Tiny Gifts and New Eyes

The moment I stepped into my Mysore apartment, I couldn't help but sigh. After long lines, long flights, and  long conversations I arrived, with only the clothes I was wearing, my mat and my carried-on supply of Counter Culture coffee (oh, and a little Sam James for good measure). It was a tough journey; I won't lie. However, turning the key in the lock and opening the door into the life that I have here brought only one thought to my mind: home.

Settling in for my third trip has been unexpectedly easy. Even though I arrived a bit earlier than my luggage, I had everything necessary to make myself comfortable straight away. Opening the trunk that I had stored in February was like discovering a treasure chest - clothes, towels, books, sheets. The kitchen was stocked and ready, the old internet stick tricked into giving me service for those first few hours. My landlady prepared and shared fresh dosa and sambar so that I wouldn't have to venture into town in the rainy weather. Everything I found, everything I saw, and everything I was offered was a tiny gift that made me feel as though I had never left.

While it has been nice to have a chance to slide right back into Mysore life, I am also grateful for the gift of new friends. Bright smiles and enthusiastic conversations offer me a fresh perspective on the things which I feel I know so well. In the past ten days I have explored new neighbourhoods, revisited old and favourite destinations, made exciting discoveries, and had a chance to take in my world with new eyes. It's a lesson I've been taking into the shala with me. The first full week in the shala was incredible, and just like stepping across my apartment threshold, the familiarity of the practice made me feel comfortable. Linking up breath and movement in a way that I've done so many times over makes me feel safe and grounded. It's a feeling I linger over and savour, but is also imbued with that same sense of curiosity. I can't wait to find all the tiny gifts, unwrap them and discover what they have to offer.

Dr. Seuss Tree

Just over one week ago I packed all my belongings into boxes, put my husband and dog in the car and after nine years moved from my home in Baltimore, Maryland to Greenwich, Connecticut. Though I am barely settled, tomorrow I will pack a few things into a small bag, kiss my husband and dog goodbye, and make my way to the airport to begin the thirty-hour journey that will take me to the reason I've turned my world upside down; for the next two months I will study Ashtanga yoga at the source in Mysore, India. This will be my third trip in as many years to the Sri K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute. With each visit and each day spent studying under the careful observation of my teacher, R. Sharath Jois, Ashtanga has become further ingrained into every aspect of my life. A teacher once told me "first Ashtanga changes your body, then your mind, then your heart." I have seen these changes firsthand and as a result, have become increasingly connected to the lineage and tradition of Asthanga, and to the work it requires both on and off the mat. The practice offers me a keen sense of awareness of the world, and insight and perspective about my role in it. After my first and second Mysore trips, I arrived home to Baltimore burning with the fire of intense practice with teacher and community. However, it is difficult to maintain that type of energy when going it alone. The fire tends to wane. As a result, I have felt compelled make unorthodox choices in order to prioritize Ashtanga in my life. Although change is rarely easy, the recognizable benefits of the practice, and the joy and devotion I feel for it, have inspired the support of my husband, family, and friends in my desire to be a student, even if it requires sacrifice. I am excited that tomorrow I will once again be afforded the chance to go to learn from a guru who has so greatly impacted my life and the lives of many others. I relish the time spent in Mysore where I can rebuild and reignite the fire of my practice. However, this time I am also filled with anticipation for my return. I know that I will come home to a thriving Ashtanga community who will help to breathe life into the embers if that fire grows dim, to a teacher who will continue to tend and stoke the flames with a balance of discipline and compassion, and to a place whose commitment and dedication to teaching this method will keep the agni burning strong, even through a cold and snowy Connecticut winter.

Wish List

I've made a wish list. It's a compilation of the things I'd like to do and accomplish before I leave Mysore next week. There are things on my wish list that are not surprising, like making a final trip to Mylari, the site of B.'s infamous 12-dosa morning, for a rich and buttery breakfast. And then there are things on my list which are a little less conventional, but important nonetheless like finishing the third season of Deadwood with my housemates.

In the process of choosing which places and adventures would help complete my four month journey, I came to something I've been meaning to do, but avoided since about three or four weeks in. I want to learn to drive a scooter. Sort of. Most of me wants to learn, but there's that tiny part that is jumping up and down, arms waving, yelling "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!"

Fear is there.

