The End of 2009

Another trip to the original Ayurvedic doctor, some not sooooo herbal-looking pills (unless hot pink and brillant orange are special Indian herbs), twenty-four hours later and I'm beginning to feel human again.     The second round of hives seems to have subsided, my face is no longer deathly white and I'm actually blogging again.    I found an apartment to move into tomorrow with two Italian ladies that I've never met who arrive in a few days.   There is internet IN the apartment so I won't have to battle mozzies and cold concrete to post this blog.    There is even an awesome cook in the new apartment---she cooked for us in 2006 when I was one of the only people I've ever known who actually gained 5 pounds.   I promise once I get moved in, I'll blog more regularly.   Stay posted.   I'm sure New Year's Eve in India is going to be an interesting one!   Things are definitely looking up.

Bad Water

I finally figured it out. The Universe made it so apparently clear yesterday. The source of all my ills: bad water. Yesterday I had lunch with a nice Indian woman who said that she drank the local water in Calcutta and almost died. Her digestive track has never been the same. That afternoon, taking it kind of easy due to my ongoing stomach ache, I read my astrologyzone.com horoscope for the month of December. It said: watch out for bad water in the month of December. I woke up this morning with the continued stomach ache remembering all the water they made me drink when I had some tests run at a local hospital earlier in the month. Then I remembered the awful stomach ache I had for a few days afterwards, though at the time I thought that it was suspect buffet. So now I’m about to dose myself with some antibiotics to see if that’ll work. Let’s hope that Lonely Planet’s recommendations are correct.


In the meantime, it’s turnover time here at the Institute. The December group is leaving as the January group is beginning to arrive. I still must find a new place to live. My list of projects-that-I-was-going-to-accomplish-in-India remains basically untouched. The thought of a list of New Year’s Resolutions popped into my head yesterday. It’s time to act because time is ticking regardless of my belly rumbles. So the Sunday plan is to go to Koregan Park and sit at the large beautiful swimming pool in the shade drinking fresh lime sodas and eating curd (to counteract those antibiotics). Maybe I’ll work on my New Year’s Resolutions after I read the Sunday newspaper and hope that medical magic will leaving me feeling revived to tackle my lists on Monday

Christmas in India

Besides the roadside sellers of Santa hats, a few oddly placed fake Christmas trees more likely than not decorated with flowers and white cotton "snow", and the expected department store displays of gringo Santa Clauses dressed in green velvet and cardboard reindeer,  Christmas is still a relatively mild force here in India.   After Geeta's pranayama class, a group of us went to the fancy smancy hotel, Le Meridian, for Christmas Eve dinner last night.   There was a huge assortment of delicious looking dishes.   Most of them looked yummier than they actually were and my favorites were clear:  the mashed potatoes and the green leaf lettuce.   Mmmmmm.   

As I sat drinking chai and interneting at the Hotel Chetak (our home internet is down again),  a nice Indian man introduced himself as a promotor of international friendship.    A perfect greeting on Christmas day:  Blessings to you all.  May the world be your friend.

Avatar

Yep.  We went to see it.  A packed house.   I don't think there was a single seat left in the whole place.   We had to pay extra $ to get the 3D glasses and thought for certain that it'd be a nightmare getting the cash back once we returned the glasses.   For once, in India,  the process was simple.   You handed them the glasses at the exit and they handed you cash.    They must be feeling generous with the xmas spirit.   It's unusual that processes in India are so smooth.

And if you haven't seen the movie yet?  Well, the plot is predictable and the movie with the glasses simply unbelieveably.     We liked it.   The Indian crowd seemed to like it.    It's worthy of the big screen.

There have been several adventures as of late, the most interesting were the trips across town to the Tibetain Acupuncturist, who smiled delightedly when his foot bath treatment caused my feet to turn bright red complete with swelling and itching.   "Detox"  he laughed as I eyed him dubiously, though I must admit his treatments have left me feeling a bit better.    Yoga works and so does Acupuncture!  

Classes have been challenging.   Geeta seems to be experiencing a period of frustration with us.   This is unforntunate for everyone involved.   I am looking forward to practice tomorrow with Gurujii.      To date, these mini-classes with the Master himself have been astoundingly rewarding and I look forward to sharing with you all what I've learned once I get back.

Merry Christmas!   Blessings and happiness to you all.  

The Salon Experience

Oxyrich Water. 300% more oxygen (is this even possible?). Patented Process. This is what my water bottle says. Then if you read carefully: 300% more oxygen is with reference to source water, under standard test conditions. So much for the patented process. I love the advertising in India.

Ahhh. The weekend. The Saturday morning women’s class was all about dropping back from Tadasana into Urdhva Dhanurasana. There was a lot of explaining and Geeta’s mood was a little less than cheery. I think most of us were relieved when it was finally over and the weekend began!

We had several delicious meals on the Terrace in the apartment next to mine. Heidi and I switched off cooking as Christine and Gabrielle took turns doing the dishes. I hope that this arrangement continues through the rest of my stay at this apartment! So far, I’m still homeless for January.

Sunday, we ventured across town to the big, beautiful swimming pool surrounded by palm trees and waiters waiting for your order. It was nice to lay in the shade and to swim. It actually felt like vacation. After examining some sparkly gemstone necklaces (Gabrielle and Heidi have been on a shopping spree), we took off for the Salon. Still not feeling 100% better, I decided to go for the full bourgeois treatment: a facial and a body oil massage. The place is swimming with women. Ladies getting their hair cut and hennaed pedicures, manicures, head massages, body massages facials, waxes, etc. etc. Treatments are a far cry from our Western experience and I couldn’t help but giggle throughout my process.

First, they take you into the sea green back room where they have small cubicles containing massage tables. They lay a layer of thick plastic on the table. They have you undress and put on a gown that resembles a hospital gown. She started the facial. I lay on the plastic, she massaged some thick creamy substance into my face (and all I could think about are the parabens it probably contained and whether this was really such a good idea). Then she tissued off the cream, turned on a very modern looking steam machine that let out a long sad whistle as she prepped it. Here I broke into a fit of uncontrollably laughter and while my masseuse laughed with me she also asked “why are you laughing”. I couldn’t exactly answer. She steamed my face for few minutes, quickly cleaned my pores and then gobbed on an exfoliation cream. Everywhere. The tiny grabules are rubbed into my closed eyes, my eye sockets, my ears, I mean everywhere. Then she told me to get up and follow her to the hair sink in the other room to rinse my face. I couldn’t open my eyes at all because of the cream and so I had to be lead, like in a dream, to the sink where the sink squirter didn’t quite reach my face and somehow we were gonna get all this stuff off of me. I started laughing again. By time I opened my eyes, my vision was completely fogged over.

