Mrs Rana says that this intensity of rain will probably only last another week or so. I do long for it a bit less damp I must say. Dehradun has been flooded worse than it has been in 60 years. And someone said they’d seen a headline saying that there were 2,000 dead in North India somewhere. But not here – although there do seem to be a surprising large number of dead dogs and cows on the streets.
Swati warned us of the three monsoon Ms: monkeys, mosquitos and moss!! Monkeys and mosquitos I got, but it wasn’t till I saw someone go flying that I understood what she meant about moss. I’ve obsessively been taking photographs of green walls.
I’m living with Mr and Mrs Rana and I have a the small room that looks out towards the Himalayas. There are an assortment of women also staying there. My best mate so far is an irish woman who bears a striking resemblence to Uma Thurman. Apparently, when her Dad went to see Kill Bill, his only comment was “Sure. That girl looks a lot like our Sarah.” She’s funny. We play endless games of scrabble. She’s yet to beat me but she has started forgetting to write down my scores.
Classes are being amazing. Swati is doing the asana classes in the morning. Rajiv does combat Pranayama. It’s a big group though – lots of beginners. So we’ve been taking it very easy. I keep getting demonstrated on which I hate. But the flip side is that as I’m always having to help someone else up into arm balance I never have to do one myself. My own practices have been wonderful. Something pretty extraordinary happens in that hall.
I’ve just heard from another friend who I’ve not seen for a long time (10 years this time). Something must be going on! This one I’m unreservedly pleased about. I feel very blessed. And sort of not surprised.
I’ve just realised I’m feeling very home sick. Though not sure quite where home is.
11 August 2007
The rain is never-ending here (and I don’t think my cough will stop until it dries up a bit, but I’m certainly not miserable like I was a week ago). Despite the rain I did manage to see my first sunset the night before last – until now all I’ve been able to see from my balcony is clouds. It’s a treat when they retreat a bit and you can see a slice of the mountain. There was even one day when the sun shone and we had to put factor on our faces. Obviously, this was the day that we were invited to Rajiv and Swati’s for lunch. The food was delicious. There were three puddings – a mango puree thing (the mangos are in season and I’m averaging five a day), a vermicelli biscuitty thing, and a coconut soup thing with bits of those indian sweets made of coconut and condensed milk. I had four helpings of the coconut soup thing – and managed to spill only a very small amount down my best dress. This was no mean feat as the soup was served in bowls made of bananna leaves – ecologically sound and aesthetically enchanting but leaky.
Generally it’s been a surprisingly social week for me. There is a project near here further up in the hills where it’s really very poor. A retired couple have set up a school for local children and a business where the local women make quilts which when they’re sold generate liberating amounts of money for the women – the last couple of times I’ve been here I’ve spent a bit of time at the school and when I was at PwC I did a bit of fundraising for them. Mr and Mrs Swammy organised a big thing up at the school, and Rajiv volunteered me to tell all the other students about why they should go. I’m feeling ambivalent about being his spokesperson, but heigh ho. We went and were kicked off with a video Sister Damadina had made – Damadina is a buddist nun who I shared a house with last time I was here. She’s an extraordinary woman – she’d spent a long time in Burma (with her begging bowl), and teaches a lot in Dharamsala. She’s in regular contact with the Dali Lama and when she’s speaks of him it’s with some authority. She and I clashed somewhat to begin with – mainly over whose turn it was to cook. But by the end of the month we’d found a way to really like each other. On our last day she rushed into my bedroom and said, urgently, that she’d just realised that when they made the movie of her life that I should play her. So, although the film was overlong and didn’t really show what amazing work the school does in a really impoverished community, it was fabulous to hear her voice. Then there was a lovely lunch and then finally we went to the school. We’d been invited to co-incide with a leaving ceremony they’d arranged to say goodbye to two of the teachers. First we heard from a number of the children – they told us what they’d valued from being a member of the society. What was so enchanting is how much they clearly love Mr Swammy – “Sir”. They treat him with a mixture of delight and cheekiness. After each child had spoken (including the girl who was so shy she could barely get a sentence out), he congratulated them and gave them a little hug. And they shone! Then an australian man who’d been teaching science and basket ball (yes!) for a couple of months spoke. It was clear he’d felt enormously privileged to have been there. They’ve got a new building – with a science lab with Bunsen burners in and everything, as well as a playground with basket ball nets. So I imagine he’s had his work cut out. Then finally, and most wonderfully, a girl who’d started working there when she’d been a school leaver 5 years ago and taught there throughout her degree stood up. She was about to start work in Dehli for Arab Emirates airline and although she was really pleased about her new job she was obviously enormously sad to be leaving the school. She cried all the way through! Throughout all this the western child from hell rushed up to distract whomever was speaking. She hit anyone who tried to distract/restrain her. I felt thoroughly ashamed, but this was the only fly in the ointment. Anyway, Chinni and Swammy have invited me to stay for a couple of days between courses – so I’m very much looking forward to that.
