A Girl's Guide to Mysore, Part Nine - Coming hOMe

Well, I’m back in New York. The passport is back in the drawer. I work tomorrow at 7:00am. India is over. My two-week visit to Israel (after India...to see my boyfriend) is over. Christmas with family in Florida is over. Reality is settling in. Or maybe I am settling back into it.

To say that my experience in India was life changing is a little over-dramatic. I mean, in all actuality it did little to alter the current course of my daily life. I have the same job, the same apartment, and the same bank account with way too little in it! But in more subtle ways India has changed me forever. This trip, my first pilgrimage to the birthplace of yoga, has answers existing questions and brought up new ones I didn’t know existed.

I return to my life in New York inspired and enthusiastic. I know I’m on a path, and I’ve been faced with opportunities already that make me incredibly grateful to have found this path. But while in Mysore, I must admit that I was incredibly frustrated with the westerners (of course there are some notable exceptions with whom I certainly have formed friendships) I met. These “seekers” seemed arrogant, loud and entitled. Was I really one of them?

These questions were met with challenges in India with which I never imagined I’d be faced. One of the most interesting externally was not actually in yogasana class, but in strange, unexplained hair-loss. All in all, I think I lost almost half of the volume of my hair. It could have been iron, the poor water quality or maybe stress, but whatever the cause, the result was quite unsettling. (My hair looks great now, by the way!)

Internally, I faced myself on levels that taught me a lot about my views and beliefs. I am still in awe that I was able to have the experience in Mysore, studying this amazing lineage. I value freedom. I value creativity. I believe in the evolution of our spiritual practices, and I am confident in the voice I hear inside my own head.

This New Year’s Eve I continued a tradition I started last year. I attended the annual Jivamukti event: a two-hour master yoga class with Sharron Gannon and David Life, vegan dinner, kirtan and then the practice of silence for three hours, until the clock strikes midnight. At the moment of the New Year, we chant 108 rounds of a mantra. It was during the silence that I really had a chance to reflect on the incredible year I had.

What I’ve learned most this year is to control with conviction what you have control over, to resign to the things you cannot control and to have patience. And, I know I’ll return to India again, I already feel the urge….stay tuned

A Girl's Guide to Mysore, Part Eight - om asatoma...

The Sanskrit classes I took in Mysore were most certainly one of the best parts of my experience. I felt a real shift in my understanding of the language. A click, a lightbulb you might say, went off in my mind as I learned more and more about the grammar and structure of the beautiful language.

I’d like to share some of my homework:

above: asana names written in devanagari script

above: close up

above: practicing vowel endings, with corrections from my teacher.

om om om!

These flowers say ignore me

This tree has strewn

Paper-thin crepe flowers.

Their pale petal’s crinkled edges

barley display that tinge of purple

tree-life gave them.

And their folds along delicate sides

float and land next to the mix of

trash. Crumpled

mini candy wrappers

also white from the sun’s bleach

and plastic bags bear

witness to water

bottle lids

My India-induced mind,

for one moment forgets,

which is beautiful.

And which is not.

A Girl’s Guide to Mysore, Part Seven – My Indian Nose Bling

I got my nose pierced on a lovely fall day in NYC’s East Village. Accompanied by my good friend Jenna, I chose a simple gold stud and kept it in for over a year. My mother had strictly forbid me to even think about doing such a deed. “It’s gross,” she insisted. But after her initial repulsion, even mama conceded that it looked cute on me!

I’ve always been fond of and fascinated by body adornment, what girl isn’t? I played with henna in high school, contemplated (but thankfully never completed) dozens of tattoo options, and even rocked a bellybutton ring for a hot sixteen-year-old second.

In India, nose piercings are much more than common. I’d estimate that in the city of Mysore a good 70-85% of adult women have piercings in their nostril. What my fairly liberal and usually accepting American mother thought was “gross” is almost a required mark of femininity here on the subcontinent. Some of the piercings I’ve seen are on the left nostril, like mine. Apparently your region of origin determines which nostril you pierce, as I have also seen my fair share of right ones. I’ve even seen both nostrils pierced (yes, Brittany Lauren Groth, believe it).

I think the jewelry is just magnificent. There are no miniscule diamond studs bashfully hiding on these noses! The designs are larger than we’re used to seeing in the U.S., and extraordinarily ornate. My favorites are round shaped studs, almost like undersized coins, with details including balls, curves, flowers, and indentations. There are also hoops, complete with diamond embellishments and dangling ornaments.

I immediately knew India would be the place to update my sniffer’s style (sorry, couldn’t help the alliteration). I couldn’t find any suitable jewelry in the markets popular with tourists. Obviously the women in Mysore are getting their bling somewhere else. Deeper downtown, I guess I stumbled on the jewelry district. On Ashok Road there are tons of jewelers; it’s gold and silver galore! But I actually purchased my new ornament right in Gokulam at Ashwin Jewel Palace (right across the street form Nilgris Grocery). Problem number one: I couldn’t get my nose ring out! After days of gentle experimentation, and a little coconut oil (India’s cure all) I managed to slide it out last night. Success! Problem number two: I couldn’t get my new nose ring in.

