All's Well that Ends Well

Just like the deadly fistula from which the king suffers in Shakespeare's "problem" play, my problem on my last day preparing to head for the airport and leave India behind was the equally deadly Shigella, a food and water-borne bacterial disease.

The king's fistula was a long, pipe-like ulcer, my bacteria was a rod-shaped, non-spore forming one (originally the same strain as E. coli but later developing into its own family). The king survived; so did I.

I think the similarities end there because the last act ends with a couple happily in love and well, never mind.
The important thing is that there were many lessons learned and not only ones regarding how to board a plane pretending to look healthy right after having collapsed in a hallucinatory feverish fit on the floor of the boarding gate waiting area right after being deemed "not fit to fly" by the airport medical staff. Not only ones about how to quickly navegate to a bathroom in a split second while jumping over polite airplane passengers to vomit, because I learned those lessons years back. Not only ones about what not to drink on any big travel day (number 1 thing not to drink would be pomegranate juice with that cool crunchy Calcutta ice). Not only ones about not believing my invincibility despite all those crazy ashtanga postures I can do and all the juicy, iced beverages I can normally drink on streets all over India. Not only ones about the importance of avoiding milk while recovering from serious intestinal trauma to avoid deadly relapse. Not only ones about the joys of getting sick leave from work and the importance of not being one of those "I go to work even when I've got fever" types. Not only ones about coming to terms with the incredible difficulty of accepting weakness and where you are in your yoga practice after a debilitating illness. Mostly ones about letting go and trusting in others and the proper reestablishment of balance in the micro- and macro-universe.

Anyhoo, I enjoyed everything in my travels up until the end, but I think I was doing too much, trying to see and experience every single thing because I knew I didn't have much time left. In general, I truly appreciate doing nothing, sitting still in meditation, getting adequate rest and sleep, so it's kinda dumb that I pushed myself so hard at the end to fit everything in. Regardless, I made great connections with random Indians and foreigners at different points along the trip and really enjoyed the sights, sounds and breath-taking insanity of movement and masses (of people) as well as moments of stillness and inner tranquility that only India can offer.

Here Kitty Kitty Kitty

Just as the yogi is ever striving to perfect an asana, so do I go ever in search of the Indian tiger, in this case, the Bengali tiger. My research and calculations suggested that I should go to the park which, apart from being a World Heritage UNESCO site and the world's largest delta area of 5 rivers, holds the largest tiger population. Somehow I hadn't calculated that, um, yeah, at a total of 283 tigers for something like 5,000 square kilometers of parkland, the odds of me actually seeing a tiger were like 1,000,000 to 1. Duh. I guess I thought that if it was an area where these tigers still manage to kill and eat 30 odd Indian villagers each year, they must be in close contact. So, whatever. I still have my hopes up for seeing a tiger in this lifetime! And I've seen almost the next best thing, as well as catching all kinds of other crazy wildlife, crocodiles, monitors, monkeys, and all in terrain (if you can call it that) which was so watery, with high and low tides 4 times a day, that the flora has adapted to being immersed up to the leaves of treetops and then having their roots exposed endlessly. A really unusual and beautiful habitat/niche and a really nice break from the pollution and dirt of cities. I enjoyed the time, peace and food at the tiger park, as well as being able to entertain myself with an Israeli ex-military officer, who proved to be my sole source of humor among a mad troupe of 15-odd Bengali/Japanese/Australian family members. I spent 3 days traveling to and at Sunderbans Tiger Reserve, and I could easily have spent a week!