She led me back to the room to begin the oil massage. It wasn’t really the deep tissue massage I was hoping for. As she squirted oil over me again and again and lightly rubbed it in, I rationalized that the experience was at the very least probably good for my skin, again ignoring the voice in my head thinking “parabens”. As she massaged, I began to slip and slide on the plastic. Up and down. There was no doubt: I was oiled. Then she returned to the facial, rubbed more cream into my face and hair, tissued it off again, paint brushed on some kind of mask, put wet tissues over my eyes and then promptly left the room for what seemed like eons. I wondered: if the mask was meant to dry, I might be there for a really really long time. Eventually she came back into the room, once again led me blinded to the sink in the other room to rinse my face. When the mask was simply not gonna come off with water, she hastily grabbed what looked like a kitchen sponge to get the pink stuff off of my face. When I opened my eyes this time, it was as if I was looking through water. Then she led me to another room. “Steam bath” she said. Now this was great: a steam shower. She even brought me a huge bucket of really hot water and told me to wash it all off. I asked if I could stay a little bit longer here and next time I think I might just ask for the steam room all by itself. I left feeling well-moisturized, hungry, thankful for the humor of the experience and wondering when and if my vision might return to normal.

Geeta's Spirit and Viparita Dandasana

You know all hell has broken loose when I start eating wheat chocolate chip cookies for dinner while waiting for my evening dahl to cook. Oh how I miss my clay cooker. Oh for the days when I came home from class and the dahl was cooked to perfection waiting for me warm. Though I seriously ask myself with all the yogic sincerity I can muster “is it wrong to be attached to such a blatantly material device?” Call it raga (attachment to pleasure), call it dvesa (aversion to pain…or in this case, stovetop cooking), call it avidya (lack of knowledge of God), call it whatever you like. I don’t care one bit: I miss that darn cooker. It seems like I should bury it or cremate it or do something to honor the poor darn thing, which is currently listlessly sitting broken under the kitchen counter. A skeleton of the best laid plan.

Geeta’s class was a humdinger tonight: it’s backbend week here at the Institute. Somehow what you think is impossible not only becomes possible, and plausible, but you don’t really have time or the courage to consider NOT doing whatever she’s asking. Little old Indian men and women amazingly lift themselves into Viparita Dandasana with bent legs. Not once, but 10, 15, even 20 times! It’s inspirational. It’s amazing. We are so blessed to have such teachers-- even if poor Geeta constantly reminds us “why am I teaching? You don’t listen anyway.” In all honesty, she’s probably right. We keep our habits. We quit before we have a chance at success. We are attached to our physical pain. We practice incorrectly. We say some really dumb stuff (unfortunately to her every once in while which will inevitably unleash a tirade of not-so-blissful observations).

Yet just as I thought to myself that I wasn’t sure I could do one more Viparita Dandasana, I found that I could. I’m not saying that there was any kind of miraculous healing here or anything, but I did them when my mind would have normally rationalized itself into “Oh, its okay. You’ve been sick for a week. You can quit now” or “Oh this is not a good class for post menstruation” or well, both those and probably a few more like “hmm, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to walk again.” Then your up and grunting along with the rest of the class. Then class is over, we all feel great as we stumble out onto the sidewalk nearly mobbing the coconut man. Boy, lemme tell you, coconut water never tasted so good. I drank two! And now, thank god, that dahl is finally done! God bless and good night.

Revival and Determination

Ok. I’m finally back to near normal….determined to keep my eating of Indian food down to an absolute minimum. I’m determined to cook all those organic pulses I bought when I first arrived--dare I say--on the stovetop. Oops, I think I just boiled over the milk for my tea. Yep. Darn it.


Yesterday practice session was amazing: the reason many of us travel all the way to India. Mr. Iyengar taught Sirsasana and Backbends to Patricia, Lois and Stephanie. Other senior teachers and a few us bold enough to dare to be in the shadows either blatantly tried the poses or secretly tried to mimic the actions Mr. Iyengar was giving in similar poses (this was me). Every once in while I’d try the actual pose he was teaching; but I still wasn’t quite up to the 30 or so drop-backs that the others completed—beautifully I might add. It’s amazing to watch these older (are a couple of them perhaps even in their sixties?) women effortlessly drop-back into backbends then gracefully lift themselves back to Tadasana. Inspirational to say the least. Mr. Iyengar’s comment: “Never be satisfied. Keep looking for more connection.”

Then Gabrielle, Heidi and I rented a car and went shopping. Renting a car with AC versus being choked by the deathly fumes of diesel in the rickshaws presented Heidi and me with a whole new world. Instead of arriving at your destination feeling dirty and wondering if the bus you just sat behind in traffic for 15 minutes could mean your early death, you arrive fresh, clean and feeling like a queen. For four hours of being driven all around Pune, we paid about $5 each. Clearly a private care is a worthwhile choice if you have serious shopping as Gabrielle and Heidi did. I was simply along for the ride.

The first destination we went to was the supposively largest mall in Asia, though I’m sure Dubai would disagree. Modern construction gone all wrong. Clearly, the architect watched too much Star Trek incorporating way too many long circular glass empty hallways and strange glass circular unusable upper skylight areas. Apparently, they build this anti-feng shei concrete atrocity right before the crash and so there are about 15 stores actually open in this HUGE---and I mean it looks like an AIRPORT--HUGE mall. To top it all off, we were very nearly the only people shopping there. Even the escalators were turned off. Though when we went to climb them like stairs, we were shushed down by the security guard and had to walk around to the proper “Up” escalator which she kindly turned on for us. Rules are rules, I guess. It was eerie

We followed this with a tea and cake at a very Starbucks looking coffee shop, and then continued on our way until our four hours was up. Exhausted from all the shopping, we returned to our places, showered and then enjoyed Geeta’s cold and exhaustion relieving pranayama class.

Feeling revived, Heidi, I and Richard Schachtel decided to go out for the evening. Donning his gas mask as Heidi and I contemplated that as ridiculous as it looked, it probably wasn’t such a bad idea, we shared a rickshaw all the way across town to Shisha’s in Koregaon park, near the famous OSHO ashram. This is the area where most Westerners stay and the dinner club we went to actually had live jazz. I enjoyed finger chips, white rice and an over salted salty potato parantha (think wheat pancake here), while Heidi and Richard ventured into the realm of Indian food. The best part of the entire trip (and as I’m finding eating in Pune in general) are the fresh lime soda waters that we drank. Yum.

I’m determined to cook all those organic pulses I bought when I first arrived--dare I say--on the stovetop. I’m soaking kidney beans now and will keep you all posted.

