Timepiece

I have a digital alarm clock that I bought in India solely to ensure that I woke up by 5:00 a.m. in time to catch my plane from Trivandrum to New Delhi on my way back to Chicago. (A caveat: If my cell phone hadn't been unusable in India, this wouldn't have been an issue, because I typically use my cell phone as an alarm and I had expected to be able to do that in India, but that was not to be the case.)

Prior to my departure date, I had verified my checkout time with the lodge manager not once but three times because I knew they didn't typically open up the doors until 7:00 or later in the morning. I'm sure he was sick of talking to me by the time I left, especially after assuring me numerous times that I was allowing myself more than enough time to arrive at the airport if I left at 6:30 a.m. and that everything would be fine.

Finding the clock required a shopping excursion of sorts. Ater taking my life in my hands and dodging all kinds of foot, car and other traffic, I arrived at the three-story mall in a state of relief and quickly found a store that sold all kinds of clocks. Knowing that most people use their cell phones as clocks/alarms/etc. I wasn't sure that any store would even sell alarm clocks, but once I located one, I spent a lot of time wandering around looking at myriad clocks in all shapes and sizes for a basic clock that wouldn't be too complicated to use.

The store owner and his attendant were very patient and showed me numerous clocks until I found one that was lightweight and very reasonably priced (I can be kind of a cheapskate) and I decided to overlook the fact that it played "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" although it was already late January.

I tend to be a little deficient when it comes to such things as setting digital clocks that actually go off when they're supposed to, but I came home feeling confident that I would actually get up on time and arrive at the airport well ahead of schedule. The only problem was that I hadn't factored in how loud the traffic and sounds from the street were. When I tested the alarm clock back at the lodge, I realized that I'd never wake up because I wouldn't hear it.

At this point, I realized that I would have to stay up all night to ensure that I didn't oversleep. It then became a marathon night of watching every cable channel beamed to the Indian subcontinent. I watched talk shows, American television shows, some that I had never watched back home, and a show that appeared to be the Indian version of American Idol. Needless to say,I was relieved (and tired) when I finally realized it was 5:00 a.m.

It was still dark in the hallway when I opened the door and looked out to see if anyone was around. I took a quick shower, wheeled my already packed suitcase after me down the stairs and was relieved to see that manager had already arrived. He smiled at me kindly and tried to resist when I insisted on overpaying my bill because he had been so accomodating, but he finally relented and gave me a quick Indian head bob and suddenly, unexpectedly I teared up and he looked at me in a sympathetic way that made me even more misty eyed.

I realized that in just in the five days I stayed at the lodge, I had developed a routine of sorts--from the knock on the door every morning with one of the hotel staff asking if I wanted an Indian coffee, which is some of the best coffee I've ever had. I usually drank two or three cups, which they seemed to find very amusing; going downstairs to the second floor where the Internet cafe was located; the young man in charge always greeted me really cheerfully, "Hello Miss Gita. How are you today?" Making my way back upstairs to get ready for the day and figure out what I was going to do that day--take an auto rickshaw to the beach, the zoo, the temple, or try to find my way to the Kingsway that sold European groceries, pizza and pastries.

As I flagged down an auto rickshaw to get to the airport, it was finally starting to get light. We took off at breakneck speed narrowly missing other vehicles, cars, people and large and small animals and I already found myself starting to feel nostalgic for India.

Flash forward to the present. I placed my little alarm clock in my bedroom when I returned home and every night since I've been back, it goes off at 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. in the morning and I'm awakened by the digital sounds of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." I'm sure I could fix it, but for some reason I haven't yet.

By Thich Nhat Hanh

Transcending Birth and Death

We often think that birth is that which does not exist coming into existence, and that death is that which does exist ceasing to exist. When we look deeply at things, we see that this idea about birth and death is mistaken in many respects. No phenomenon whatsoever can come into existence out of nothing and no phenomenon which exists can become nothing. Things are ceaselessly transforming. The cloud does not die; it only becomes rain. The rain is not born; it is only the transformation and continuation of the cloud. Leaves, a pair of shoes, joy and sorrow all conform to this principle of no-birth and no-death...

By Thich Nhat Hanh

Excerpted from Our Appointment with Life: The Buddha's Teaching on Living in the Present

Thoughts

Thought is crooked
because it can invent anything
and see things that are not there.
It can perform the most extraordinary tricks,
therefore it cannot be depended upon.


