A Country of Contradictions

I've officially entered the second month of my 2 month stay in Mysore. Many travellers describe India as a land of contradictions: starvation grips those in poverty yet pundits bathe deities daily in milk and offer them rice and fruits; India holds the largest pool of scientists and technologists after the US, yet almost half its population remains illiterate; Hindus across the country (and especially in South India) worship the feminine form of the divine yet the women of India continue to suffer from unrelenting misogyny in this patriarchal society. Many of us in Mysore have noticed that time is another paradox of India. Every day races past us and we often lose track of the date. You’ll hear the yoga students ask one another: ‘what’s today again? Thursday? Monday?’ or ‘when did we plan that trip to Somnathpur?’ But somehow time also feels slow and drawn out. I have friends who spend afternoons counting the cracks on their ceiling, inhaling epic novels like they are comic books, watching traffic from the shelter of a café with a cup of chai. Many of the Ashtangis also experience breakthroughs in their asana practice that would normally take many months to achieve at home (the ‘magic’ of Mysore as they call it) and this also makes it feel like you’ve been here much longer than the reality. I guess my purpose for writing all of this is to pre-emptively answer the question: ‘has the month gone by slowly or quickly?’ My honest answer is: I couldn’t really tell you!

What I can say is that all of these ‘harmonious oppositions’ give people exactly what they need. Gokulam houses quite the array of visiting yogis: the folks who quit their jobs and travel the world for a year (or, in some cases, indefinitely) in hopes that they will discover their passion and purpose along the way, the ‘hardcore yogis’ who come here every summer solely to study and practice with Saraswathi, the ‘first-timers’ like myself who are quite new to Ashtanga and want to further enrich their practice from the source. Regardless of your intention for being in Mysore, the experience is like eating some magical food that nourishes you, no matter your deficiency.

One of my friends back home had such difficulty finding the discipline to wake up early in the morning and come to our practice each day. Needless to say, when he told us that he booked a trip to Mysore last March most of us were surprised (and a bit concerned). But he did come to Mysore for one month and, in true Mysore Magic fashion, he was assigned the earliest start-time of the morning (4:30am). Guess what? He didn’t miss a single practice while he was here. And since returning to Canada in April, he has joined us every morning for our practice. He even booked his ticket to return to Mysore again in November!

Everyone I’ve spoken to who has been to Mysore for Ashtanga yoga tells me how intense your practice becomes here. They talk about how being in the shala makes you want to push further and work harder than you do at home. Oddly, I’ve felt the opposite. At home, waking up and practicing in Hamilton was probably the most important part of my day. I’m now realizing how obsessed I was with my asana practice and backbending especially. I would watch video tutorials on YouTube and complete additional stretches at home to ‘open my back’. I would compare how many months it took others to drop back and stand up to my own time line so that I could gauge how much longer I had to work on them (before feeling guilty about it). If I went for coffee with friends after practice most of our conversations would be about our asana practice and how to approach this or that posture differently.

In this past month, Mysore has been a much-needed reprieve from all of that ‘asana noise’. Now my practice is the least interesting part of my day. I don’t ‘push’ myself every morning to perfect each pose; I accept what it is for that day and move on. Nobody talks about asana outside of the shala. I haven’t participated in a single conversation with my friends here about techniques for improving their (or my) practice. In fact it seems rather ‘taboo’ to engage in lengthy asana chat here. One day, after practice at the coconut stand, I told a woman who was learning to drop back and stand up on her own that she was my hero (with great courage, she drops back on her own but gets ‘stuck’ when trying to stand up). She didn’t even acknowledge my comment and quickly turned to someone else and changed the subject. I learned my lesson after that and haven’t commented on anyone else’s practice since. Despite coming to Mysore with the goal of dropping back and standing up, I now feel like I could leave quite happily if that doesn’t happen for me (and I suspect that scenario would be more beneficial as well). So, you see? Everyone comes here to improve the quality of their 'sadhana' (spiritual practice) but for some, like my friend, that means finding more discipline and for others, like me, it means releasing the attachment to your daily practice.   

Many of you know I recently celebrated a milestone birthday (which I’ll have to post about separately). A friend shared with me the birthday traditions of a particular African aboriginal tribe. He explained that they do not celebrate birthdays every year. Instead, they celebrate moments of growth. If, for example, a person in the tribe has a ground-breaking realization or experience, the tribe will celebrate that day and consider that person as having grown a year. If their calendar birthday comes around but nothing significant happens on that day then it passes, unacknowledged. Apparently, there are people in this tribe whose calendar age is quite small but they have celebrated decades’ worth of birthdays (and vice versa). Lucky for me, I feel like this year’s birthday was not only a milestone celebration of age, but also a milestone celebration of growth.

And as usual, I’m including some more photos of Magical Mysore. Enjoy!   