The Mysteries of India

There was no menstrual or recovering from illness sequence in Prashant’s evening class. I had mentioned to a friend of mine before class “I hope this is not a double backbend class” and, well, I predicted it: that was exactly what it was. Class started off well enough….a twenty minute Setu Bandha Sarvangasana on a block. I thought to myself “now this is exactly what I need” as I hid myself in a dark corner of the room generally reserved for the menstruating women. Prashant likes to give long breaks and talk philosophy and so after the pose, he lectured (and lectured and lectured). I didn’t mind: I like what he has to say. He told us that we have to justify the block and that we need to spend time in our poses so that we could learn. “How many of you say “I am doing Setu Bandha Sarvangasana?....Instead, how about looking at how Setu Bandha Sarvangasana is doing “I”?” A very interesting point, I think.
Focusing on our pelvic breath, we were instructed to take Viparita Dandasana on a chair while 11 people at a time took Viparita Dandasana on the wall ropes. I kept hoping he’d single out the recovering and/or menstruating people for something different. No luck and not wishing to rock any boats, I hung like the rest of them on the ropes as part of the last group to hang. Then Viparita Dandasana against the wall for 20 minutes while everyone went for round two at the rope wall. Then Standing Backbends (for those that could dropping back into) Urdhva Dhanurasana into Vaprita Dandasana for another 20 minutes while everyone went for round 3 at the rope wall. Still hiding in my corner, I certainly did no drop backs and chose not to stay in the poses for the entire time but rather to repeat more frequently. It seemed like every time I came down and rested for too long, Prashant would venture into my neighborhood and with a sigh of resignation, up I’d go again. Surprisingly, I wasn’t feeling bad doing the practice and I took this as a sign that I should continue. Fear of Prashant egging me on—as this was only my third Prashant class ever and I did not feel like attracting undue attention because I wasn’t fully participating. Then Viparita Chakrasana from Urdhva Dhanurasana to Viparita Dandasana while we headed for the wall ropes one more time. By now, I’d discovered a small group of people who had chosen to use the chair for these last rounds over on the other side of the dark corner of the room. I joined them and thankfully skipped round 4 on the ropes. The rest of the class did a hanging Sirsasana while the rest of the class did Supta Padangusthasana until it was their turn on the ropes. By this time, I had found the other one Indian menstruating woman in a corner who seemed to know what to do. I followed her lead….we stayed in Supta Padangusthasana 2 then ventured into Setu Banda Sarvangasana on benches while the rest of the class finished in Halasana. In spite of the challenge of it and my doubts that it was an appropriate sequence for me, I felt much better after class.

Still not wishing to test fate in the food department, I returned home to a big hot bowl of oatmeal and my books. As I changed from my yoga cloths to my nighttie, I noticed that my entire body had broken out in red hives, which luckily cause me no discomfort. Combined with the new mosquito bites I sustained during class (I guess they’ve decided that I taste good enough even with my anti-mozzie essential oils), I’m quite a site. What could have set it off I wonder? There were a number of firsts yesterday: the mango lassie that I had for brunch, the vegetable burger on a toasted wheat bun that I had for lunch, the new Ayurvedic soap with “HEAL” embossed in it (I doubt it’s this one or my neck and face would also be broken out, which thankfully they are not), the Brahmi oil I used after my shower before class (again doubtful, since I’ve had no reaction before), the AMLA fruit which I also bought at the Ayurvedic shop, the frighten bright blue gel ALEVE that I took before class. Who knows? But even this morning, the redness has not subsided as I chuckle to myself about India. None of it really matters: I think the situation laughable. Isn’t Prashant teaching us that the physical body is only one element of ourselves anyway? And I hope they go away soon. I know that Geeta’s women’s class this morning will include a menstruating and recovering from illness section and I look forward to being a part of it as I sniffle the end of this illness away.

Back to the Blog

The past few days have been a daze. It seems to happen to me at least once every time I come to India: the dreaded mysterious illness….headache, stomach ache, fever, a haziness and fog to sift through. After days of simple foods, loads of sleep and a fair bit of reading, I’ve mostly recovered. I did manage to pull myself together, at least momentarily, for a few events over the past few days. We went to a free concert sponsored by the Times of India at Shaniwarwada Palace. The old castle was lit bright orange with a turquoise lit stage in front of it, stars in the night, traditional music from Rajasthan, and twirling sequined girls with water carriers on their heads. Anywhere else, the outfits they donned would be considered gaudy, but here in India, I find myself thinking how beautiful all those sparkles really are. Funny how one’s sense of fashion can be so easily changed by environment.


Though the concert was fabulous, I perhaps overdid it and yesterday had to take it extremely easy. At some point, I pulled myself out of bed, dragged myself to the nearest decent restaurant to eat dahi idli and finger chips for a plain lunch. Idli is something akin to a sweet/spicy solid cream of wheat lump, though I’ve convinced myself that I think it’s rice. Dahi is yogurt. Finger chips are nothing more than French fries. They brought me the Indian version of ketchup, which is much thinner and not so sweet as the American version. The ketchup bottle was white and cylindrical, the head red with a small spout on the side. Someone had placed google eyes on either side of the spout (or nose), making the device reminiscent of a penguin. Of course, they also forgot to put the lid on tight so the penguin looked as if he had been partially beheaded as the ketchup oozed out of his neck as he pensively examined me eating my fries.

Later that evening, I decided to venture out to Iyengar’s 91st birthday party 45 minutes late. I managed to find a seat on the cool stairs and while I could not exactly see the stage, I could easily see the crowd and was thankful for the air, space and coolness of my location. Everyone else was sitting on the floor packed in like sardines, visibly sweating, some of the people desperately fanning themselves through the long speeches and yoga demonstrations by the local students. Mr. Iyengar himself proudly sat tall and strong on a chair towards the back of the room. I stayed for about an hour and then, with no end in sight and my fever catching up to me, I managed to escape. Though I missed the free dinner and the speech by Iyengar himself, I’m sure that I will hear from the other students any highlights. Instead, I made myself a bowl of oatmeal, took a shower and went back to bed. Today I’m feeling much better and am looking forward to classes, which were cancelled yesterday due to the celebrations.

Yesterday was a day “off” again….though the Iyengars are back from the wedding, apparently nobody felt like teaching the Tuesday night class so it was cancelled. I made lunch for one Kiwi and a couple from London. They drew in my drawing book the schematics of a couple of Iyengar yoga centers in Britain. Design research is part of my research and development mission here. I want to design, and ultimately build, the most amazing Iyengar yoga studio.
The afternoon was largely unremarkable. I tried to buy the book by Dr. Telang—they are out of copies. I observed the medical class and ended up showing the crowd the Yogatoes. Though Geeta was not in the house, the Yogatoes were met with approval by the other lead teachers there.
For dinner, I ventured out by myself to a local nearby high-end hotel. Being the first person there, I ended up waiting in the empty restaurant for the action to begin. The sound of bugs being eliminated emanating from the two bug lamps was my only company. So I read the menu carefully, wondering with amazement what on earth the appetizer “cheese cherry pineapple” or “sparking crispy veg” could mean. The name of the restaurant is Aroma and outside the hotel, the neon sign advertised “Pure Vegetarian Food”, yet on the cover of the menu? An artistic drawing of two girls walking….the first carrying a turkey and the second eagerly following with knife and fork in hand! I love the inconsistencies of India the most.

