Fake sunsets and a million shades of green

A summer of extravagant visa runs, sampling the delights of the tangible world and East Asia’s finest training courses across seven countries and four continents…

….by the time this fairy tale finishes that is…!

This summer my own thirst for knowledge and new skills, along with my inability to say no, led me to do my 2nd degree in Reiki, qualify in traditional Thai massage, my Padi open water diving certificate and take a Thai cooking course.

In that time i also…
…sampled the residential delights of Bangkok (aka. my very own bedroom at Emma’s gaff, the swimming pool and broadband!);
…explored the depths of the deep blue sea, diving the underwater beauty of Ko Tao;
…tripped over my heels totally out of my head in love, to the beautiful back drop of white sand and impressionist skylines of Ko Phangan;
…freaked out my beautiful and obviously over manly, lover with white knuckle speed boat rides and snorkeling with sharks in Malaysia’s crystal clear seas of the perhentian islands;
…turned 31 in anonymous obscurity on Kapas;
…indulged my Durga side, playing nursemaid to Rory’s just about walking, wounded;
…’popped’ over to Perth looking for Roos and Prema;
…and took to the road again with my Indian travel buddy Mel to Thailand’s islands, northern hill country and to beautiful, lovely, laid back Laos.

By far the hero of my limited exploration of the East, Laos has the most exquisite landscape and scenary and has a genuineness behind their smiles that Thailand’s culture of saving face and keeping their blood cool, for me, seems to lack. Whilst both cultures have an attitude of why do anything (work, eating, shopping etc) if it’s not fun, Laos seems to enjoy having fun, whilst Thailand seems just to want to get onto the next bit of fun, without absorbing the bit they are presently not giving a monkeys about.

Obviously I’m generalising, and no, I’m not basing that opinion solely on the ‘do you have to stay here, then I’ll have to do some work’ guesthouses and restaurants of Chao Phau on Ko Phangan. I’ve clearly gone a little bit over Latino, and I’m just looking for a little light behind the eyes, passion for something, anything, other than what goes in their mouths next!

It always surprised me the lengths of talking a Thai could go to, spending 24 hours living and working with somebody, they still can chatter constantly…. until I was informed by a reliable source that they are constantly talking about food! You cannot take a step without walking past a food cart at the side of the road bbq’ing squid, pork; a som tam lady bashing up the green papaya strands and peanuts in her huge pestle and mortar; a guy briefly dipping his rice noodles in a boiling vat of beef fat or a lady roasting sweetcorns on open coals. In fact if you look at what unites a country, what unifies and homogenises them as a nation; where the US has fear and shopping, the UK has dissatisfaction, India has belief; Thailand is ruled by their obsession with food.

Obviously this is not a criticism, but an observation and an opinion… if I were Thai I would undoubtably live to eat rather than eat to live! How to resist Thai green curry, pad thai, som tam or tom yam soup?! Even with portion control, the Thai style of little and often would ensure that baywatch swim suit remainded forever hanging up in the closet… like the faded super heros of watchmen.

Having already given up my baywatch swimsuit the instant I touched down in mother india and discovered vegetable Thali, the only thing to do was to join them and do a cooking course. Pounding the green curry spices into a paste, bashing up the garlic and green papaya strands and learning to cook noodles, vegetable and egg in the same wok at the same time in different ways. For sure i’m going to be popular in Brazil!

Sometimes travellers get so engrossed in planning their journeys as a route to visit this place or that, they forget that the journey is by far the biggest in the festival unfolding. Whilst I notched up a few air asia miles, and visiting a host of beautiful places and did all manner of amazing experiences, it was the hours spent in the state of perpetual motion that so coloured these pages in the scrap book of my life.

It’s because of this obsession to always busy ourselves so we don’t have to take stock, that God created time outs, periods of reflection and respite. How many of us are guilty of over filling our senses but not even giving them the benefit of 8 hours sleep to be processed and filed away, let alone contemplate what our senses are consuming.

Chugging along the frothy milk chocolate Mekong from the Thai border to Luang Prabang, the old royal capital of Laos, has to be by far one of the most consistently beautiful journeys of my life. Endless mountains smothered in verdant green, peppered with intense clouds in full latino drama displays of soap opera. As my arse gradually numbed to completely dead on a 6 inch wooden pew built for teeny tiny asian frames propagated in a more humid climate, my heart swelled to almost bursting and I almost cried at how lucky I am, my mind exploring and reflecting on what a beautiful life I have! But it’s not about luck, I made this happen and it’s the part I get to play in this crazy play of life. I was always dissatisfied with my the part I got to play in the school plays, chorus role, pah, I wanted a proper part to play!.. but now I realise we’re given the part we have to play with reason, it’s not about the part, it’s the perspective of how we play it.

People go travelling when they feel something is missing in their life and so they go to look for it. But it’s hard to keep travelling when you’ve found what you didn’t know you were looking for. It’s difficult to hold onto things or to be accountable for anything when the ground is always moving beneath you. Whilst you’re always moving forward, it’s still in which ever which way the wind is blowing, and that can be disorientating. So I’m ready to hang up my back pack and my walking shoes and maybe give this ‘normal life’ a try. My next journey will be to somewhere I can call home, where my roots will be watered and my branches and leaves cared for, pruned if need be, and where the buds of love will blossom and share their beauty and sweet fragrance with all

On the 2 year anniversary of the day I abandoned my known world and stepped onto a plane for India, heading towards an unknown future and unknown present; a very interesting and inspiring woman, we were honoured to share a delightful evening with, asked me what I had learnt these past 2 years. My first reply was, in a cheesy voice, that I’d found myself… because cliched as it is, I had. I had found peace with myself, peace with the universe and my place within it. I had found patience, tolerance, gratitude, kindness, presence, happiness, positivity, acceptance and true love.

As I prepare to pack my bags on my seemingly perpetual holiday (your words not mine!) and unpack them in another continent, embarking on an entirely different adventure… something else this wonderful and wise woman said rings true “trust what comes up”…. so I do; and in the words of that beautiful man who only just found out he could add ‘gardening’ to his multitude of other talents, and who has completed turned my world upside down…

…”the beautiful story continues”

Swapping Siva for Buddha, Namaste for Sawadeeka, ashram life for Bangkok – welcome to a santi santi summer!