And then last night I had been invited for “drinks and nibbles” by two sisters who are staying with their mother who lives on the Rajpur Road just north of Dehradun. Gita lives in London and Nooni lives in Dehli and both have come to do the course at Yog-Ganga (Gita spent a month here last year). Their mother (83) and their aunt (80) are both students in the local classes. I was given a lift by Roop, an indian woman who lives in Delhi (she’s been coming here to the Chanchanis for 15 years and with great charm subverts Rajiv’s every word at every opportunity). Roop tells us that our hostess is a famous writer and a renowned traveller. I start to feel intimidated. The other guests were all there when we arrived (we’re the only yoga students). The headmaster from the Doon School is there, and a man who’d been an anarchist in his youth and been sent to prison for his revolutionary activities. Everyone was lovely, and so welcoming and entertaining and interesting. They teased me for drinking water and not eating meat. They were all knocking back improbably large quantities of whiskey, and the nibbles were largely chicken and meat pasties. I had to have porridge when I came home. And I was very glad to get home in one piece – Roop had also consumed her fair share of whiskey and at one point I thought we were going to drive straight into the only other car on the road. Thank the lord we came back after the nine o’clock curfew and the roads were deserted.
Bestest thing this week is that there is a family of swallows who have built a nest outside my bedroom window. The babies, all tiny and fluffy, have been sitting on my balcony and learning how to fly. I’m St Francis.
15 August 2007
Swati keeps saying I work judiciously and I’ve been properly taught (which has to be about Wendy and Judith – who I’m missing enormously). However, yesterday I got hauled out for collapsing my inner back leg so that felt much better. Whether the inner leg will firm up any remains to be seen.
Rajiv on the other hand is taking no prisoners. We’ve been doing absurdly difficult classes with him. Intellectually challenging and demanding huge sensitivity. I realise just how incapable I am. And then he tells us it’s not really pranayama – that we’re not adequate to feel the prana. But I’m very very very glad to be here and studying with them. Even if I am longing for the rain to stop.
Swati’s new technique is to say as she walks past “Zoe! That’s quite wrong.” I then have to spend the whole of my practice time trying to work out what she meant. Still, as Rajiv keeps saying “Self-help, Best-help!”. I feel like I’m learning so much – about everything except my inner legs.
The other thing Rajiv and Swati both keep saying, as a throw away, is “What to do?”. Do you keep the legs and hips firm and sacrifice the possibility of rotation? Listen to the breath or the teacher? Extend the arms fully or keep the throat soft? Broaden or lengthen? And all of India feels like an impossible dichotomy I’m only just beginning to understand the parameters of. Am not having nearly such a joyful experience as on other visits but am intuiting that I’m getting something potentially more profound than mere bliss. Rajiv talked about Krishnamacharya making his long and difficult journey from the south to the Himalaya – through tiger-infested forests, and mountains inhabited with snow leopards. And then after three years when he finally gets to his guru’s cave no one says “Have a cup of tea”. And his guru doesn’t actually tell him anything. He has to work it out for himself. And he’s there seven and a half years trying to do just that. And his learning is hard won. And then Rajiv talks about when he and Swati were young and feeding and housing themselves and two small children on 1,000 Rs a month. And they go to Gurujii and say “What to do?”. And Gurujii says “With yoga you sink or swim.” And that’s all. And now he has all these western students coming to him and expecting that in return for 10,000 Rs a month each they’ll be initiated into a series of blissful encounters. And that is possible. But. And Rajiv is mindful that the compromise that Gurijii made in accepting money rather than the traditional servitude in exchange for his teaching is that the teacher should “Give more than you get”. “So, ” Rajiv asks, “what to do?” And I’m such an intellectual I can’t help but making western comparisons as he’s talking. And what I’m reminded of is some sort of Brechtian alienation technique, whereby the audience is never allowed for more than a brief moment to indulge themselves in the comfort of a suspension of disbelief or get lost in the pull of the narrative, but instead is constantly forced to examine the process by which the story is told. So Rajiv shouts (its more like vehemence than abuse though, but whatever – its not a meditative experience listening to it) and interrupts and subverts expectations (he suggested yesterday we might do savangasana BEFORE sirsana) and makes one question what is being taught and why. It’s all very rich. Thank God I’m here for more than one course. I may start to digest some of it if I hear it all again. Not that I will of course. Even if he were to repeat himself I’d hear different bits of it.
h2. 28 August 2007
Today is RAAKSHI something or other – it means brother and sister day. I’m meant to give my brothers a sacred thread (which you put on in the bath ? have I got that right??) and then you give me money. Or something. Anyway – Happy Rakhsi!