Eventually, Sergey from Moscow, Russia joined me for dinner. We enjoyed a lovely conversation over Phad Thai---though the meal had absolutely no resemblance to anything Thai I’ve ever had before. It was delicious nonetheless.
The tick-tock of an estabilished routine of daily practice and classes has become a beautiful rhythm. I look for joy and amusement in the small things of life: the smiling faces of Inida, the music of the chanting across the street, the progress in my practice, the new friends that I meet. Om.

MAGIC--Being in the Right Place at the Right Time

I wanted to see the Ayurvedic Doctor that I saw last time I was in Pune. While the temptation to see the famous Dr. Lad is always here, I decided to revisit Dr. Shaw; after all he is Mr. Iyengar’s doctor. My experience with Dr. Shaw in 2006 was a good one. After having tried to unsuccessfully ring him several times yesterday, I hopped into a rickshaw, address in hand, determined to find him. Alas, the rickshaw driver eventually found the clinic and as I was paying him, Dr. Shaw himself arrived via rickshaw. He greeted me in recognition with a smile saying “it’s been a long time”.
His clinic has one chair and two hard benches in the “front” followed by a false wall. Behind this false wall and door is the gigantic desk where the good doctor sits, behind which is a large bookshelf stacked with books and a photo of Dr. Shaw shaking Mr. Iyengar’s hand. To the left is a cabinet full of herbs manned by his two helpers and a very elegant Victorian-looking red curtain hiding the table on which the patient might lie. The walls are a faded vibrant sea green-blue—a color unique to India.

There was one patient waiting for him before me. As I waited in the front room, an older Indian woman arrived via private vehicle and sat in the chair across from me. “From where do you come?” she asked. “New Mexico” I replied and from there our conversation began about how long I’m here and what I’m doing here. Also a yoga practitioner with Guruji for 35 years, she was also an MD, specializing in gynecology before she retired.

It’s now my turn with the doctor. I sat at the desk in front of him as he asked me my complaints with one hand on my wrist and the other flipping through a tattered book to his right. After searching a few pages, he flipped to a page and there was my business card and record of treatment from August 2006. I was amazed. I wish I had the same acuity in finding my own records.

He re-emphasized some of the long-forgotten practices that he gave me the last time I saw him. I am to blow on hot water and suck it down, once a day, and eat a small piece of raw ginger before each meal. Then he told his helpers to prepare some kind of herbal concoction which I am to take three times a day for a month with a few teaspoons of milk. Listening to the charming singing from the temple across the road, I take a few photographs as I wait outside for the remedies to be prepared. The herbal concoction comes in individually hand-wrapped packets of paper.

My new friend, Dr. Telang, offered me a ride to the Institute, which I gratefully accepted. Traffic hour in Pune in a rickshaw is toxic---the streets smoky with thick, black diesel emissions. On the way home, we discussed Dr. Telang's book—which I can hardly wait to buy at the Institute this morning—Understanding Yoga through Body Knowledge. She spent six years researching Upanishads, the Vedas, Ayurveda, etc. etc. to write the book. She gave me her phone number so that we could meet and she could answer any questions I might have regarding it, after I’ve studied it. She answered long time questions I’ve had about Mula Bandha and the female body.
She graciously dropped me at the Institute—I am twenty-five minutes late for class. Stephanie, the lovely Australian woman who has lived in India forever, said that I could still join the class. It was a substitute teacher again….I would never dare to enter an Iyengar class so late. The class was fabulous. Sun salutations focused on the rhythm of the breath followed by long inversions with poetic descriptions of the actions of the practice. It was a beautiful, magical evening! 

Become a Follower of the Blog and, of course, Mosquitoes

HOW TO BECOME A "FOLLOWER OF THIS BLOG


Some of you have emailed me and said that your attempts to become a "follower" have failed.   Here are the steps.

1.  Left click the Follow button on the right hand side of the blog under the picture.

2.  Left click either your google, twitter or yahoo account.   If you don't have one of these accounts, at the bottom of this box of choices is a "Create a new Google account".   Left click this.    Please consider becoming a "public" follower.

3.  Follow the rest of the steps.

HOW TO POST A COMMENT

At the end of my entry, you will see on the right hand side a place where it says "0 comments".   Hopefully that 0 will become a number soon!   Left click this "(number) comments" then write your entry until your fingers atrophy from exhaustion or you run outta things to say.   Left click  "Post Comment".

MOSQUITOES

I've finally gotten smart and for those of you sending me worried emails at the West Nile Flu or other such grave diseases, the situation is under control more or less. The Lemon, Patchouli and Eucalyptus Oils that I’ve been dowsing myself with seems to have made me a bit less flavorful to the hungry little buggers. Of course, one of the Indian teachers at the Institute commented on me smellin a bit like a mosquito repellant factory. I tried to explain to her that I was using very expensive essential oils, but she quickly moved away from me clearly understanding that I had dowsed myself with some kind of toxic bug repellant. Oh well. It’s a challenging situation in that we are not supposed wear any fragrances in yoga class, due to some people’s chemical sensitivities. I must admit that I’ve been smellin a bit strong lately yet have hardly had a bite taken outta me since my smellin began. It’s definitely a toss up.


In the meantime, the bedroom fan miraculously disappeared the other day, which I must say was both a pleasant surprise and a complete annoyance. I had carefully hung a string and attached it to the fan so that I could hang the mosquito net that my landlady finally kindly offered me after she saw the situation on my arms and feet. After the disappearance of the fan, I struggled to once again find a way of setting up the mosquito net. The walls of the building are concrete so without the proper tools there is no easy way to hang a hook. My bed lives next to a long window and so I theorized that I could somehow jerry rig the net to the curtain rod. As I was carefully setting up my new system, one support for the curtain rod fell out of the wall! Plop! Oops. I finally managed to attach the net to the screw that was previously holding up the fan and the other support for the curtain rod that still remains, at least for the moment, attached to the wall. It’s a very precarious situation indeed and getting in and out of the bed has become an art unto itself. I’ve also been burning a fair bit more incense….they apparently don’t like the smoke.


Travels on Sunday


Being equipped with my new camera (thank you, Jay) and having yesterday completely free, I decided to take a few more photos around town. Though I’ve been to most of the sites around town before, I found a Lonely Planet travel guide in the apartment, randomly picked a location where it would be appropriate to have the camera out…. Shaniwarwada Palace. The gate and the tall walls, I’m afraid, are about the most impressive part of the remaining structure…the palace itself having been burnt down twice. Inside the walls, the foundation of the once seven story palace, remains grassed over with young Indian couples sitting together shyly, a few children romping around on the grass. I am sensitive about taking people’s photographs—as I myself generally do not like to have my photo taken unless asked. Luckily there were a few people who wanted to take my photo and so it was easy to take theirs. Then I met up with Sharon Conroy and we went to Mr. Iyengar’s jewelers and a famous fetish shop.