-Krishnamurti

Mukti

What is then worth having?
Mukti, freedom

-Swami Vivekananda

Walking the Walk

I just watched video of thousands of Iranians protesting the election results in Iran. I applaud the brave Iranians who are risking their lives to make their voices heard on the streets of Tehran.

Cats Really Do Meditate

I’ve decided that cats know how to meditate. They are totally in the “now.” They’re not thinking about tomorrow, or the next day, or their five-, ten- or twenty-year plans.

When a cat is focused on something, their laser like concentration is something to be wondered at. A cat somehow manages to sleep and be completely alert at the same time, but they are always in that state of the present moment that is so elusive to us human beings.

When you’re around a cat, you also temporarily go into that Zen state with them and enter their world of bliss. Want to learn how to meditate? Spend a lot of time with your cat and you’ll discover all you need to know.

Going to the Squirrels?

We have an ongoing problem with squirrels as do most people in our neighborhood. Whenever we fill up the bird feeder, the resident squirrel makes his appearance shortly thereafter and performs all kind of acrobatic stunts to try to get at the birdseed. I've seen him hanging upside down, hanging on to the bird feeder and swinging with it like a rodent version of Tarzan and engaging in many more Cirque Du Soleil-like feats. This morning I was really not in the mood for his antics so I took a little red (soft rubber) ball that my sister had bought for my niece when they were visiting a few years ago and threw it at the squirrel, while yelling and gesturing. I'm sure I made a pretty sight in my blue bathrobe.

In the process of doing so, I suddenly realized that Callie, my mom's cat had disappeared and in a moment of panic I thought she had left the premises. I blame the squirrel for ruining what could have been a peaceful morning, but according to a video of Pema Chodron that I recently saw on You Tube titled Troublemakers, people or things who make life difficult for you are actually good for you. The way I interpreted her lecture is that they help you to get a "birds eye" view of yourself that, while not always pleasant, can be enlightening.

p.s. One positive note: I saw a beautiful red cardinal and a black and white woodpecker briefly appear after shooing the squirrel away.

Sychronicity?

I recently stumbled across a book called The Best Buddhist Writing 2007 edited by Melvin McLeod. What's interesting is that I was actually searching the online library catalog for Robert Wagner's memoir Pieces of My Heart. I had heard him discussing his book on Charlie Rose and, being a lover of old Hollywood memoirs, I thought it sounded intriguing.

If you believe in synchronicity, The Best Buddhist Writing appeared right under the search result for Robert Wagner's book, which was, according to the results, on the shelf on the fourth floor of the library. I briefly glanced at the title of the Buddhism book and thought, I should read that book sometime. Well as luck would have it, I got to the library and couldn't find the Wagner book even with the librarian's assistance. She said some books just go missing in action sometimes and I said rather cheekily, "Does that mean one of the other librarians is reading it?" and she said, "Oh no. We check out books just like you do. It could have been misshelved, or be lying on a table somewhere." So I digress, but suffice it to say, we didn't find the book so she put it on hold for me if and when it does turn up.

Well of course I didn't want to leave the library empty handed so I decided to find the Buddhism book and I did. Recently, I've been having a hard time falling asleep; a couple of nights ago, I started thumbing through the book and discovered an essay by Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun who narrates two CDs (When Things Fall Apart) that my oldest sister in CO sent me a few years back when I was going through a particularly trying time. I started thinking, hmm this is interesting and read her essay finding it even more enlightening than the CDs had been, because she explained certain Buddhist concepts in more detail. Then I found an essay by a woman who had eloped at 16 to marry Pema Chodron's spiritual teacher, the highly regarded Tibetan Lama, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. I remembered Chodron discussing Rinpoche's teaching on the CDs, including his detailed instructions for meditation.

I found myself reading more essays that helped me to better understand some of the questions that I've had about Buddhism over the years. A brief caveat: I realize that Buddhism is a ancient religion that scholars and practitioners study for years. In no way, can reading a book teach all you need to know about Buddhism; I have barely scratched the surface, but I am always searching for answers and knowledge about topics that interest me and these essays were comforting to read as well as enlightening.