So much is happening here. Last Thursday I rather reluctantly got persuaded to assist in the local class. Immediately after the invocation Swati issued a commanding “Zoë – Beedi needs help with the door. Go and hold it for her.”. And Beedi turns out to be a slight woman in her early forties (but with that very deceptive young look – at first glance she appears to be little more than a teenager). She’s holding onto a walking frame, but it’s clear that this itself is too much for her and she has two helpers who are moving a chair along behind her and she has to sit down on it almost immediately. We finally get her in through the door and Swati is getting the rest of the class into uttanasana (that’s a standing forward bend). She tells us that Beedi usually uses the area around one of the prop corners and we should be getting her into uttanasana too. Hang on, I think, she can barely stand – how is she going to do uttanasana. She needs the high stool, Swati says, but you have to hold her and the stool because otherwise she’ll fall and she’ll push the stool over too. So Swati goes back to the rest of the class without a backward glance. And then it appears that suddenly without volition Beedi’s legs buckle. And I’m thinking – assisting is one thing, this is crazy – I’ve got no idea what to do or how to help. And then Swati tells us that we have to do dog pose on the rope followed by Supta Padangustasana 1,2 and 3 (that at least is lying down on the floor – but the point of it is to keep the legs straight). And she’s back to the rest of the class who are doing backbends (not that I’ve got any space or time to think about that!). And Beedi is wonderful. SHE tells me what to do. I think we’re going to strangle her with the rope getting into dog pose but she’s cool as a cucumber – within the confines that just about everything is clearly agony. And then there’s the unpredictability of her legs! And I still don’t know what’s wrong with them. And then we have to get across the hall – and Beedi says, no problem, I’ll crawl. And as the class goes on I think this woman is truly amazing – to even get herself to a yoga hall is a triumph, let alone subject herself to a series of impossibilities. And then to take care of this incompetent foreigner who’s meant to be assisting you. And then half way through tying her legs to the column for Supta Padangustasana I hear Swati’s voice saying “Zoë! Over here, now!” And I look over to see that she’s got to urdhva dhanurasana (that’s the crab to you!) and she’s lined up four great big men along the window sill and she’s waiting for me to lift the first one up!
The following day Rajiv was teaching the asana class. And we’re jumping – going from Urdhva Hastasana (hands up in the air) to Chataranga (like a push up with your body hovering 2 inches parallel to the ground) going at a breakneck Rajiv speed! And then from jumping we’re going to ropes 1 and 2 – this looks like you’re flying into and out of the wall (“with momentum, with momentum”). And then back to jumping. And then ropes 2 on a single rope (“tailbone in! look up!”) And then – kerchang! Ten seconds in and my shoulder goes. Not really such a surprise. And my chest falls and my heart sinks to my boots.
And it’s been a challenge. In pranayama that evening I am not clear with Swati that any form of shoulderstand is an impossibility. And I get really badly hurt and end up sobbing. So humiliating.
It’s not as bad as ever it was but it is quite serious. And I’m scared. And on Friday we have Pranayama again. And I’m sitting directly in front of Swati. And she says, “Zoë -you don’t lift your chest and your shoulder will pain you all your life” – and I hear this as an inescapable prediction. And I’m ready to get the first flight anywhere I can. And never do any yoga ever again. But Harshini and Grace have this miracle oil they’ve been annointing me with, and it is slowly slowly getting better. Yesterday we went to Rishikesh and Haridwar (I know I vowed never to do them both in one day again . . .) and despite exhaustion I had an amazing time.
And this morning (after 10 hours sleep) I’ve made a huge connection. When my legs don’t work and I can’t even feel what it is I need to do, it makes me laugh. When my arms and my chest don’t work I feel despair. And I think it must be to do with the diapraghms – and Rajiv keeps saying work the legs for the spine or work the spine for the legs and maybe I can work my vocal diagapraghm (or however its spelt) for the shoulder! Must get to practice to try.
This is being a VERY big trip. Its all good stuff, but India is sometimes more of a challenge than immediate bliss.
3 September 2007
We’ve been having serious Monkey Business. Latest instalment in the monkey saga is that yesterday morning I woke up to gun shots! I’m staying in THE GENERAL’s house (very posh) and his team of gardeners were all armed with toy guns that fired and they were trying to protect the fruit trees in a desperate variation on the game of Monkeys and Indians. All the men are armed with catapults which they draw the instant a monkey crosses their path – which makes walking down the road even more hazardous than it normally is. Even Rajiv, my ahimsa avowed yoga teacher (ahimsa means non violence), carries one. Yesterday in class a troupe of monkeys wandered through the garden. The huge alpha male with the bright red balls climbed up onto the awning above where Rajiv was sitting and rattled it ferociously. Hanuman is the monkey god – yogi par excellence, lord of wind and pranayama and Rajiv suggested the alpha male was there to report back to Hanuman on how he was doing. We ended up doing loads of back bends – hanging off the ropes like chimps!
6 September 2007
I’ve just spent the day at the Forest Research Institution. The FRI, as its known, is about 5km just outside of town. Town is Dehradun which is the state capital of Uttaranchal – even in the two years since I was last here “Doon” has changed almost beyond recognition. There’s a Pizza Hut and a YO! Chinese now. Its quite commonplace to see women wearing western clothes – hipster jeans and short tee shirts, tiny spaghetti straps and skimpy skirts! (This is the day after we got lectured about not wearing sufficiently modest clothes to class). And Dehradun is like all cities – bustling and dirty, noisy and confusing.
