Diwali, and Why Haven't I Written Lately?

Flower wallahs tending coils

Jasmine surrounds Om and Ganesh

Sand and flower Rangoli

Diwali celebrates Rama's triumph over the evil Demon Ravana. Thus, in Man's dark time the God's brought forth fire to illuminate in reality and symbol this communal gift to be shared. Many faiths, peoples, and religions have an element of this and enact it with the lighting of a candle. India is similar in this respect, but differs in not stopping there. Candles are placed at the front door to keep out spirits and so that you can find your way home once the shelling starts. This is important because this is a five-day event, and the fireworks start on day one. India doesn't have a 4th of July per se, nor do they live it up on New Years as Americans do. But for Diwali, even the youngest of the young and the smallest of the small get to light the brightest, loudest, cherry cherry-est bombs of them all. This starts promptly at 6pm and lets up around midnight. We still get up at 2am. All the stone houses echo the glee and delight of the season.

Bedroom view of the winds

As I write, I expect the power to go out. It has been great actually, only failing for a few minutes at a time only a few times in three weeks. But the monsoon is still upon us- light as it is as far as monsoons go- but rain shadows our every move. It's hard to be homesick in that way, although it is warmer. Our laundry capabilities have diminished, our long walks have turned to quick scampers, but we've become good at predicting when the storm will hit. It's been hard to feel creative or even to talk about nothing. I've been playing a lot of rock music stored on the laptop in the afternoons, and the Seattle sound of Soundgarden seems to sooth the soaked parts of my psyche. I've even broken out Mozart's Requiem on one particular grey day. Two movie soundtracks, Donnie Darko and The Sorcerer (Tangerine Dream) offer a reminder of my mellow-spooky Butohsoul and are in heavy rotation compared to the peppy Slumdog Millionaire played halfway through only once. All this because my MP3 died. Or rather it's in "recovery" and until it gets a re-boot from the disc at home, it's having withdrawl and can't go on.That's where all my Tool is, and most of my chanting tracks. Fate. I was here when Slumdog came out, and now I'm here when a real "Slumdog Millionaire" actually wins One-M for the first time on the show. I need to slow down and keep it all in  perspective, and try to stay in the middle. And remember to talk about it once in a while.

"Don't screw me Jagdesh, 20 kilos of Marigolds..."

Aeryk

First Week Shala Report

The opening week of Shala season always begins with a week of primary series for all students.   Boring for some, relieving for others, and of course, making no difference for new students who will practice only primary for their first month in any case...if they even make it all the way through. 

For us, I think it has been an opportunity to acclimate physically and mentally back to life in India.  There are always plenty of opportunities for frustration just getting life set up here - if you are inclined to frustration.  Otherwise lots of opportunity to practice an easy going relaxed attitude while some of your basic life needs waver occasionally into doubt.  No running water today?  Well, I'm sure there will be someone along to fix that by the time I need to shower tomorrow.  No power?  The "fellow" is at festival right now according to my landlord.  He will fix "the current" when he gets back, no need to worry about when.  I have a headlamp.  Drinking water delivery can't be reached...and the public phone eats all my rupee coins? No problem, Aeryk will carry jugs to a store and drive some water home by rikshaw.  Drink a coconut for now. 

Primary series fits in well with jet lag, muscles cramped from long plane rides, and life's little challenges.  Just pick up, jump back, jump through, inhale, exhale.  If something doesn't come out according to plan, no problem -vinyasa is coming, a wave to ride you past your small troubles. 

Sharath started the whole Shala on three days of led class, two Mysore style primary series, and back to led again.  Also, happily, he has added a late morning chanting class for all students with enough time for breakfast and a nap.  We will start next week with one more day of led Primary, and then we will all be set off to our own prescribed practice.  I hope I can still backbend....but if I can't I'm sure I will find my way in time.

Vivian

Fruit for Thought

The exotic fruit plate still costs under two bucks

Right now is a good time to be in Mysore for fruit lovers. The Papaya is fresh and cheap, as are the small bananas. Vivian loves it here for that- she can't eat bananas at home after a few months of 'banana season.' Pomegranates are available but pricey. By that I mean India-pricey. When I left, Ralph's Thriftway was having the red fruit on sale for $3. mine cost 75 cents. What I love most about the fruit situation here is that you can get it most anywhere. Nearly every street will have a produce vendor set up at a shop, or a basket at the counter, or a cart full at the street corner. You can be safe to eat anything with a skin on it if you're on the road somewhere and need a snack. Cut fruit is usually kept 'fresh' by the vendor's constant moistening with tap-water. Trust me-- that's not tap-water we are used to. But back to my point, and the picture. We have a special fruit family we buy from as we have for six years. They have a cart conveniently located between the Ganesh Temple and the coconut stand, just down the road from everything. They were more convenient when we lived two blocks away, but still worth the 8-block trek. They always insist on picking the fruit out themselves, or HE picks it out, SHE weighs it, bags it, and takes our cash. We always get the freshest 'today' fruit or occasionally for 'tomorrow.' He has a way of knowing when food will die. Kind of a cross between dog-whisperer and the Dead Zone. Again back to the point- yesterday he gave me (free!) a piece of the grenade-looking thing on the plate. He said to pry it open and eat it. Simple enough. I like direction, especially with alien substances. The texture is like elephant skin holding jelly-- rough hide but soft and squishy. Weird. I thought it would go bad before the night was out as it started leaking. Fruit isn't supposed to leak. The inside revealed a series of large seeds inside their own membrane sack, the whole of which was surrounded with goo. I took several pods in my mouth as the fruit nearly exploded, and was suprised! The seed casings were sweet like flowers or incense and under them I scraped out about a quarter-inch of goo that some describe as custard-like. The texture and taste resembles sugar! Hence the street name of sugar apples.  I'm not saying that I'm addicted yet, I just don't WAN'T to stop right now. I'm up to two a day and I've already gone back for more and paid for them this time.