However, if there's something to be learned from practicing Ashtanga, here or at home, it's that you have to work through the scare-factor. So, with the help of my two Mysore besties, yesterday was the day. We went down to a quiet, flat road only a few blocks from my apartment. This road, or at least part of it, is fairly devoid of potholes, which is a miracle in itself (hopefully attracting more miracles), and therefore became a safe place for me to take my first scooter-steps. While one of my friends showed me the ins and outs of starting, accelerating and braking, the other stood at the side of the road keeping a careful eye. Let me say now that both of them are experienced and accomplished scooter operators, and so I knew I was in good hands. Intimidating hands (fearing again). Caring hands. The confidence they both had in my ability to actually do this, without wrecking the scooter, or myself, spurred me forward in my venture.

The first few movements were heart-pounding. The controls seemed sensitive, the scooter heavy, the steering impossible. There were cows and water-buffalo in the road - horned Indian driving bogeys rounding every corner. The constant encouragement from my trusted teacher was the only thing keeping me from total freak out. Steady in both voice and demeanor, my perfectly calm driving instructor helped me get my bearings and allay my fear. My right hand gave the gas, my left poised, ready to brake. Suddenly though, I was pulling my feet in, travelling (slowly) down the road, and staying upright. What?? I even managed to dodge the aforementioned livestock, a pedestrian, and another scooter. Success! At least in terms of driving in a straight line. When I was done, my rewards of smiles and "good job" resonated, reminding me a little of receiving a nod from Sharath after working a challenging asana.

"Anna - what you do?"

"Drive in a straight line..."

"Mmmm. Tomorrow, turning you take."

Smile.

Nod.

Tomorrow I take.

No fearing. Remind me to add that to my wish list. :)

Getting Ready

The time is quickly approaching. In 10 days I'll make my way to the airport in Bangalore, board a plane to Paris, eat a croissant, board another plane, this time to DC, and arrive...

Home.

It's a big word to me, maybe larger than it's ever been before.

When B. and I first moved from Hamilton to Baltimore we spent days, months, perhaps even years, referring to the places we grew up as home. Even now, nearly 9 years later, I sometimes find myself referring to Lindsay, Toronto or Hamilton as home, despite the fact that the houses, friends, and family members that surrounded me when I lived there have moved on.

For the past four months, Mysore has been my home. It's been the place where I have eaten and slept (or not slept) and cried. It's the place where I've felt lonely and scared and the place where I've felt loved and comforted. It's the place where I've been discovering myself, planning my future, living my life. As I prepare to pack up, putting away things for my next visit, I have to admit I'm a little sad. The people that I've become close to and the weeks I've spent here have profoundly impacted me and I know that when I return to the U.S. I won't be the same person I was when I left. But I also know that it's time. Part of making these trips is the leaving - the going home - in a sense it's just as important as coming in the first place. Going home forces you to delve deep into what Sharath calls the four D's - devotion, dedication, discipline and determination. Can you allow this practice to be similarly transformative when you're faced with all the distractions of everyday life? Can you stay focused; maintain clarity of thought and purpose?

For some people the answer is no. And that's okay. For others, it's a definite yes.

I think, for me, there will be joy in the work to make this happen. I am preparing to meet this challenge head on, and believe that the pleasure of a community of friends, the comfort of familiar surroundings, and the loving encouragement of a supportive spouse are what will help to propel me forward when I arrive home. And I'm so looking forward to experiencing it.

It's bittersweet to approach the end of this journey. But we all have to leave here - we all have to go home. And it's the people, and the energy of the shala and the practice, that make this place feel like home. Luckily, I can take those things with me, at least in small part.

The rest is just geography.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind...

Today I register for my final month of practice. Only a couple of weeks ago I felt as if the end was so very far away, and now suddenly, I feel it looming, as if it's shadow is approaching and beginning to cover my toes in Samasthitih. Already, so many of the people that I care about, those who really help to make these trips as special as they are, have left. They've gone home, or continued on in their travels. As I sit in the lobby waiting to practice, their memories of Mysore are fading slightly, becoming filmy and grainy, turning into a blur of early mornings and bowls of rice. And my own memory of them becomes fuzzy around the edges, smudged by the days that continue on, the practice, and the focus.