    

This is the one of many entrances to the Devaraja Market in 'downtown Mysore' (the previous photo is also of the market). It's a chaotic place with endless, winding paths covered in tarp. Vendors entice you with fresh flower garlands for your hair, pyramids of mangoes and rows of glass bangles in every colour you could possibly need. You can find an assortment of fruits and vegetables in one quadrant of the market. But there is a King of fruits among them which owns a separate 'aisle' for itself: the Mighty Dwarf-Banana. These teeny-tiny bananas must be a local favourite as you can find hundreds of them at the market. If you know me quite well then you know I don't eat 'raw' bananas but strangely I've been eating these (they are so sweet and cute I just can't help myself). 

  

Rangoli powder comes in various colours for special occasions. I'm still working on the basic everyday white rangoli (see below).

I went for lunch with some friends at this 'traditional' South Indian restaurant called Anima where they serve lunch on banana leaves. I felt like I was back at a Trinidadian wedding! My friend Ruchi (in the photo below) told me that South Indian weddings serve lunch the same way. 

I was surprised by how many Indians are practicing at the shala. Out of the 50 yogis there are about 10 Indians (I'm usually 1 of 2 at home!). It's interesting how often I 'fly under the radar' in Mysore. My Indian friends have told me that apparently I have very typical South Indian features (something about a broad forehead to accommodate the bigger brains since South Indians are the more intelligent race...um, ok sure, why not?). The locals often speak to me in Kannada or stop to ask me for directions until they realize I have no clue what they're saying! Then they assume I must be one of those North Indians who looks South Indian and I string together a few sentences in broken Hindi. My appearance here causes a great deal of confusion for everyone and, in a mischievous way, I rather enjoy it! 

Practice and All is Coming

I originally meant to update my blog over a week ago but, alas, it seems ducoral vaccines and probiotics consumption can only protect you up to a certain point. And for me that point was the Sunday before my birthday (July 12th...I'm behind on posts, sorry). I still can't quite figure out what it was that I ate (and prior to getting sick I was only eating at the cafes for 'foreign yogis'...can you believe I was in Karnataka for two and a half weeks and I hadn't eaten a single dosa?!) but the following day I decided to make a trip to the hospital to consult with a doctor. A tougher cookie would have waited longer but I'm more like one of those soft, chewy cookies. Anyways, I saw a doctor in the ER of the BGS Apollo Hospital in Mysore and about one hour and 500 rupees later I returned home with all the medication and instructions I needed to recover. I feel 100% again. Unfortunately I missed a yoga practice at the shala as I hadn't eaten enough to practice but Saraswathi didn't seem to notice my absence (and if she did she didn't scold me for it -- a common occurrence in the shala when you hear her shout: 'YOU! WHY YOU NOT COMING YESTERDAY?!).

I had also rented out the other room in my flat to a lovely Ashtangi who was practicing here only for 10 days (she left on Sunday). It was a welcomed change to have some company in this place. As liberating as it can be to travel alone, I sometimes feel quite 'trapped' here. I can't walk alone or go out by myself once the sun sets, I can't take a rickshaw anywhere by myself (day or night) and I can barely cross the streets here by myself (between the stray dogs, honking rickshaws, swerving scooters and uneven dirt roads scattered with piles of various animal droppings, it's a death trap). My flatmate came with me to the hospital as she also wanted to see a doctor for a separate medical issue. On our rickshaw ride home she asked me 'how do you feel now?' I thought for a moment and responded: 'Actually, relieved.'

Before coming to Mysore, three things concerned me the most: 1) the incredibly long journey here; 2) cockroaches; 3) getting sick. Now that I've conquered all three, I feel so much lighter (erm...probably aided by the empty crater that is my stomach). I overheard my mom before I left telling someone that I was 'fearless' and I thought this was the most hilarious and inaccurate adjective to describe me. From my perspective fear is one of my greatest obstacles. Rarely do I experience moments of anger or depression but there are many things which scare me. Take my asana practice for example. In Ashtanga yoga, there are six series of asana: primary, second, advanced (A and B) and then fifth and sixth series. Everyone begins learning Ashtanga with the primary series. Don't be fooled by its name, though. Despite being the first of six, primary series contains a number of very advanced poses which you must correctly and consistently practice before your teacher will move you forward to the next asana. For the past nine or ten months now I've been practicing the entire primary series, unable to move to second as I have difficulty dropping back into urdhva dhanurasana (upward bow) and standing up by myself. This is a common stopping point for many Ashtanga practitioners working on primary series and it can often take months and years to achieve. Physically, my teacher tells me I'm capable of doing both actions. The real work in this asana, however, is conquering the fear of falling back while simultaneously building the confidence to lift yourself out of the pose. To me (and many of us), the asana practice of Ashtanga is a gateway to understanding your obstacles beyond the physical body. This could not be more true for me and my backbends. Every time I conquer a fear off the mat, I think to myself that it will only help me conquer my fears on the mat (and vice versa).

