Putting my fears of India to rest

There are some things in life which seem to allure us in inexplicable ways. We are pulled into its energy field until we finally surrender into the realization that we must do something, or go somewhere. Then finally we take the step and enter into it. India, the land of unity in diversity with a smorgasbord of spirituality and life lessons on every corner, has had that role in my life for some time. I’ve felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame and yet I found all sorts of reasons to avoid it until February. It was then that I finally decided to give India a chance, to let go of all my negative preconceived notions of what it was and decided to allow it to just be, accepting it exactly as it was. That acceptance took some time but it ultimately came in the flash of a single moment, when I hit rock bottom, looked at my pale and tired face in the mirror, stopped fighting and finally gave in.

I had planned to travel to Darjeeling, a mountain hill station to the east of Nepal, as a jump off point into India but the universe had other plans for me. After I’d finally decided to come and had obtained my visa, I was stuck in Kathmandu with all roads leading to India closed due to road strikes and political demonstrations. I just breathed and said, “if it’s meant to be, it will happen.” The following morning, a road opened up, the road to Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha. I got on the first bus and it was apparently the last bus to come through before the road closed again for another week.

Through an amazing twist of fate, I was granted a travel companion to ease my insecurities about crossing the border alone. Piers, an English, fellow Vipassana meditator, offered me a ride, free of charge across the border in the taxi he’d hired. At this point, I unknowingly embarked on a Buddhist pilgrimage through Nepal and India. On our way to Shravasti, the old capitol of India in the time of the Buddha, we stopped for tea and samosas and just like that, one of my worst fears of India began to manifest. By the time we arrived at the Korean monastery, I was ready to begin my four day involuntary purge of everything in my system, besides my organs... although I think I might’ve seen a kidney come out in the process... On the fourth day of consistent vomiting and diarrhoea without food and depleted of all energy, I caught a glimpse of my sickly face in the mirror and suddenly a thought occurred to me; this is just a way to cleanse myself of all of the negativity I’ve been carrying around with me... Surrender to it and it will pass. So I did, and that night... it did.

Funny enough the timing of my recovery and the arrival of an astonishing opportunity coincided quite nicely, once again providing an example of the synchronistic nature of my journey. Our plan was to visit Sarnath next and Piers happened to overhear the men at the monastery saying “Thai group” and “Sarnath.” It was just too good to pass up so I went to the group leader and asked if we could join them and he offered us a free 12 hour ride on their deluxe luxury tourist bus leaving the following morning.
In the days to follow, we spent time in Sarnath at a Dhamma gathering then Piers had a course scheduled and we parted ways. I met with Lisu from Finland and we continued on together to Bodhgaya, the place of the Buddha’s Enlightenment. I wish I could describe the feeling that swept over my body the first time I entered the temple grounds, hosting a descendant of the Bodhi tree under which Gautama Buddha became Enlightened 2500 years ago. The energy of a particular spot had never been so apparent to me as in that moment. Lisu and I sat and meditated under that very tree for the afternoon and delighted in the nourishing energy our surroundings had to provide. It then became evident to me that the words spoken by a friend in Lumbini; “Your karma is clearly bringing you abundance, as you’ve been given the opportunity to see the places of the Buddha which others only dream about” were absolutely true.

Upon completion of my little pilgrimage, Lisu and I ventured to Varanasi to celebrate my 29th birthday... eeeek! The only thing that I wanted to do on that day was to take a boat ride on the Ganga river and see for myself why Varanasi is meant to be the holiest city in India. The Ganga flows throughout India and its waters are used for washing, bathing, fishing, travelling and dying. Many come to Varanasi to have the ashes of their loved ones burnt on the gats and sprinkled into the Ganga, as one who is said to be cremated this way will obtain liberation from the cycle of birth and death and will not be forced to live another life. As we drifted in our boat down the river, we were witness to the amazing colours of life along the gats. Hundreds of people participated in the evening pujas (offerings to the gods) while others, only metres away, watched as their loved one perished in the burning fires. I was celebrating the day of my birth and was witness to those who had completed their lives. It was a miraculous rendition of the cycles of birth and death that we all experience in our lives. Varanasi served to prove the many wrong who advised me that it was full of annoyances and amplified challenges. I felt at peace in this holy city and in turn, it found peace in me and alleviated me of the burden of those lessons.

