Love comes uninvited...

The cool shade of the trees and the yielding soft sand were a welcome relief from the long tiring walk back from the temple high up in the hills. The absence of waves and the mellow green water did not make the riverside any less like a beach. They stripped straight away and dived into the cold but welcoming river.He felt the eyes of a girl on him as he emerged from the river. To see desire for you in a woman's eyes...

They had kept their bags under a tree near an Indian family, from the city, with a Ray Ban wearing mom constantly admonishing her two little kids to stay out of the water. She spoke in English but in a lazy drawling sort of way. The hour of the day and the hypnotizing river was making him feel the same. The kids were having a whale of a time with their 'didi', someone akin to an Au pair. Didi literally means elder sister but like bhaiyya (elder brother) the term is overused on anyone elder to you, but not too old ! The didi kept stealing glances at him and he enjoyed this flirtation of the eyes which was becoming a rarity in today's modern world. Though enjoyable he sometimes wished that Indian women be more direct and declare their intent in a more straight forward manner. Her heavy hair was tied loosely in a bun and her wet salwar kameez now clung seductively accentuating her body. Playing with the children in the water she seemed to be one of them and it seemed to make her more lovely. Probably, a girl from a small village gone to work for the rich in the city.

The kids just refused to leave the water despite the girl's frequent pleas. But it looked like she was as interested in splashing about as they were. As the minutes slipped by, he drifted off to slumber. The sun was warming his legs when he opened his eyes again and the family was getting ready to leave. His thoughts returned to her and her life in the city. Did she have a room of her own or did she sleep with the kids? Did she see her parents often or did she have any at all? Idle questions with no relevant answers...

She lingered on the wheatish river sand and was the last to leave. She didn't look in his direction as they made thier way back up to the road. The beautiful wierd imaginings of the male mind says with sure conviction that every girl who look twice in their direction are hopelessly in love with them. But maybe love cannot be invited at all. It comes on its own time, in forms we never recognize until long after...

His friend soon remarked that they had forgotten to take the little girl's shoes.
"The maid is going to get thrashed for that", the friend chuckled.
He noticed the cute little pink slippers in front of them and smiled thinking of the impending fury of the rich woman who would no doubt be very attached to these little slippers. Silly of the didi to have missed that right under her nose.
Soon she came back, but with light steps and a neutral face , no sign of having even got a scolding. .She swooped down on the sandals in one fluid motion and for the first and last time looked into his eyes and smiled.

Life begins...

...with the gentle chiming of the bells at four in the morning. By the time I gain full consciousness half an hour drifts by. The Room Mate's already up at half past three bending over his ass in weird positions I haven't seen in any yoga book before. Ah, always depressing to have an over enthusiastic room mate !  The weather's dry and so is my skin and hence after applying a generous amount of oil on my slightly shivering body I head for my cold bath. The bathroom is thankfully empty and by the time I head out 5 minutes later, the wind has picked up speed and started blowing relentlessly down the mountains. I slip into my white kurta pyjama 'uniform', the supposed hallmark of a Brahmachari, someone who practises purity in thought, word and deed. Ha Ha! Nevertheless I think the colour of the apparel does affect me. For the past 3 weeks dressed in what some may consider to be prison overalls I feel a strange calm. Next I do pranayam (breathing exercise) to quieten the mind (tough luck!) and also for my hayfever.

When the bells toll at five we are assembled in the hall sitting crosslegged on the floor and chanting mantras from the Vedas. Despite my initial indifference Sanskrit's a powerful language and its hard not to be moved by the surging voices of 40 sleep deprived souls !  We sit quietly for an hour trying to tame the wild monkey inside, the mind. Before breakfast i do neti( pouring water through one nostril and out through the other) and try to master shirshasan [the king of all asans(postures), where you basically stand on your head and try to look cool and relaxed while youre contemplating how not to break your neck while coming down]

The 'morning' session proper consisits of a series of lectures on various topics like Patanjali Yoga Sutras, The Upanishads, Religious Consciuosness, Western Philosophy, Indian Philosophy, Bhagwat Geeta, Narada Bhakti Sutras, etc. The teachers vary in age from 25-85, most are sanyasins of some stature spiritually. Evenings are spent doing half an hour of Karma yoga ( doing a job to perfection but without attachment to the result ). Hatha Yoga (  The Yoga of postures and breathing) follows at 5 in the evening. Dinner's at seven and its lights out at 10 pm.

Breakfast's a simple affair with a small katori( bowl) of upma/rice. There's a smile on everyone's face when idlis(steamed south indian rice cakes) are dished out, which happens once a week.

                                                             Image courtsey: Wikipedia

Ok it doesnt look as esthetically tempting as above, but for a South Indian idlis in any arrangement is welcome! Now lunch is interesting. As in breakfast we all sit on the floor crosslegged with empty plates and katoris. The sanyasins are served first. Rice roti , sabji( vegetable curry mix) ,dal, buttermilk or curd and on lucky days when a rich dude happens to drop by and donate, we are spoiled with absolutely ravishing gulab jamuns and custard ! Ok imagine all  this stuff on your plate. The sight and smell's killing you but you can't touch it unless the mantra chanting is finished, which takes an agonising 10 minutes. But soon the go ahead is given and this is when the real meditation happens. Everyone single mindedly concentrates on stuffing the food down within the alloted time of 20 minutes. There's no restriction on the amount of food but wasting any is frowned down upon. Another short prayer and everyone's up to wash their plates and burp away contentedly.