It wasn’t always easy, it wasn’t always fun, but every day of my time in India was making a positive step forwards. Anyone who’s ever volunteered will understand that there’s never a more satisfying day than when you have done your very best, for the benefit of others, without the need or expectation of thanks. Save millions on self help books, just help selflessly and sleep easy!

I’m not such a saint that I didn’t receive any gratification from the experience, of course I did learn a lot more about yoga and I did get a lot more teaching experience, but it can’t compare to watching somebody float out of the ashram with their teaching certificate in hand, having had a hand in helping them through it, or in watching somebody leave with more of a spring in their step, filled with contentment and love.

My South Indian adventure ended rather dramatically with half the ashram being blown down in a overly gusty thunderstorm. My last week in the ashram was spent limping around picking up the unripe mangoes that had been blown down from the ashrams scores of mango trees; trying to salvage anything we could from the poor beaten up dormitories and packing everything that we could away for the summer low season.

After staffing two Yoga Teacher’s Training course, a Sadhana Intensive course, two yoga vacations and an Advanced Yoga Teacher’s Training course and having done yoga asanas almost every day for 4 months; I ended the season thinking I was some kind of Russian gymnast and in a botched attempt at the splits (although to my amazement I’m actually not that far off doing it!!!) I snagged my Achilles tendon and took myself out of yoga action. I might try and blame my extra ashram kilos on that… but I think that might do a disservice to SuKumar’s most excellent, number one in all of India, South-Indian cooking. If I could fit him in my ruck sack (and manage to carry it) I would have kidnapped him from the ashram.

It’s surprising how much use such a little tendon receives and how a wobbly one can affect simple things like going up and down stairs, sitting cross legged, sitting in a chair, walking around, let alone doing yoga asanas! So I got a little lesson in the practice of yoga not just being about asanas and a big lesson in patience. In fact even now 2 months it’s still causing me trouble and 3 days after a massive hike through China Town it’s still niggling me

I could run through a whole list of highs, but it would probably make most of you say “you Krishna jaya Siva what?” so I’ll encapsulate with a montage… Tony Hart eat your heart out.

…Friends, colleagues, students, teachers, Swamis, Christmas, new year, multiple graduations, weddings, vishu, sivaratri, swami Vishnu devananda’s birthday, staff meetings on the roof, trip to Swami Sivananda’s birthplace, puja’s, teaching, laundry, eating, chai time, assisting TTC, satsangs, payasam (especially birthday payasam!) the memories are endless and I carry them in my heart so they will always be a part of me…

Obviously one of the lows is the communication situation at the ashram, I apologise wholeheartedly for the birthdays and births, weddings and christenings, travelling adventures and new homes that I’ve missed. I’m sorry my contact has been sporadic and unfulfilling, it’s taken 6 months but now I’m making the most of the modern world and all her technical splendidness.

From the ashram I travelled from the very south to the very north of India and had the great, great pleasure of hanging out with my dear friend and very first (and still the very best) yoga teacher, Rory, for some rehabilitation into the real world, in the very very beautiful Himalayas in Uttar Kashi, which have a strangely familiar feeling of home to them.

It took a while to get here, fully trains, planes and automobiles; but was well worth the travel cold and 8.5 hours squished into a jeep winding round Father Himalayas rather womanly curves. Met by a beautiful friendly face from home, with a big smile and a big motorbike I was whisked off to my new home for just under 3 weeks. 8km’s north of Uttar Kashi to Ganeshphur, with a little bedroom backing onto a Siva/Shakti temple and overlooking the Ganga. Going to sleep listening to Mother Ganga’s lullaby is a more than acceptable substitute to the weary sleep of selfless service.

We slipped forwards into a routine of Vedanta and exploration; and backwards into coffee and a lot of chat. The 4.5 months of struggling to get out of bed before 5.30 every morning, made getting up at 5.30 not so difficult to maintain. At 6 am we went down to take Bhagavad Gita class with Swami Ramaswarupananda at his Kutir, washed down with a nice cup of tea; next I alternated teaching and practicing asanas with Narayani (former Sadhana Intensive student from January, 2009 at Madurai who was staying up there) before Rory came back with his milk pan and made porridge from still warm milk and we scampered down the stairs to Swami Premananda’s ashram for Yoga Vasista lectures from 9 – 12.

Swami Premananda was a direct disciple of Swami Sivananda and somewhere in his 70’s has been teaching Vedanta for some 30/40 years. The lectures made me think so much it hurt my tiny little brain and I had to take a few days after to let the confusion dampen down, but his eyes were so sparkly they looked blue and as he seamlessly translated the Sanskrit text into English and Hindi, laughing throughout, I knew I was blessed to be in his presence and fell totally head over heels in love with him (Grandad love that is!).

I had great fun enjoying the pleasures and passivity of exploring the area on the back of Rory’s bike. Nothing quite like the wind blowing through your hair as you weave and wind round the mountains bends looking out onto the Ganga and the mountain forestry mmmmmmmm bliss.

One of the highlights of the stay was my first North Indian wedding. After a night spent mostly eating and watching the drunk dancers at the Grooms Bachelor party, we got up early to watch Rajanesh (one of the kitchen boys from the ashram in madurai) partake of his pre-marriage rituals and then followed him on foot as he rode off on horseback to collect his new wife. Whether by misunderstanding or miscommunication, we mistakenly believed the destination to be the other side of the Ganga…rather than a one hour bike ride to what we thought was the very peak of a mountain, only to undertake the remaining one and a half hour hike up on foot… Birkenstocks, a bust Achilles heel and full midday sunshine did not contribute to a pleasant hike, but as we sat at the top of the world waiting for the bride to come out resplendent in red and gold, it became one of the best things I’ve done this trip.

Unprepared for such a hike we ran out of drinking water and sat there hot and dehydrated, I had my first knowingly reckless potential Delhi belly bringing moment, where there was nothing for us to do but drink the orange squash being dolled out from a big plastic bucket. I’m sure any amoeba were soon burnt out by some seriously spicy but very delicious wedding feast curry.