My next stop was Bangalore, a whopping 48 hour train ride south of Varanasi. I chose to study yoga at Svyasa University, which is dedicated to Swami Vivekananda, the man who brought yoga to the west. I left the travel trails to walk on the path of jnana yoga (intellect) but after a week of solid discipline beginning at 5 am and finishing at 9:30 pm 7 days a week, I was longing for fun and freedom. Luckily there were others in my course who felt the same and we all formed an incredible bond which supported us all through our 30 days. Aside from our busy schedule of asanas (physical postures,) pranayama (breathing practice,) lectures and indulgence in lots of food, we found many opportunities to have a good laugh. Part of the program was to learn Kriyas, cleansing techniques in which we use Jala Neti (pouring salt water between the nostrils,) Sutra Neti (Pulling a sutra through the nose and out the mouth,) and my personal favourite Vomina Dauti (drinking 2 litres or more of warm salt water then making ourselves vomit it all out.) The practices were quite intense and sometimes uncomfortable, but our Korean friend Kim helped us laugh through it by showing us his water baby, caused by the inability to vomit 4 litres of water, which he “gave birth” to later in the privacy of his washroom. I’ve provided some beautiful pictures to give you a visualization of these exercises, but don’t try this at home...

The Holli festival of India landed conveniently in the middle of our course which helped us to all get to know each other really well (if we didn’t already after barfing together) by covering one another in various colours of powdered paint. It was an absolute blast and an amazing release of pent up energy. We were also offered the opportunity to meet Ama, the hugging guru. It was the first time that I’d knowingly been in the presence of a divine soul and it was a truly remarkable feeling. She began to sing shortly after our arrival and I got lost in the sounds and music, completely engulfed in each and every word, although unbeknownst of their meaning, and suddenly it was as if something reached up inside of me and pulled out all of the emotions I held onto so tightly, and then I cried. Through those words my soul had a conversation with hers which told me everything that I needed to hear in that moment. The experience was powerful and liberating and I felt blessed to be a part of it. I also received my hug, which lasted about 0.25 seconds before and after a procession of thousands who’d come to receive darshan from Ama. And as quickly as it began, it was over but I walked away with a little something that I haven’t quite been able to wrap my fingers around as of yet.

The month finally finished after an eternity, and when looking back only days later, we felt as though it had gone by in a flash, the contrast between struggling through the difficult times and then remembering and missing the good ones. The course taught me what yoga really is through a myriad of lessons involving perseverance, acceptance and finding the meaning and the good in even the toughest circumstances. For the week following the course, I learned how to laugh my way through the challenges of life in a laughter yoga teacher training. I cannot describe how absolutely ridiculous this course was as we spent 5 days laughing our butts off in a way none of us had done since childhood. It was great! After those five days it became so evident to me the importance of laughter in uniting the world as one. I even performed a laughter session with some of my fellow passengers on the train to Delhi as it seemed suiting to lighten the mood after a clash between two groups which created some disturbance. Once we started laughing, it was as if the walls had been broken down, walls that the children of the other group climbed right on over and conquered with their laughter. The realization that it is hard to hold onto something when you’re laughing became real with that little experiment and it brought along with it harmony and unity in the purest form.

I went to the south of India to learn and I was provided a space in which to do so. After the course I realized that each spot I walk on is a space in which I can learn. Every circumstance I experience, each person I encounter, every single challenge I face and each word I hear has meaning in it. I have become a student of life simply because I’ve opened myself to receiving whatever it is that India has in store for me. As I continue on to the North and back into travel mode, I am finding myself laughing and smiling at everything. I feel like a child again, with India as my teacher and playground in equal measure.

