Why you need ear plugs to come to India.

Or ‘Christ mate it’s about as peaceful as a dance party at Gallipoli here’.

It is fair to say that New Zealand, for better and for worse, is one of the quietest countries you could ever live in. Edging it down the pecking order in this regard perhaps are places like rural Mongolia and Antarctica (on a still day). But, of the better frequented and more familiar territories one might come across NZ is right up there in the silence stakes. In the same way this is no surprise to anyone it should come as no shock to discover that India is securely fastened to the opposite end of the spectrum. But what does this mean in practice?

Maybe I’ve become more attuned in the relative quiet of leafy Gokulam, surely the Acacia Avenue of India, but the sound of the neighbour sweeping/rotavating the front yard with a broom made from what must be high tensile steel wire while playing a recorded loop of Buddhist sounding chanting at 430am is a fairly good example of the noise levels attainable, even in the small hours and with minimal, relatively primitive, equipment. The ante is normally upped around 5am when, for some unknown, unseen but precisely timed reason their guard dog goes bonkers and barks its little Indian head off. For about 11 minutes. If you slept through the ‘sweeping’ and chanting (oh, and flobbing, otherwise known as hawking, gobbing or spitting huge amounts of phlegm out) then the barking definitely ensures you get to peel yourself a new retina for the day. Around 530am, with the sun coming up, the first traffic might buzz by – hooting helpfully as the nearest corner is approached to avoid any possibility of collision – and this will continue throughout the day. Awesome. No danger of oversleeping. Ta.

And this is in a super quiet part of a super quiet neighbourhood. Having said that it is still a lot quieter than where I used to live in London. And I do have it pretty easy really. Other people have almost continuous domestic incidents running next door to them, or live on a seemingly quiet but apparently vital intersection via which a large proportion of the city’s scooters have to pass each day necessitating a logarithmic increase in hooting frequency and thus volume.

I seem stuck in sarcastic mode at the moment don’t I?

womens' wrestling

Now that is something one does not get to see very frequently anywhere in the world. However, here in Mysore it is an annual event now as part of the Dasara celebrations.

There was a rumour circulating about the wrestling but I had to check it out for myself. After an early morning recce yesterday, which established a start time and entry arrangements (it is free), I assumed it would be heaving and so some of us got there early. Wrongfooted, as was evidenced by the empty stadium - only the police were early, including 4 women constables in khaki sarees, all of whom (except the women) were brandishing the power sticks otherwise known as bits of bamboo - we then loitered in the shade as best we could. The right hand side of the 'stadium' (capacity c. 1500) began to accrue a few newspaper-hat clad spectators and then, shortly after the appointed hour of 2 o'clock the first bouts got underway. Kites, of both types, circled overhead (and over the bare powerlines) in the clear sky, almost like vultures. Ready for potentially rich pickings to the untrained eye, but down below it was all about hand and foot speed, keeping the centre of gravity low and surreptitiously bitch slapping your opponent as hard as possible. The mens' bouts were pretty even and consequently lasted upto 15 minutes but when it came to the women, most of whom were probably around 16 or so, the bouts were over quickly. Technical levels were pretty mismatched across the regions in this national level competition for the women. But there was drama. With the Keralan VS Varamasuty looking like making it a cakewalk over the vastly underexperienced Bombay rookie LL 'lioness' Ganapathy from early on in the bout the tables were unexpectedly turned, and the crowd shocked into stunned indifference, when 'lioness' managed a throw on her opponent, which looked suspect from my angle and resulted in a hefty blow to the upper abdominal/lateral rib area (possibly bruising the Anterior Serratus muscle). VS managed to recover and put on a few holding moves before taking her revenge with a lightening leg swipe cleanly flooring the lioness. In a scene not remotely remeniscent of gladiator VS then hobbled to the edge of the mat having been declared winner but obviously about to collapse and give a bye to her next opponent. It's definitely the school of hard knocks for these girls.

Having got my India experience in for the day, and with everyone else I came with having already headed to the pool some 90 minutes earlier, I was totally sun blasted and decided to leave. On my way out though I bumped into more yoga people, sat with them and ate a coconut ball sweet thing or two before going 4 up with them in a motor rickshaw back to the leafy environs of Gokulam.

Go wrestling!