Next: Love comes univited...

The lump in my pants...

I sit in front of a screen taking forever to load Blogger. Despite the speed of the internet, it feels as if I am abroad, coz im surrounded by white bodies. Rishikesh was all jungle just 40years ago. Hard to believe seeing the rush of people in search for salvation now that wild animals once roamed this very place not so long ago. At the foothills of the Himalayas with the Ganga's eternal presence, it's still beautiful with lots of forest cover, not a bad place for enlightenment ! I'm in an ashram learning the flavour of Vedanta for 2 months. The day starts at 4 and ends at 7. I hardly check mail and blogging once a week, maybe less, is the only activity I might do on the net  for the foreseeable future. The day is so full I don't miss the internet that much although sometimes I wonder what my blogging buddies are upto. The sanyasins(Hindu monks) who teach me also question the 'wordly' life and it's ramifications. hmmm not helpful at all. ;) Hopefully I will get to read what some of you guys have been upto  soon. For the people who keep reading and leaving comments I can only say that Im very very lucky to have such good readers !

My mobile phone gave up the ghost in Manali. Truth to be told, I was using it more as a camera than a phone. A small voice in my head kept telling me that this was a sign and to trash the set. Which I did. But I also got a new Nokia 1303 (or was it 1203?) whose unusual feature was that while making a call your neighbour could hear the person at the other end of the line more clearly that you. While getting on the bus to Rishikesh I felt something amiss. Something was just not right ! Yes the permanent lump in my pants pocket where my phone used to be. I panicked for a millisecond and then decided to just let the damn thing  go. On the bumpy bus ride I could swear that I could feel the phone vibrating in the pocket. Almost like a bloody phantom limb. It was Holi and i had a window seat. I got reasonably wet with all the kids by the side of the road taking upon themselves to give unsuspecting bus passengers a colour bath.

So far the ashram's been good to me except for a few health niggles. It's beautiful to live by the side of a river so beautiful . Ganga changes her hue throughout the day but mostly its a warm green. Ah one of my big toes seems to be getting infected despite my crude attempts at surgery with a safety pin and dettol !May have to show it to a professional soon.

Om shanti shanti shanti...

Sublime snow

We have a dorm accommodation in a mountain hut. I opt for a small room crammed with 9 other guys. There's no heating during the day time. At dusk, a boy comes around with sawdust and a strange powder which he puts in a furnace like apparition which burns and simmers till around 1 in the morning. Sometimes under the sleeping bag it felt like i was in Kerala during the summer. The hardest thing to do was to strip. Removing clothes when its bone freezing cold requires for me atleast 10 minutes of talking to myself, pacing up and down and then slowly to start the process by peeling away the warm snow boots and the slightly wet cotton socks.

The first few days all we see as we gaze outside the window is the snow. Outside its breathtakingly beautiful in a valley surrounded by the majestic white peaks of the Himalayas. In the midst of all the skiing, one often forgets the magnificence around. The 20 odd people were of a mixed age group with youth predominating. I was one of the 'older' folks with two twin girls of six making up the other extreme. Our instructor was a cool 24 year old guy who started skiing since he was six.

The skis were taller than me and were not that light. Throughout the 2 weeks, we carry the skis around more than we actually ski. It's 5 seconds of skiing (more accurate term: falling) and then unlocking your skis, hoisting it on your shoulders and climbing the slope again.The snow boots were very heavy and cumbersome  but warm. They were also slippery to walk on cemented ground as evident by the numerous falls in the dining hall  ! It was a great thrill though to finally put my skis on and to start skiiing. Not for long though, for falling happens more often than skiing in the first week.Starting with 'downhill' we progressed to 'snow plough' , 'traverse', 'side step', etc. The young devils in our course made it look so simple. Most of them had already skiied quite a bit before. The hard part after a 'crash' was to find these little guys looking at me with pity and to endure a lecture on the finer points of skiing.

We had a race at the end of the course fom a slope so steep that I was sure I would either end up dead or with a lifetime disability. Each person races on his own and is timed individually. Though I was almost shitting in my pants just before my turn, once I started I had a ' in the zone experience'. Only the slope ahead was before me and the speed was thrilling. I tagged the poles with ease and for the final curve even stepped on the gas. Thud! Yep, the inevitable fall but I recovered quickly to storm the finish line. An exciting high and I realized that the guy who just did the race was not me.

The constant pressure on my big toes from the snow shoes means that i have two swollen toe nails all black and blue. I limp around now but  am happy that i finished my course in one piece. The bus back to Delhi was advertised as semi deluxe but infact very ordinary. Arriving at my photographer friend's place he was so shocked at my changed countenance that he took snaps. My face was the colour of coal except for the part where Ray Ban shades provided some uv protection and my lips were split. A true vagabond.

On to Rishikesh and beyond...