I'm back home on the 23rd so let me know if you wlll be in town and want to hang out!

View pictures at: http://picasaweb.google.co.in/KusumaTiffany/PhotosForAprilBlog?feat=directlink

Saying Goodbye to Nepal

I'm writing to you from Varanasi in India where I've been for the past 5 days. I decided to leave Nepal and come to India to do my yoga teacher training for the month of March and to explore the rest of the time. India's blog will be along shortly, in the meantime let's say goodbye to Nepal...

In the weeks before Christmas, I was staying with a Nepali family at their farm in the mountains, two hours from Kathmandu, and, as promised, I have recently returned. I found the contact information for Hasara farm in a way that seemed to be preordained by the universe. I knew that I wanted to volunteer somewhere and an Organic farm seemed to be the perfect place to integrate myself into Nepali culture, by living closely with a Nepali family. I wrote down the information for an Organic farm volunteer position and then promptly lost it. As fate would have it, I was given the information for Hasara farm, by an Israeli girl who works for a volunteer organization in Kathmandu. I was shocked however, when I returned to Kathmandu later, to find the original ad, but it was for a completely different farm, which told me that I was meant to be HERE, for reasons that would be revealed to me, in the months ahead.

Let me just take a moment to introduce you to the family. Govinda is the father, an Organic farmer, educator, jolly business man, and V.I.P to the agricultural industry of Nepal. I learn more about Organics, herbs, food and life in an hour with this man than I would in a semester at school. Mitu is the revered mother of the house, who is a master of multi-tasking. She manages everyday to wake up before the sun to make tea for the household, begins the arduous task of fixing up a healthy breakfast, while feeding the farm animals in between, she hustles three teenagers into getting ready for school, feeds everyone, washes the dishes and her face all with a smile and without breaking a sweat, before 9 am. She’s playful and cheerful yet gently authoritative, demanding respect with her demeanor alone, from everyone who crosses her path. I’m in awe of this woman and I’m taking notes from observations of her cooking and caretaking skills. She’s killing me softly with everyday extra servings of wholesome, Organic Dal Bhat. Chandra and Rudra are thirteen year old twin boys who exuberate more emotional and intellectual intelligence than any other teenagers I’ve met. They show interest in all that I do and ask me hoards of questions about Canadian culture. Rudra has taken a liking to my IPOD, uses it sometimes as a fake phone in which to make phone calls to his diplomat friends, and he now knows how to work it better than I do. Chandra has mastered the art of cross stitch embroidery, that I taught him when I arrived at the farm. I think he’s trying to make himself a sweater in which to look strikingly handsome, in the hopes that someone will take another picture of him. One or both are bound to end up as Nepali leaders with Organic farms of their own someday. Rassi is Mitu’s niece. She’s a painfully shy but incredibly sweet young girl who doesn’t speak much English but since I gave her some English books, has been reading them and sleeping with them in hopes of improving her English skills. She cooks when Mitu is busy, and the food she makes is better than anything I’ve ever taken out of a pan, and she’s half my age… I can’t begin to explain the joy I receive from spending a day with this family. Their cheer and humility make it impossible for me to get stuck in a gloomy state. In the months I’ve been around the farm, I haven’t seen a single one of them angry or show even a trace of sadness. This is truly an inspiring and astounding household.