Check out the photos:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mzsz1LH-lfk

Joy in Samosas

Fried wheat and potatoes. Yum. I’m totally addicted to the samosas available at the small shop all too conveniently located around the corner from the house. I told myself that I would resist, that I know once I eat the wheat it generally means instant nap and that I was going to maintain my healthy vegetable diet with an emphasis on greens while I was here. That was, of course, before the Vita clay broke. A lame excuse for weakness in willpower. Absolutely. I tell you: those samosas never tasted better! Except for perhaps the potato wadas that I’ve become equally addicted to as part of my morning traveling ritual. I’m still waking up at 4am, which since I go to bed generally around 9pm, is not at all surprising. I practice my pranayama, write and then post this blog while surfing the internet in the dark garden. Then, if I decide it’s a travel breakfast, I catch a rickshaw to NCR Restaurant where my English speaking friend Nash works at his family restaurant in wee hours of the morning. I’ve discovered that the potato wadas, which are surely choked full of garlic, onions and chile, are ready at 7am, combined with my two boiled eggs, and hot lemon water, it’s a delicious breakfast albeit a long cry from the simmered fruit in the Vita clay machine that I had been making in the States and was planning on continuing while here. At least, I’ve kept the sugar to a minimum, no small feat in the land of chai and tempting sweets.


The morning class seemed remarkably small. The Iyengars are out of town and it would appear that several of the students followed suite. Today’s sequence from one of the Indian ladies (I don’t know her name), as best as I can remember it: Adho Mukha Swaistikasana, Down Dog, Uttanasana, Utthita Trikonasana, Virabhadrasana 2, Utthita Parsvokanasana, Ardha Chandrasana, Virabhadrasana 1, Virabhadrasana 3 (hands on floor), Prasarita Padottanasana, Sirsasana, Eka Pada Sirsasana to Urdhva Dandasana to Sirsasana in quick succession, Sarvangasana, Eka Pada to Halasana to Sarvangasana in quick succession, Viparita Karani or Setu Bandha Sarvangasana (your choice).

My new friend Nash picked me up on his moped after the afternoon practice session. We went to my place where he kindly gave me a Photography 101 lesson so that I might figure out how to use my new camera. He was a successful professional photographer in the US for 10 years, before deciding to return to India where he now helps manage his family’s restaurant and is busy developing new and innovative ideas in Aquariums. Life certainly has its twists. Why did he come back to India? The isolation and the loneliness. Though it’s taken him nearly three years to readjust to India, he has many friends and family members here---a non-stop social calendar that he can participate in as much as he likes.

It would seem a common commentary on living in the United States. While we have incredible wealth compared to other places around the world, many of us in the United States suffer from this sense of isolation and loneliness. According to Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, all sources of malcontent come from “avidya” or lack of knowledge of God or the Cosmos or the Universal Energy or whatever you care to call it. We forget that we are part of this wonderful, pulsating energy that makes us a part of the magic of everything. We forget to tap into those subtle aspects of energy. We forget that when we open ourselves to positivity and light that it can come into our lives more fully. When we say to the Universe, “Yo I’m ready for change. I’m ready for a fulfilled, happy life. I’m ready to partake in life to its fullest. I’m ready for love”, then all of that can come to us. If I have moments of isolation and loneliness, can I change the way that I perceive this feeling. Stuart Wilde writes “the act of defining life limits your perception of it.” What a beautiful concept. Why box ourselves in? We are infinite, beautiful creatures—and if we can simply remember that, well then, life improves.

Remember when you attended your first yoga class and it felt like you couldn’t do anything that the teacher was asking you to do. With perseverance, determination and practice, slowly the yoga poses and the breath became easier to manage. The same can be said of our attitude towards life. Today I feel isolated and lonely. Can I practice feeling infinite and beautiful instead? Can I feel blessed to be alive and happy for all of the wonderful people and experiences in my life? Then ring up a friend for lunch or for a hike someplace beautiful and share your joy.

Check out my first youtube photo gallery!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cs3EUD-vUUo

RIP—The cooker is Dead.

As I sit here in the early morning dark in the garden, the only place that I have Internet access, I am immersed in the smoke of the incense that I have burning as a mosquito deterrent. The temple across the street is ringing a bell and people are chanting their morning prayers. A few rickshaws drive by and the crows crow their morning song.  The electricity just turned off and now I sit by the light of the moon as a cart rolls by outside the gate.

I reflect upon the astounding vibrancy of life, here in India. We are all so truly blessed.

I am so grateful for this opportunity to learn. During the morning practice sessions, watching others, especially the long-time Indian students, I learn the most so far as new tricks of the trade, new and interesting ways of doing the poses. What I learn from my own practice is even more relevant. At the moment, I’m focusing on quietly maintaining the breath, keeping my upper lip soft and relaxing my facial muscles. When I look around the room, I notice that many of the Western practitioners especially, look so serious and seem to be facing their practice with a stiff upper lip. The faces of the Indians remain soft with full soft lips. Cultivating this softness as well as a sense of well-being, even joy for finding the freedom of the breath, I certainly notice how the more the challenging the asana, the more challenging this relaxed state is for me.

I came home from the practice session yesterday to find the clay pot cooker on my kitchen countertop. Always the optimist, I thought “Wow! They’ve fixed it quickly” though in the back of mind I knew that this was highly unlikely. I plugged it in. Nothing. Not even a glimmer of any kind of pulse. Dead. Oh well…the best laid plans……

Our afternoons are entirely our own. Having accidentally left my nice shades in New Mexico, a few days ago I decided I simply could not continue living without sunglasses. The search for sunglasses began. First I found a fancy spec shop, where they tried to convince me to purchase some very nice shades. In India, it would appear that the predominant style is graduated tint, meaning its dark on top and light on the bottom. I prefer one solid shade. Next, I found a pair of dark brown shades sold on the street for about $3---this was more my style and I barely haggled at all for the purchase. As I continued my journey on that day, I noticed that in fact these glasses were sooo bad that they made it almost more difficult to see. If I’ve found one truth in life, it would have to be “good shades, good shoes, and a good dentist are essential.” The second truth I’ve found, which may very well be applicable only to me: “the more you spend on shades, the less likely you are to lose them”. The Universe works in mysterious ways….these cheap glasses lasted not one day, before they disappeared. Vanished. No idea where I left them. Oh well.