I also really liked an essay called Our True Home by Thich Nat Hanh. I've included a passage here:

Did you know you had a true home? This question touches everybody. Even if you have the feeling that you don't belong to any land, to any country, to any geographical spot, to any cultural heritage, or to any particular ethnic group, you have a true home...your true home is the here and now. It is not limited by time, space, nationality or race. Your true home is not an abstract idea. It is something you can touch and live in every moment. With mindfulness and concentration, the energies of the Buddha, you can find your true home in the full relaxation of your mind and body in the present moment. No one can take it away from you. Other people can occupy your country, they can even put you in prison, but they cannot take away your true home and your freedom.

Carpe Diem!

Death is extraordinarily like life,
when we know how to live.
You cannot live without dying.
You cannot live if you do not die
psychologically each minute.

-Krishmamurti

In Azar Nafisi's memoir Things I've Been Silent About she opens up her past to us; we meet her parents and see how their hopes, aspirations, disappointments and frustrations have left an indelible imprint on her life. Since finishing the book a couple of days ago, I keep thinking about this particular passage she wrote about her father, a former mayor of Tehran who was jailed during the Shah's regime on alleged charges that were never proved:

In personal life as in politics you either accept the rules or you openly and on principle rebel against them. In both cases, there is a price to be paid. Fortunately, no one goes free. But what price? Not belonging to either camp, my father paid a double price. He had neither the comforts of convention nor the satisfaction that comes from breaking with what is expected of you. All through his diaries two opposite tendencies come up: the desire to break way, to embark on the life he wanted, coupled with the fear of what could happen to him if he did.

I'm not sure if I understand yet why this passage continues to haunt me, but it carries a sadness and poignancy with it that possibly reminds me of my own father and his ambivalencies that he struggled with thoroughout his life.

Another passage that really stayed with me is this one:

Those who are close to us, when they die, divide our world. There is the world of the living, which we finally, in one way or another, succumb to, and then there is the domain of the dead that, like an imaginary friend (or foe) or a secret concubine, constantly beckons, reminding us of our loss. What is memory, but a ghost that lurks at the corners of the mind, interrupting our normal course of life, disrupting our sleep in order to remind us of some acute pain or pleasure, something silenced or ignored? We miss not only their presence, or how they felt about us, but ultimately how they allowed us to feel about ourselves or them.

Reading this memoir has really touched my heart in an unexpected way.

Bread Rising

I did it! I made bread that actually turned out today. Let's hope that's a good omen:)

The Art of Baking Bread that Rises :)

I am on a quest to make the perfect loaf of bread. At this point I’d settle for a loaf of bread that rises even half way. For the past couple of years, I’ve been unable to bake bread that rises. At least once a month, I try once again to make a loaf of bread that actually looks the way a loaf of bread should and not something halfway between Irish soda bread and a flattened pancake. It seems that somewhere along the way during the past few years, I’ve lost the ability to make the perfect loaf of bread.

I measure out the floor, heat the milk and butter in the pan to very warm as advised in mom’s yellow Pillsbury recipe book with the yellowed pages held in somewhat tenuously by the metal binder. I mix the milk and butter into the flour mixture and stir until the lumps disappear. I add enough flour to make a stiff dough, turning it out to knead the dough on a floured surface. As I knead the dough, I think maybe this time will be the charm. I’m going to knead it as long as I can until I get tired of kneading.

I never thought of myself as a very good cook, but I was always a pretty good baker. My mother taught us all how to bake at a young age. We learned how to bake pies, bread, cookies and other fun treats like no-bake chocolate peanutbutter cookies. I used to make Swedish tea rings that actually looked like the pictures in the recipe books, lemon meringue pies, and, of course, cinnamon bread with cinnamon swirls and some raisins if I was feeling generous.

I hear that my Grandmother on my mother’s side was a very good cook. She was a professional cook before she met and married my Grandfather, a minister from Switzerland; so I believe cooking might be in my genes.

In my mind, my inability to bake a loaf of bread that rises coincides with events that happened almost three years ago when I lost my beloved cats, Snowball and Bambi, in an apartment fire, and, after 17 years of living on my own, came home to help my mother take care of my father who was in the end stages of Alzheimer’s.

So I’ve decided that if I can learn to make the perfect loaf of bread again, or at least one that rises, I will somehow recapture what I’ve lost—that spirit of joie de vivre, or that sense that life is full of possibility and that I am somehow lucky and that things will eventually work out for me.