Joining the happy couple on their honeymoon (honestly that’s the way they do it here!) we shared a jeep to Gangotri, dipped our feet in the Ganga until the icy cold took all feeling away in about 30 seconds, had a Puja on the banks of the Ganga and visited Swami Vishnudevananda and Swami Sivananda’s sadhana caves before descending back down to uttar kashi, away from the ice capped mountains and picking up some world famous Maneri Pakora in the midst of a thunder storm with hail the size of golf balls!

My last days in India were spent in Rishikesh and Delhi after safely descended down through the mountains from Uttar Kashi on the back of Rory’s most wonderful Royal enfield motorbike, with a lot of luggage (mostly mine!). Weaving down through the Himalayas we hit a distinct point where the wind blowing against our faces and through our hair stopped being cool and made me feel like I was sat in a huge hair dryer on full heat.

Tucked up in blankets in the mountains, I’d lost all my Madurai conditioning and sweated myself through 3 sleepless nights in Rishikesh. We take a coffee tour around Haridwar and visit some ashrams and some full power Babas. Saying goodbye to my beloved friend Rory I took on the role of tour guide and showed my Brazilian ashram friend Rishi around this beautiful town of saints and sages. Most of this tour guiding involved giving in to our ashram oppressed urges for cake and delicious food at the pyramid cafe! Mango crumble anyone? Yep we’ll take double. Potato and cheese burger with chips and salad? Yep two please, with pasta and another salad. Sshhhh don’t tell Swamiji… but it’s ok, we didn’t find any icecream!

Onto Thailand via a quick stop at the Sivananda centre in Delhi ran by my teacher’s training course teacher, Maniji. A beautiful little haven of peace and quiet despite the oppressive 40+ degree heat?! It was a such a wonderful way to leave India, safe in the hands of Swami Sivananda and Swami Vishnudevananda; surrounded by friends, teaching Yoga to almost the last minute and being sent off with an Om Tryambakum by my dearest Swami Govindananda, sweet Jenny and beautiful Sita.

Sawadee Ka to Thailand, a land so peaceful, even the mosquitoes are peaceful, they don’t make a sound and I bet they struggle against their God given natures each time they have to bite somebody in this land of kindness and smiles, devoted to Buddha and his teachings of non-violence, mindfulness and enjoying life.

A moment to appreciate Bangkok, in all it’s tasteful glass and concrete, it’s sprawling suburbs of clean street; endless food stalls;, trees, plants and if there wasn’t enough natural foliage, forest and forests of plant pots; over politeness; boats to work; AC trains travelling over the top of the city; enormous shopping centres illustrating the Thais predilection to moving their enormous Buddhas to the west in their skinny jeans and nu-rave hair cuts. In fact remove the seedy side that every city has, and which here is mostly a result of seedy Europeans bringing their guilty desires and you have a city any self-respecting City dweller would be happy to call home.

Having spent 4.5 months in an ashram keeping the five senses tantalised with nothing more than Su-Kumar’s fabulous south-indian cooking, and a few weeks in the Himalayas in Uttar Kashi where the local coffee house serves Nescafe with steamed milk, I’m not ashamed to say I have gone a little crazy in Bangkok…

It may be Emma’s beautiful spare bedroom with a proper mattress, fairy lights and a wardrobe that makes me feel like I must participate in the civilised world again, or all the pretty girls walking around with super short shorts and skinny little legs, but I seem to be treating Bangkok like London, only I’m forgetting that whilst I may have been working, I haven’t been paid for 6 months and Caramel Lattes and millionaire ice cream sundaes are not part of every day life anymore!!

We spend hours exploring the lanes of Chatuchak’s weekend market, with everything from Tom Yam to kittens (and hopefully not combined!); go shopping in Tescos (surreal in it’s non-normal normality); try to ignore the bits of meat floating in my ‘Gin Jay’ vegetarian food; go exploring thieves market in China town and take in the jaw dropping enormity and beauty of Wat Po’s reclining Buddha.

The rehabilitation over, sensory pleasures indulged, my wallet dictates I confine myself to house arrest before I splurge all my savings on Bangkok’s delights. As I wait to start my Thai massage course I spend a week catching up on some sleep and trying to build a shanti shanti calm and peaceful daily routine of Yoga asanas, swimming, Reiki and catching up with you lovely lot; and then my friends…. THE BEACHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

If like my little nan you would like to send me a letter, you can post it to Em’s flat and I’ll pick up throughout the summer as I swing between Bangkok and the beach (woohoo did I say I was hitting the beach?!…..yay!!!)

I know it’s rude to ask when all I did was send a mass email, but please do send me your news and then I promise to reply personally

Love you all dearly

Em x

The Art of Chai

For life where the biggest vice is an addiction to home made cookies and yoga, Chai is a ritual.

We take great delight in slipping a couple of cups of chai down twice a day, so much delight I’ve bought a nice big aluminium mug with a handle to enhance it.

Preparing and drinking your chai is a minor art form. First you take two aluminium cups, holding one by the rim you pour a cup of chai in from the huge vat on the side and put a little jaggery in the bottom (unrefined palm sugar), then holding the jaggery cup along the rim as they heat up quickly, bring the mixy mix lower than the tea cup and start pouring into it, slowly increasing the distance between the two cups so the tea mixes in the bottom cup and froths up. Keep repeating from cup to cup until all the jaggery has disolved and the tea is cool enough to drink with some frothy bubbles on top mmmmmmmm.

So for my first post in almost 2 months to be on mixing chai you’ll appreciate that either not a lot or lots has been going on. It’s been hectic as! getting up at 4.30 and filling the day with yoga asana class, meditation and lots of working combined with having to hand wash everything you wear and internet access slower than snail mail, does not constitute towards keeping in touch very easily. If you’re lucky your text got through to me or mine to you, if not you probably haven’t heard from me. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you and I’m not thinking of you, I am, and after receiving a letter from my lovely nan the other day I’m very pleased to receive post and with that something nice like choccies or jelly beans to spice up our tea times

So if you feel like dropping me a line I can be reached via:
Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Centre
101 Dr Sathar Road
Anna Nagar
Madurai 625 025
Tamil Nadu
India

If anyone feels like pulling a few things together for me from neals yard, let me know and I’ll love you forever and do you know what I really need, ear plugs, I seem to not have my special stash I thought I had.