The FRI is a huge neo-classical building with colonnades and shady courtyards with big trees from various parts of the world in each courtyard (rarely in the centre). It looks like a Victorian bit of architecture – beautiful brick domes everywhere – but in fact it was built in the 1920s. The building itself is in the centre of a well managed forest – many different types of trees and mostly planted in regimented avenues. But beautiful.
It feels like the project dreamed up by some Victorian cataloguer. The first room you go in to is dedicated to Diseases of the Poplar in India. Lots of fungi specimens and photographs of diseased poplars. And it was at this point I thought – Oh, I do wish Paul was here. And extraordinary things at every corner that made me think of him. Lots of stuff about trees, of course. But also many of the exhibits were photographs. And some even were photographs of trees with people (to show proportion) standing in front of them – mostly looking out but there was the odd back of the head in front of a trunk shot too. And bits of bark – a fossilised bit of sandalwood that was 3,000 years old. And huge cross sections of tree trunks – 700 years worth of cedar tree with a historical time line etched into it, showing when the various invaders and colonisers of India came and went.
And then I go into this amazing room that’s dedicated to The Socialisation of Forestry. In addition to lots of photographs of Indira Ghandi walking down the colonnades there are model-railway type landscapes showing the social effects of various types of forestation (or lack of forestation) on little villages. And then I think. O I do wish Merv could see this. Its like a Wireframe installation. And then we get more models. And suddenly (and I couldn’t work out why but I was delighted – so just like a Wireframe installation) there were tiny replicas of bamboo furniture that were no bigger than a finger.
And of course I forgot my camera.
10 September 2007
The second course has been a whole different kettle of fish – a much more mature group, with only a few people who were wrongly convinced they’d been practicing Iyengar yoga for 15 years. Much more emotionally stable and serious. And Rajiv taught the “asana” class in the mornings (though one of the Japanese students asked how the philosophy lectures would be different from the classes!) and Swati has been taking pranayama in the evenings. And to begin with I felt disappointed because it had been the other way round last month – and Swati is an amazing asana teacher, and Rajiv’s pranayama is really why I’m here. But actually. It’s been extraordinary. Rajiv assumes that you don’t need to be taught a pose. And then he demands a certain way of thinking, feeling, sensitivity, breath in a whole range of poses. So if you look at the sequences for the classes lots of them look reasonably similar (although the day after my shoulder collapsed he did arm balancings so I’m not counting that). But then he takes a topic – like front to back, or stability v. rotation, or inhalation v. exhalation and explores that topic within some asanas. And I know in the UK we’re used to having a theme in the class – but this is more to teach a way of looking and observing. There was one class where we ONLY did chair bharadvajasana followed by seated bharadvajasana followed by trikonasana (and that’s in nearly 2.5 hours). So great.
And then Swati has taken no prisoners in the evenings. Wow! They were absolutely exhausting – “After a certain point, lying over a bolster is counter-productive,” she said at least twice. You have to be active in preparing yourself for pranayama, she kept telling us. “Zoë! You don’t lift the chest. Your shoulder will always pain you!” (I heard this as a prognostication, but I think she meant IF you don’t . . . then . . .). And she doesn’t let a thing go. And she assumes you’re ready for all sorts of stuff – and somehow you are. And I came out of her classes WHIZZING – like mountain sunshine on snow – which I think I must talk to her about, because want to check if that’s desirable (even if I do really like it).
And Rajiv seemed much more relaxed with this group and after the first day there were no battles and many more explanations. And then on our penultimate day we had a philosophy talk (which have generally been great and really helpful). And he read a chapter from the Alpha and Omega to us and then opened it up as a “study group”. And two brave people asked questions. Which he misunderstood and shot down in flames. So everyone else shut up quickly. And then he seemed to get very frustrated that this mode of teaching was being so unproductive. But interestingly, the following morning he referred back to both the questions he’d been so dismissive of the evening before. And he’d clearly been thinking about them. And our whole class was structured around answering them. So I must be brave and ask him some questions – and I have so many!
I wonder if I have maybe perhaps possibly learned something about taking the rough with the smooth and being in a neutral state no matter what’s going on. My shoulder, which had been grumbling since I packed up the house, snapped again when Rajiv taught a jumpings interspersed with ropes class at the beginning of this second course. And then I didn’t explain to Swati exactly what had happened and she pulled it out of its socket that evening. BUT it’s amazingly much better now (back to pretty much where it was when I got here). Which is very quick – I’ve been doing masses and masses of rope sirsansa and hanging off the trestler and stuff, but I also have been using this ayurvedic oil which stinks but has not only been immediately helpful on the shoulder it also seems to have eradicated the arthritis in my thumbs.
Anyway.
I’ve got three more days here with no classes and lots of lunch appointments and then I go to Australia on Thursday. Am longing for a little bit of American telly. And some salad.
19 September 2007, Melbourne
Am now in Australia – and MUCH less miserable – although having just been constipated in India am now unable to eat anything without spending two hours in the bathroom. Oh, the irony . . .
Its cold and dry – am slathering on moisturiser – and all my clothes, which steamed when I unpacked, are finally a pleasure to wear.