I know the day is coming soon where Saraswathi will not cradle me as I reach backwards with my hands or yank me up to standing (it is, quite literally, a sharp yank). This will be a scary moment for me. But, in comparison to the host of fearful moments India has thrown my way in the last three weeks, the fear of dropping back gradually shrinks. At home I could easily spend hours thinking about my drop backs while doing other activities. And here there is so much happening every day that I rarely think about my asana practice at all, never mind back bends. Guruji famously said to his students 'Practice and all is coming'. PRACTICE: wake up every morning and come to your mat, surrendering to whatever state you find yourself in that day. AND ALL IS COMING: everything else; the detachment, the confidence, the patience, the strength, will come in time. These are such simple but beautiful and profound words to live by and here in Gokulam these words are more within reach than ever before.    

And on that note I will leave you with some more photos of the sites I've discovered in Mysore.

The one picture I took of the hospital...hate to post an image of a random man recovering from surgery but I just thought the hospital was so clean and beautiful I wanted to share it!

Mysore is known as the 'sandalwood city' because of the excess sandalwood reserves in the early 20th century. The king of Mysore established a government soap factory producing soaps made from 100% pure sandalwood oil. Current sandalwood reserves are dwindling due to the lack of a regeneration program for the trees (part of the reason why sandalwood is so costly and continues to increase in cost each year). Still, essential oil shops abound here with varying levels of quality (most heavily diluted with alcohol, almond oil or other compounds). This tiny shop was recommended to us as THE place to buy pure essential oils. They hand-mill everything in house (literally...they operate business out of their house!), including agarbhatti or incense sticks. Their oils are so pure, you can even ingest them for medicinal purposes according to ayurvedic principles. I got to try rolling my own agarbhatti stick (with great difficulty) but this particular woman sat here all day and continuously rolled hundreds of them!

This pillar at the Ganapati Sachidananda Ashram is 60 feet high and symbolizes our search for eternal peace and happiness. At the top of the pillar is a thousand-petalled lotus flower, representing the Sahasrara within us (Sahasrara is the chakra from which all other chakras emanate; it means detachment from illusion).  On top of the petals are the 'guru padukas' (shoes worn by saintly people) which represents Para Tattva or 'supreme truth'. The pillar is situated in water which flows over the apex in the evening. The water comes to signify nectar, indicating the achievement of a permanent blissful state. It's not really a must-see in Mysore but for some reason I find the meaning of this pillar quite striking. 

 

Lord Mulikeshwara, the medicinal aspect of Lord Dhanvantri. The message of this Lord is to be in one with nature. 

Taking a breather at the top of the Brindavan Gardens. 

 This Hanuman statue is 70 feet tall, making it the tallest Hanuman in all of India. 

 Walking up the 1008 steps at Chamundi Hill. This man sang in traditional Karnatic style the entire way up. It was a beautiful background score to our 5:30am climb!

 At the top of the Chamundi Hill is this temple dedicated to Chamundeshwari also known as Mother Durga. It is said according to Hindu mythology that Mysore was originally ruled by a 'demon king' called Mahishasura. He was a tyrant which the other gods could not control. They pleaded with the holy trinity: Bramha, Vishnu and Shiva, to destroy the demon. So they came together and, through the fusing of their energy or 'Shakti', created the 18-armed Durga: a fierce and powerful form of Mother who bears weapons in each hand given to her by the other gods (I know, so bad-ass, right?). She defeated the demon and restored peace on earth and in the heavens. For Hindus who believe that this mythology is in fact history (and who am I to say otherwise?) this particular hill is supposedly where 'it all went down'. Climbing the 1008 steps to the top of the hill is a pilgrimage for many, where each step is anointed with kumkum and haldi (special powders used for worshipping deities). I wish I had pictures of inside the temple where we got to see Chamundeshwari but unfortunately photography was not allowed inside. You can definitely feel the 'Shakti' when you enter this temple. More on Mother another day as I could write an entire post about her!

 The view from our descent in a rickshaw (yeah...we opted out of climbing down the 1008 steps...)

This Venugopala Swamy temple (dedicated to Lord Krishna) was built in 12th century AD. Due to the construction of a dam, the temple (and surrounding area) became submerged in water for over 70 years! It was only in 2000 that, as water levels dropped, the temple emerged and a restoration project began. This current site is about 1 km from the original and includes additional stonework crafted in the same style as the original. 

 Mysore Palace lights up every Sunday evening for 1 hour. They even have a live band which plays from under the middle arch (you might be able to see them if you zoom in). 

       Everyone takes this obligatory shot in front of our yoga shala when they come to Mysore. It's kind of wild when, after seeing so many of these, you're the one in the photo!

A week already?!

Hello Homies (Or should I say...'Omies'? Tee hee hee)

It's Monday night at 8pm here in Mysore and I'm writing to you from my bed, exhausted and just about ready to get a good night's rest (I've heard the jet lag subsides within a week). Unfortunately I have to wait for my hair to dry because:

a) I volunteered to be a 'body' for my friends' Ayurvedic massage exam this morning. It's very common for visiting yogis to take any number of the courses offered during their stay in Mysore. Cooking classes, Sanskrit, Ayurveda, sitar, painting, even past life regression! For their exam today, my four friends had to give full body massages correctly applying the techniques from the course. By the end of the 2.5 hour long massage (you read that correctly, I received a 2.5 hour Ayurvedic massage for FREE) my hair was saturated with oil. A small inconvenience for a blissful experience.