Wishing everyone well.

Lots of Love

Em x

3 Months of Sundays

It’s been 3 months of Sundays since I skipped aboard Air India’s finest brimming with love for Mother India and all mankind and I haven’t been quite so nimble to update my blog and keep my yogi friends now scattered all around the world up-to-date with the trials and tribulations of yogi life in a very un-yogi land.

Acclimatising to life back in the UK where cows don’t wander the streets and kindness or even just plain simple manners are thrown out the window as you’re pushed and shoved out of the way as the person beside you rush, rush, rushes their way around, trying to shave a second off here, and 3 seconds there, has been challenging and I still don’t think I’ve cracked it.

When I look back to that moment when I walked into Heathrow airport’s arrivals I feel maybe I’ve taken as much of a journey these past three months as I did in the ten in India and learnt almost as much, but clearly never enough!

It’s been a whirlwind of gargantuan proportions as I’ve tiptoed my way through harsh realities like remortgaging during an impending credit crunch; knocked on the door of gainful and office bound employment; had the opportunity to fall in love with my beautiful city again as observed through another’s eyes; spent several hours surrounded by fragrantly poetic roses and beautiful friends and said a very quick and unsentimental goodbye to my 20’s.

Forgive me if I’ve been slow to reply, been brief in my replies or unforgiveably been completely absent in my communication, I’ve found it’s not easy to balance yourself when one foot is submerged in the real world and the other flexed in the yogic world. My head’s been swirling with thoughts and questions, solutions and problems, answers and ideas; opposing forces clashing in my tiny little head and my tiny little heart but I think the storm is clearing a little…. Unless it’s just a lull!

So what have I been up to these past few months since being back on British Soil?

I walked off the plane from India to be met by my mum with a big smile and a hug before being whisked back to the tree lined streets of Surrey, heavy with cherry blossom from the early summer heat wave in May. I got to spend a couple of hours with them before my eyes grew heavy and I started slurring like a drunk. The next morning they left to send my regards to Fidel Castro and his comrades leaving me with a set of car keys in my hand and a back pack full of washing.

I got to spend time with my awesome grandma and the great pleasure of being able to help out a beautiful yogi friend with a stopover in London on her way back to Denmark, before heading down to Brighton and basking on the beach with my lovely little brother. Feeling warmth in my bones and my heart I headed to a friend’s house in South London where good fortune saw her with an empty bedroom and an attention seeking cat always in need of some extra petting.

She’s also a vegetarian who makes a dal Su-Kumar would be proud of and is just about the cleanest person I know. It was so unbelievably great to unpack my bag finally, in my own room, with my own bed and my own door. A wonderful place and person to unwind and relax with.

With the sun still beating down on London my constant friend throughout almost my entire trip in India came to stay for a week. As I started touring Melanie around London, my beautiful city used the sunshine to cast her spell on me again with Mel and I taking in some of London’s finest offerings. From Westminster to St Paul’s, Brick Lane to the Southbank, Oxford Circus to Borough Market, Kings College London Student Union to Sadler’s Wells, The Mall to the V&A, from Chai in Islington to English Tea at Maison Betraux, we ‘did’ London.

A few early investigations into remortgaging revealed that I would have to get a job in order to do so and I was so incredibly blessed to be able to be given the opportunity to go back and work at my old client’s; surrounded by friendly, familiar faces and getting paid to watch movies!! (I still can’t get over that!)

More good fortune came my way when my lovely yoga teacher went back to Ireland for a wedding and allowed yours truly to take care of his students for the week and a few Saturday classes since. I also have Rory to thank/blame for introducing me to Bikram Yoga… I still can’t work out whether I actually like it, but that’s supposedly because it’s helping stuff bubble up I’m none to keen to deal with, but I’m still not sure no headstand and no savasana is my kind of yoga!

So when I wasn’t spending my Friday days off with my yogi buddies at Bikram I was sitting in fragrantly bewitching rose gardens with my beautiful ashram friend, Prema, contemplating the Maya at her most beguiling and trying out my sugar-free/alternative baking.

And when I wasn’t with them doing as much yoga as possible, I was hanging out with the coolest Granny in the world, taking her for a spin around monkeyworld and in Brighton for my brother’s birthday. Or I was trying to catch up with the friend’s who’s lives I’d been absent from for 5 months or almost a year. It’s not so easy doing that when you don’t drink and don’t get invited to things so much, but I’m getting there and my friendships seem to be putting themselves in appropriate boxes.

But whilst I’ve been trying to find the middle ground between the hard living, fun loving, sense filling party gal of former years and the calmer, more content, alcohol, meat and smoke free yogini post India I’ve watered and then eaten my brother’s allotment grown potatoes; watched Tess eat the candles of her birthday cake; tried to make Prema dance with the Hare Krishna’s and finally got her to cut my hair; played happy families with Lindsey and had George her cat stand on my head in the middle of the night; helped Lady Palmer celebrate her pregnant birthday and tried out pregnant yoga teaching on her; watched Nick twiddle with his moustache; giggled at Litz’s drunken antisocial tube reading; pottered around with Clare like old times; felt fleet footed with Shelly; continued to be in awe of Jo and her pure pure heart; got hot and sweaty with Caty and Rory at Bikram and chewed the philosophical fat over hippy teas; helped cast Shelley off into married life; celebrated Cerys officially becoming a teacher; signed up for Cat sitting for Sam in her lovely north London flat; cheered at Fred actually being able to live in her own flat and created many other lovely memories of my friends I’ll carry around in my heart, wherever I travel.

I had the good luck to have gotten a whole year wiser and to share that experience with my friends. It was a little traumatic for me, not being the best at birthdays. I didn’t seem to mind turning 30, it feels I’ve always been the age, but it did make me stop for one moment and think back to that young girl with the brightness of future aspirations reflected in her eyes. Obeying the rules of media brain washing and thinking that 30 was such a grand old age, she thought that she’d have a high powered job, a nice car, a nice house, be married at least, maybe not quite with children, and be living the dream.

