Since my last few posts have been such downers, I thought it would be appropriate to balance things a bit.
A few months ago, one of my neighborhood acquaintances asked me what I thought about India. I said, without hesitation, “I love India.” He reacted as if he had just won a gift certificate for a year's supply of veg biryani at Gokul Chats. Since then he has asked me to repeat the "I love India" sentence several times. I guess it was to make sure that I still felt that way after being here longer and longer. Some year-round ashtanga students here say the “India euphoria” always wears off. Yet most of the Indians I have met have a great deal of pride in their country and culture, and they've been here since they were born. After nearly 5 months I still can see why. My opinion is highly subjective. It is that of a white, male, American tourist who is currently sober, into ashtanga yoga, gay, trying to figure out what to do with the second half of his life, and doing that in the Southern Indian city of Mysore. If any of those categories did not apply to me, then this list would have to be altered. Who knows, maybe I would not be loving India. Not everyone loves India, not even all ashtanga students, and certainly not all Indians. There is a lot to complain about. After my recent melancholic blogging, however, I want to stress that I am very glad I came here, and I am already looking forward to coming back. So here are some of the reasons why I love this place, not always exactly in order:
1. Sri K Pattabhi Jois and Sharath Rangaswamy. Mysore is where ashtanga vinyasa yoga was developed, and it has been the epicenter of this practice ever since. Although I have been to excellent ashtanga shalas in several Western cities, for me nothing compares to practicing in Mysore. People say that events, culture and religion seep into the soil, and even into the space above it, everywhere in the world. I definitely experienced this in a year spent in the north of Ireland, where eight hundred years of bloodshed, famine, and at the same time a certain kind of passion and resilience seemed palpable from what Yeats called the “terrible beauty” of the landscape. When I was flying to India from New York and asleep for hours after the exhaustion of getting ready for this trip, I had a nightmare about being involved in an earthquake. I woke up just as I was about to be crushed by a landslide. I noticed on the overhead flight progress monitor that we were passing over the area of Iran where massive earthquakes had recently killed thousands. This is a very longwinded way of saying that I do think geography matters, and I think it matters at least to some limited extent where you practice yoga. And this leads me to Guruji and his grandson Sharath, who carry on the lineage from Sri T Krishnamacharya, and who do so with inspiring dedication. Guruji will turn 89 in two months, and his mere presence reminds you in many ways that you are part of a long tradition. Some people say they have a love-hate relationship with him, but I have not seen anything to dislike, much less hate. His occasional drill-sergeant demeanor is such an obvious put-on, because he is so obviously full of love for his students. You cannot approach him without receiving a big smile and twinkling eyes. As I said before, Sharath has the patience of a saint. He has slowly taken me and many hundreds of others through many poses that seemed formidable if not impossible, just like Guruji has done, and Krishnamacharya before him. Sharath seems to know intuitively how hard to push or pull, and even when he is teaching 150 students per day, he notices when I don’t show up for class (which is another subject entirely), and he asks me why. That certainly never happened to me in any big class in college or law school. In any event, I like practicing where once in awhile you hear the same sounds of walking street peddlers yelling the same vegetable names that could be heard by early morning yoga practitioners hundreds if not thousands of years ago. Sa-poooooooohhh! (greens)
2. Getting a good, professional scissor haircut for the equivalent of 40 cents (and finding out that this supposedly was a rip-off). On the subject of how inexpensive things are here, enough said.
3. Sri Ramakrishna, and his temple at the Ramakrishna Ashrama on KRS Road. Ever since Katya first took me to the nightly bhajan (devotional chanting, singing and praying), I have been hooked by this greatest guru in the history of India. I was hooked by his presence, even though his body has been dead for over a century. My book knowledge of him was nil. For his part, he never read a book in his life. But because of the way I was brought up, I have devoured several books on his life and teachings. I was stunned to find out that three of my heroes, about whom I mistakenly thought I knew a lot, were Ramakrishna devotees. Joseph (“The Power of Myth”) Campell for many years was President of the Ramakrishna Vendanta Society and helped translate The Gospels of Ramakrishna. Renowned writer and gay icon Christopher Isherwood, the author behind Caberet and many better works of literature, was Ramakrishna’s official biographer. Aldous Huxley ("The Perennial Philosophy"; "Brave New World") wrote the forward to The Gospels. I was already hooked when I found out that Ramakrishna explored, respected, encouraged, and even practiced all major religions, because his sole object was God-realization. I was already beyond the need for any extra convincing when I read that he was gay ("Kali’s Child" by Jeffrey J. Kripal).