24 September 2007, Melbourne
Spent the weekend in a tourist village called Dalesford about 90 minutes drive from Melbourne. All white picket fences and neatly mowed lawns. But apparently lots of lesbians live in the cafes there. Can’t say I saw many. We were booked to stay at an Ashram just outside Dalesford. As we drove through the forest to get there we started getting really cold feet (not literally – first time I’ve seen some sun since I got here – nobody told me Australia was freezing). We saw some very earnest people carrying rakes. And camper vans that run on vegan petrol. But the Ashram turned us away – they denied any knowledge of us. I got very British and thin lipped. Clare got very breezy and “its fine – we’ll come back some other time”. I was hanging out for an apology. Clare was particularly happy to leave as she’d just been past the men’s loos where the custom was not to shut the door.
So, we got back in the car, giggling in relief and immediately saw a kangaroo leaping across the road in front of us. I took this as a sign. But seemingly this is not unusual.
The first place we came to towards Dalesford was this Swiss Chalet type place. It’s called the Dalesford Inn. There’s a sign saying there’s a spa. We stop to check it out. An aging hippy type with rosy cheeks and a grey ponytail came up as we got out of the car. “I’m Bernard” he says – pronouncing it like we’re in Paris. They’ve just had a workshop on Paradigm Shifting. They didn’t eat much cake he says. He shows us this little unit with two rooms, a bathroom and a fridge. There are red hearts on the green painted doors. It seems to cost half what the Ashram would have. Oh, alright we say, and by the way, have you got a yoga room? Well actually, he says, we’ve got a meditation room, will that do? And he shows us to this big space with a circle of plastic outdoor chairs placed around a table with a lot of purple crystals. There are pictures of Jesus and the Buddha, various Indian Gods, something that looks Navaho and some more purple stuff. There are even purple plastic bags. More crystals hang from the windows. “How perfect”, we say, “and what about the spa?”. That’s not working. There’s a drought in Victoria. I start to feel guilty again about how many showers I take.
Clare’s mum arrives, she can’t get the hang of pretending that Bernard is French, and calls him Bernardo. We make friends with Bernard’s dog who is a labradoodle. My asthma is having a field day but they insist that labradoodles have been bred to deal with that (apparently NOBODY is allergic to poodles!).
The following morning, on Bernard’s recommendation, we go to a meeting of the Theosophical Fellowship. It’s in a newly erected octagonal building, lots of glass and wood, directly across the road. Bernard has said there will be singing. “Like Kirtan?” I ask. “No”, he says, “I’ve heard of Kirtan but it’s not like that.” When I press him, he just says it’ll be good singing, but won’t elaborate.
As we arrive, Clare’s mum rushes towards a woman coming towards us from the opposite direction. “I’m not sure this is my thing” the friend mutters. It turns out she’s from Melbourne, Clare’s mum is 3 hours in the other direction. We’re greeted at the door by a friendly soul who doesn’t seem to have the power of speech but indicates that we should swap our outdoor shoes for some fluffy slippers she has waiting for us. Bernard has told us that we should sit on the outer circle. The seats on the inner circle are taken by about a dozen men and women. Half of them are wearing white robes (like oversized choir boys’ vestments). The other half have coloured robes – Mrs Purple has matching eyeshadow; Miss Scarlet looks as though her robe was made for someone much taller; Mr Orange has obviously had his tailored specially, its a much better design, buttons down from the neck and is made of much better fabric; there’s a lady in pale blue (which one can’t help but feel should have been turquoise but she didn’t have the heart for it) with very heavy glasses and bright red lipstick. Weirdest of all is a man who looks like Emo Phillips – he is moulding space with his elbows and palms wearing a pale pink robe. Later when he speaks he sounds like Stephen Hawkin. The inner circle all have white dance shoes on – no fluffy slippers for them! The robes don’t disguise their deep suburban natures.
The service starts. I’m relieved to find out that we’re allowed to leave whenever we want to. The officiator (a blonde woman in sky blue, reminiscent of Louise Hay) tells us that this is the week of the Angels. She talks us through who the archangels are and how they can help us. And the singing starts. Oh dear. I’d been really liking Bernard and he looked as though “Good Singing” would probably be nearer to Bob Dylan than pan pipes but I’m so wrong. We sing the same song three times. There’s a lot of stuff about ascending – and each time we chorus “Rise!” Bernard lifts his hands up to the heavens. He is not alone.
The first ritual involves the Archangels (they’re the ones in the coloured robes) moving into the centre of the circle and channelling the healing angel energy towards where ever its needed in the world. This channelling is facilitated by the Archangels waving their hands about in specific directions. Some of the Archangels seem a little more committed than others. The server angels (the ones in white) walk in circles around them doing slightly different things with their arms. Frankly, the choreography needed work. The facilitator woman tells us it’s ok to close our eyes. This is fortunate as I’m in serious danger of losing it completely. But, amazingly, when I do close my eyes I’m hit by this huge surge of shakti or chi (or whatever the angels would call it) vibrating between my palms and out into the rest of my body.