Yesterday I began the search once again for shades. While traveling either by foot or rickshaw in Pune can be extremely interesting, the black cloud of diesel fumes that hover in the streets turning your snot instantly black (and this is if you’re covering your nose with a scarf) has a limited appeal for me. Thus in the name of ease and proximity, I ventured into the horrific mall across the street from the Institute looking for sunglasses. This mall is very new, very clean and the equivalent to a nice Bloomingdale’s in the States. You walk in, through the metal detector, the laptops are to your right, the Benetton section, the Tommy Hilfiger section, etc, etc. all line the edges, then there’s the digital camera section, the expensive perfumes, the jewelry, and yes, the sunglasses on display. I approached a nice young woman for assistance. Before you know it, I have no less than 20 young people handing me sunglasses of all shapes and sizes. I really wonder how the shop affords to pay all these people or if these people are somehow paid by commission? It’s a mystery. Of course I like the sunglasses that are about $50, but settle on a pair for about $30. I hope that these might stick with me longer than the previous pair!

The Iyengars have gone to a wedding for the next few days. Laxmi, one of my favorite Indian teachers, substituted our evening class. I was front row center. Our sequence was this: child’s pose, downward dog, Uttanasana, Prasarita Padottanasana (5 min) Sirsasana, Eka Pada Sirsasana, Parsva Eka Pada Sirsasana (10 minutes for cycle), Salamba Sarvangasana, Eka Pada Sarvangasana, Parsva Eka Pada Sarvangasana, Halasana (10-15 minutes for cycle), Utthita Trikonasana (twice on both sides), Virabhadrasana II, Utthita Parsvokanasana, Virabhadrasana I, Utkatasana, Baddha Konasana keeping heels together and tops of feet apart, Upavistha Konasana, Baddha Konasana, Virabhadrasana III, Setu Bandha Sarvangasana, Savasana.

Blessings to you all.

Hope Springs Eternal

As I continue the venture into cooking in India, the news is not at all bad. First off, there may still be hope for the clay cooker. Everyone keep their fingers crossed here. After he promised to come yesterday and several phone calls later today, the electrician finally arrived. The fan in the bedroom, which would have been my primary defense against the mosquitoes--who were able to eat me alive through two cotton comforters and a sheet last night--,is broken. Now, I know, this mosquito feat seems suspect even to me. I even looked for bed bugs. Nothing. When I went to bed last night, my feet appeared normal. When I woke up this morning, they were totally eaten. These mosquitoes specialize in chomping the tender flesh around the ankles and right above the hardened skin of the sole. Nor are they phased by the very expensive lemon essential oil that I dowsed myself with before going to bed. The poor buggers must be delighted to eat garlic and onion free Western flesh---yum a new flavor--even if it involves a fair bit of cotton and lemon essential oil to get to me.


The electrician, who looked like he was about 15, did bugger all for the fan telling my landlady that she should check the warranty on the fan rather than spend the money on him to fix it. Translation: I’ll have no fan in the bedroom this month.

Then he looked at the clay cooker. Yes, indeed it’s blown (hardly a remarkable observation here). It’s an American cooker i.e. 120V in the land of 240V. I suppose that I thought the $13 transformer and converter that I specifically purchased at JFK was going to take care of this voltage discrepancy. Apparently I was wrong. He said that he will attempt to change out the coil to an Indian coil (whatever that means) and return the machine by Monday, which of course we all know means next Thursday at the earliest. Hope springs eternal, however, and my fingers are crossed that he’ll be able to do something to make the thing work least I starve in this land of white rice, fried food and wheat products.

You see, I had all these grand plans of finally writing down all of my delicious Vita clay (the clay cooker) recipes for a fabulous cookbook that I was going to call “Easy Living”. Instead I’ve already killed one pan. Yup. Burnt to a crisp. Day one. Blackened, I think they call it. Irrevocably so, I’m afraid. A stovetop cooker I am not, though I did manage to eat today. OMG, a mosquito just bit my eyelid! Oh the diversions.

I went to the vegetable market early this morning as they were unloading the produce from the trucks. I bought the usual suspects: carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, sweet potatoes, ginger, green beans, peas, spinach, cilantro, mint. And then I ventured into the land of the unknown: the miscellaneous greens. What the hell life is short and how bad could they be?

As it turns out….pretty bad. For dinner, I sautéed what I discovered to be Fenugreek leaves (this is what the landlady told me anyway) in olive oil with salt. Bitter! Kind of like dandelion greens only with a fenugreek flavor. This combined with the egg omelet I made with the oh-so-delicious “La Vache Quirit” non-refrigerated pasteurized cheese with a red cow head wearing golden earrings dangling below his horns on the cover of the eight individually wrapped slivers in a rounded cardboard container. I’d forgotten how much I missed cheese the last time I was in India. While that parmesan at the Italian restaurant was clearly the real thing (hmm, I wonder if I could get them to tell me where they buy it), cheese aside from paneer is hard to come by. Real cheese, in India, is a specialty item.

So while I ate my bitter greens, processed cheese omelet and brown rice---all the while watching for rocks in the rice---I lamented the premature death of the Vita clay and prayed for its hasty resurrection.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shant-tih.

The Real India and Oops. I missed Wednesday.

I checked out of my hotel yesterday morning determined to have a flat by the end of the day. At $25 per night, this hotel was no deal. I had already put a note up at the Towers, the fancy high rise next to the Institute, requesting housing and I doubled my efforts by writing a note and placing it on the entry table at the Institute right before the morning practice session. “I’m looking for a room. Please find me practicing: red shorts, pink watch and a ponytail”.


I was nearly the first person there to practice. Ahhh, the rope wall. Every yoga prop you can imagine. Space to practice. Amazing. As people filtered into practice one by one, it began to seem like an old high school reunion: some of the crowd I know well, some of them seem vaguely familiar and several of them I’ve never seen before in my life. The December crowd, it would appear, is predominantly American, though yesterday did not seem busy at all. My guess is that the room will fill as the jet lag wears off.

A dressed to the tilt, Indian woman in an expensive sari sits waiting for me as I take a bathroom break during the practice session. She has an apartment, “not more than one mile from here”, that she wants to show me. She has a book with photographs and while her seeming disparity---she was a bit too eager to show me the space—should have clued me in, a Russian fellow and I went to look at the apartment anyway. As we are weaving in and out of traffic in her vehicle on one of Pune’s busiest and most polluted streets, we realize that this apartment is just way too far away from the Institute. We tell her this: she insists that we see the room anyway because “we’re almost there” and we might have friends. It takes us another 20 minutes to politely decline (again) and get back to where we started. I should have known better.

I lunched with Sharon Conroy at the new Italian restaurant around the corner from the Institute. Super sparkly high end and excellent salads (thank you Deborah Bristow for the tip) and again expensive. I think I spent $15 on lunch! But it was great to have a break from Indian food….and I counted the hours until I could plug in the clay cooker I brought with me though all those security check points.