For a moment I felt a moment of panic at the thought of not having achieved all that, and then I remembered that I didn’t have to want that as my future just because society conditions you to think so. If I peel off the surface of my life right now and take a look at it, like the fingerprint left behind when you accidentally stick yourself to cellotape, it’s not far off those idyllic dreams of that niave and on paper would probably tick most 21 year old’s ideas of a good future.

Each day is a waking dream, being torn between potential memories of a simple yogic life and the Maya dangling her sparkling trinkets of temptation in front of my eyes. Right now, living in the now, I’m happy. Maybe that’s because I know this isn’t forever and that India is waiting in the wings, patiently for me to do whatever needs to be done her so I can get back to her.

So my beautiful friends I hope each day you’re learning more and more about yourselves and understanding that our journey in India was only a fraction of the adventure. I hope with all my heart, despite supposed detachment and non-expectation, to be back at the ashram from November and to see some of you at the next intertwining of our karmas.

OM my friends, OM

Wishing you all peace, love and light

x

Back to British Soil by way of Colitus & Dharamshala

The days and nights rumbled past in the company of those who hear the Saints or aspire to do so and my Ganga bath gets put on hold in the absence of time.  So it’s with some surprise after dealing with immediate fall out of Nada having her handbag stolen on the train that a have a fall out of my own… The trap door is opened as Ameoba descend upon my intestines and I arrive on the doorstep of Nada and Jesper’s family friends, The Sood’s, a little bedraggled and more than a little worse for wear, falling into a feint like fugue from the passing of too many ‘watery motions’ from my Colitus in 43 degree (113) heat.

 

Bringing nothing but bad health and a very British desire not to be any bother, I’m loathe to inconvenience this kind family and further, but they turf uncle Neeraj out of his room to the greenhouse room on roof, carry my bags over and deposit me in a room with a bathroom attached and a loo with a seat and a very hard working fan. 

 

A moment of over confidence with half a chapatti on day three and I’m back on the bog and off to the Dr for some allopathic meds as my lovely friend Nada and her fiance Jesper stop trying to chase their shadows (physical demonstration by one of the wise old souls) depart for Delhi and all sorts of passport/visa replacing rigmarole with embassies.

 

 

 

I build back my strength under the care of Anurag & Tracy, Grandma and the girls Mahima, Asmita and Uma and their patiently prepared Kitchari (Rice and Moong Dal Ayurvedic combo, effectively the Indian version of Heinz Tomato soup.  Interesting poll opportunity actually… what do you eat when you’re sick?).  I’m pleased to see the Universe applying the scales of balance and she taketh awayeth a few of those Indian ‘buffer’ kilos she’d so generously loaned me.

 

I take my last 5 O’clock meditation and satsang with dear old Bharadwaj, a semi-realised sweet old saint and help him celebrate his 95th birthday by singing him a Bhajan about Shiva and avoiding sweet, sweet chai and sweet, sweet indian sweets & vegetable pakoras that leave a grease track behind on your lips.  My unhappy stomach gives me the strength to resist the chai and all but one square of burfy out of politeness.

 

 

 

Buoyed by the kindness of this family who opened up their home and their hearts to me (and who taught me how to make chapatti!) and by the wisdom of a beautiful old soul, I board a bus to Dharamshala.  The sun beats down on the bus whilst it snakes through the mountains to cooler climes and a delightful shanti shanti atmosphere, nestled in the himalayas with the Tibetan exiles who fled the ‘Cultural revolution’ of Chinese occupation in 1959. 

 

 

 

With a culture entirely unique to that of it’s oppressive and heavy fisted, mighty brother and a totally different religion, Tibetans just want the autonomy to handle their own affairs, to retain their culture in their land and not be swallowed up by China’s greedy gorging on their land and resources as it opens it palms to Capitalism and the power that brings such a populous nation so short on space… 

 

They want to be able to welcome foreigners to their beautiful country without being denouced and detained for political activism for talking to them.  They want to be able to take their children home to see their ancestral home and spin the prayer wheels of the Potala not just it’s replica. 

 

 

 

 

Whilst Matt and I undoubtedly disagree as to the validity of China’s claim on this massive land mass, the recent treatment of the monks protest in Lhasa adds some credibility to these claims and cultural and physical genocide the Chinese are so keen to play down in the lead up to commonwealth olympic games.  Building of the Gormo-Lhasa railway saw more than 1.1 m people arrive in the Tibetan autonomous region in the first 6 months of 2007, predicting more than 4 m throughout 2007, more than the overall indigenous population of the entire area!

 

Not content with taking such good care of me thus far, the universe sends along another of it’s Angels as I almost quite literally, bump into another one of my yoga buddies within 2 mins of setting foot in McCloud Gange.  Miss Switzerland, as I like to call her, even though she has a fabulously double-barrelled French surname ‘Petit-Pierre’, and I, wile away the days talking ayurveda and exploring the much lauded local waterfall/small tap’fall’.

 

 

 

Then my friends, Mother India carefully carries me back to my ancestral home, into the arms of my parents before they leave me behind for the Castro brothers and the sassy salsa of Cuba.  And I take it real shanti, shanti as my hands take a break from handwashing everything I’ve worn these past 4 months and my clothes thirstly lap up a dose of fabric softner; and I practice yoga with the sun streaming in the back doors and making me feel content and happy to be back on British soil for how ever long I manage to stay this time…

 

See you all soon.

 

May we love all equally & without hestitation

 

OM OM OM

 

Em x

Tales of (Chosen) Hardship 2: – Panch’ing my Karma

 

Ahhhhh Rishikesh, Where the Beatles used to come to get away from it all and introspect on the meaning of life and practice their Sitar playing.  Where the bendy come to get even bendier and the masses come to get blessed by Mother Ganga.  The Land of Gods.  Spiritual Disneyland.  Soothing balm for the spirit.  Peace and quiet for the seekers of bliss. 