This forgetting is inevitable, but it is also necessary. It's an important part of being able to go home and re-connect to our lives and families; it allows for re-entry into the real world. And the forgetting will be an integral part of returning; letting go of everything and everyone we love in order to return and fully immerse ourselves once again in practice here. The process is slow, and often painful, but little by little we detach - we have to, it's the only way we'll ever be able to do it again. And this is not to say that home or Mysore or the people in between are gone completely. It is the longing, not the loving, that subsides.

Goodbyes have always been hard for me and as I said my first few this week, I've tried not to think about the ones coming up that will be the most difficult. In this space, where we are so incredibly vulnerable, it is very easy to form fast friends and forge lifelong relationships. There are people here who I love as deeply as my own family, and leaving them will be incredibly challenging. But just as I always carry my practice, the energy of the shala, the love for my husband and family and home, these people too will be with me.

Sometimes we must put those who are not with us out of our minds as much as possible, but we know, and trust that they know, that they're always in our hearts.

Tenderized

I feel like I've been marinating. For the past two weeks I feel like I've been sitting in a vat of breath, and posture, sweat and gaze - throw in people, places and surprise news from home for a little extra spice. I feel raw; vulnerable; tender.

As I near the end of my third month in Mysore, my third month away from my creature comforts, family, and friends, things here are really starting to sink in. Deeply. They're beginning to colour the way I act in my everyday life and change the way that I respond to situations. I'm worried they're beginning to make me a little nutty. I'm regularly exhausted, my body aches and I feel like there's a lot going on inside my head, things that I am not even sure how to properly express.

Practicing Ashtanga is amazing and transformative, no matter where you unroll your mat. However, practicing here, working with intensity, determination and focus that I've never experienced anywhere else, changes the game entirely. Without distractions of work and home, without the stabilizing effects of routine and loved ones, India forces you to confront the aspects of yourself that you'd prefer to ignore. Suddenly everything that you hide away, the skeletons in the spiritual closet, are all exposed. You're gutted; your viscera laid out for the world to see.

It's horrifying. It's disgusting. It is utterly devastating.

But this mess is the impetus for change.

This is where the other parts of the practice begin.

Finding the Christmas Spirit

I think that many of the foreigners in Mysore would agree that without snow (if you're used to that sort of thing), and lights, and a constant barrage of holiday music emanating from the radio; without family all around and the smell of gingerbread or pine needles, it can be difficult to get into the Christmas (or Channukah or Kwanza) spirit. I know that Bart and I have found this to be true during the past week, hardly even realizing that Christmas eve was approaching before it was already upon us! So now, here we are on the day before Christmas, just returned from Bart's epic 12 dosa breakfast, and sitting in our living room with the front door wide open so we can listen to the breeze rustling the palm trees. It's a rough way to spend a morning, let me say. ;)

We know that being apart from family and friends for the holidays is a challenge. It brings up a lot of emotion for everyone, us included, and we wanted you to know that we have been thinking of all of you during these past few days. Though we are missing each other, I know that we all understand that this is only a temporary separation, and that we are all so lucky to have one another as constants in our lives. I know I speak for Bart as well, when I say that our lives would not be the same without you.

Usually, around this time, we're piling gifts under our tree and mailing off packages; or we're packing the car and the dog and heading out to visit all the people we love – off to see all of you. But since that isn't possible this year, we wanted to tell you what we have been doing to celebrate the season. Instead of gifts under the tree this year, which we would normally be wrapping right now, Bart and I decided that since we all have so much to be grateful for already, we wanted to take the opportunity that spending Christmas in India has offered us and share our resources. We decided to make a donation of the money that we would normally use for presents and paper and all the other Christmas goodies and offer it to a local organization where we felt it could be well used. After speaking to some other yoga students and knowledgeable friends, our organization of choice was Odanadi, an operation founded in Mysore that rescues and houses children who are being, or are at high risk of being, trafficked for either underage slave labour or sexual exploitation. This practice is still in full throttle in countries like India, and though Odanadi generally deals only with human trafficking cases that take place in the state of Karnataka, it currently houses about 70 girls and 12 boys. The goal of Odanadi is to provide refuge for these children so that they can begin to recover from the trauma they've experienced and prepare to be reintegrated into society as productive adults. Odanadi works to not only ensure that these children have adequate food, shelter and clothing, but also helps them to learn life skills as well as receive an education. They've had several college graduates including a lawyer and a state politician who now works to help stop these types of crimes against humanity.