Alright, so I’m impressed – there’s clearly something here. So, I try and pay attention when there’s a bit more of the explication stuff. But basically its Christianity dressed up with bits of Hindu and Buddhist philosophy. And the words are all invented – the least they could have done is to pilfer some decent ancient texts. And the music that accompanies the ritual is nothing more than Mozart played on pan pipes. So I’m feeling pretty scornful, but then we do a guided meditation for half an hour, and despite knowing that Clare, who is sitting beside me, is longing to leave, I go really deep. So heigh ho – you can’t necessarily judge a book by its cover, something is definitely going on in there. But I’m not rushing to go back.
We spend the afternoon wandering around Jubliee Lake. I’m so pants as a traveller – I don’t prepare myself at all. I had this fantasy that outside of the cities Australia was this wild land where anything can happen. But instead it seems to be all picnic areas and well signposted paths with hand rails built through woods. Very pretty. But somehow manipulated. The nature at one remove. Maybe I’m used to wandering up Lorne Hill with Hilary and clambering over styles that haven’t been clambered over for the last 10 years, and having to check that there’s not a lone bull in the field we’re about to walk through.
25 October 2007 – Rajpur
I am now back in India – and definitely feel like on my home stretch. I am never never never coming back in Monsoon again. The weather now is just glorious. Gold sunshine that doesn’t burn, cool sleep inducing nights, fewer mosquitos. And amazing beautiful views of the mountains that just six weeks ago were cloaked in cloud, or mist at best. And everything still so fresh and fecund.
Rajiv and Swati are being so fantastic – it’s like they get better every time. They’ve both been teaching both asana and pranayama classes. So at the beginning of the class I sit quietly with my eyes closed, ears peeled to hear who is coming in through the door from the library (we all come in the door leading from the changing rooms). And I catch myself getting excited or disappointed – or both! It’s extraordinary how attached one is.
Practice times are generous on this course – and classes have been great, but my own practice has been even more wonderful. We’ve got a lovely group this month – lots of English people – and I’m so homesick that I lap up a London accent! It’s a fairly even gender mix this month (very rare), and half the boys are Chelsea season ticket holders (all co-indcidence). So Rajpur rocks with chants from all corners of the world.
And I’ve had my first bout of dysentery – and for me its not been bad, but half my house are projectile vomiting. Even Swati says they need antibiotics. There are seven of us sharing a house – and four of us have been ill. I say do the maths, but there are some extraordinary explanations going round! I’m fasting today, and not hungry, and I feel a bit fragile but other wise I’m fine, so I feel like I got off very lightly.
30 October 2007
Am so loving this course – its ridiculous what a different experience I’m having! Partly, there are lots of English people here – who think I’m funny. And I’m so much happier when I’m not the only person giggling at my jokes. One of them is film designer Gemma who I know slightly from being here a couple of years ago – and we seem to be making proper friends. So my loneliness is exposed as it dwindles.
I am back in Mr and Mrs Rana’s house and slightly anxious about sharing space with another student who is not so unlike me (i.e. bossy and controlling)! In the event Kathy and I have been getting on like a house on fire. I realised that the basic problem is that there are two alpha females in the Rana house – and everyone else is dancing round working out which one to swear allegiance to. Mrs Rana thinks its very funny. She calls the outside summer house bit the “Kathy complex” and the main house the “Zoë complex”. But Kathy and I have begun behaving as though we’re Chirac and Blair (two elderstatesmen who have no real power and, despite mutual hostility, are meant to be on the same side).
Swati and Rajiv have been preoccupied with trying to deal with a girl who’s clearly stopped taking her medication – they’ve handled it all very badly. What it is to be human, eh? I still love them. Although Rajiv taught jumpings today, which I think are entirely pointless done at that speed, so I’m reserving judgement on him!
There’s a big event on in Downtown Dehradun this week – it’s a festival celebrating traditional singing and dancing from all over India. It’s called Virasat and there’s a craft market attached to it – with people who make things from all over India exhibiting their wares (and showing you photographs of themselves being congratulated by the minister for tourism). I’ve bought some absolutely beautiful shadow puppets that are typical Indian colours – of Ram, Ganesh, Hanuman – and one fearsome tiger.
10 November 2007
My time has been BIG BIG BIG. My first couple of months here were really difficult and I had a horrid time for most of them. But I also knew I was learning lots and the teaching was being so fantastic that I didn’t want to cop to what a miserable time I was having. But I was really lonely and homesick and the more it rained the more unhappy I got. And it rained alot. And I kept getting ill. And then I went to Australia and got really ill. And then I came back here. And the weather is glorious. And suddenly there were all these lovely people. And the homesickness abated. And the teaching got EVEN BETTER. And I stopped being ill. And it’s been just blissful. I’ve stopped phoning them and texting every other day. But it’s because I’ve been so happy and so busy.
And now the last but one course has just finished and we’ve got six days off. And it’s Diwali.