Yesterday was a birthday - as I showered I remembered it was mine, which felt great, but then I actually forgot that fact even when discussing another birthday with a lovely kiwi lass while at the swimming pool later in the day. The other birthday was that of the Cave Swami who lives, in a cave somewhat predictably, half way up Chamundi Hill, a local landmark with a 1000 step climb to the top. CS apparently puts on an annual lunch for those who wish to attend. As it was it was chucking it down monsoon stylee all afternoon and then most of the night. I had my anatomy etc course to attend so did not get to bask in the birthday aura of the Cave Swami. In the end, having had a great day, I remembered over dinner that it was in fact my birthday too. This evening will have to do so the plan is to have a bit of supper with a few devotees at a quiet local place.

Om.

Taipei personality

Normally I’m terrible with names. For some reason though, at the moment I am really onto it. I just need to meet and be introduced to someone and I remember their name immediately. Of course they almost always forget mine and have to ask the next time we meet at breakfast/lunch/wherever. However since everyone else is forgetting theirs it doesn’t matter. It all evens out. It’s just pretty handy for me. A Good Trick to have.

Today is the start of Desara, which I believe is a festival to mark the start of autumn in these parts, and so the next 10 days or so are filled with all kinds of festive things. I have yet to research what exactly but there is a good website which I will investigate and post here (as you will see my understanding of the meaning of the festival was way off the mark). I also learnt from an Israeli Sanskrit scholar who is here furthering her studies that my teacher’s name, Sharath, actually means autumn. Not surprising since he was born on September 29th, just 4 days after me.

Yesterday went to the Southern Star hotel to sit by the pool for a couple of hours. It is a totally dull hotel, devoid of any charisma and with stunningly slow poolside service. There are other options and I will be exploring them, although it’s a useful backstop.

Next week I will be attending a short course over 5 evenings, run by K from California who is a practitioner of Structural Integration, a form of bodywork known as Rolfing after the woman who devised it, which will present western Anatomy, Kinesiology and Physiology of the musculoskeletal, respiratory and nervous systems as they relate to the eastern practice of yoga. This is a) because it sounds really interesting and K is very articulate and knowledgeable and b) because I think a better understanding of these areas could help to avoid injury problems down the line and help me to understand some of what I might be doing to myself physically by doing this particular activity. That’s pretty important. I was also chatting to K about doing a course of SI and may do so in the future. One of his little pitches is that a course of Rolfing can allow your body to move as far in 1 year through the asana practice as it would normally take 5 years to do. Now that is some claim. Wanting to get to the ‘next step’ is a common theme one encounters when hanging out with ashtanga people – the next series, asana etc – but a valid question is why? There is no substantive answer unfortunately. Often it comes down to wanting to feel like there is some sort of ‘progress’ and thus a ‘reason’ for doing something that can be very demanding. Progress to what is unclear and I point to a previous post of mine as a little rejoinder. Nonetheless, it’s there and it’s around when discussion turns to ashtanga. Anyway, the 5 years into 1 thing fits in with this neatly and so will no doubt appeal to a lot of people I have met here who really want to get onto the ‘next bit’ of their practice. Let me know what it's like when you get there.

Hot house. Now that’s not a phrase one mentions too often in polite company round here. There are some very competitive people who do ashtanga. I would only say that one can quite patently take the student out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the student. Some nationalities are more prone than others, at least to my untrained and subjective eye….

There’s also the type A personality (or Taipei personality as I saw on an airline billboard advert for flights to Taiwan out of LA) thing which plugs right in to all that. As a confirmed B student with occasional flashes of As – because again what’s the point? Show me and I’ll do it. My motivation probably comes most from the gaining of autonomy rather than anything else - who comes from a family of type A A students, I think I know kind of what I’m talking about in a homespun way.

Lunch time. Dosa with coconut chutney, masala sauce and a fried chilli. 20 rupees.

Got a flatmate until my mother arrives - which is pretty nice. T, from California. Also investigated yoga teachers for mum - there is one right round the corner, the most recommended one, having asked a few people. She needs to commit to 2 weeks though - will she do it? I think she should. Ha! haven't even spoken to her about it yet - she may read this before speaking to me even...

In other news, tomorrow is a moon day- so no yoga. Weirdly it turns out that with Sharath we do practice on Saturdays which means that I could have ended up doing 7 (gasp) consecutive days of practice. Surely that is illegal I am hearing you saying. Nope. Sharath has spoken.

OK, the first rule of fight club etc…but I don’t think the following ‘reflection’ really counts because it concerns a sort of peripheral/meta issue, at least as far as the asana practice goes and doesn’t go into the ‘ow my hip ached when I tried to insert my coccyx into my left eustachian tube while gazing toward the event horizon’ kind of category. ‘Reflection’ because this concept itself implies some sort of contemplative review of an accumulation of experience but in reality the little nugget to follow is nothing more than a blogflection based on a few transient emotions occurring in a heart beat. Blogs are immediate, but appear reflective, and thus allow regurgitation of notions, synapse flashes and semi-thoughts under the guise of reflection. A blogflection.