aeryk

Best. Article. So Far.

I stop reading Seattle's weekly freebie The Stranger about a week before I leave for India. This is because I once tried taking one with me to prevent homesickness, but reading about local shows and happenstances didn't make me feel much of anything, actually. I was way more interested in the world in front of me. That being said, I crave the written word (in English) and storyline, so I seek out news of the world. I still check in on the Seattle Times, but I try to get some of my daily info through the local newspapers. Most of what I read has nothing to do with me, especially the politically expressive Times of India, with it's coverage of National events and figureheads. Some news beyond the Motherland filters in, and often there is a slant to the writing or selective re-reporting via the internet allows for the sensational tidbits to represent all you need to know about what goes on over THERE. My favorite is the smaller Star of Mysore, the local offer combining the best of the Times and the Weekly World News. You heard me right, the 'bat-boy' rag. This is what I found on day three here.

I don't even know what to say about this one.

aeryk

Mysore Market Montage

Looking South at the market corner

East leads to more goods

Rickshaws wait to the North

East entrance (no goats, please)

Yesterday, Saturday, Market Day

first time away

yet barely arrived

freshly unpacked

rickshaw sideshow delivers

new views of familiar spaces

tangled traffic's sea of faces

overflow my oculi

tear to lens 

smears my fading memory...

Kinda wish I hadn't seen that

Crank-press sugarcane stall

The dancing ladies dream begins again

More 'Rickshots' to follow.

aeryk

Back To The Source

           Family Portrait: Shiva, Parvati, Ganesh

Yes, we made it.
Air France is not British Airways. By that, I mean our trip was less trauma-filled than ever. Tom arrived on time to pick us up, and we were mostly ready. Our half hour delayed first flight daunted us not. It is true that our connecting flight departed two hours after arrival, but I found myself in a state of TravelZen. I was unhurried through the lines, un-stressed during the security gates, and unfazed when they pulled me aside to re-search and x-ray my backpack item by item. Oh, yeah. I had packed my electronic looper, sound processor, microphone, and 35 feet of coiled instrument & mic cables, as well as the supporting power supplies. THAT must have looked fun in the X-rays.
The flight was on par with BA service-wise. The male flight attendants were perkier here. They really wanted you to think they were there for you. And they were! And when they weren't, one could get up and self-serve their own dang drink at the back of the plane. BA didn't offer that. They also didn't try to drown me with wine & champagne like the French. Obligatory with every meal was the mini baguette, even if it was Indian Veg. That beat the BA beans for breakfast... 
My point was not to slam British Airways, only to say that my perspective was different. Clearly the French DON'T know everything about Arts and Entertainments, because their in-flight video selection was sub-par and hard to navigate. Die Hard and Rainman? OK, you need a little retro action/adventure/disaster movie and the feel-good Tom Cruise moment at times, but not 39,000 feet above Istanbul. That's all I'm saying.

             Roof-top solar heaters seen from our bedroom.

Shiva is awesome. I called him 3 days prior to set up a ride and a place to stay. Our 4:30am Mysore arrival coincided with the arrival of another party waiting for their second carload, and our drivers sorted it out for us outside the Ganesh Temple. We were taken to a house, unloaded our stuff for the night, then loaded back up and moved to another house. The parties got mixed-up. It didn't matter as this was just a one-night stay that cost us $12. Our other option was the Green Hotel @ $120 or so. In the morning were connected to our new landlord and top-floor pad in a quieter part of upper Gokulam. Fortunately, I was still in a state of TravelZen when began our multi-day quest to retrieve our trunks of supplies left at our last residence, register at the shala, and begin the next phase of our lives. 

aeryk

Final Thoughts @ the 11th Hour

Drawing water from the hillside well. Tiruvannamalai, India.

We leave in 30 minutes.

We are mostly packed and have been all day, which is good. Even making the last minute errands we are stopped for a hello & goodbye, taking even more cherished yet valuable time. It is our bedtime, actually was 3 hours ago, but all is well. Soon experiences will become memories and memories will become favorite stories. Thank you all for your support, whatever form that took. I hope this time here for anyone who wants it. Peace, love, see ya soon!

aeryk

Ladies, enough with the 'frightening cream.'