After the fire, I questioned my choices. Why I had continued to freelance and lead a somewhat financially precarious existence? It seemed that I prided myself on getting a project just in time to pay the rent and the utilities and I felt lucky that my landlord barely raised the rent in the 13 years I lived there. What I chose to ignore at the time was that in the last few years I kept myself in a state of perpetual anxiety about my finances.

Maybe this was somewhat familiar to me after all the moving around we did as children. It seemed that stability was a foreign notion to me. Yes I’d lived in the same apartment for 13 years, but I somehow managed to recreate the sense of uncertainty that lingered from a childhood of never knowing how long we were going to stay somewhere, or when we would have to say goodbye to our friends yet again. Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t feel deprived. I remember thinking it was somewhat exciting to always be moving on and starting over yet again.

Back to choices. After I came home that early Spring day and found my apartment a smoke filled place that looked as though a bomb had hit it and with the fireman’s help, found Snowball curled up in the corner of my bedroom in a lifeless ball of fur (I couldn’t even bear to even look at Bambi), life seemed to change forever to before and after—before the fire and after the fire.

I wonder now—if I had led a more stable existence, maybe I would have been able to buy a condo and live somewhere that was perhaps safer, or where a fire was less likely to sweep through a building from the basement to the third floor in the space of fifteen minutes, as the fire captain told me later. It took firemen from three stations to control the fire. By the time I returned home after running errands, my life was irrevocably changed.

The time has gone off. My bread has risen and is ready to be shaped into loaves. Maybe this time will be the charm.

Deep Thoughts :)

I was doing my Yoga this morning and started thinking that last year at this time I was at the Sivananda ashram in Kerala India. It's hard to believe that a year has gone by. So much has happened. My trip started out being all about me and trying to "find" myself in a way. What I found was that the world out there is so big and complex and that's so much more interesting than me.

There were times when I loved being at the ashram and times when I felt like I couldn't stand another minute. I wanted to take a hot shower, use a toilet with a flush handle :) and wash my clothes in a washing machine instead of by hand. Everyone else seemed so acclimated to the food, the lack of amenities and, for the first time in my life, I felt kind of spoiled. I remember meditating early in the morning at Shiva hall with the rest of the ashram and hearing the lions roaring in the nearby wildlife preserve and thinking, "one day you're going to remember all of this fondly."

When I finally left the ashram and went to the lodge in Trivandrum, I was so thrilled to have my own room, bathroom, access to the Internet on a daily basis and television. Even the phone that allowed me to make international calls seemed enchanting. Everything is relative as they say because when I got to the hotel in New Delhi and I realized I could take a hot shower for the first time in two weeks, I took such a long shower that I flooded the bathroom. I then proceeded to order ice cream, pizza, samosas, and breakfast in the a.m. via room service.

I was somewhat overwhelmed by Delhi both times I was there. It was crowded, noisy, and unlike any place I've ever been. The day I had scheduled to go around the city with a driver, I suddenly felt like I was coming down with a bug and kept running to the bathroom. I wasn't sure I'd be able to go on the tour. I did my yoga asanas that I'd learned at the ashram along with the breathing exercises and I told myself "you can't wimp out. You may never have this opportunity to see Delhi again." And I had a wonderful day.

What struck me during my time in India is how everyone was so curious about the U.S. Whether it was a temple guide, an Irish dorm mate, the driver who took me around Delhi--they all wanted to talk about the U.S. In the process, I found my identity shifting from that of just "me" to an American in the world. I'd noticed this before when I traveled abroad, but never more so than on this last trip. No matter how much we choose to view ourselves as individuals traveling alone in the world, we are also citizens of the world and the countries we come from. When I saw the footage of people all over the world celebrating Obama being sworn in as President of the U.S., once again that really was driven home for me.

Ode to a Renaissance Man

Since I can’t afford to travel as much as I’d like to, another form of travel for me is reading a good book that takes me into another world or time. I’m a sucker for autobiographies and memoirs by Hollywood stars, particularly from “old Hollywood.” I’m especially fascinated by memoirs—what people remember about their lives and choose to reveal to the reader—the good, the bad, the mundane, the fascinating. People like Kate Hepburn, Kirk Douglas, Sidney Poitier have all written compelling memoirs that I really enjoyed reading.