Speaking of classes, I registered for Sanskrit and had my first lesson today. Some of it is review from when I first learned Hindi in high school but we also practice chanting from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika -- another ancient yoga text dedicated to Lord Shiva, the first guru of yoga, who bestowed His knowledge to His consort, Parvati (the first student of yoga). Six months ago, before I knew any of this about the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, I started learning to chant Sri Rudram which is a hymn also dedicated to Lord Shiva. I never really knew why I wanted to learn this chant; but somehow it just felt like a good time to start. Now, thanks to our Sanskrit teacher Lakshmishji, it's all starting to come together.

b) After the massage, I had to run to catch a rickshaw for another friend's farewell lunch in a district called Lakshmipuram. A woman named Sandhya is famous for preparing the most delicious and healthy meals for yogis. You have to call in advance as she cooks and serves you in a small dining room in her home (and she can only accommodate one party at a time). It's hard to describe the flavours of the dishes she makes; they're not typical 'curries' of the North and they're not quite South Indian either. I suspect they're probably closer to the kinds of more simple 'home food' that people eat here. Curried okra, tomato chutney, rice pulao, shredded cucumber salad with pomegranate seeds (that last one is probably not a household staple) and an ongoing stream of hot chapatis from the kitchen. I never realized Southies eat chapatis this regularly -- they seem to serve them everywhere (and they are certainly more common than dosas). Apparently Sharath used to (and perhaps still does) complain that some of the women practicing yoga here would get too thin and he would yell at them: "Eat more chapatis!" Naturally, they printed the phrase onto a set of t-shirts and it's now part of the many endearing KPJAYI quotes.

If I had to give this first week in Mysore a theme of some sort, I would probably say FOOD! It seems like most of our days are devoted to where we will dine next. In Gokulam there are several 'cafes' specifically for the foreign yogis practicing here. Some of them are even owned by foreigners and the menus contain many continental dishes (omelettes, pancakes, porridge, etc.). After asana practice each morning (done on an empty stomach), our trusty coconut-stand man waits outside the shala gates with his truck-full of coconuts! For just 20 rupees (or 40 cents Canadian), he will hack open either a coconut with just water inside or a 'meaty' one -- I am always impressed by how he discerns them from the outside as they all look the same to me. The yogis huddle around him, drinking and eating sometimes two or three of these lovely coconuts while making breakfast plans. Although most of the flats here come fully-stocked with all the kitchen utensils you would need for cooking (and the grocery stores here also sell most of the common ingredients we have at home), many of us end up eating all of our meals at restaurants and cafes (because of how inexpensive and healthy they are). I've only in the last couple of days started to cook some of my breakfasts at home on the mornings I feel like being by myself. My staple breakfast at home is a bowl of steel-cut oats with maple syrup and blueberries. Though I brought oats with me I've had to trade in my maple syrup for date syrup which is thick and dark like molasses and extremely sweet. I am very much a fan!

Oh, and despite breaking quite a few of the 'clean eating' rules (e.g. use your own straws for drinking coconuts, don't brush your teeth with tap water), I've been absolutely fine in the digestive department. It could be all the probiotic-rich fermented food I loaded up on before leaving, or more likely the Ducoral vaccine I took at the travel clinic, but either way my tummy is very happy and healthy so far. For those of you planning your trip to Mysore in the coming months (you know who you are), I will say that I've been washing all of my fruits and vegetables with a special soap you can buy here and peeling them all before I eat them. I've been told that it's also a good idea to wash things like eggs and outer packaging on foods (like milk and juice) before consuming them. There are a crazy number of ants here so it's best to keep any opened packages of food in the fridge (even dry things like cookies).

c) I forgot to pack the travel hair dryer that mom pulled out of our 'India Trip' Box from 15 years ago. It's baffling to me that, exactly 15 years ago, I came to this country on my first trip with the family. I remember how afraid I was of, well, everything! The August sun baked us from the inside out, I ate every meal with hesitation and paranoia that it would cause illness, and nearly every toilet required us to assume a squatting position that placed me only inches away from the ground. Now, on the cusp of my 30th birthday, I find myself in this same country again and this time completely on my own. But it's not the same country. A week ago when I landed in Bangalore (at 1am) I remember walking towards customs and hearing instrumental Karnatic music faintly through the speakers. An enormous golden/brass murthi of what I think was a form of Mother greeted us at the end of the walkway. Even the pattern on the carpet reminded me of mehendi. When I texted dad to let him know I got in safely he wrote back with: 'Welcome to Bharat. Land of your ancestry. Yours to discover' (I don't think he realized that last phrase is the slogan for Ontario but in a way that makes it even more poetic). It sounds cliche and I know every Indian person says this about India but I really did feel some kind of peaceful contentment and connection the minute I stepped off the plane. For me atleast, this country has a heartbeat like no other I've visited. Oh and I haven't seen one squatting toilet. Toilet paper, on the other hand, is still a rare find...