We truly feel that Odanadi is deserving of any help we can provide and so that is why we decided to make our donation to them. In addition, we've been able to go there several times, interact with the staff and children and generally see how the operation works. It's so wonderful to have the chance to see how these kids are directly benefiting from the work of the organization, and to be able to have a hands on role in that work! We've participated in a Mehndi Magic afternoon where we were given henna tattoos and just yesterday we spent the evening making Christmas decorations with the children. They have so much fun with these types of activities – and so do we!!

It's so important to both Bart and I to try to keep in mind how fortunate we are – how much bounty we have, both in terms of our home and belongings and the people who fill our lives – and when we see how far a single dollar can go in India, we know that this money can really make a difference for these kids. In fact, we've been told that our donation will go directly to building a better home for the boys rescued by Odanadi, as they currently have to be housed in small huts due to lack of resources. Based on what one of the founders told us, the money that we've donated could be used to by the concrete for the entire home twice over. AMAZING!!!

Though we physically made this donation, the gratitude and credit here is really due to all of you for your willingness to support us in making it happen. We hope that as you read this blog post and look at the photos of all the kids you're helping that it will be just as exciting as any gift we could have gotten you. We hope that you will see the joy, the sweetness, and the potential that we've been able to see first hand in these kids, and we hope that their bright and beautiful smiles will warm your hearts, no matter the weather outside.

Merry Christmas and much love to all of you. Thank you so much for your part in making this possible.

Explanations and "Thank You"s

I've been gone for a couple of weeks - I know, and I'm sorry. But I'm back now.

There has been a lot going on these past two weeks which have kept me away from this space. For one, my hunny arrived last week! We've spent the past several days getting him settled in and on track for his month here. He won't be practicing yoga, but he's already using his newly mapped Indian running route, which has resulted in witnessing the interaction of a mama goat with her newborn baby and the discovery of India's deadliest snake (a sidewinder!). I've been working hard at practice (whew - when past students say "first month tired, second month pain", they're not kidding), and Sanskrit, trying to maintain my focus and learn as much as I possibly can. Also, I was asked to write an article for an Ashtanga website run by one of the authorized teachers practicing here. I wrote about why we come to Mysore and if you're interested it was followed up by a really nice piece by my roommate's wife about how it feels to be the partner left to carry on life halfway around the world. So yes, it's been busy around here. But it's been good!

In the meantime, I know it has also been busy for those of you there. With Thanksgiving over the Holiday season is in full swing, I'm sure, and as I sit on the floor of my Indian apartment and see the palm trees swaying in the breeze, it's hard for me to remember that all of those types of celebrations are only a few weeks away.

In honour of Thanksgiving and in preparation for the season ahead, I wanted to share some of my own sentiments of gratitude. I have so much to be thankful for, including, but not limited to:

• a wonderful and supportive husband who encourages me to follow my dreams
• a loving family who has faith in my choices, even if they don't always understand
• friends here and at home who are willing to laugh at my bad jokes, listen to my long stories, get up at ungodly hours to meet me for coffee or breakfast or yoga, and generously offer me delicious food, soft beds and shoulders to cry on when needed
• the opportunity to experience both the beauty and frustration of living in India, to work with a teacher I deeply respect, the ability to practice and to be a part of something I wholeheartedly believe in
• an awesome roommate; someone so willing to share space, knowledge, and time
• a very cute dog who is well behaved or at least sneaky enough only to be bad when you're not watching
• all of you who read and write and email and message - who send love and good energy and positive thoughts

Thank you! Have a great week and keep reading....

Always Somewhere to Go

Someone once told me, "it's easy to busy yourself up in Mysore." Whether this statement was meant as a warning or a comfort, I'm still not sure, but as the days pass I'm finding it to be increasingly true.

Despite the fact that most of the students in the shala are here without the commitments of regular work hours and real-life responsibilities, time quite easily slips through your fingers from day to day. There's practice and chanting, Sanskrit class and Ayurvedic consults. You can get a massage or go haggle at Deveraja market. You can scoot and rickshaw; meet friends for coffee or have people over for lunch. And yes, we have the choice to stay in to nap or read or hone a skill. When in Mysore whether you want to be out and about or stay focused at home, there's always somewhere to go.