Calcutta, Mon Amour

Wow!
Who would have thought?
This city is great, far surpassing my expectations. I expected to be horrified and depressed (and at times I am, but no more than in any other Indian city). Instead, it's beautiful, semi-organized, with so much character, pretty safe walking around all neighborhoods, Indians of all classes and walks of life can be found even in "shady" neighborhoods, it's a 24-hour city and I guess it can be called the city of joy, as it is reported to be called.
The pollution is definitely the worst part of it. I have a sore throat and gooey eyes from the dirt and pollution. When I came here last week, I instantly got stuffed up and gooey-eyed, which I normally am not, and as soon as I left 5 days ago, I got instantly better. Upon my return 2 days ago or so, within 24 hours, sore throat again.
But this doesn't deter me from enjoying a city that is thriving and interesting. A mixture of old, decaying, colonial architecture, majestic buildings, lots of turn of the century buildings, a few modern buildings, the classic Indian style of geometric patterns and crazy shapes. Lots of streets have trees, lots of nice promenades, even very humble neighborhoods retain some calmness and beauty. Few people pester you here.
I must admit I expected more from the Bengali food. I had an interesting and delicious banana flower curry in my cooking class the other day but it's one of the few meals here that I reacted badly to and I eliminated from my body within the hour (ha ha - bad sweats and all). It's strange - I eat in food stalls on the street, chai from anywhere (when they get the water from the streets pumps) and never get sick but I go to a high-class woman's house and the stuff runs right out. Anyway, my body responds fast and everything was better as soon as it was out. But Bengali food in general is too sweet (always had added sugar to every dish) and not spicy enough.
All the same, I've discovered a fantastic street stall called Tirupati with lots of Korean as well as Indian dishes which takes the cake for atmosphere, nicely painted colored benches, a sweet man with tuberculosis as cook and the sous-chef is deaf. The food is great and cheap and I see a Korean film crew making a documentary on the hand-pulled rickshaws every day around there. The sweets here are great. Like 100 varieties, all based on a ricotta-like cheese called chhanna.
There are so many different and interesting neighborhoods here; the city has such character. Plus, right now it's Durga Puja, celebrating the goddess Durga, AKA Chamundi, AKA Kali, who is the big main goddess for the city (like a patron saint) and every neighborhood has huge decorations put up, all hand sculpted, decorated, painted, lots of trompe l'oeil to look like real buildings with columns, imitating all architectural styles. Tomorrow most will be immersed into the Ganges River, here called Hooghly as it's one "tributary" division of the Ganges.
The metro works like a charm here, with the same tickets as in Barcelona and trains that look even as old as the "L" trains in Chicago. But the stations are decorated with lots of art and sometimes Bengali poetry, unlike the Chicago stops. This city reminds me of NY, in that even at 2 am you'll find restaurants open and lots of shops open. It's easy to get around with all the transport, from yellow cabs to metro to electric streetcars to auto-rickshaws to cycle-rickshaws to hand-pulled rickshaws where a man literally pulls you around with his own force. I felt like I couldn't take one of these until I saw a fat Indian family of 3 (grown adult female as big as me) all riding in one, pulled by one man. I've seen as many as 4 in one so I don't feel bad about making them pull me. They'll try to scam you like any rickshaw driver but I always ask the natives how much it should cost and then give tip, which an Indian never would. It's their profession, if they don't get work, they don't make money. It's seems unjust making someone pull you along, but it works out perfectly when you're already tired from touring and walking all over and your 2 1/2 hour yoga practice.
My trip has been made even better by meeting a really neat Israeli guy 5 days ago who I've spent all of these days with. A former Israeli military officer for 8 years (that's right), he's now studying Indian Studies and has a lot of the same interests as I (as well as our mutual love for this country). Plus, there's the added benefit of traveling with a man, which, trust me, makes it sooo much easier here. Oh, did I forget to mention that he also speaks Hindi, so we have problems ever. I'm cut-throat hard about not being taken advantage of by taxi-drivers, etc and he speaks the lingo, so we get along swimmingly. So basically we've been laughing our heads off and conquering Calcutta and the Sunderbans Tiger Reserve.
Anyway, my eyes are actually watering from the pollution so I've got to go back to the hotel.
I send my love from Chowringhee, the Muslim/Bengladeshi quarter of Kolkata. XOXO.

Here's my street (Contour Road) walking home in the morning after yoga practice. Long shadows as the sun rises!
I love the fruit on the head. The apple man was happy to have his picture taken.
A bonsai tree in the gardens of the Sat-Chit-Ananda Ashram, my favorite place in Mysore. Existence-Knowledge-Bliss!

Next stop....Bangalore, then Bhubaneshwar!

So, I decided I wanted to go to Bhubaneshwar mostly because of the sound of the name, and because I thought I could probably handle a 30-hour train ride but probably wouldn't be able to pull 2 nights on the train and a 37+ hour train ride all the way to Calcutta.
So, perfect, I'll try to spend the minimum in Bangalore, my least favorite Indian city (probably only because I've never been in Chennai, tee hee) and head straight across the Indian sub-continent! That's right, crossing the whole country by train.
The fun part of trains in India is just about everything. The color of the stations, the noise of the train on the tracks, the wallahs who come up on the train at the stops to sell chai, chili-sprinkled fresh cucumbers, fried chat, dosa, fried peanuts, all the food you want and don't want to eat! Then there's seeing the landscape pass by, drifting off to sleep, listening to music, puttering around on your berth and slyly glancing at the other car companions while they aren't looking to figure out what they're doing on such a long train ride.
So, what's to see in Bhubaneshwar? Well, it's the capital of Orissa at somewhere between 1 and 2 million people, and supposed to be "the City of Temples". That's nice, because I like visiting temples. Lots of old ones. Also, nearby, there's a site with a bunch of ancient caves with cave paintings and then also ancient (or late medieval) cave temples. So, I also thought it was worth a stop to sample the Orissan food, which is reputed to be good, and you know me, I don't want to miss an opportunity to miss a different cuisine. Let's see if I notice any differences from other Indian cuisines.
And here's a picture of my rose from Jimmy, the Belgian. He's probably happily meditating on his own rose as I type.
Maybe later I'll inform you about my Satchitananda Ashram excursions!

A rose by any other name....