Apparently the gauge my piercer used is totally common in the U.S., but a tad smaller than the Indian norm. Also, we’re used to using a simple one-piece nose ring. Imagine a tiny nail inserted through the piercing and then gently bent to keep it secure. Indians usually use a more complicated two-piece stud. One piece is a screw with the design on it…and the other piece is a larger tube with a stopper on it, into which the screw piece will twist. The tube-like piece is inserted into the nose from the inside, and then the screw piece is put into place and twister from the outside.

Confused? Yeah, me too. Try doing this alone, with your hands (which you now realize are, compared to your nostril, HUGE) and an unsuitably sized hole. Fail.

Luckily, I live next door to a beauty salon. They advertise full-scale bridal makeovers, and since jewelry is such an important part of the Indian bride’s look, I thought they might offer piercing services.

It took all eight hands belonging to four Indian women (all with nose piercings, by the way) about six minutes to insert my new jewelry, but here it is! They didn’t even charge me, I guess they don’t actually offer piercing services, but still insisted that they do it. I’ll be sure to see them again for a pedicure. The design is 22-karat gold. I liked the shape because it almost resembles a heart. It’s still super subtle compared to a lot of the fantastic jewelry I’ve seen here, but after all, I am going to mom’s house for the holiday’s…hope she approves!

A Girl’s Guide to Mysore, Part Six – Anonymity is Nonexistent in India, Even on the Sacred Hills.

I miss anonymity. It was one of the things that most attracted me to New York City. The sense of millions of people, each in their own world, not required to pay attention to even their neighbor, let alone someone of a different color. In India staring is not considered rude. New York is such a diverse city, and in my neighborhood of South Harlem, I’d hardly say I, as a white girl, am a common sight. But even as a minority in the predominately African neighborhood, I have a certain sense of privacy. Nobody really cares. New Yorkers are pretty happy to totally ignore each other unless someone’s in their way. If someone looks at me on the street it’s usually a man commenting on my pretty face or my ass. Even this is can deal with! I’ve even come to appreciate this unfair, but unavoidable form of street harassment. More likely though, nobody even bothers to give me a second glance.

But here in India I’m feeling the full effects of being a minority in a culture that doesn’t find anything wrong with staring at the unfamiliar. Thankfully, the neighborhood of Gokulam where our yoga shala is located is immune to this, due to the high number of white western students that visit the shala yearly to study at the KPJAYI. The residents of the community have pretty much embraced us (both the sight of us, and the power of our wallets), and I don’t ever feel uncomfortable here. But to leave the confines of the yoga community is to really become visible.

Children usually say hi to me. If it’s a small, curious, seemingly well-behaved group I usually say hi back, or at least smile. Women state at my hair and clothes. Men stare, but not in a sexually harassing way, in fact there is an overwhelming sense of asexuality in this entire city. I’ve never felt objectified; partly of course because of the modest clothes I’m careful to wear. But I’m sure to get stares from many people, wherever I go.

The most frustrating experience I had with this was certainly my trip to Chamundi Hill. The Chamundi Hills lie on the outskirts of Mysore and are one of eight sacred hills in south India. According to legend the goddess Chamundeswari killed a demon here and there is a temple dedicated to her on the summit of the hill. About half way down the just over 1000 steps is a statue of Shiva’s bull. This is a holy site. This is also a tourist attraction; it’s also a common field trip for youngsters in the area.

One the afternoon I visited with my friend Shanna, we took a rickshaw to the top of the hill and planned to walk down. We quickly realized it wouldn’t be the relaxing and spiritual afternoon we’d anticipated. Kids, mostly boys, from age 8 or 9 all the way to age 15 or 16, mobbed us. A few girls talked to us and wanted to know where we were from, but they were gentle and shy. The boys followed us down the entire hill. I’m sure they were the kind of kids that would create a ruckus no matter the situation, and it’s certainly not indicative of the entire Indian population of pre-teen boys. I certainly felt harassed by them. They threw bottles at us to get our attention. They wanted to touch us. A particularly mischievous bunch would even stop and taunt us each time we tried to pause to let them pass us. We’d motion for them to continue and they’d reply, “oh we take rest now,” only to get up and follow us. We turned to ignoring them, and even at a low point, to yelling and feigning an open palm, ready to slap! This trip down a holy hill quickly became a test of our emotional stability.

When I told my boyfriend, he smiled and responded, “suddenly not so east being white, huh?” I understand that it’s silly to feel a victim because of my white skin. Certainly I am not a “minority” in the larger sense of the word. People of my skin color have long made those of darker skins and different races to feel small and inferior and unimportant. I have no connection to these feelings of racism in any context. I just find the feeling of discomfort in my own skin here in India a new and interesting experience. Another interesting part of the equation is the prevalence of skin whitening creams and procedures. The darker south Indians actually want to have whiter, lighter skin! Do they know about the tanning craze we have in the west? That all we want is to have a healthy deep glow to our skin. Is this just a classic case of the grass is greener, or is a deeper cultural issue, a classic case of culture shock on both our sides?