One week later and it's still difficult to describe my thoughts and feelings about being here. Sometimes it reminds me of Trinidad; the tropical smell in the air, the palm trees, the dusty roads. Other times it feels more like home than anywhere else. Everyone here lives one life. We all go to bed at 8:30 or 9 and wake up before the sun, we all do our asana practice 6 days a week, we all want to eat pizza the night before a full or new moon because we know there's no practice the next day (and nobody needs to explain why). I think that's partly why making friends here happens so quickly. The friendships feel very pure; there are no egos, no competitions, no greediness. Everyone is here with the same intention: to practice and to immerse themselves in the experience.

And so far that has been one of my most favourite sights in Mysore. But below I'll leave you with a few others :)

Outside Sandhya's home. The white pattern on the floor is called 'Rangoli'. The woman of the house will typically use dry flour to create these elaborate patterns partly for decorative purposes, but also as a sacred welcoming of good fortune into the home. They must draw them extremely early in the morning as I've yet to see one 'live'. 

Our partly-finished meal at Sandhya's (not as pretty as when the food first arrived but at least this way you can see the damage). 

One of our many post-practice breakfasts at Santosha's Cafe. 

My breakfast OMlette at 'Om Cafe' (just three or four homes down the street from my place). I don't usually eat bread but this toast is made out of 'ragi' or 'finger millet' which is a gluten-free grain used in a lot of dishes here in Karnataka (58% of India's ragi production is here in Karnataka). Ragi is very rich in an amino acid called Methionine which the body does not produce itself. It is one of two amino acids containing sulphur which the cartilage in your joints require for proper functioning. People who suffer from arthritis, for example, often have far less sulphur in the cartilage of their joints than those without arthritis. Studies have shown that increased Methionine along with B vitamins can actually stimulate the formation of new cartilage tissue. You can read all about it here: Soeken, K.L., Lee, W.L., Bausell, R.B., Agelli, M. & Berman, B.M. (2002) Safety and efficacy of S-adenosylmethionine (SAMe) for osteoarthritis, Journal of Family Practice, Volume 51, (pp. 425-430)

(I wouldn't be 'me' if I didn't include reference to some kind of dorky science info!)

  

Mysuruuuu!

Hello from Mysore/Mysuru!

I'm temporarily back on the blogging circuit after a 3 year hiatus! As many of you know, I started practicing Ashtanga yoga over a year ago with an Authorized Ashtanga teacher in Hamilton. But wait -- don't run off to Google 'Ashtanga Yoga' just yet! The results will include a never-ending stream of sites and sources focused on the 'asana' or physical posture part of Ashtanga. And if you think of yoga as a thaali, then asana is like that one tiny compartment just for the chutney. Um, that was a strange metaphor. Sorry, everything I eat these days seems to come in a metal cup or plate. Anyways my point is that Ashtanga yoga should be understood in the same way that we see yoga: as a way of living and not only a physical practice. Ashtanga yoga** literally means 'eight limbs' which refers to the eight aspects of daily practice: Yama (self-restraint), Niyama (personal observances), Asana (postures), Pranayama (development of energy), Pratyahara (withdrawal of the mind), Dharana (concentration), Dhyana (meditation), Samadhi (enlightenment). A commitment to all eight limbs is the true practice of Ashtanga yoga. Some of you may also be familiar with the ancient philosophical text known as Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. It is the first text (that we know of) in which the great sage Patanjali wrote about Ashtanga yoga.

There is currently no accepted unbroken lineage of Ashtanga yoga as it was transmitted mostly through an aural/oral tradition. You will find many classes and schools that either identify themselves outright as Ashtanga yoga or as lightly based on the Ashtanga yoga system. The Ashtanga tradition that I have been following is from Sri K. Pattabhi Jois (Guruji) and is most commonly accepted as the 'authentic' Ashtanga yoga program. In 1927, at the age of 12, Guruji began what would eventually span a 25 year tutelage under the guidance of Sri Tirumali Krishnamacharya -- often referred to as the grandfather of modern yoga. Krishnamacharya also taught his brother-in-law: B.K.S. Iyengar (who later founded Iyengar yoga) along with Indra Devi and T.K.V. Desikachar. For the instruction of asana in particular, Krishnamacharya famously used a method called 'vinyasa krama' which links postures together in sequence by numbers (counted in Sanskrit). It is said that Krishnamacharya was taught by his teacher (Rama Mohan Brahmachari) an ancient text called the Yoga Korunta written by Vamana Rishi. The text supposedly contained lists of many asanas which solidified Krishnamacharya's understanding of the vinyasa method (and what he eventually passed on to Guruji). Regardless of the veracity of these claims, I suspect that based on a deep desire to honour the sacred teacher-student relationship, Guruji eventually went on to teach his students the same sequence of asana that was given to him by Krishnamacharya with an emphasis on other essential elements to the practice such as drishti, bandhas, mudras and philosophy (and is what Guruji called Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga). In 1948, Guruji established the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute in Mysore, India (his hometown). The location and external buildings have changed over the last six decades to accommodate increasing cohorts of aspiring Ashtangis (Ashtanga Yogis). The current shala in Gokulam, Mysore (constructed in 2002) is known as the K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute (KPJAYI). It is regarded as the Ashtanga yoga 'authority' for lack of a better word and it is where hundreds of Ashtanga students practice annually. In 2009, Guruji passed away at the age of 93 and left the institute in the hands of his daughter, Saraswathi and his grandson Sharath.