Then I looked at a room for $300 with internet available in the apartment…..and mold. Then I looked at another nice room with its own bathroom for $400 in a large house across the street from the Institute. No wi-fi here and, according the one of the roommates, roaches rule the kitchen in the morning. This clearly will not do. Then I looked at a lovely free-standing small apartment, also close by, with its own kitchen and bathroom….and wi-fi if you stand in the garden. They wanted $500 for this space and it’s only available for December. By 3pm, the choice was obvious even though a fair bit more expensive than I had hoped for. I talked them down to $444 and moved into the apartment. Spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking and moving furniture around, before getting ready for my first class at 6pm. I missed my afternoon nap because of the move and hoped that this might be the final transition into Indian time (since it’s 12.5 hours time difference from New Mexico).

Now the real India begins: the mosquitoes are vicious here. I guess I’d forgotten. I was thoroughly munched on yesterday. It takes 15 minutes to heat up the hot water (which is extremely humorous for those of you that know my plight in New Mexico) AND there is no electricity for 2 hours in the middle of the afternoon (thus no hot shower).

Luckily, the hot water turns on just in time for me to be able to take either a scalding hot shower or a cold one before class. Maybe I haven’t figured out how to balance the two into warm yet, but I have my suspicion that this just could be the way it is.

Perchant Iyengar is teaching tonight. We did 1.5 hours of Marichyasana III  followed by Utthita Trikonasana. The focus was breathing into the back, then breathing into the chest, then becoming aware of our “facial awareness”. His emphasis was to really be in our bodies and he refused to give technical instruction. You are not beginners, he told us. Meanwhile I started seeing stars about half way through the class (since I’d been up since 3am and I’m sure those twists were releasing some toxins). Last pose, Setubanda Sarvangasana. Classes are cancelled next Tuesday because the Iyengars are going to a wedding.

After class, I visit to the horrific, expensive mall across the street to buy some groceries, flee home to make a bit of dinner, ready to drop into bed from exhaustion. Ba Boom, Ba Boom, Ba Boom Indian disco techno greets me at my gate. It sounds like a night club right and I mean right behind my new apartment. I go to ask the landlords if they perhaps forgot to mention that there’s a night club behind my quiet little apartment. They assure me not. But this help matters at the moment, my computer speaker playing “om” hardly dents the techno dance. Thank god for the earplugs I brought, I thought, as I dropped into bed with my head squashed between two pillows. I thought of you, Camille.

I woke up at 4am, thrilled to finally start the clay cooker with breakfast so that I could begin Pranayama while the food cooked. The first sound of the morning? POP. Lights went out and everything. The end of the Clay cooker. A failed attempt. So sad.

So I’ve been cooking my precious supply of quinoa and some eggplant, tomatoes and mung beans stovetop while writing this entry. Unfortunately I can’t cook stovetop and breathe at the same time. My mind keeps going back to “is it burning yet?” Alas, I suppose I will have to buy a regular old crock-pot today and hope that the lead content in the glaze is minimal.

And now I must go to the garden to post this entry……oops, they forgot to give me the password for the Internet….


Oops. I missed Wednesday.

I accidentally slept through my first class with Geeta today. Wednesday is the only day that class is in the morning. I forgot it was Wednesday, went back to sleep around 6am, woke up around 9am and decided that it would be okay if I strolled into the practice session a bit late. Instead, I rolled into class way too late to join it. I watched the women’s class from the stairs then got smart, went to the upstairs studio and though I couldn’t make out Geeta’s instructions, I could peek down the stairs at Gabriella and follow the practice. Ultimately it was better this way….I used the support of the rope wall and the horse to finish all the standing poses. The sequence when I joined the class (about half way through) was Utthita Trikonasana, Utthita Parsvokanasana, Parivrtta Trikonasana, Parivrtta Parsvokonasana, Parivrtta Ardha Chandrasana, Sirsasana, Janu Sirsasana, Pachimottanasana and then Salamba Sarvangasana. A pretty strong class for a bunch of jet lagged ladies.

After class, I decided to search out the Organic Grocer across town. A half an hour through the black smoke of diesel traffic, I arrive in the neighborhood Koreegan Park only to find out that the shop has closed forever. So I get back into the rickshaw and have him drop me to my next favorite shopping neighborhood next door to Ruby Clinic, a famous hospital in Pune. I look for my favorite clothing shop: it’s been replaced by a Panasonic store. I do find a smaller version of the shop, though it’s been reduced to essential oils and incense. Thank god! I buy an assortment of anti-mosquito essential oils in hopes that I might avoid future feasts by the ravenous beasts. Then I find a health food store packed with organic grains, spices and even more essential oils. Though compared to the States, the price of my purchases is negligible, but I am still managing to spend some serious cash here in India.

Then I find my favorite dairy with fresh butter, fresh ghee and curd and of course milk. Then I find my favorite music store but am by now ravenous myself and search for my favorite place to buy a Thali. This Punjabi (read that as SPICY) restaurant offers the typical white rice, wheat chapatti, two small veg dishes, a soup and a bit of curd (yogurt) for less than $1. At this point, I’m exhausted (after the wheat dish) and I decide I can visit the music store another day as I head for home.

I lay down for ½ hour to nap, determined to make it to the afternoon practice session. I slept three hours instead, got up and practiced at home, ate some dinner, paid my rent, read some, slept some more and am now having a cup of tea. It’s 12:30pm and I am, of course, totally awake. Oops….so much for all my time zone transitioning. In the end, I don’t really mind….yoga is about listening to the body and its needs. I worked hard to get here and if it takes me another few days of rest to recover, that’s okay. In the meantime, I hope not to miss another class or practice session…..

Cows are still hanging streetside in Pune!

Whew.   The cows may not be hanging out in the streets near the Iyengar Institute, but they are still around town.     I woke up at 5am ravenous (but without my camera) and while I was searching for chai, I did see a gigantic hog in the hood and a random chicken walking around....later in the day, when I was closer to Laxmi Road, the central shopping district, I saw this fellow and a few of his cow friends hanging out along with a couple of long-horned goats.    Truthfully, I'm a bit relieved.....India is still India, even with it's new found wealth!

I registered at the Institute this morning and am lookng forward to the practice session at 9am tomorrow.   I've been given the "Geeta" schedule (hurrah! hurrah!), meaning most of my classes will be with Geeta Iyengar in the evenings.

First day in India

I spoke to this gentleman who works for HSBC, a British bank, in NYC.   His job is to try to convince American "Indians" to invest in India.    A difficult task for the older generation of Indians who still believe that India is a third world country.    He said that the US economy is growing at 2.5% (roughly) and that India and China are growing at 8.5%.   

I'd say by the looks of Pune,  what he says is clearly true. 

There is a brand new 6 story sparkly MALL across the street from the Iyengar Institute (so much for breathe deep into the quiet).   Flashy, expensive and packed full of young people shopping or using the free Internet, these young Indians are dressing more and more like Americans....and are apparently doing it on Credit.     In this mall, there is a Tommy Hilfinger section, a Bennetton section and surely loads of name brand Indian clothing that looks expensive...and western.   There is still an "ethnic" section with people shopping in it, but it's not the predominant genre.