Life at the farm is busy but relaxed, noisy but peaceful, productive but lazy (just me), and a fantastic place to spend my remaining time in Nepal. In my first week at the farm I was taught by Mitu, many tricks of the Nepali Organic farm trade. She and the kids taught me how to make different Nepali dishes, including mo mo’s (dumplings), how to plant seeds along the wall of a rice terrace, and how to extract honey from a bee hive using plastic bags as gloves and a mosquito net as armor. I was also taught in a humorous manner, how to tie a sari. Govinda’s nephew was getting married and I was invited to the wedding celebrations. I arrived and the children surrounded me asking “why aren’t you wearing a sari?” I pulled the one Mitu had lent me out of my bag and a large group of women, teenagers and children assisted with the process of wrapping me up like an elaborately decorated present. I had a difficult time walking for the rest of the day but I managed. The children had fun imitating my English and teaching me Nepali, although I was hopeless, and laughing at my attempt to dance with my gimp leg. The newlyweds arrived with the entourage of the male half of the party, the groom resembling a peacock and the bride covered in red and in despair. I asked the boys, Chandra and Rudra later why she looked so miserable and they explained it was what was expected of the bride on her wedding day. She is leaving her family for the first time in her life, to live with a new family that she doesn’t know, and if she were to smile, her family would be offended, taking it as a sign that she was happy to be leaving home, and therefore ungrateful for all they had done for her. I felt that with this genuine exposure to the mysterious life around me, my understanding of Nepali culture had suddenly begun to blossom.

I was riding on a typically crowded local bus a few days ago on my way to the farm. As usual, I sat cramped with too many bodies for the vehicle to hold with no space remaining on the benches, or the roof of the bus, at least in my opinion. Once the bus man had allowed a few more to squeeze in the bus and on the roof, and the seats were surely spoken for, more women climbed aboard and found the small wicker stools, stored under the benches, on which to sit. As a woman sat down, she rested her hand on my leg and used it to stable herself on her seat. It took me by surprise, as it always does, when a complete stranger initiates physical contact, which is practically unheard of in our culture. I sat still with a motivation comparative to that of not wanting to wake a baby or a puppy by moving for fear of disturbing it to the point of losing contact. I enjoyed the sensation of closeness with the people around me, the woman with her hand on my leg, the child smiling at me when I looked her way, the man stuck to my side who would only be closer if he was sitting on my lap. It reminded me of what I love about Nepal and the Nepalis, and it made me wonder why we are so disconnected from one another in our culture.

My acceptance into this family and this community, was an amazing gift, which taught me a great deal about how to live a modest and joyfully peaceful life. Once I moved away from the money making mindset of Kathmandu, I felt included and accepted by every Nepali that I’ve come in contact with. I’ve been invited into stranger’s homes, I’ve held hands with welcoming women, I’ve been stared at and laughed at but always with a heart of curiosity and playfulness. The Nepalis have a gentle demeanor which reminds me of the laughing Buddha, as they seem to have mastered the art of laughing from deep within their gut, remaining childlike in their personalities but steadfast and vigilant in their work. I’ve been attentively taken care of each day, but mainly when my foot prevented me from functioning normally, and also when my fear prevented me from sleeping alone in the dark. Mitu and Rassi spent many nights sleeping in my room in the other guest bed, just to keep me company, saying that if they came to Canada, me and my family would do the same for them. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been capable of caring for others the way that these people care for one another, but they have certainly given me some valuable tools to emulate in my relationships back home. Their unconditional love and acceptance accompanied by all that they’ve given me spiritually, has made me wonder again about whether or not we help others in our efforts to volunteer to the same degree in which they so willingly yet sometimes unknowingly help us.

Today is my last day at the farm and I’m sitting at the back of the house, in the sun, writing my blog posting now to document my experience while it’s fresh in my mind. I am leaving for India in a few days and I have to say goodbye for now to this miraculous place. I was told by a Kathmandu expat that “Nepal is the mirror by which all of our illusions are revealed.” My experiences here have caused me to see into the depths of my being and I haven’t been given the luxury of a concealing mask or makeup to hide behind. Nepal gave me a lesson of staying put (aside from a Christmas vacation) and returning, despite discomforts, providing a challenging but effective way to see myself and my reactions through the experiences that don’t go quite as I’d expected, through my interactions with others, not always 100% positive but always perfect, and a lesson of giving me the bare minimum when I treaded cautiously and giving me everything when I finally surrendered.