Then there's me. I decided to keep my travel plans this summer fairly quiet until about three weeks before I left for Mysore. But when I started to tell friends and family, a common response was: 'Oh wow, are you going to get some kind of teacher certification at the end of it?' When I would answer with 'No, I'm just going to practice there' it seemed to cause some confusion along with follow-up questions like 'But, do you not have a teacher here?' I guess it doesn't seem to make much sense to spend such a huge amount of time and money to travel all the way to India and study yoga without receiving some kind of tangible end result. As with any spiritual practice tied to a specific lineage, I think there is a difference between how you approach your regular daily practice and then the more intense studying you accomplish in the presence of your teacher or your teacher's teacher. A student of art may paint beautiful canvases every day of Canadian landscapes and even take art lessons locally from a talented artist. But they may also feel a strong pull to travel once a year to Italy and take a one month painting class from the same school where their local teacher studied, and to paint the same Italian landscapes that the most famous artists of our time have painted. Similarly, I'm here to study Ashtanga yoga from the source, not to gain any certification but simply to be in the presence of one of my gurus and to deepen my understanding of this particular tradition that I follow. Oh and in case you're wondering, I'm learning from Saraswathi (her son, Sharath, is currently on leave). More on that in another post as I've only had one practice with her so far.

And so I find myself writing to you from Gokulam, Mysore, in a beautiful flat that I rented from my teacher's friend. I will be here for the rest of the summer (or 62 days by mom's count -- the last time I left my parents alone for this long was over three years ago when I lived in England). It's technically monsoon season in India which is a distinct season from summer (Mysore's summer, as with most of India, is from March to May). Surprisingly, monsoon in Mysore is nowhere near as wet as monsoon in other parts of India. I'm only two days in but so far the weather has been gorgeous -- high 20s, low 30s -- with not a drop of rain (the friends I've met so far who have been here longer say this is fairly common). The evenings cool down quite a bit so although I rented a flat with air conditioning, I've been quite happy to sleep with just the ceiling fan. I'm still trying to recover from the jet lag along with getting a stronger sense of direction for the area but I've made some very lovely friends already who have helped a lot!

It's 10:30pm here in Mysore and for us yogis that is quite late so I should be getting to bed but I will leave you with a few photos from my trip thus far. I hope you will join me this summer in my adventures: as a yogi, as a traveller, and in many cases as an extremely wimpy dork who, for example, took about 8 hours to muster the courage to kill a cockroach in her kitchen yesterday (in my defence, it was a HUGE roach that made a disgusting crunch sound when I whacked it with a straw broom and yes I cried). There are many moments of my day where I think to myself "Gosh I wish _____ were here to see this" or "______ would relish this meal" or "I bet ________ could have bargained for a better price". So I'm hoping my posts will help to keep us connected while I'm away and perhaps give those of you who can't be here right now a taste of life in Mysore. More to come!

The cook at our family friend's place in Bangalore made this delicious aloo paratha for me the morning I arrived, along with my first of many cups of 'garam garam (hot hot) chai masala'!

This is the flat I'm renting in Mysore. I'm on the second floor. 

This morning I decided to be a 'bad lady' and watch Orange is the New Black. Guruji used to call women 'bad lady' or men 'bad man' when he would adjust them (lovingly, of course). Apparently one woman confronted him about this and said "I have discovered your secret, Guruji. 'Bad Lady' really means 'good lady'." "Oh, haha," he laughed. "Smart lady."

This is my favourite place in the flat. It's a little 'puja closet'. Most of the pictures and murthis (statues) were there before but I brought the picture of Swami and Lalita Ma and my japa mala as well. There is such an echo in that space when I said my first 'Om' I thought there were five of me praying together! I love to say my Sanskrit chants in here now. Dad's bhajans would sound incredible in this closet.

 Ah, my second favourite place in this flat. If you've spoken to me on the phone since I've been here, I was probably sprawled across that window bench. I love to sit there and look at all the people going by. There are women in saris carrying the world's largest picnic basket of fruits and vegetables on their heads, families taking their kids to school on a scooter, men peeing against the wall opposite the road (ok...that last one is not so charming). 

