Reflections on a journey: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

When you spend two months in India, people expect you to come back with something. Not like a scarf or a tan,  but something equally tangible. So, what am I bringing back? Besides several scarves, some sparkly bangles, and a new found appreciation for probiotics and Imodium? Lots of things. Most of them I'll keep to myself, but I have been composing a list in my head for the past few days. Actually, it's two lists - Things I Will Not Miss About India and Things I Will Miss About India- but like most things having to do with India, the opposites intersect and edges blur and intertwine in such a way that they are sometimes indistinguishable. 


Appropriately, a mashup ensued - please see below. In the coming days, I'll be going back and adding photos to the blogs I previously posted (sorry, the Internet situation in India goes snugly in the "WON'T MISS" category; posting photos while there was a three-step process that was usually hampered by slow or non-existent WiFi connections). Also, one of the immediately tangible items from my trip is my shiny new blog, The Skeptical Yogi. It can be found here: http://theskepticalyogi.wordpress.com/. It will be primarily focused on healthy living topics and yoga. I'll keep this site for personal use, but I'll be updating regularly over there.


Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.



1) I will not/will miss the driving. My driver, BK, told on the first day of my Rajasthan road trip that Indian drivers require only three things: Good brakes, good horn, and good luck. I've been to some countries where traffic "laws" have been treated more as "suggestions", but never anywhere like India. In India, there aren't even any discernible suggestions. It's total mayhem all the time. It's great and it's terrible. It's loud and noisy and stinky, but teeming with life and more representative of real life in India than any museum diorama could ever hope to be.


2) I will not/will miss the cows. In India, cows are everywhere. It's not unusual to see traffic stopped because some cows decided to take a midday snooze in the middle of the road. They have free reign of the place (meaning, the whole country), and as such, walking anywhere should never be a mindless activity. The smell of cow dung permeates the air, sometimes bringing a whiff of freshness and life, other times a malodorous tiding of a ruined shoe, moments too late.


3) I will not/will miss the complete lack of privacy in India. I will miss it because it really made me appreciate American culture, a lot, on a daily basis. We may be considered prudes in the eyes of more liberal countries, but in the U.S., we take our personal space and privacy seriously. I didn't realize how much I valued that until it vanished. In India, there are very few boundaries. Few questions are off limits, and "personal space" isn't part of the national vocabulary. In a country where it's not uncommon to see a dog and a person sharing the same strip of grass to do their morning business, such notions are laughable. 


4) I will not/will miss the food. Lots of my fellow students complained about the food we had during our month of training. I thought it was great. I happily ate (most) everything we were served, and occasionally paid for it. I will miss the wonderful flavors and aromas of the food. I am looking forward, however, to some variety! It won't be long before I try my hand at cooking some of the meals we were served regularly.


I mostly won't miss the hygiene situation in general. Both the bathrooms and the cultural hygiene mores I am happy to leave behind. The morning routine is one I especially won't miss. The first time I heard it, I had just settled down to a delicious-looking breakfast at my hotel in Jaisalmer - a fresh mango lassi, paradtha and pickles, and piping hot Marsala chai. I was starving and began to dig in, when I couldn't help but notice a ghastly sound coming from a nearby outdoor bathroom. It sounded like someone was getting horribly ill. Retching and hacking sounds emanated from the poor fellow inside. I felt bad for him, and the barf concerto in B flat put me off my breakfast completely. 


It wasn't until that guy skipped out of the bathroom looking fresh as a daisy, and the next guy stepped in and began a new series of horrible retching sounds, that I realized this was just part of the daily routine. It doesn't have a name that I know of, but it's a terrible-sounding sort of throat clearing process that most Indian men do every morning after brushing their teeth. I can happily live the rest of my days without hearing that sound again. 


The last thing that bears mentioning is treatment of women. Even though living it gave me a new appreciation the why, I still found myself chafing daily at the assumptions that were made about me again and again, just because of my gender.  I understand that women there are, for the most part, respected and revered. The part I couldn't wrap my head around was the "I'm such a delicate flower" part, where because I'm a woman, I can't walk around by myself, or drive, or wear a tank top because my lady powers might make the menfolk crazy and then who knows what could happen!! The part where I walked into a shop to buy some pencils and have to  run out because the proprietor of the shop  thinks it's okay to put his arm around me and try to kiss me because I'm a delicate flower (also, because I am a hoochie momma Westerner, thanks a lot, Hollywood) - that part?! That part I won't miss. 


As I was getting off the plane in Helsinki, I was flooded with relief that I was back in the "West". Not surprisingly, some Indian dude tried to elbow past me on the jet way, and at first I acquiesced. Then I remembered, I'm not in India anymore! "You're in my house now, bitch!" I thought, as I elbowed him back and strutted off without the slightest bit of remorse.

I Try Too Hard and Help Me Choose A New Vice

Last night, I left the mountains.  Light rain streaked the windows of the Volvo bus I was seated in as we careened our way around the terrifying, hairpin turns I had come to know and love. There was a Bollywood action/adventure/romance film playing on the TV overhead, but I paid it no mind. I was thinking about all that had happened over the course of the past month. I was contemplating the strange nature of change - how it never seems to happen when you're inside looking out. 