Three days before Diwali is Patanjali’s birthday and every year that is a cause for major celebrations at Yog-Ganga (not least because it’s also the anniversary of the centre opening). We spent a week making preparations for the party that took place on the final evening of the course that’s just finished. After the morning class we rushed off to get something quick to eat and then rushed back so that we could participate in some decorative activity. The principal task was to make rangulis – a ranguli is a symbolic picture on the floor created using either flower petals or piles of powder paint (flower petals are more traditional but because we thought the monkeys might eat them we used powder paints). The paints are red, yellow, green and white. We made pictures with Lotus flowers, birds, fish, tigers, flowers and mogul mandalas. And a fat Ganesh riding on his rat. My friend Najat made a beautiful one which represented the Jiva-atman. Very abstract. She managed to make some grey paint – so hers was the only one that was subtle. All the rest were gloriously colourful. A yellow striped pink tiger with green eyes inhabiting a red forest.
There were also oil lamps to prepare (all the wicks were hand rolled from raw cotton). And food to be cooked for all the guests (and the yoga students) that came to the party. And bestest of all on Patanjali’s birthday itself 30kg of marigolds arrived. Marigolds are auspicious flowers and used to mark thanksgivings and celebrations. They’re hung around statues of the Gods (and the gods) and draped over entrances and doorways. Twenty of us spent three hours threading the marigolds onto string to make garlands. My camera is now having a little rest from over use.
That evening we knew the programme was to be:
4.30 – 5.30 Philosophical contemplation
5.30 – 7.00 Concert
7.00 – 7.30 Entertainment (Surprise!!)
7.30 Dinner
None of us knew what the surprise was (well hardly any of us and those that did kept their mouths so well shut we didn’t even know who to put the thumbscrews on). Only a few knew quite what philosophical contemplation was. But although all of us knew that the concert was going to be performed by a renowned Sikh musician who played a Weiner, no one had any idea what a Weiner is so we were really none the wiser.
In fact the philosophical contemplation was Swati chanting the second chapter of the sutras and Rajiv translating. Patanjali is main man in yoga (think Buddha or Mohammed) and he wrote down a series of aphorisms – which are known as the sutras (sutra means thread). Rajiv was meant, Swati kept telling us, to make a literal translation that was the same length as the sutra. But he kept getting excited and going into great detail. And it was brilliant. And every time it got too esoteric for words (or breath) Swati jumped in and started singing the next sutra. And we all laughed. And he didn’t mind. And lots of things started clicking into place for me. So by the time Rajiv introduced the renowned Sikh musician, who turned out to have the most fantastic set of whiskers I’ve ever seen, I was already pretty blissed out. A description of the Weiner won’t help you much to understand what it is – and the specific sort of Weiner he’d brought with him was called something which translated to “strange” Weiner. But suffice to say it had strings and sounded a bit like that instrument in the Third Man. And he had a tabla player with him (very sexy). And it was amazing. And I don’t know if I had a spiritual or a sexual awakening but it was certainly special.
And then for the surprise Rajiv heralded us outside to the veranda outside the library (there’s a small auditorium there). It was dark by this time and it was clear we were going to be watching something – but it was only lit by about half a dozen tiny oil lamps. And then Emiliano appeared. Emiliano is one of the students. He’s the new boyfriend of an old student. And at the start of the course he’d never done yoga before. Ah we thought – he’s a juggler and we’re going to watch a juggling performance. But no – he got a digeridoo out – and made this extraordinary completely un-Rolf-Harris-like sound come out of it. He said it was a primordial OM resonance. And I believed him. And then he juggled with 3 crystal balls which he said represented the 3 gunas (we’d had a lecture on Rajas-Tamas-Satva earlier in the week). And then bliss of bliss he started fire dancing. And it was extraordinary. And Mr Singh, the renowned Weiner player, clapped and clapped and clapped. And Swati said it’s like a four legged dog (we all laughed but thinking about it – don’t all dogs have four legs??). Emiliano says nervously “I was good Rajiv? Yes?”. Rajiv beams. But it was a perfect end to a pretty perfect course. The food is usually the main event at the party but it was wholly upstaged.
And then on Thursday my friend Lally and I went up to Mussorie to stay for Diwali. Here in Rajpur we’re at 3,000 feet and the mountains are just beginning. But Mussorie is 6,000 feet and suddenly there’s less oxygen and its 3 or 4 degrees cooler. Its one of the colonial hill stations. And we stay in the Padmini Niwas hotel which was built in the middle of the nineteenth century for a Maharajah to escape to in the heat of the summer. It’s a cross between a Scottish castle (stuffed deer heads above the fireplaces) and the Taj Mahal. It’s now owned by Swati’s mother and is one of the better hotels in town. Mussorie is situated on a ridge – and the hotel is on the south facing side of the ridge looking down across the plain. The north facing side of the ridge looks out towards the Himalayas. Yesterday we got a taxi to take us up to Sisters Bazaar (much less grand than it sounds – a hamlet with four shops) which is a further 600 feet up. We walked for miles around the top most peaks of the ridge. It was incredibly clear and we could see past the first and second ranges right through to the snow capped peaks of the mountains in Nepal and on the Tibetan Chinese border. Lally was dancing round proclaiming we’d seen Everest. I didn’t disillusion her. You can see why all the ancient yogis used to come up high and live in caves to practice. It’s impossible not to feel awed by the sight of them. We felt the snowy breeze on our faces. And then we turned the corner and started looking south over the plain towards Dehradun and basked in the warm thermals.