4. "Two-wheelers." I am one of those people who love them, despite a permanent Mysore scar on the side of my face from falling off in gravel. I love the swirl of scooter and motorcycle traffic in India, which reminds me of white-water rafting. I love charging out of the gate after a red light changes, with a hundred other bikes, like some ridiculous motorcycle-scooter gang. I love the cool wind on my face at dawn as I head for the shala, and I love it even more on the way to breakfast after a hot practice. I love driving on the left side of the road. I love learning the streets of Mysore, to the point where I arrive at some complicated destination, and cannot remember taking any of the many turns to get there, because i was operating on autopilot and soaking in the sights and sounds of the road.
5. The clash of cultures. I love being dropped into a culture that seems the opposite of America’s. This does not mean that I like everything about Indian culture. But even the aspects that I find appalling, like the treatment of most women (a few dynastic politicians and others excluded), serve as useful object lessons in how America is not all bad. For the most part, however, I am sensing that in India’s culture of faith and family, there are fundamentally important things that the United States is lacking. And my background is that of a leftist. Needless to say, I have never been a bible-thumper or exponent of “family values.” Yet I love the way an itinerant saddhu (similar to a priest without a congregation), can single-handedly start an elaborate puja (prayer ritual) in a garbage-strewn lot, and immediately attract a devout following. I love the way that despite the sometimes cruel features of life in extended families in India, no one seems to be left alone, and everyone seems to be loved and to have a place. (I say "seems," because i know that this is not completely true, as in the case of thousands of women being burned to death every year because their families allegedly did not pay sufficient dowry to the families of their husbands.)
6. “There is nothing in India but the weather, my dear mother; it’s the Alpha and Omega of the whole affair.” (Adela to Mrs. Moore in "Passage to India"). This also is not true, but there is truth in it. I love the absence of any buildings more than three stories tall, and the big, dominating sky everywhere except under broad-branching trees. I love the fact that I have experienced an entire summer in Southern India, and have found it to be not only survivable, but even enjoyable. Maybe they did not have good ceiling fans when E. M. Forster wrote that nothing in summer could be accomplished except in the early morning or late evening, “for the day, as the hot weather advanced, swelled like a monster at both ends, and left less and less room for the movements of mortals.” I love lying on a rug in mid-day in the indoor shade, with sunlight pouring on the walls, with a quiet but powerful fan overhead, while reading a good book, even if the book is outdated. Okay, I guess that is not "movement," but I do love walking outside in the middle of the day, when the whole place is like a ghost town, and briefly feeling like a French fry under a heat lamp. I also love the onset of the rainy season, where storm clouds just meander all over town, dropping their loads in swaths. So that just because it is sunny when you leave the house, it does not mean that there will not be a downpour in 5 minutes, and several times a day, interspersed with total, obliterating sunshine. I love the fact that it did not rain a single time for eight months before the first rain in April, because I loved the way people are happy about the rain. It means less water cut-offs, better crops, more hydroelectric power and fewer power cuts, cooler weather, and besides, people always find plastic bags to put on their heads.
7. I love the way it is so easy to make friends. I love seeing people everywhere who I think are exotic, and who at the same time think that I am exotic. I also love what Joseph Campbell simplistically called “India’s homosexual atmosphere.” I say “simplistic,” because it seems that few people in India think or act in terms of homosexual vs. heterosexual, or even think about homosexuality at all. See previous post on this subject. When I was a gay teenager, I tried to wriggle away in horror when even a beautiful beloved put his arm around me in public. In India, guys are arm-in-arm even when both are riding bicycles on a busy street. At my house, I have seen local “straight” guys sit in each other’s lap, and not only hold but caress each other’s hand. This, of course, is not sex. Sex between guys is sometimes called “the homosex,” or more often, “maasti,” which means mischief or play. I wonder how much more decent America would be if males were allowed to show affection for each other. I wonder how much more decent India would be if the sexes were not so segregated. I wonder if I am a fool for wondering these things.