But change I have, there is no question. The trousers I wore to India, once snug, now sit loosely around my waist.  It's not just phsyical, though. There's something different about the way I feel. I feel balanced - centered. (Although shame on anyone who spends a month meditating in the Himalayas and doesn't walk away feeling at least a bit more centered.)  It's more than a mere feeling of balance, though. Over the course of the last two months, I've had to face a few personal demons. I felt like Atreyu from The Neverending Story, when he looks into the Mirror of Truth. It's scary, and it takes some guts, but in the end, it's worth it. And in my case at least, it wasn't so bad. 


Two items of note emerged over the course of the past two months. One is:


I sometimes try too hard.


I always have to be the first one in class finished. I always have to get the highest score on a test. There's photographic evidence of this from my childhood - a ballet recital where the rest of the class is doing a plie and I'm doing what appears to be a bodybuilder's squat, my butt hovering inches from the floor. They plied, I plied harder. 


The problem with this is, there's an error in the circuitry somewhere. In my bulldog-like refusal to accept anything less than absolute perfection, I have caused myself to miss out on a lot. Because somewhere along the line, a competitive streak got mixed in with the Quest for Ultimate Perfection in Everything. The logical conclusion to this was: Anything that I cannot be the absolute best in is not worth doing.  Naturally, the circle that included these things widened with age, and continued to grow until, before I realized it, I had stopped trying at just about everything. If I couldn't be the best of the best, what was the point?


I've decided to try to strike a sort of balance. The pathological perfectionism can't be helped. Nor can the competitiveness. However, I can use these to my benefit, as long as I am able to find balance. I will continue to seek perfectionism in yoga, even though I know it doesn't exist. I will also be the absolute best yoga teacher I know how to be. I will be constantly trying to improve (in order to beat myself, see?).  At the same time, I have to practice acceptance. I can't be the absolute best at everything all the time. 


Another small item (not nearly as heavy, I think):


I need a new vice. 


I enjoyed the crap out of my vices before I came to India. Particularly smoking. That expensive, life-shortening, stinky habit made me so happy. I loved smoking. I won't lie, if there was a way to reconcile a pack-a-day smoking habit with my aspirations to pursue a career in healthy living, I would have found it and would now be puffing cheerfully away at an Indian cigarette. But, alas, there isn't. Not even in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way. Booze doesn't really fit in, either, except for the ocassional glass of wine. Shopping? Being that I'm presently unemployed, this might not be the best choice. Eating? Please see "fits in with a healthy lifestyle" above.

Trying on new vices! Not as fun as smoking but more delicious.

Hm. I'm currently flummoxed. Cussing is at the top of the short list at the moment, but that's all I've come up with. Since I'm in "vacation" mode this week, I have induldged a bit in some shopping and eating (how have I never experienced Red Mango frozen yogurt before today?!). When both of my feet are again firmly planted in reality, I will need to find a vice or two that is sustainable. 


Suggestions are highly #*!@ing appreciated.

Buggin' Out

The monsoon rains have arrived at the ashram, and with them came bugs. Lots of bugs.  The rains have been a welcome respite from the heat and humidity, but I would happily bear the heat over the insect invasion any day. 


In the beginning of the course, there were flies and some mosquitoes. Mostly they were just an annoyance during yoga class - Shavasana Pete, as I call him, is the fly who lands on your nose during relaxation (he has a brother - Meditation Maury). The peaceful quiet of morning yoga class is always punctuated by the sound of people slapping away mosquitoes. 


Since the rains, though, the mosquito population has mushroomed. There are a lot of them, and they are ravenous. Today during afternoon yoga class, I got three bites. During dinner, two. By now, I am the Bruce Lee of mosquito swatting, so those are the lucky ones who managed to get a bite in. I have given up any reservations about chemicals and cover myself in DEET whenever I leave my room, and still, I am covered in bites.


In addition to the mosquito plague, the monsoon has brought cockroaches. I live in New York, so I have seen my share of cockroaches. These aren't your garden variety NYC cockroach. These are small-bird-sized monsters who descended from the Himalayas on WINGS. Yes! Enormous, winged cockroaches! My roommate and I had the ill fortune of having one visit our room the other night. After our subsequent freak-out, our teacher, Krish, assured us there was nothing to worry about because they don't bite. WHO CARES IF THEY BITE! Just the look of them is the stuff of nightmares.


I had been very proud of myself because I hadn't had any major freak-outs over the spiders. The spiders here aren't very big, but they jump. *Shudder* I have mentioned on here before that I am not fond of spiders. This is a vast understatement. My Australian classmates think it's hilarious when I scoot myself across the floor during class to avoid the path of a nickel-sized spider. What they don't realize is, that scoot is an exercise in restraint for me. Usually a spider sighting means a full-on spaz attack from yours truly. The Australians can roll their eyes all they want - the huntsman spider is the sole reason I may never visit that continent.


It's not all bugs and rain, though. It's mostly pretty fun. Our days are jam packed, and there's always something new going on. In the evenings, we sometimes gather around for bijans, which are songs in Sanskrit. It's usually during those times that I take a moment to look around and appreciate how lucky I am to be right here, right now.