Yesterday evening was Diwali (a combination of Christmas Day, New Years Eve, Guy Fawkes and Midsummers’ Night all rolled into one). We started off with a Puja in the hotel. Prayers are said to Lakshmi (goddess of wealth – Swati insists this refers to a wealth of VIRTUES but I see a cash book figuring largely in the ceremony), to Ganesh (remover of obstacles and important to pay homage to at the start of any venture), and we are all given sacred threads to bind us together and to the gods, red spots on our foreheads, prasad (sweets and fruit). Its one of several pujas I’ve participated in – I love the way they work in India. It’s inclusive and embracing. Everyone is involved and there is no stuffiness to the gratitude. Last night Rajiv and Swati’s Mum kept interrupting the priest and telling him he was doing it wrong (well, he did forget to bless the perfume). The priest took this in good part, and everyone laughed. Swati was giving us a running commentary on what and why was happening. Lots of chatting was happening throughout. Halfway through the priest’s mobile phone rang – but he said it was only a text message so he didn’t need to answer it.
The Puja was followed by a “Fireworks Buffet”. India is all spiritual consciousness and no health and safety consciousness. We were up close and personal with catherine wheels which are placed on the floor right in front of you. Six year olds light them with sparklers. Rajiv complains about the sulphur. Swati is handing out lit sparklers and lit candles in one hand whilst holding rockets in the other. She mocks our retreating backs. Gleefully she tells us stories of how many people get fatally burned at this time of year. The doctors are all celebrating too, she says. We retire to the dining room for the Gujerati buffet. Mrs Rana (who is my landlady here in Rajpur) tells me today that what distinguishes Gujerati food is that they put jagari (raw cane sugar) in everything. No wonder it’s all so delicious.
As I’m wondering if its OK to go and help myself to a third helping of pudding (fresh fruit in carnation milk) Rajiv tells us to go outside and see the fireworks. “Yes Boss” I say. He grins at me. Everyone else heaves a sigh of relief as this is VERY cheeky. But it is a holiday. We stand on the edge of the garden looking out across the valley. Dehradun (which is two hours drive away – but probably only 15kms as the crow flies) is lit up on the plain before us. Whenever it’s clear it twinkles away at you. But last night it was lit up by burst after burst of fireworks. Despite the cold we can’t tear ourselves away. Swati is thrilled. She’s twinkling as much as any of the bursts of golden stars. My friend Lally has to leave for the airport early this morning so we slink reluctantly off to our room.
Outside all the rooms on our corridor there are a table and chairs placed strategically beside big picture windows which look out over the side of the valley (although it’s warm here you can’t see the fireworks). Sitting at the far end is a couple who we don’t know but who we’d seen in the puja earlier. As white people at a public puja Lally and I had been fairly stared at. We’d noticed them because he’d been wearing a knotted hankerchief on his head (we found out this meant he was a Sikh rather than an Englishman on a beach). We wave and say good night as we go into our room. Two minutes later there’s a knock on the door. It’s the woman half of the couple holding out her hand. She marches in. He follows behind a very large video camera. There is a strong smell of whiskey. She speaks English. He doesn’t. She’s a dentist. He rubs his beard and says he’s a very bad boy (I’m hoping this refers to his lack of English). She insists on giving us the Indian third degree. The Indian third degree is standard – it generally consists of finding out which country you’re from, whether you’re married, how many children you have (since I got carried off to a Ganesh temple on the way to a railway station by a sympathetic taxi driver who felt my childless state needed to be addressed immediately I always lie about this), how long you’re in India for, where you’ve been, where you’re planning to go (I try and make sure I tell them I’m going to where ever they’re from), whether your parents live with you and who is looking after them in your absence (bizarrely they’re not so concerned about abandoned children). However, it’s not at all standard to conduct this in your hotel room. And it’s absolutely beyond the pale to entertain a man (even one you know well) inside (let alone inside your room). Lally, bless her, thinks this is hilarious and encourages the dentist and smiles brightly for the camera. I get very frosty and start waving the door. Finally the dentist asks if she’s interrupting. Yes, I say with relief and usher her out. I saw them again this morning. She looked very sheepish, but he beamed delightedly at me.
I came back to Rajpur this afternoon after another glorious walk gazing at those amazing mountains. Mr Rana and I played dice for an hour or so. I won back all the money I lost to him last week. And my final throw of the final game was six sixes. So I feel that’s a very auspicious start to the New Year (apparently its only New Year in the North of India even though its Diwali all over – so many things I just don’t get).
The ayurvedic course starts next week. I’m really looking forward to it. But I’m already missing the people who have left and gone home.
Himalayas in the mist
Baby Swallows on my balcony