 My room, which just so happens to have a bedspread that matches my yoga mat :)

The kitchen, where the famous roach incident of July 1st occurred. 

 

Sharing a rickshaw with my friends Julie and Zac. They took me to a franchise store here called Fab India and it took all my yogic mind control powers not to go absolutely retail crazy in there and buy everything. It's just so cheap and the clothes are perfect for wearing to bhajans at the Sai centre back home and they have an entire section with, wait for it, EXTRA SMALL: soft cottons with delicate patterns and stretchy churidar pants in every possible colour you could want or need. I 'finished' shopping within 20 minutes and left with three items. THREE ITEMS, PEOPLE. Be impressed.   

And last night I came home to find this horse eating watermelon right outside my front door. I named him 'Tarbooja' which means watermelon in Hindi. He was very cute and dad suggested I use him instead of a rickshaw to get around from now on. If my bargaining skills don't improve I may just do that :)

**The information I provided above regarding Ashtanga yoga was written in consultation with Matthew Sweeney's "Ashtanga Yoga As It IS" (third edition published in 2005), Guruji's "Yoga Mala" (first English paperback edition published in 2002) and the KPJAYI Website (links open in new windows).

Never Quit

Shocking isn't it? Two posts in one month! This one is going to be brief, and mainly someone else's words rather than my own. I am often sent very profound words of wisdom from others, and this story I find particularly inspiring and uplifting. Unfortunately, I don't know the original author of the story, but my dad found it posted on the Sai Bhakti Radio website.

So often we find ourselves comparing our own accomplishments with others. We struggle to understand why 'bad' things happen to 'good' people, why success reaches some of us more easily than others, why we seem to fail even when we try our best. Maybe after reading this story, you can reflect on such moments, and remind yourself that those encounters you thought were bad things, failures, struggles, were not actually negative - they were opportunities for growing stronger.

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One day I decided to quit...quit my job, my relationship, my spirituality... I wanted to quit my life. I went to the woods to have one last talk with GOD. "GOD", I said. "Can you give me one good reason not to quit?" His answer surprised me... "Look around", GOD said. "Do you see the fern and the bamboo?" "Yes", I replied. When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds, I took very good care of them. I gave them light. I gave them water.

The fern quickly grew from the earth. It has brilliantly covered the floor green. Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo. In the second year the Fern grew more vibrant and plentiful. And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo." GOD said." In year three there was still nothing from the bamboo seed. But I would not quit.In year four, again, there was nothing from the bamboo seed. I would not quit." GOD said. "Then in the fifth year a tiny sprout emerged from the earth.

Compared to the fern it was seemingly small and insignificant...But just 6 months later the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall. It had spent the five years growing roots. Those roots made it strong and gave it what it needed to survive. I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not handle." GOD said to me. "Did you know that all this time you have been struggling, you have actually been growing roots?" "I would not quit on the bamboo. I will never quit on you." "Don't compare yourself to others." GOD said. "The bamboo had a different purpose than the fern. Yet they both make the forest beautiful." "Your time will come", GOD said to me. "You will rise high" "How high should I rise?" I asked. "How high will the bamboo rise?" GOD asked in return. "As high as it can?" I questioned. "Yes." GOD said, "Give me glory by rising as high as you can." I left the forest and bring back this story.

Vipassana: Part Two

So I think I covered quite thoroughly the basics of a Vipassana retreat in my July post - the code of conduct and the reason for Noble Silence. But as I also mentioned, these are not really the most important parts of the course - they are just practices which help one to develop the Vipassana meditation technique. By now you're probably wondering 'what exactly is Vipassana?'. Apparently, it was the type of meditation that the Buddha was practising when he reached enlightenment (I don't exactly have the space or time to tell the entire story of Buddha here, but if you aren't familiar with his life or teachings, I highly recommend doing some reading, even via online resources). Apparently, the Buddha went through all kinds of meditation techniques in India, in order to find one that would allow him to attain enlightenment. Finally, he sat under a Bodhi tree and vowed never to arise until he found the truth. Fourty-nine days later, at the age of 35, it was said that he became awakened to the truth (known in Buddhism as The Four Noble Truths) and was from that point onwards known as Buddha, which roughly translates to 'the enlightened one'.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), the Vipassana retreat doesn't supply Bodhi trees for each student to sit under for 49 days until we too become like Buddha. What we do learn however, is to simply observe our selves and our surroundings with equanimity. Having an equanimous mind means that you lack craving and aversion. Why is it important to be equanimous? To answer that I probably need to explain what the Four Noble Truths are:

1) suffering is an engrained part of existence

2) the origin of suffering is craving for sensuality, acquisition of identity and annihilation

3) suffering can be ended

4) following the Noble eightfold path is the means to accomplish this

I really don't want to also explain what the Noble eightfold path is (because they are quite basic teachings that stem from all religions, and also because this post isn't meant to be a lesson on Buddhism). My point is though, that if all suffering comes from craving (or being averse) to various experiences, then logically, it would make sense that by eliminating those cravings and aversions, you eliminate your suffering. Make sense so far?