This week I stretched my socializing legs; making new discoveries and meeting new friends. On Sunday I hitched a scooter ride to the Organic farmer's market, where a few tiny tables attract a somewhat larger group of yoga students to buy fresh organic goods including pungent basil, sweet jaggery, and lime-pomegranate juice. Excited by this little taste of my normal Baltimore Sunday routine, I happily handed over rupees in exchange for baby eggplants, dark sesame treats and a jar of homemade orange marmalade.

Another morning I went for Indian breakfast with my friends Suveer and Kapil, trusting their expert opinions and getting them to order my meal. Happily, I ended up trying two new and delicious things, upma (a savoury semolina hot pudding, kind of like a coarse curried grits) and onion uthappam (an onion, chili, and rice/lentil batter pancake), and got to finish it all off with a sweet kesari bhaat and a hot cup of chai.

The moon day eve brought a festive spirit when I attended my first (perhaps THE first) Mysore Mexican fiesta complete with tacos, guacamole, and the most AMAZING dessert which tasted like chocolate ganache in a cup. Our resident pastry chef pulled out all the stops by topping the creation with gold dust. Yep, you read correctly, gold dust! You may need to beat your laundry against a rock to wash it, but damn it you're going to have some dessert with panache.

In tandem with all my socializing, I also made sure to make some quiet time for myself this week. I finished two books, had several rests, and cooked lentil soup, tomato eggplant pasta, veg curry, and (surprise) toast. I spent some time with my ukulele, practicing my finger picking which is still terrible, and singing along when I was sure I was home alone.

I've also been working on my Sanskrit lessons. I finished level 1 this week, and was eager to start level 2. However, just as I was beginning to become familiar with Devanagari, recognizing the characters and matching them to their appropriate sounds, I'm suddenly required to conjugate verbs and make simple sentences. Whoa there! Back that truck up! I feel a little like I should have had the option to take level 1.5. And to make matters worse (although, in reality, I know it makes matters better) my roommate is "enhancing" my learning by having me read aloud to him at night. Only a few lines, which can often take me 10 or 15 minutes, are enough to make me flustered and red in the face. I'm embarrassed by my lack of skill at both quick recognition and appropriate pronunciation especially because he is fairly adept and advanced. It's his patience and encouragement though, that make me go into my room and read a few more lines aloud to myself before going to bed, attempting to employ Guruji's sentiment to "do my practice".

In the shala each morning, I'm finding places to go in my practice as well. For those who are not familiar or accustomed to Ashtanga, the daily routine of the same postures in the same order may seem boring or monotonous. For regular practitioners thoughts may jump ahead to the next posture or the next series. Either way, we need to recognize that there is so much work to be done, right here, right now! Each practice offers a new challenge, and in finding that we are able to let go of monotony and desire in exchange for clarity and non-attachment. It's this sentiment that I'm trying to keep in mind.

This week, every time I stepped on to my mat, I set out one goal for the practice. Bringing attention to something as mundane as not smoothing out my practice rug after each vinyasa, or to something as important as maintaining a solid gazing point, offered a new endeavour and focal point. These challenges, in turn, positively reinforced the other parts of my practice: greater efficiency and proper breath count because I wasn't distracted and wasting time, or stronger body awareness in my own posture because I wasn't looking at that of another. In both cases my practice felt greatly improved without any changes that someone from the outside would obviously recognize.

In Mysore I feel like I'm given an opportunity to have a different perspective. While I may "busy myself up" both out in the world and on the couch in my apartment, I never lose sight of my purpose. I'm here to practice and I want to approach that practice with my eyes fully open. This week it's allowing me to see and focus on the possibility of forward motion and progress in the most minute ways and reminding me that no matter where I am in my life or on my mat, whether I feel stagnant or in chaotic motion, there's always somewhere to go. The key is get there one breath at a time.

It's That Simple

When I first arrived in India last year, I was taken aback by what I thought was a lot of unnecessary complication. Everything is less automated and takes more time; you can't just use your credit card whenever you feel the urge; you have to fill out this form for that thing and it needs to be in triplicate; this store is open, but not really because the owner is eating lunch. It took some time, but after a while I realized that what I mistook as being inconvenienced by things being too complicated, was actually more of a simplified life - one to which I was no longer accustomed. Things seemed more challenging and difficult, but it was only because, in most situations I had only one, very simple, choice: write things by hand; pay with cash; fill out the form; come back later.