My Vacation from my Vacation

Journey: Papleket (Hasara Farm) – Kathmandu (by 2 busses and rickshaw) 3 hrs, Kathmandu – Kuala Lampur (flight) 5 hrs, K.L – Manila (flight) 4 hrs, Manila – Cebu (flight) 1 hr, Cebu – Sugar beach Negros (busses, ferries, tricycles, on foot, etc.) 48hrs, Sugar beach – White beach (busses, ferries, tricycles, on foot, etc.) 70 hrs, sugar beach – Manila (ferry, bus, tricycles) 4 hrs, Manila – Hong Kong – Kathmandu (flight) 6 hrs. Approx travel time: 141 hrs. Over the course of 3 weeks.

Sometimes travelling can become stressful and wearing on our bodies, minds and emotions. It sounds crazy, even to me, that travelling should be professed as a demanding endeavor, especially when compared with the 30-60 hours a week that most of us work in North America. But after the trekking fiasco, the pain of carting around my sadly wounded ankle, and the challenge of showering with cold water outside, in five degree weather, I was craving a break in the warm sun. As the Christmas season was fast approaching, without a sign of it in Hindu, Muslim, and Buddhist Nepal, I was starting to question where I’d like to spend it and who I’d like to spend it with. After much contemplation, I decided to take a temporary hiatus from my project hopping in freezing Nepal, to meet my travel companion, Cam for a beach mission in the warm Philippines. The process of getting from Nepal to the Philippines, however, proved to be an arduous task in which my vacation was failing in its assignment to help me relax and heal my foot.

My Nepali family was hesitant to let me go but I taught them a new word, explaining that I’d return and left my warm clothes and winter gear at their house as collateral. They prepared a leaving ceremony for me in front of their house, and as my bus arrived, I was blessed with a Tikka on my forehead and showered with the necklace of fresh flowers they prepared for me. The lengthy story of how I came to behold a Nepali family, however, will be saved for another blog.

The joyful anticipation that I was feeling to travel to another country again, slowly faded as I arrived to the airport late at night, to a “flight cancelled” notification. The inclement weather in Hong Kong had prevented our plane from arriving in Nepal so we were stuck, without a plane, in the cold, five days before Christmas. There were some definite bonuses to my flight being cancelled, and one huge coincidence that turned out to work in my favour. I met a man from Boznia, working for the United Nations in Kathmandu who just so happened to be catching the same connecting flight to Cebu. Having two of us foreigners, and having him in business class, meant that the airline wanted to accommodate us in whatever way possible. As they sat searching for flights, all I was thinking was, please get me into your complimentary luxury hotel or business class so I can sleep. I happened to be assigned a seat in Economy class on a flight to Kuala Lampur, in which I didn’t have any passengers beside me, so I slept like a baby. The second flight, from Kuala Lampur to Manila, however, was a business class seat.

Now I gotta admit, I was a little reluctant to accept it, seeing as I don’t believe in class segregation, and the fact that my tattered and smelly clothes obviously screamed that I didn't belong, but just as I was about to exchange my seat to a willing economy class seat holder, I saw the buffet... Having scraped by on saw dust and toe nails for breakfast for the past 3 months, my mouth began to salivate at the sight of brie and baby bell cheese, fresh mango, freshly squeezed juice etc. and all for FREE!! K, I know I'm sounding a little small town girl steps into the big city for the first time, but hello, have YOU ever been to business class? Their lounge has free internet access, a collection of about 40 living rooms put together, friendly faces helping you without expecting anything in return, a golf putting room to practice your swing, a slide descending into a swimming pool, free one hour massage and bakini wax while sipping lattes, free camel rides... Okay I've gotten a little carried away... Now I understand why people sometimes pay twice the price, it's not to sit in a bigger seat, it's for the luxuries of the lounge. Next time I get "stuck" in business class, I'm coming 24 hours before my flight.