Aside from the boys on Chamnudi Hill, I have really felt welcome here, despite the staring. The picture at the top of the post shows a window full of sweet, curious kids at a school I visited. The residents of Mysore seem to just be interested. Next time I’m in India, I’ll be more prepared for this experience. It’s unavoidable. Thankfully, every day I spend here I feel more comfortable, but still some days I have an urge to don a veil just to stop the stares!

A Girl’s Guide to Mysore, Part Five - Coconut Lessons

I don't know how I'll live without fresh coconuts back in the states... Here's a picture of Shanna and me with my tiny coconut and her HUGE coconut. There are coconut stands all over Mysore. You are almost certain to find a coconut in any neighborhood. They're a wonderful source of electrolytes and clean hydration in a city where the tap water is unsafe.

My local coconut stand in the heart of Gokulam is a daily stop. There are three types of coconuts available at the Guru Coconut Stand:

1. Just Water

2. Hard Meat

3. Jelly Meat

Somehow the coconut gurus know exactly which coconut will have what inside of it. In this picture Shanna has a coconut with hard meat in it. These coconuts are usually a little bigger and have much less water. When you're finished drinking the water, you give it back to the little coconut man and he hacks it open so you can eat the hard coconut meat. In the picture I have a water coconut, which is usually (but absolutely not always) a bit smaller than the others. This coconut just has water in it. The third type has coconut meat like jelly inside it. Once again, you drink the water and then give it back to the coconut man so he can hack it open and scoop out the jelly meat for you to eat with a mini spoon/scraper he creates from a piece of your coconut. I prefer just water, but sometimes I'm in the mood for one of the other varieties.

These coconut men have a stand just a minute's walk from our yoga shala and you can always see a gaggle of western yoga students and Indians alike gathered to get some hydration. Even though it's super close, the coconut guys are savvy businessmen and almost always have a mobile coconut cart outside the yoga shala in the morning for us students to buy after practice in the mornings. I'd say about 99% of us drink a coconut or more every single day! I've heard of one guy who drinks 10 every day!

The coconut guys are masters of their machetes and super efficient in whacking off the tops of these amazing coconuts. For some thrill-seeking reason, Shanna wants to learn to cut her own coconut open and one of the nice young coconut men said he'd teach her. I'll remain a camera person...stay tuned for the video.

Happy coconut drinking!

A Girl's Guide to Mysore, Part Four - Thanksgiving: Mysore Style

This Thanksgiving I had the pleasure of accompanying my friend and fellow yogi Shanna to a school in the outskirts of Gokulam where she volunteers to teach weekly. The class of ten girls and ten boys (all about twelve years old) were thrilled to see her, and meet me, "Miss Dana." We taught in a small room with two benches (no desks or chairs) and a chalkboard.

The students are precious. They are smart. They are beautiful. They are blessed. They are so interested to learn, and so bright and hopeful for their futures. These kids could probably jump into any American class of their grade level and be ahead of their American peers, even though their English is still not perfect. They want to be doctors and software engineers and teachers and one lovely little girl, a dancer. Another darling girl says she writes poetry.

Shanna's lesson plan includes personal journaling and drawing in their special notebooks (which she donated to them). We then taught the basics of Yama and Niyama, the first two limbs of the path of Yoga. We helped the students write sentences describing daily actions that might fit into the categories of Yama and Niyama. For example "I help my mother clean the house," or "I wash my face and come to school to learn." The kids are sweet and social, and extremely polite, even though they're a little rowdy!

Then we took a rickshaw all the way downtown to a restaurant called RRR, where they serve food on banana leaves. After a mix of rice, chickpea curry, spinach lentils, and some other amazing and delicious concoctions we were really feeling the Thanksgiving spirit! We finished our feast with some traditional Indian desserts from the bakery nearby. Mysore Pak, made of pure ghee and chick peas, was delicious, as was the ball of sweet dates, raisins, and shaved coconut.

Later that night we stopped by a kirtan at Chakra House (a restuarnt in Gokulam, near the shala) and finished with a mini evening feast of papaya, dosa and chocolate chip cookies from the Chocolate Man.

Now, back in my room, on a new moon day, I'm meditating on gratitude...

I am thankful for:

The unusual and wonderful Thanksgiving I was blessed enough to experience this year.

The space I have from the commercialized American holiday craze.

Having a close and healthy bond with my family, and the confidence that time away does not mean less love.

Health all around.

My partner, and the unselfish and insightful support he has given me during the time we've known each other.

My job. And the ability to take time away from it.

All the wonderful and diverse teaches I have learned from.

My physical apartment, and the increasing realization that home is not always the same space; it can exist wherever I am.

om santih santih santih.