 

If Woolworth’s had a spritual pic and mix, it would be Rishikesh, and you’d get to try before you buy, just one pink shrimp candy whilst nobody is looking… Purify your body and mind by any means known and unknown to man.

 

Orange clad Sadhu’s pepper the pavement & are scattered throughout the town, with their begging bowls rattling to the Rupee beat of “Ram Ram”, ”Hari OM” and “Namaste” to elicit some alms.  Where ashrams, temples and guesthouses stumble up the sides of the himalayas and the Ganga carresses the shores and your sores amidst her celestial waters.

 

And in between practicing Yoga (Savasana nicely demonstrated by me and my yogi friends here), reading lots of books, hanging out with my TTC yogi buddies, visiting the Sivananda ashram, practicing Reiki and generally strolling around town, I decide to Panch my Karma.  Not content with the self-harming of getting up at 5.30 every day for yoga, I decided to also undergo an ayurvedia cleansing treatment after a consultation with an ayurvedic doctor.

 

My Pitta Kapha constitution is out of whack, like a Pitta without Humus my body is out of balance and I have a 7 day treatment to address this fire element (pitta) imbalance.  Starting pretty promisingly with a full body oil massage I am yet again reminded of the ingenunity of Mother India’s children when I’m put in a cupboard for the closing steam treatment, which is powered by a pressure cooker.  Remarkably effective feat of lateral thinking.

 

Whilst it wasn’t as relaxing as the salon/spa massage treatments we’re used to in the land of media and free lunches, it was still pretty nice and certainly beat all but one of the other treatments…. nil points definitely goes to Oleation, the drinking of herbs and Ghee…. 225ml’s over 3 days.  Yes butter is nice spread thickly on fresh bread or snuggled under a nice spread of marmite.  But would you ever drink it?  I kid you not it was all I could do not vomit and I’ll never be able to go into an indian sweet shop again. 

 

The herbs pull out the toxins out of the tissues within the body and draw them into the stomach area in preparation for purgation… a word that does not need translating and saw me camped out in a guesthouse for 6 hours waiting for the 4.5 litres of water to pass through me.  Incredulously, for once I did not need the toilet and left the guesthouse full to the brim of water and after a crispbread was shuttled off home to await further purgation.

 

And when I wasn’t feeling physically drained and experiencing lighter brighter sights and bolder louder noises from the herbs (no not those kind), I was having hot oil dripped into various orifices…. nose, ears and to complement the end of the purgation… bottom…

 

But an experience and whilst I didn’t feel it then I feel pretty good now, I’m not sure if my pitta is with humus or just salad, but I’m hoping it’s with or it’s going to get a whole lot more imblanced when I touch down on British soil for another flying visit in May!

 

So I’ll skip on up the hill to the Woman in White and listen to her wise words whilst you settle into your tuesday morning breakfast and a barrage of emails. 

 

Love you all

 

OM OM OM

 

Em x

Not possible to upload photos so much here so checkout limited supply on http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19533&id=505224964

Name that price!

Greetings from Rishikesh, “spiritual disneyland!” as called by my Japanese friend.

 As I take a break from Yoga and Herbal tea; group Reiki healing sessions and ayurvedic massages; I take a moment to question the price of things.  From material things to intangible things, all are determined by putting a price on somebody’s time.  How much is an hour of an Indian worker’s time versus that of a European?  How much for using your hands versus using your brain? 

I question this as I think about some of the prices set by healing practioners here, what made them decide that was the right price to pay for the service?  Why does one person’s massage cost 700 rupees and another’s 300? 

and I question the cost to myself beyond that of Internet rupees for maintaining the blog.  Does the benefit outweigh the cost?  Is it purely egotistical of me to be writing something which I tell myself if for other people’s benefits, so they can keep up-to-date with my travels, so my mum doesn’t worry.  Or does it save me in the long run because I don’t have to write the same thing out time and time again, is that a credit in my time bank?  Do I get a debit for not writing each of you personally? 

What are the costs, beyond that of money attached to all of our actions?    

and that leads me to question what is the price of a human life?  Who has the right to to ring up the prices in the big till in the sky, down here on earth? 

In 1984 a poorly maintained Union Carbide factory in Bhopal exploded, releasing poisonous gases into the atmosphere; killing 3,500 people that night and a total of 15,000 as a direct result of the gas released, injuring 500k. 

Union Carbide paid each family 63k rupees for a death and 25k for permanent injuries.  For those unfamiliar with Rupees, you get 80 to the pound.  

So each family received GBP 787 for a dead family member and GBP 312 for permanent, crippling injuries.   

For life.  

We won’t go into the reasons why the amount is so low (ie refusal to admit the true number of victims in order to save some kind of face) or that the amount given to each injured person was less than Exxon paid out to clean an otter after an oil spill… 

For now the focus should not be on what’s happened in the past, but what is happening now… through one ineptitude to another’s corrupt denial unbelievably nobody ever cleaned the mess up & the chemicals left behind 24 years ago after the explosion have been leeching into the ground, the water table and the bodies of the villagers.  People who managed to escape unharmed from the gas explosion are dying slow painful deaths.  because of corruption and big business bucks nobody will accept culpability for the mess.  Whilst big Grandfather Tata has offered to form an industry collective to clear the chemicals up, the villagers are demanding that Dow (the company who bought the site from Union Carbide) accept responsibility and resolve the outstanding legal and moral obligations from this purchase.   

50 villagers aged from 2 to 82 took a long hard march to Delhi to demand a meeting with Prime Minister Manmohan Singh to discuss promises made two years ago concerning economic, social and medical rehabilitation, and provision of clean drinking water. 

So please take a moment to pay a virtual visit to Bhopal and sign the petition demanding that these people don’t continue to get punished in the name of profit. 

How can anybody profit when that profit is paid for with pain, suffering and death?   http://www.bhopal.net/

 Love to you all and to the continued victims of the Bhopal Union Carbide Gas explosion

Em x 

Bordering on Blues in Bundi

A sick travel buddy, whilst not entirely conducive to travel, is conducive to almost catching up on 2 month’s worth of email correspondence (still getting there, don’t fear!), resting off 2 months of 4.30 am starts and updating the blog more frequently than of late.