Today was only my second practice here. The weird thing is how much anxiety I noticed arising as the time approached. I am not used to practicing in a shala as there is not one in Hawkes Bay and, particularly for the last few months, I have been practicing at home, when I want, whenever I want. I’ve really enjoyed this. Where did this anxiety come from? It has to do of course with the newness, the unfamiliarity and the sheer fact of being here. Oh yeah, and ego…

On the other hand, in savasana I had a good giggle to myself about something. Can’t remember what though.

Priority number 1 tomorrow – enjoy the practice. Enjoy the sweat, enjoy every stretch, enjoy doing the things that come and enjoy trying to do the things that don’t. Enjoy.

had breakfast with a couple of folk from practice. Kiwis as it turned out – go kiwis!

early early

For those people who read ashtanga blogs this may all sound a bit familiar but, whatever, it's all local colour....

It’s still dark outside and there is a surprising lack of any noise at all from outside. Not that Gokulam is particularly noisy even in the day. People buzz around on mopeds and the odd fruit or kitchenware seller passes by with a friendly shout to alert the neighbourhood to his presence but that is it really. The absence of any noise at all at 430am is more surprising because normally when in ‘the tropics’ one would of course expect to hear nature doing its thing. Insects and frogs, that might make quite a cacophony, usually create a vivid, pulsating eventually subconscious backdrop to sleep. Here there is nothing.

When we landed at Bangalore I noticed the altitude on the ground was nearly a thousand metres. Mysore is only a little lower at around 700 metres (I think). Thus the air is cool from evening onwards at this time of year. In fact the climate is pretty much perfect. Daytime highs up to 25Cish, 24 hour lows perhaps 17-18C with quite low humidity. It’s easy and very liveable here as the tail-end of the monsoon ebbs away.

So maybe the fact of this relative coolness means that insects and frogs prefer to provide their soundscape elsewhere.

This being India there are of course many other animals shuffling, trotting, sauntering, climbing, fluttering, flapping and skittering their way in and out of the picture. Yep, bony holy cows chewing plastic bags and shitting in the street but also the odd gecko on the bathroom tap. From my hotel window in Mysore I watched a small troop of monkeys, like small children at a bit of distance, shin down the drainpipe on a peeling nicotine coloured wall across the vacant and overgrown lot. Now I am in my apartment in the leafy and very pleasant ‘suburbs’ there are flocks of green parakeets wheeling around the rooftops and the odd sow with her piglets cleaning the streets of the detritus of which there is an endless supply. A little note from the landlord comments on a few of the finer points of inhabiting these few rooms, such as buying detergent so the maid can wash the clothes and turning off lights when going out. There is also the remark ‘Drop tissue paper after use into a small plastic bag. The cleaning lady disposes of it through the scavengers’. Obviously the use of toilet paper is a European oddity resulting in the buildup of expended sheets. Indians are far more eco-friendly. Who are The Scavengers then? This is a little reminder of the fact that, unseen and beyond the cosy confines of Gokulam, there exist microcosms and communities covering the full spectrum of biodiversity that depend entirely on the waste of others. In other words another person may find a use for our used toilet paper.

Having said that, on first impressions Mysore really isn’t that hardcore. So far I have only seen one person asleep actually in the middle of the road (at least I assume he was asleep) and a couple of people missing limbs. There is a huge bustle and throng on the streets of course and the markets and parades of shops are all busy and well stocked. Compared to Madagascar for example, where a man with his left eye hanging out followed us around a market which more closely resembled a shanty town, where some of the better produce on offer were cracked, dirty and empty bic biro tubes and smoked rats, this all compares very favourably. Which is all to the good as I have no need of any travel rites of passage. I think I’ve had a couple of them in the past and they weren’t always that much fun.

In keeping with this I must say that it is extremely easy to come here, get to Mysore and find oneself a place to stay for a few weeks or months. In this suburb things are very much laid on for the yoga devotee. Local service providers appear in the hiatus between alighting from the auto rickshaw and fully grasping the handle on your laptop case to begin walking. They have it all worked out and can show you a few apartments within an hour or so, introducing the landlords and explaining the subtler points of drinking water provision or broadband connection in a flash. They know yoga students, who after all have been coming here in relatively large numbers for at least 10, perhaps 15 years. For a very small fee they will sort you out in no time at all with whatever might make life more comfortable and convenient.