8. I love the schedule of the really good days here, which have been many. Having a great ashtanga practice at the crack of dawn, followed by a leisurely outdoor breakfast at Tina’s or Holly & Tony’s with friendly fellow students from all over the world, then some reading and meditation, then a lunch under the big trees at Gokul Chats, served by the adorable waiter Ramesh, followed by harmonium class, then off the to Ramakrishna temple for an inspiring bhajan, if not a kirtan (chanting) organized by ashtanga students, and then an hour or two of laughs and/or romance with some local college students, followed by a relatively solid sleep. Is this utopia or what? It is true that my relatively solid sleep gets interrupted at night by mostly inane business calls from the West, but how many Western professionals can say that they get no interruptions in the daytime, because all of their clients are sleeping?
9. I love the enthusiasm of the young people of India, who seem to sense that India is taking its place in the economically and otherwise modern world, and I love the resilience of most everybody else, including most of the people who have been left behind by India’s economic advances. To someone who worries about losing a client or two or three, it is inspiring to see people who eke out a living, and seem to be happy, even though their per capita average earnings are $450 per year. (An exception must be noted: thousands of poor farmers recently have killed themselves, because they are so poor that it is impossible for them to provide for their families.) I love seeing a society where poor people vote in the hundreds of millions, where Hindu nationalists have been thrown out on their communal ass, and where a Sikh is now the Prime Minister. (Sikhs are about 2% of the population and have been subject to pogroms.) I love being a front-row spectator in a society in transition, where “Will and Grace” is a now a popular cable television show, where the custom of arranged marriages is on the decline, and where gays march openly in the streets of Mumbai, Kolkata, and Delhi.
10. I love seeing packs of monkeys jumping from tree to tree in my neighborhood. I love the fact that in the most glamorous hotel in Bangalore, The Oberoi, there is a card on the coffee table warning guests not to feed the monkeys who might enter their room through the balcony.
11. I love living in a city of 750,000 people where a murder is so rare that it is the subject of blaring front-page headlines. I love the fact that although I am a total alien who is presumed to have lots of money in my pocket, I have never once felt threatened in any section of this city or even the poorer outlying areas.
12. I love the way that being away from America for months makes it a positive thrill to sit around with some super-advanced ashtanga students, taking hits off of a hash bong, watching “Shaft” on DVD, and even listening to the first album by Black Sabbath.
13. I love Aunty, my harmonium teacher, who has devoted her life to teaching music to people of all ages. When I tried to pay her the first time, she even refused payment, despite the fact that she has been teaching me three days a week. I feel like I have let her down, just like I feel like I have let Sharath down, because I have not been working at anywhere near my capacity, but the fact remains that I am on the verge of being able to lead bhajans and kirtans, even though I may never lead them, when before I knew nothing.
14. I love the work that “Shiva” the student helper, has done for me. With his rickshaw and his extensive contacts throughout Gokulum and Mysore, he can help you do just about anything you need doing, from finding a place to live, to getting you a scooter, to taking you to the best places to buy just about anything that can be bought here. His rates are ridiculously reasonable, and on several occasions, he has refused to accept money from me for services rendered. He is also the ultimate font of wisdom about the practicalities of life in Mysore. I wish I had always followed his advice. His phone number is 9844-226-082.
15. I also love the assistance that Kevin, another student helper, has provided. He does just about everything that Shiva does, but he also does laundry and trips to places outside of Mysore. His number is 9883-353-606. Kevin has the added benefit of being a hardcore ashtanga student of Sri K. Pattahbi Jois. Kevin has helped me in so many ways that I cannot even list them all here. He also has been a good friend and advisor. In addition, if absolutely necessary, he will set off a series of percussion bombs to ward away evil spirits, if you have any trouble with your neighbors.
16. I love my “Rolfer” (a practitioner of “Structural Integration”), named Leanne, who is another ashtanga student. In 10 sessions she can properly realign your body and advance your practice. She is also a wonderful person, and her sessions remind me of good psychological therapy as well as physical. Her number is 0821-528-7606. Another highly recommended Rolfer is “Ken the Rolfer,” yet another advanced ashtanga student, but I have yet to have the benefit of his work, nor do I know his number.
17. I confess that I love the food. Hardly any of it is on my diet, but I love it anyway. This includes kharabhath, dal fry, masala dosas, bisebele bath, samosas, onion dosas, gobi manchuria, chapate, fenigreek rotis, and mangos! You will not necessarily lose weight in Mysore.
18. I love the barnyard atmosphere that permeates even the poshest streets of Gokulum, with cows, pigs, goats, dogs, water buffalo, and even wild horses, roaming around everywhere, breeding young ones and eating the garbage.
I love India.
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