I imagine some of you are a little curious to hear more about Bundi, and those that aren’t need not read on.

Bundi to me is suffering from a weird traveller’a malaise. Not of the kind caught from moping round your room whilst your sick travel buddy sleeps or shuffling around the town to keep yourself occupied. It’s the kind caught when travellers descend on your quiet (for India), self-contained town and leave behind their customs and mannerisms and upset the natural order of things.

The Prime Directive of star fleet is to leave no trace, of non-interference, to observe without changing the indigenous community. Yet day trippers descend on Bundi, in shoulder-less tops, distributing pens & sweets to the children as if they’re bestowing Mother Theresa’s grace, sticking their long lenses into the faces of curiosities without exacting permissions and drinking beer on roof top restaurants. Now instead of Namaste, a respectful greeting, saluting the greatness/divinity of the other person; kids & adults shout hello at you and demand 1 pen, 1 chocolate, 1 rupee… building expectation that all white people will give these things and possibly eventually leading to aggression when people refuse (it’s been witnessed in other areas).

Indian men think it’s appropriate to shout “Hello Baby” at you, shake your hand and in some cases try and hug you, when they wouldn’t dream of even saying hello to an Indian woman who wasn’t related to them.

The beautiful sky blue paint seems to plaster over the cracks of Bundi’s personality disorder. The beautiful paintings celebrating a history it’s keen to leave behind for designer denim and sunglasses. Border towns of the wild west were rough, dusty affairs where only the dangerous minded or desperate would chose to live; whilst Bundi has it’s fair share of dust & desperation, of pigs wallowing in the town shit stream; it’s not a place you feel dangerous, it’s not on the border of civilisation, but on the border of an identity crisis. The men of the town in their abundance stave off their boredom and belittle it’s charms, by hanging out together and staring at the people going by; whilst the women, conspicuous in the inbalance of numbers, are assumedly at home cooking, cleaning & caring for children.

Travellers come here to escape the intensity of the North Indian traveller scene, to rest their senses and from what I can discern, hang out in their room in their guesthouse sleeping, or not doing much at all. To be fair I’m not one to comment, but I do have said sick friend to look after.

Speaking of which, Melanie seems to be getting a little better. Her temperature is stabilising at 97 degrees after 5 days of running fevers in the 99’s. We’ve cancelled her flight to Berlin and bought her a new one and got some AC seats on a sleeper train to get her back to Delhi for it.

Then I give in the call of Rishikesh, after umming and ahhing as to whether I should go and visit I surrender and have scheduled myself into the shatabadi express on the 3rd April after dropping Melanie at the airport for home. For 500 rupees I will be in Haridwar in just 4.5 hours, quite the princely sum for such a journey, but in AC and with a veg meal provided.

I care not, I look forward to seeing my TTC brothers and sisters who are nurturing their souls in “spiritual disneyland”. I’m going to go and focus on my yoga practice, my reiki, my reading and work on dealing with my biscuit addiction, which still seems to hold me in it’s grip when the going gets tough (like the other night’s auto run to the doctor’s where the ego seeking doctor scared the hell out of melanie by saying she had malaria, without first asking where she’d travelled to or performing any tests. He said we had very little time and wanted her to start taking Malarial treatments immediately, but on insistence we took a test at the lab round the corner and in under 5 mins knew him to be very wrong indeed. On this occasion I ate a whole packet of Hide and Seek chocolate chip cookies in about 2 mins). Could you imagine if I went back to a life in media? Sainsbury’s Streatham would have an abundance of lime doritos and not a bourbon cream in sight…

So my sweet family and friends, hope you had a lovely weekend and feel better for your 4 day week. It’s always difficult the first full week back, wishing you a week with no need for biscuits.

lots of love

Em x

Here’s my favourite of the Palace’s paintings to be sure to banish your blues; Lord Krishna dancing with the Gopis in an idyllic setting.

She’s like the wind…

So having spent 2 months interned in an ashram I’m assuming some of you might be just a little bit curious as to what ashram life is like?…..

but before that, whilst admittedly I’ve been a little tardy in updating my blog, I’ve never asked anything of you but the occasional reading. So now, I’m going to ask you to do something for me and subscribe to my blog in google groups so I can use it to send the email out and limit the number of applications i have open for the indian computers in small towns to struggle with.

If you’d like to receive my next posting visit here and submit your email address if you don’t I’ll know you’re far too busy in the big bad world to read the ramblings of a hippy of the ginge variety in india! http://groups.google.co.in/group/wildstrawberryramblings

and welcome to new readers from the TTC, I’m afraid to say I’ve spammed you and sent this without your asking, but only cos I thought you might be interested in what I’m up to and I’m too lazy to type out the same thing to everybody

So, back to explaining ashram life…

It’s a bit like Dirty Dancing…. but without the dancing and where the only thing dirty is your feet (mmmm indian cracked heels anyone?); where Penny doesn’t get knocked up, she gets blissed out; Robbie isn’t working to save up for college, he’s working off some karma; where nobody would dream of putting Baby in a corner; where every now and again if you’re really lucky you get to carry a watermelon… but the the only thing you’ve got hungry eyes for is Su Kumar’s fabulous fabulous cooking (no Ladies and Gentlemen, do not adjust your monitors, it’s not a glitsch with the screen size, India has blessed me with an extra 6kg since I first graced her lands, but remember MUSCLE WEIGHS MORE THAN FAT and I’ve got guns Sarah Connor could fight a terminator with).

If you’ve a complaint about the lack of contact I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with my supervisor. Ashram life at TTC time leaves very little time, if any, for yourself. From waking up at 4.30 for a cold shower until lights out at 9.30, there’s 4 hours of yoga, 1 hour of meditation, 1 hour of chanting, 1 hour of listening to readings, 3 hours of lectures, at least 1 hour of eating, 1 hour of drinking chai, half an hour of headstand workshop to fit in, as well as washing yourself, cleaning your clothes and dealing with the daily dramas the intensity of the TTC course brings.