My simply furnished two bedroom apartment, which has ensuite European bathrooms (I would actually have preferred to squat but beggars can’t be choosers), plenty of space and access to a terrace roof costs around GBP100/NZD300 per month including electric and the maid. The yoga is just under GBP200/NZD600 per month.

The apartment is mid-street, important because near the junctions people toot their horns when passing through, on the top floor of two and has similar apartments either side both of which are taken. I went and said hello to my neighbours yesterday. Good guys.

Yesterday evening (Sunday) I went into town, a 10 minute ride, and sifted around buying some adaptors and trying to find mossie coils and blankets. Had a bit of mutter paneer for dinner and then walked around some more to get a feel for the place, asking people the name of this street or that market and realising that the city is pretty manageable in size and scope. It is only 1 million people of course, tiny in Indian terms and ultra compact by NZ standards. Unexpectedly I also coincided with the highlight of the sightseeing week round these parts which is the illumination of the huge and impressive old Mysore Palace by (gasp!) 100,000 lightbulbs (ungasp!). It was pretty cool. I could almost sense the local electricity grid straining to keep up and I’m sure the street lights pulsed and dimmed as the palace lights went on. That is probably a very tired old joke in this locale.

Anyway, it’s just getting light now and will soon be time to get myself sorted for the first practice with Sharath

fight club

and the first rule is...?

So I won't.

Has anyone ever found that doing ashtanga means you end up with little knots in your underarm hair? Weird.

Also, practicing alone has many advantages. Fewer distractions, a more mindful practice being among them. Oh, and you can break wind massively with total impunity.

You can take the boy out of Kindy but you can't take the Kindy out of the boy.

Also, who on earth is reading this blog from Northern India? Are you having a good time dude?

Sorted

It's pretty quiet round here. There aren't many foreigners around yet. Thus finding a nice apartment has been easy and the general vibe is very laid back.

Checked out of my hotel in town and got a rickshaw out to Gokulam, cool, leafy and where the shalas are, early this morning. The apartment is large, airy and on the top floor of 2 storeys, and it also happens to be 2 minutes walk across a small palm fringed park to the new shala where Sharath does his classes and where I will be attending, along with towel for buckets of sweat, scabby rubber mat and helpless expectation, as of tomorrow. The owners showed me their 'guest book' with names and addresses of all who have lived there and I was a little suprised to see the name of a yoga teacher who lives round the corner from my mother in Norwich. I knew she had been here as her blog was on ashtangi.net while she was here (I can't find it now). After living in NZ for 4 years I shouldn't be surprised by the small world factor. But I am. Other than Norwich yoga teacher there were many americans, a few aussies and brits and zero kiwis. No frenchies either....

Anyway, unpacked which took about 48 seconds, then did some yoga. Next I went looking for breakfast but got talking to S. Ganapathy, my landlord, who is a retired Ministry of Defence functionary. His unemployed, but highly qualified, son listened in while the lady of the house performed an unknown puja elsewhere in the house.

dateline india

Things are never how you expect them to be - particularly countries. That is until I arrived in India. Definitely still in jetlag/arrival phase but the impression is living up to the stereotypes, good and bad - typified by the mixture of smells, from jasmine to dead rats rotting in the sun.

It's not technically my first time here though there has been about a 30 year gap between visits. I'm not really sure if the 4 year old who was lead by his parents through the streets of Calcutta, barefoot and stepping painfully on lit cigarette butts, really counts as the same person that is here now. Interestingly though there is lots that is familiar, in fact it doesn't really feel foreign at all - although I may have to revise that little assertion in a few days once the culture shock starts to hit home.

I lay on my bed in the hotel here in Mysore this afternoon reflecting on the fact that this for me is the start of a few months overseas - after the 3 months here I am spending 6 weeks with my mother and sister in Australia. That's all pretty exciting to contemplate. But so was the fairly ordinary prospect of lunch - a dhosa in the end. I'll be honest, it took me a while to bite the bullet and find somewhere to eat. Like most people I don't relish the idea of getting ill and my digestion has often been the first thing to complain after a change of location. Dhosa +3hrs now and nothing to report. Ya gotta eat.

The other thought that came up was - 'what am I really doing here?' After all, one can practice ashtanga next to a roaring fire in a bothy clinging to the side of a Hebridean isle, so why come here of all places? Maybe I'll cook up some answers to that one by the time I leave.