So here's how you put it in to practise. All over the surface of the skin there are constant little bio-chemical reactions taking place. We sometimes feel these as itches or tingling sensations, muscular twitches, or sometimes it feels like maybe an insect is on us but when we look there's nothing. In Vipassana, they refer to these sensations as 'sankhaaras'. Throughout your life (and if you believe in reincarnation then you can add your past lives as well), we have moments where we react to things either positively or negatively. Vipassana meditators believe that all these reactions get stored in your mind as sankhaaras. Some of your reactions are very superficial, and they come and go quite quickly, think of ripples on water. But there are other moments in our lives where we carry these cravings or aversions with us for very long times, and we hold on to them forever (some people even believe that at the time of death, these very 'heavy' sankhaaras get taken with you to your next life and continue to cause misery and suffering). These type of sankhaaras are described as being like a deep line etched into a stone. When you sit quietly, and still both your mind and your body, sankhaaras slowly start to bubble up to the surface of the skin and manifest themselves in the form of sensations. Some of them (the 'lighter' sankhaaras) are subtle sensations while others can be quite gross, intense sensations (such as pins and needles). The idea is that when you feel these sensations arise, the reactive part of your mind will always want to pay attention to them, it will want you to either develop a craving for them or an aversion.

This is where equanimity comes into play. You have to teach your mind how to observe these sensations without reacting to them. If you feel an itch on the tip of your nose, don't scratch it, don't react to it. Just sit and observe it. If you feel a pain in your leg and you want to change your position, don't. Just sit and observe it. You have to remind yourself of the law of impermanence. Nothing in life is forever, nothing stays the same. Everything changes, or as they say in Paali: Anitchya. When you realise that whatever sensations you feel are bound to dissipate eventually, you can learn to accept them, and observe them, without reaction. This is how you get rid of your 'old stock' of sankhaaras. But again, you have to be careful that even this doesn't become a craving. It's very easy to sit for meditation and crave freedom from your sankhaaras. That's not the point though. The point is to become equanimous, so that you desire nothing, and you are averse to nothing.

Perhaps I sound like a crazy person. Even if you don't believe that your cravings and aversions are stored in your mind and bubble to the surface in the form of tingles and itches (and I don't blame you if you think this sounds like utter 'bull'), anyone who sits in one position for long enough, in silence and stillness, will eventually feel the kind of sensations I am talking about, and will desperately want to react to them. There were days towards the end of the retreat where I could feel subtle sensations throughout my entire body (and apparently these sensations are constantly there but our mind is too cluttered to even notice them). There were also days where I had such a severe pain through one of my legs that I thought would never go away, and it didn't. But I experienced some moments where even though I had the pain, my mind had become so equanimous that I knew the pain existed, and I could feel it, but it didn't matter to me, because I knew eventually it would pass. Anitchya.

I can feel the scepticism already and I haven't even posted this! Is all that I learned from these 10 days, and 100 hours of meditation, how to sit and detach from pain? Not at all. Because when you realise that physical suffering is impermanent, you begin to apply your equanimity to other non-physical situations in the 'real world'. It is so much easier to learn this lesson by feeling it physically, before you can learn to apply it to more abstract experiences and reactions. And I'm not in any way completely equanimous in every situation. I still find things upset me or hurt me - but the reaction is nowhere near what it used to be. I'll give you an example. About six weeks after the retreat, I went to Vancouver for my friend's wedding. The flight there was extremely turbulent (and it was quite late at night so the sky was pitch black). I am not a very confident flyer, and a flight that turbulent would normally have been grounds for some serious freaking out. But instead, I sat quietly in my seat, and I thought about my life, and I asked myself:

"Divya, in the unlikely event that this plane doesn't make it, would you be all right with your life ending now?"

And normally I would have expected a response like this:

"Of course not! There's so much more I want to do. I still need to finish my PhD, and I need to find a job, and I need to meet a nice person and get married, and I need to become enlightened" and so on and so on.

But instead, I felt so...so strangely fine with everything. And maybe I knew that the idea of a domestic, 5 hour flight crashing and killing everyone on board was so impossible that I made peace with a rare outcome, but the even stranger thing was that during all the turbulence, I actually fell asleep for the rest of the flight (and slept quite well oddly enough). Have I overcome my fear of flying because of Vipassana? Of course not. Turbulence is scary, and the idea of falling thousands of feet to your death or exploding in an airplane is something that nobody wants to happen to them. But I think the little pocket of peace I managed to find was more about accepting that life doesn't last forever, and that death isn't a demotion, it's a promotion - so why fear it? Yes there is grief, yes there are tears in those sad moments, but why do we develop aversions to them? If you're grieving, just observe your grief, don't react to it, don't try to fight it, just accept its impermanence. Anitchya.