Staffing doesn’t bring much relief, one day I spent 13 hours in reception apart from meal times and the hour I did my practice in reception whilst the guests were in class. So if you got a text from me you should think yourself lucky and if you got an email from the 10 bps per second connection then you’re one of the luckiest souls alive.

Being a yoga teacher is not all plain sailing by any stretch of the imagination. Certificate in hand and the fear set in… I survived immense self-doubts about my right to be teaching yoga to the vacationers, having just graduated. I had a least one daily battle with confidence and all sorts of insecurities, but started teaching yoga to a mixed bag of mostly Canadian and Irish souls; from pure beginners and intermediates, to Japanese TTC (teacher’s training course) graduates, who said i delivered a really nice class

And then, after 2 months in the ashram, and being the last person to leave I caught the bus to Madurai, hoped on the train to Chennai, spent the day and night with lovely Kala from TTC and her family, caught a cheap flight to Delhi to meet Melanie. And after a bungled pickpocketing attempt, Melanie and I caught the night train to Bundi, where she caught a fever and I slept pretty well actually, despite the frigidity of the AC.

I’m currently in Bundi feeling like I have the flexibility of a 91 year old, hoping the 3 days travel will ease out of my joints and bones soon, with the help of my good friend Yoga and maybe my new friend Reiki.

Bundi is a cute little town where it’s difficult to distinguish between where the buildings and the sky begin. They’re painted such a lovely shade of sunny sky blue and then adorned with paintings of beautiful, proud, Rajasthani women and Maharaja’s on eleplhants, inspired by the aquamarine, azure and peacock blue 200 year old+ paintings from the hill side Palace.

It’s a seemingly a friendly place but it’s difficult to distinguish between genuine friendliness and the kind of friendliness fostered by the likes of Pamela Anderson and other large breasted, semi-clad white women leaping into bed with anybody within 30 seconds of meeting them in the movies. I also have a sneaking suspicion that some previous ambassadors of our world have not been so sensitive to the culture of India, a quick count of the number of tight tshirts being worn and the number of times the expletive f#*k comes out of some of the tourists’ mouths only serves to enhance that feeling.

So I’ll leave you thinking of Maharajas on Elephants and coy women in peacock blue, as I head back to be Nurse Nirmala and feed Melanie some Cerelac (quite delicious baby food that mixed with water works wonderfully as a milk substitute for cornflakes for breakfast) and try and stretch the travel out of my bones, before returning this evening to try and catch up on some correspondance after a nice potatoe paratha with spinach.

And just to let you know, I’ve been thinking ahead to my 30th…. and in the interest of attempting to keep my pack weight around the 20kg mark, I’m going to be accepting all denominations of rupees, pounds and dollars to buy myself a snazzy camera the next time I pass through the glittering gates of delhi. Even if I’ll be spending it with Sri Lankan Matt and some monks in Ladakh you’ll be able to catch it soon on Emma B’s Indian Channel on facebook

And to all those people who have been IM’d by somebody with limited English skills from my account, sorry for the bother, I’ve changed my password. Please let me know if it happens again.

Big love to you all

OM

Em x

PS I’m too scared to plug my camera in for fear of viruses, so you’ll have to wait for Bundi pics.

Here’s some from TTC of me teaching a class during the course and standing on my head. More TTC pictures can be viewed here and some post TTC pics here

hmmm wouldn’t they look nicer with a better camera?….

if you’re intrigued to see more photos from the ashram, somebody with a bit of a background in the internet might have set up a photoset

Inhale and Exhale

The first rule of maintaining and rewarding a loyal audience broken by my lackof updating, I sheepishly present you with the information that I am now a qualified Sivananda Yoga teacher and initiated into Reiki by way of explanation and in a bid for forgiveness.

Two months on from a debaucherous New Year’s Eve and I have appeared in a bollywood movie, hung out with sweet Melanie in the Dhavari slum of Mumbai, cleansed my feet in the Godavari river in Nasik, practiced my french but allors not my german, spent hours and hours on buses, eaten strawberrys and cream whilst getting lost and found in the hills of Mahabaleshwar, visited the magnificient c. 2000 year old cave temples of Ellora and Ajanta, stayed in some really scummy lodges and had midnight callers ratatat-tapping on my door… bumped into some old friends in Goa and had a guy openly masturbating to Internet Porn at the next computer to me, travelled first class on le train (pillows, blankets, sheets and soap in the bathrooms!) and did I mention qualifying as a yoga teacher?!

So I’ve spent the past 6 weeks in the ashram, intending to practice abstention from wicked ingredients of the western world, not even thinking of alcohol for one second, but going crazy for chai and developing a rather unhealthy biscuit addiction, mmmm butter cookies.

I’ve spent about 4 hours standing on my head, about 8 hours on my shoulders, saluted the sun about 400 times and given the cobra a run for his money with my bhujanghasana. I’ve eaten my own body weight in rice, nuts & dried fruit mmmmm and been nicknamed the fruit bat by my lovely aussie room mate Jackie for my fruit snacking affliction. I can sing you a selection of bahjan’s (hare rama hare rama rama rama hare hare, hare krishna hare krishna krishna krisna hare hare anyone?) and chant you something from the bhagavad gita. I know the average lung capacity, blood flow per minute through the heart and the postures to sublimate your sex drive. I’ve endured head lice infestation from the cute kids at the orphanage Melanie was working at in Bangalore and reinfestation 3 times; been given a spiritual name; chanted Om Namah Shivya more than 1000 times in one day from 6 in the morning until 4 the next morning and given 4 Reiki treatments.

And now, now I’m very humbly admitting that whilst I’m a teacher on paper and can give a class, I have an awful lot to learn and am embracing the opportunity here at the ashram to teach the yoga vacationers and learn from every second of every teaching.

I’m getting stuck into my karma yoga editing the transcription of Swami Sivananda’s Upanishad whilst I do my reception and boutique shifts, reading up on anatomy and practicing Reiki on myself (sounds selfish but is actually tres important!)

So until the 22nd of March when I leave for Delhi to meet Melanie and travel to Bundi in Rajasthan, I shall be mostly not using the slow Internet and practicing my teaching, and as such I send you all lots of love and will be in contact soon.

Em x