But that's not all.   There are new compact cars (I wish that we had in the US) everywhere.   Cute, economical, sporty.     There are no longer any cows in the streets.    It would seem even less beggers.   Pune, or at least this neighborhood in Pune, is booming.

Should we be frightened?   Our American "kama"  (sanskirt word for "desire") is catching up with the rest of the world,  though they are still smiling.

Swami Dayananda writes the following:

A human being sees himself as a deficient person. His constant, compulsive pursuits make his sense of inadequacy evident. To escape from this deficiency, he struggles for a large number of things in life which fall under four main headings:  dharma (ethics), artha (security), kama (pleasures), moksa (liberation).  

He continues these thoughts at the following link: http://www.arshavidya.org/vision/v1n4.htm

That said, there is a magic here.  Even the flea-ridden street dogs have wonderful personalities in spite of their plight in life.    Whether it is the non-English speaking front desk fellow, who without me asking made me an omelet in the middle of the night because I was up and he could tell I was hungry, or the restaurant owner who lived in Atlanta for ten years as a photographer, who guided me to a photography shop with an English speaking owner who can hopefully reset my new camera, the people of India are wonderful, beautiful people quick to smile.

Blessings to you all.

On my way to India

As I sit here in the fancy lounge in the Kuwaiti airport sipping Camoimille tea, I find myself immersed in gratefulness for this journey.   It has been a blessed one so far.  

So far I have managed to get my clay pot crockpot (the Vitaclay) through four security check points.    First I had to go through security in Albuquerque where they patted me down and emptied my bags as we had a delightful conversation about my upcoming trip.   Then once I succeeded the first security check point no less than twice, I then met my next challenge.  Amazing that my carefully planned styrofoam protective casing for the cooker made the bag *just* above the size that the security guard at the plane gate deemed allowable via his tester baggage compartment.  In a very less than yogic fashion,  I crammed the backpack, styrofoam and all, into the "allowable" space (to the amusement of everyone watching) to show the kind gentleman that the bag would indeed fit into the overhead compartment.    He told me I'd have to take a bus (and this was in Albuquerque mind you).   So I took out all my belongings for the third time, removed the styrofoam and made the bag fit to his satisfaction.    Whew.  

Dallas was a breeze.   On my flight to JFK, I befriended my Italian seat companion, who told me she lived five minutes from the airport and offered to show me a good Italian restaurant in Queens so that I might eat and kill a few hours of my five hour layover.   In a thick barely understandable Italian accent, she told me she'd been ripped off by the taxi cab driver who took her to JFK the first time and was consequently suspect of them all.     The cab driver, poor fellow, who picked us up received a fair bit of nearly unintelligible Italian instructions as to the location of her house.   Sheer comedy here:  Chinese cab driver can't say the words,  Italian lady can't speak properly and I'm just watching it all go down.   Predictably he missed the turn, she yelled at him more relatively unintelligible instructions while he was shaking his head and I'm feeling amused and somewhat embarrassed for the Italian's behaviour.   Alas, we make it to her house, she tipped him well, pointed me in the direction of a good restaurant and everybody was happy.

Instead of Italian, I found a Sushi restaurant, which given it's garlic and gluten free nature is by far a better choice for me.   In the same block is a manicure/pedicure place where a cute Asian girl,  who is kindly cleaning up my nails and scrubbing my feet, laughs and asks "does that hurt?" everytime she jabs me with her cuticle tool.    I'm grateful for the massage chair, the place to sit down and the attention as I smile and say "yes" everytime she asks.

Across the street is a grocery store, where I pick up my last minute items of Pomegranite Juice, and organic apple and cucumber.   I like to be prepared food wise on airplane trips.    Food on airplanes is like winning the lottery:  you might win but most likely not.

I call a cab company to pick me up outside the grocery.     The cab company tells me it will be about a 40 minute wait as I'm standing on a now dark, windy and cold street corner in Queens carrying 27 kilos of yoga props and food to India.   Just then, I look up and stopped at the light is an empty cab with a nice Haitian fellow, who tells me that I would have been outta luck ever getting a cab on that corner had he not been driving from his house to work.    Oh sweet angels! was I glad he picked me up.

After I manage to naviage the long check in line to Kuwait Airlines, I'm told that the flight is full and there is no way that they are going to let me take both bags as carry-ons.     I'm only allowed 7 kg of carryon baggage.   The vitaclay cooker and german devices was 11 kg.    The food is in the other bag.   I repack again (this is the fourth time): the cooker, the laptop and the airplane food must all go in one bag.   Now the bag weighs 13 kg.   Luckily, the manager took mercy on me and let me take it onboard anyway.   I checked the other bag.

Security in JFK was much more reasonable...as I was waiting in line the security guard suggested that if it doesn't fit in your pocket, take it out and put in a bin.  This time I managed not to get taken to the side and patted down.   I repack for the fifth time.

I nice mathmatetics professor from Bangladesh with broken English sits next to me this time.    We laugh at the terrible service, the fact that my remote control works his tv, my tv doesn't work at all which is exactly how I like it, and the horrific food.  Thank god I brought my own.     I spot a place where I can lay out my sticky mat (behind the last row of seats in the middle of the place, backs up to a "wall") to lay down on my neck german device to sleep.   He is grateful for the two seats to stretch out.

The Kuwaiti airport is small, crowded and packed with smiling faces.   People are obviously friendly here.   I escaped and paid my $30 to this Lounge to have a hot shower, a great meal of saffron rice and hummus and vegetables of all kinds, a two hour nap on the massage chair listening to the iPod, an Internet moment (ie right now) and a bit of yoga (that's next) in the Ladies Prayer Room.   Perhaps I'll take some Pumpkin Soup on the next flight......







  

We raised $456 dollars for FOOD DEPOT!

Thanksgiving Day Yoga at Yoga Different

Blessings to all for your generous contributions.

Getting Ready for India

As you can well imagine, getting ready for a two month trip to the Iyengar Institute is no easy task.    Yet, in spite of all the work, I am excited to have the opportunity and I would like to thank you all for making this trip possible. 

Before I leave, my last class is intended as an offering to our community.   While your sweet potatoes and green chiles are roasting, please join us on Thanksgiving Day for our Relaxation and Digestion Yoga Class from 9:30-11:30am.   The class is open to beginners and advanced students alike.   We ask that you make a monetary contribution, which will be donated in its entirety to the Food Depot,  Northern New Mexico's Food Bank.

Immediately after the class,  I will pass on the studio to my wonderful substitute teachers Mary Judge and Gail Ackerman who will share their yogic experiences with you while I'm away.   I then head to a friend's place for Thanksgiving dinner, then to Albuquerque where I will spend the night with a friend who will then take me to the airport before dawn so that my long journey to Pune, India can begin.

Blessings to you all and I hope to see you in class before I go....