I’m always curious to see if there was a “road not taken” or a key decision they did or didn’t make that somehow impacted the trajectory of their lives as we so often like to think. What seems to often be the case is that these people were destined for their path of stardom as though fame perched on their shoulder and hung on for dear life. Sidney Poitier turned down roles that he found demeaning even when he was poor as a church mouse. Katherine Hepburn defied stereotypes and lived her life as she saw fit way long before feminism had taken hold in the 70's. That’s not to say they didn’t go through hard or challenging times, but what I find is that most of these “stars” somehow managed to stay true to themselves in spite of whatever challenges and opportunities came their way.

Most recently, I started reading Christopher Plummer’s memoir In Spite of Myself. He of The Sound of Music that he affectionately refers to in the book as S&M. I’ve had a crush on Christopher Plummer since I first saw that movie at age five and I have seen it at least 15 or 20 times since. I knew that Plummer was a serious stage actor who cut his teeth in stage productions of the great Shakespearean roles prior to signing on to the role of the captain in the Sound of Music. At this point in his life, he seems to have come to terms with his participation in this movie and says he finally understands why the movie is so beloved to millions worldwide.

Reading Plummer’s book is like taking a rollicking ride through the heyday of stage and cinema up to the present time. He gives us the back story to the stage productions and films he starred in, including the Sound of Music. Sadly, it shattered any illusions I might have had that he and Julie Andrews were romantically involved during the filming of the movie (the cast stayed in different hotels for the filming of the movie in Austria).

In his prime, Plummer palled around with Jason Robards, Jr. and other bad boys of Hollywood and had more than his share of romantic liaisons with women, which certainly isn’t surprising; I have always thought he is one of the best looking men to ever appear on the silver screen. Plummer’s great love of literature and wordplay comes through in his descriptions of how he tackled a particular role. He also sprinkles whimsical poems of his own and others throughout the text.

I was interested to learn that Plummer comes from distinguished lineage in Canada. His great grandfather was one of the first prime ministers of Canada; another ancestor was one of the founders of McGill University. His parents divorced when he was very young and his mother had to return to work in reduced circumstances. Plummer seems to have spent much of his life trying to distance himself from his elite gene pool.

If you’re looking for some introspection or soul searching, it doesn’t come until he meets the love of his life, Elaine (his third wife). He writes of her on page 464“Her appearance instantly broke a recurring dream that had plagued me most of my life but which now made complete sense. In it, I am the incubus fighting my way through bile and slime; something incredibly heavy is pushing down upon my face. I can breathe no longer, I’m suffocating, life is slipping away. Then far above a light begins to shine through and with one terrifying heave I am released. Some kind of nocturnal monster has retched and spewed what’s left of me out into the brilliant sunlight and like some beached flounder I land with a joyous slap onto the warm and welcoming white sands. Another temporary reprieve? No! This time I had been truly spared.”

A Higher Law

"I have found that life persists in the midst of destruction

and therefore there must be a higher law than that of destruction.

Only under that law would a well-ordered society

be intelligible and life worth living.

And if that is the law of life,

we have to work it out in daily life."

--Mahatma Gandhi

Tepid Trivia

One unanticipated benefit of my recent trip to the Indian subcontinent was that I lost weight. Yay! Last summer I had noticed that my poundage was increasing and I finally broke down and bought a new electronic scale after catching a depressing glimpse of myself in the mirror while helping a friend pick out a wedding gown. Let's just say the number that appeared on the scale was not reader-friendly.

I quickly ramped up plans to "seriously" lose weight, which included a subscription to Weight Watchers online where you have to list everything you eat during the day so you can track the points value. Not fun, but it did seem to work. After three months of being on the plan, I decided that I had memorized the point value of the foods that I eat most frequently and no longer needed to follow the plan so religously (not a good idea), but I seemed to be able to keep my weight from fluctuating wildly during the months running up to my India trip.

When I stopped eating in India, it was primarily because I a)didn't like eating with my hands and didn't have the guts to ask for silverware when noone else was using silverware at the ashram and b) I didn't like their (the ashram's) version of vegetarian food. Once I left the ashram, I was trying not to spend a lot of money by eating one meal out a day and trying to survive on crackers and pineapple for the rest of the time, which had its good and bad moments that I won't elaborate on here.