Cam met me at the airport in Cebu, where he’d been waiting for more than 2 days for me to arrive. We spent two and a half days shopping for a mini computer, which I was determined to find to encourage writing on my trip, and we spent the same amount of time journeying to our sandy destination. Travelling in the Philippines is a challenge to say the least. Every trip took double the amount of time and cost twice what we anticipated and attempts at shortcuts proved to be disastrous. On our final leg across the last remaining stretch of land, we decided to hire a motorbike tricycle to drive us for one hour instead of waiting thirty minutes more for the bus. We got about 15 minutes away when the bike failed to complete its mission of climbing the first hill. The driver seemed stressed but assured us that everything would be okay as he stuffed leaves into the bike’s body as a substitute for nuts and bolts. We started up the hill again and reached the top, only to soar down at speeds resembling that of the Mind Buster at Canada’s Wonderland. When I saw the look on Cam’s face, I knew we were in trouble. I asked him what was wrong and he replied “I can’t hear you,” certainly to save me from the burden of knowing that the brakes had failed and he wasn’t sure whether the driver knew how to gear down to prevent us from sailing over the side to a quick arrival on our beach. Fortunately motorcycle maintenance is something Filipino tricycle drivers have a handle on. When we reached the bottom of the hill safely, we asked the driver to stop, not willing to take any more chances. The bus that we didn’t want to wait for, arrived about five minutes later, and we arrived safely, but after dark, on Christmas eve.

I spent Christmas inflicted with a digestive ailment that redefined the term “the runs.” It was a non-eventful day which we spent watching movies on my lap top, in between my bathroom breaks. The remaining days on sugar beach proved to be tranquil but the weather unfortunately was not. The rain let up for a few hours on New Year’s Eve, just long enough for us to enjoy the giant bonfires on the beach, then extinguish them before they spread to our bamboo huts. We said a calm and non-sealant “Happy New Years” to each other and to the new friends surrounding us, then I threw off my clothes and hopped in the ocean to spend my first few moments of 2009 with the Phosphorescence of the sea.

This was my second trip to this country and it appeared that the Philippines which I was experiencing on this trip bore very little resemblance to the one I remember from years previous. I think this is simply because I visited my first time, in my pre-vegetarian days. The Filipinos LOVE their meat, which meant that some days my eating options were sugar filled pastries, instant noodles (beef, chicken or seafood flavor), or my own finger nails. Their idea of a vegetarian meal is anything with fish (a common misconception in South East Asia), or powdered asparagus soup, which I sadly discovered on my first night in Cebu. Cam was very patient with my temper tantrums expressing my longing for Nepal’s scrumptious vegetarian meals. Apparently I’d loved the dal bhat in Nepal a little too much, as a friendly Filipino woman made it playfully evident to me on the beach, by pointing to my belly and saying, “when is baby due?” Cam laughed and patted my tummy saying “it’s just a food baby” which I’m sure I lost by the end of my trip. I nearly jumped over the counter and hugged the manager of a vegetarian friendly Mexican restaurant, when we had our first meal in Manila.

My trip to the Philippines was challenging, as it tested my patience and revealed to me a lot of my shortcomings when it comes to accepting things as they are, not as I would like them to be. Cam and I said our goodbyes in Manila and I flew back to freezing but familiar Kathmandu. I’ve decided to spend a few days to myself with my new computer, writing, reading and eating as many veggie cheeseburgers as I can get my hands on. As I sit, overlooking the Himalayas on the balcony of a small café in the mountain town of Bandipar, I’m beginning to feel that 2009 is starting out to be a very good year indeed.

Check out some Nepali and Filipino pics at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/KusumaTiffany/AVacationAwayFromMyVacation?feat=directlink