I'd just like to notify the world in general that last week was the second time in my life that I've received flowers from a male (the first time being from my father, of course and I'm excluding the times I've received flowers from street vendors in Spain and India alike). Correct, never from any boyfriend or love interest, but this time definitely in the interest of universal love.
A friend of mine here who's a serious yoga practitioner and long-time Vipasana meditator said that he'd read too many times about an open-eye meditation practice simply meditating on a rose. He said it was such an incredible experience, just you and the rose, and it really pulls you in so beautifully. And what do you know, the next day I find 2 roses left in front of my apartment door!!!
And it's amazing. I'm totally happy with my daily transcendental meditation practice but wow, the rose is a beautiful thing. You can try different techniques, like the kriya practice of looking at an object (or candle light) and not blinking and continuing to gaze until your eyes water and you cry (which I did twice with my rose- so beautiful!). You can also drink in the beauty of a most perfect flower. Now I understand why so many poets write about roses. Such a wonderful creation. So many details, such shading and different tones of color. Such depth, such shadows. And every day is different! The rose changes every day. And it lasts such a long time. As you enter in union with the rose, there is energy transfer (like ET did) and you see visible differences from day to day. Or you can experiment and meditate on one, ignoring another rose, and compare the difference in the roses days later. In general, when I focus on the rose, I only see the rose and everything else fades out except a glowing halo around the flower itself. I've been practicing meditation and trance states in different places around Mysore, my favorite being the Satchitananda Ashram (which is my favorite place in Mysore and thus all of India). Wow! The experiences I've had there! More later!

Andrea is Finally Sore

Mysore realmente se ha convertido en “my sore body”! Llevo toda la semana acumulando un dolor muscular y emocional bastante potente (añadiéndole unos moratones por toparme con muebles por ahí), empeorado por unos pensamientos negativos que no soy capaz de parar! No pasa nada – siento ya un alivio y un respiro, no con el dolor físico pero si con los pensamientos. Creo que algunas pérdidas (de relaciones) me están afectando más de lo que me gustaría y hay un poco de trauma personal como resultado. Bueno, no creo, sí que es esto. Simplemente, los pensamientos están afectando mi día a día tanto como mi práctica de yoga, aunque se supone que todos estos años de practica me sirven para que no me pase esto. Al final, siempre son los demonios mentales que cuestan más superar en mi práctica de yoga. Total, hoy, mi día de más sufrimiento auto-infligido y más lucha mental, y voy diciéndome, no puedo más y Saraswati viene y me dice (después de casi no hacerme ni caso durante toda la semana, su táctica de hacerme sentir como un gusano), “Monday, you do supta vajrasana.” Y yo pensando, “No!!!!!!” Tenía que venir, obviamente soy capaz si lo hago en Barcelona todos los días, pero llega después de una semana de guerra interna. La verdad es que sólo se me fueron estas tensiones y pensamientos cuando llegué a salambasana y dhanurasana, etc. Normalmente la segunda mitad de la practica me trae mucha felicidad, paz, concentración total y consigo pasar de mi existencia de ser humano e individual a otra cosa en un estado de “no pensar” pleno.
Una cosa muy buena es que llevo estas 2 semanas pensando en y sintiendo las corrientes de energía en casi cada postura, pensando en un nivel pránico, sintiendo el tirar y empujar de equilibrio entre las extremidades en cada postura y realmente sintiendo la energía. Y así me entretengo en mi práctica de 2 horas y 35 minutos todos los días. Hoy lo he intentado hacer más rápido por todo el dolor pero he tardado exactamente lo mismo que los otros días, con lo cual pienso que no es tanto dolor físico y que al final, es una delicia estar respirando ahí lentamente.
Voy por V.V. Mohalla, Laxmipuram y Gokulam en mi bici, con el peligro de niños pobres que me ven y me acercan, corriendo hacia mi bici. Yo con la voz levantada diciendo, “Careful, watch out!” y las niñas de 3 años, feliz y gritándome e intentando tocar las ruedas cuando paso. No se dan cuenta. Me vienen corriendo, igual que cuando paras al lado de una escuela, con la diferencia de que estoy en movimiento, y no tan lento!
Cambiando de temas otra vez, ayer comí lo que tiene que ser mi comida preferida aquí. Ragi mudhe. Pelotas de ragi. La primera vez que lo comí, solo pensé, “que extraño!” porque encima te dicen que no lo mastiques, que se traga sin masticar. La segunda vez, ”ñami, ñami, que bueno.” Tercera ya, “Madre mía, esto es maná de dios!” Y tan sano. No saben todos los labradores de campo que tienen el privilegio de comer lo que tiene que ser una de mis más increíbles experiencias gustativas. Sí, es comida de granjero, payés, etc. Comida de todos los días. Pero buenísimo de color, buenísimo de textura, buenísimo de sabor. Se hierve el ragi, una especie de mijo rojo, y se forman pelotas, que se sirven acompañadas de sambhar no tan picante, con más lentejas y 4 manojos grandes de eneldo fresco (o la hierba fresca que hay). También con ghee, claro, y mezclada con una pasta de chilis tostadas, cilantro fresco, ajo, pimienta y unas cosillas más, y con zumo de limón exprimido encima. Lo mejor es la textura del ragi, pasarlo por la lengua. Es un plato tan fresco y tan diferente – domina todo lo fresco, casi crudo. Estaría feliz comiéndolo todos los días. Pena que no se sirve en ningún restaurante del país, siendo comida de “peasant”, más o menos. I’m out.