Anyway, I realized upon returning to my home country that I had lost 14 lbs, but since I was dealing with reverse culture shock (I discussed this in a previous post), it didn't really sink in for a few weeks. Today, eight months later, I am sad to say that I have slowly gained at least ten lbs back. I weighed myself today after a week of not wanting to face reality and was shocked senseless. I told my mother recently that if I gain any more weight, Sarah Palin might just mistake me for a moose and well I don't want to go there...but my mom didn't seem to find that so amusing, "But you don't have horns," she said. Well I guess that about sums things up for now.

Random Ruminations

There's nothing like going to a foreign country, especially one with a very different culture than yours, to really make you "see" the world differently. I was prepared for a certain amount of culture shock when I went to India, but after all the research I'd done, what surprised me more was how easily I adjusted to seeing so many people out at all times of the day and night (in urban areas not out in the country), and how quickly I adapted to my new surroundings.

As I see myself as more "beige" than white, it surprised me that my presence in the New Delhi airport waiting to board the flight for Trivandrum seemed to be of interest to a number of people. I was aware of Indians examining me from head to toe with curiosity. It didn't feel rude or intrusive; it just was.

I remember the elderly Indian couple in the terminal who looked like they'd been married for ages and could finish each other's sentences. The man was dressed in a white toga-like outfit and looked sort of distinguished; his wife was somewhat diminutive, but I imagined her to be the family matriarch. They actually seemed very sweet and I envied them their closeness. I sensed they were trying to place me in their frame of reference without being overly obvious about it and were somewhat flummoxed.

For some reason, the few Europeans in the airport seemed to be more easily categorized and didn't elicit as much curiosity. I had sensed this when we were boarding the plane for New Delhi in Newark. I was aware that the South Asians sensed that on some innate level there was something both familiar and unfamiliar about me, but they couldn't quite locate me. They were welcoming to me on the whole and I felt "protected" in a way that I couldn't quite articulate to myself. Was it wishful thinking on my part? I don't think so, but who knows. Maybe being around them made me feel closer to my dad who I had really been missing since he had passed away a year prior to my trip.

Maybe it was just that after years of feeling "different" I still felt different but in a good way. I felt different in a more accepted way and I realized how comforting that can be. That isn't to say that every experience or interaction I had in India was positive. People are people and just like anywhere else, some people can be really nice and some people can be somewhat hostile. I remember the auto rickshaw driver who asked me in an angry tone if I realized that $100 US equals 3,000 rupees on the way to driving me to the American Express currency exchange, as though I was solely responsible for that fact. I tried not to personalize his umbrage and to just accept that to him I represented a very wealthy country. Maybe people feel somewhat differently after the events of these past few weeks with our economy seeming to flatline; I'm really not sure. Then again, maybe not. Everything is relative, as they say.

What really surprised was the reverse culture shock I experienced after just 21 days in India. I remember how Newark airport seemed like a remote spaceship to me when we landed early in the morning. As we queued up to go through customs, everything felt sort of surreal to me. I could see the young South Asian family who had sat next to me on the 15-hour flight just up ahead of me in line joking with the customs official. The husband had told me that he worked for Continental and they lived in Newark. He had been seated in first class, but came back to help his wife take care of the little ones, because the baby was crying and the little boy was restless. Our paths had crossed for fifteen hours and now they were going on with their lives and I was traveling on to Chicago.

There's something about traveling that never fails to amaze me in how one get thrown together with other people for a compressed period of time and suddenly they're gone off in their world and you're off to your little corner of the globe.

I remember being somewhat touched when the customs official said "Welcome home" in a really kind manner after skimming through my documents and asking me what the nature of my trip had been. But what struck me was that everything looked so spanking new and polished and everyone looked so "white."

This "culture shock" continued for days even after I arrived home in the Chicago area. Everywhere I looked, the landscape appeared strange to me and so depopulated. I have to say that this period of assimilation really took by surprise. It was the one area of my trip that I hadn't researched :)

I found myself missing the feeling of proximity to other people - veritable strangers - and that also surprised me. Even though I had cable at the $5 a night lodge I stayed at, as well as at the hotel in New Delhi, there was no television at the ashram and we had to line up to use the pay phones and the Internet. Cell phones were banned, but people used them anyway in the dorms. Mine didn't work on the frequency in India so I got used to being "disconnected" so to speak. I actually have never had cable in the U.S. but upon returning home, American television just seemed so different to me for some reason. Even today, eight months later, I can't quite put my finger on the differences. After all, there are Indian versions of CNN and MSNBC in India along with Seinfeld, Friends and Sex in the City and myriad other channels beaming shows from local Indian television, national Indian television and on and on. I remember seeing one show late at night when I couldn't fall asleep that was beamed from a Gulf state. Men with beards were walking on fire and there were camel races. It looked like something out of Lawrence of Arabia/.

Everything just felt so strange. It's the one thing you don't hear about when researching a trip to India is that when you return home you feel like a foreigner in your own land :)

Post-India Ruminations

I have neglected this blog for some months now. Since the blog was supposed to be all about planning my trip to India earlier this year, I haven't had anything to add since returning to the states this past February. So I've decided that going forward, this blog will be post-India ruminations, which is a little more all encompassing.

So I've been back for almost eight months now. I was just reading my earlier posts and it seems like a lifetime ago that I was planning my trip to India with anticipation and some trepidation. Sometimes it seems that some things were just meant to be. I had always wanted to travel to India, but after my father passed away exactly two years ago today, I began to realize that I needed to go to India to reclaim a part of me that I had never really had (my Indian heritage). I don't think I ever would have had the courage to travel to India alone if certain events in my life, such as losing my father, had not taken place. At times, life just seems to throw you into the eye of the storm and turn you upside down and you have no choice but to "ride the wave" of whatever life throws at you.

I'll never forget sitting on that plane and hearing the pilot inform us that we would be landing in New Delhi in a few moments. For some reason, all the babies started crying at the same time and as the lights dimmed for landing, I felt my fears and anxieties about the trip slowly start to slip away from me. On some level, I knew I'd be ok.

I felt so happy to finally be in India all these years later after hearing my father's stories about growing up in a small village in northern India (although I spent most of my time in South India). I felt closer to my father while I was in India and that stark sense of loss was muted; it was very comforting to me. More to come...

I Did It!

I conquered my fears and traveled to India and now I can really "breathe." It's interesting because I titled a pre-trip post "Breathe,"(about my trip anxiety), and at the Sivananda ashram in Neyar Dam (Kerala) where I stayed for ten days, we learned about breathing deeply and not shallowly as we in the west tend to do. I've had a few really bad sinus headaches since I returned and when I start to breath deeply, the headache seems to go away almost miraculously.

So my big fear about not being met at the airport in New Delhi was unfounded. A man from the hotel met me holding a sign with my name on it along with the hundreds of other people holding signs. Luckily my flight arrived at 9:30 p.m., which I'm told is a relatively peaceful time compared to 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. in the morning - the time most international flights arrive. On the flight from Newark to Delhi I was seated next to a young man (young to me now that I'm in my 40s) whose family is originally from New Delhi. He works in NYC in the financial services sector and was returning home for a wedding, but his parents actually live in Finland! He was very reassuring about my trip. He said he thought the yoga vacation in South India would be relaxing for me. We also had some interesting talks about politics and whether the new mini car that had just been introduced by Tata motors would take off in India. (Those long international flights bring out some rambling discourses).

Once I got to the airport and was going through immigration, a nice american man let me borrow his pen and offered to wait for me while I went to check if the hotel had met me. He told me not to leave the airport unless I felt secure about the taxi driver taking taking me to my destination. He also said if necessary, I could just stay overnight at the airport (pay to stay in a lounge area, which I'd also read about on indiamike.com). I was very grateful for his kindness. This is turning into a blow by blow account of my trip, but suffice it to say, I'm glad I went and it did change me in small ways and more momentous ways. I'm still processing everything in my mind so I'll end here, but it's a great feeling to conquer your fears. Yippee!!!!!!!!!!

Btw, here's a link to photos of my trip:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/23453793@N03/

And a big shout out to indiamike.com. I never would have survived this trip without all the wonderful advice from the kind folks on that forum.

Surreal moments in India

Hearing a muzak version of Chicago's "If you leave me now" and other hits from the 70's while waiting for take off and landing on Air Deccan.

Watching the Sound of Music on Indian television because everything was closed for Republic Day this past Saturday; watching old Seinfeld reruns; watching the indian media go crazy speculating whether Sarkozy's girlfriend was going to show up on this state visit and accompany him to the Taj Mahal.

More to come...