It's a lesson of simplicity that I've drawn out of my life and my practice this week. And it's the joy that I've found in the most simple things and tasks that have helped to make this week fly.

It all started with toast.

Toast, really, is nothing but hot bread, but it was this mundane comfort of home that I really wanted this week. I found myself okay with being caught in torrential rains and wearing slightly musty laundry. Cold showers were easily acceptable, and I could deal with ants, well, everywhere. But I missed toast. My roommate and I had made an attempt to toast bread in a pot, because as I said, toast, in theory, is really nothing more than hot bread, but the effect of the "pot toast" was just not the same. None of that toothsome crunchy exterior with a warm and soft middle. No...honestly, we took some slices of bread and increased their temperature. We gave bread a fever and that's about it.

So I made a decision. A big one.

I bought a toaster.

And let me tell you, all the pieces of bread - wheat, millet, multigrain - that have found their way between those glowing red coils and become warm, slightly crisped, decidedly toasty and ready to accept toppings, have been more appreciated than I can explain. Toast with hummus, toast with peanut butter, toast with butter and honey, toast with cheese. There's been a lot of toasting going on in this household; each satisfying bite reemphasizing that there is so much to be offered by simple pleasures.

In the same way that toast has helped to convince me that all the other things that could be considered inconveniences are just nuisances that can be overlooked, the asana practice helps us to move past the negative influences in our lives. As Sharath said this afternoon, the practice is the tool that helps us to move towards a life that embraces the yamas and niyamas - the ethical concepts we strive to follow in our lives - which include ahimsa (non-harming), santosha (contentment), asteya (non-stealing), and tapas (self discipline), among others. It's that simple. We come to our mat each day, we focus our bodies and our minds through posture and breath and drishti (gaze), and in turn our lives will start to come into focus as well. It may mean sacrifice, and it may take many years of practice, but if we use the tool we've been given the distractions and delusions begin to fall away.

That's the kind of simplicity I want in my life - a focal point to keep me grounded; a strong foundation from which to build. And so I will get up each morning, go to the shala and work as hard as I can. I will do what I came here to do, which is practice and learn. And I will revel in the simple beauty of Ashtanga yoga: the uncomplicated and logical method it follows, the building blocks which stack one on top of the other, supported by a foundation that cannot be rocked. I will breathe and sweat and try to take the lessons I learn on my mat home with me.

Then, I'll eat some toast, maybe with jam, and I'll enjoy every moment of this opportunity that I have been given.

Look on the Bright Side

Another week has passed and it seems like it has come and gone so quickly. Time feels as though it moves at a snail's pace here, but at the same time the days and weeks are suddenly behind you before you realize.

This week marked the Indian festival of Diwali - a celebration of triumph of good over evil, light over darkness. And what better way to mark the occasion than by huge fireworks displays?! Every night as the yoga students headed to bed, Indian families joined together outside of their homes and lit fuse after fuse. There were small pops and huge bangs and fireworks that shot out of cones and ones that you could swing around on ropes. It made the fourth of July feel like child's play. And while Diwali, like many holidays at home, seems to revolve around the laughter and excitement of all the things that are occurring in the streets, the holiday has spiritual significance as well. This "festival of lights" refers not just to the pyrotechnic displays, but to the celebration of the inner light residing in all of us. It is a way to remember that our strength and beauty can develop into something that has the ability to overcome darkness in all of its forms.

This seemed to be the theme this week, as in conference today, my teacher, Sharath, discussed the meaning of the word "guru." Commonly translated as teacher, the actual breakdown of the word means "one who dispels darkness", and it is through devotion to your teacher and the teachings, that you will find a guide in this journey from dark to light. Today we were reminded that there is a brightness within each one of us, and as that develops we, in turn, allow ourselves to turn away from the dark - from the negativity that accompanies greed and anger and ego. But for most of us, finding this brightness and allowing it to shine is challenging. Sometimes we need a little help, even if we're afraid to ask for it. It is a long and difficult process - it can take a lifetime (some would argue longer) - but with help we can accomplish it, and along the way there is so much to learn and absorb, so much knowledge and wisdom to be gained.

I love this notion of inner light - and always have. Most of the faiths that I have studied use the analogy of inner light in some way - and I love it that yoga, as well as its teachers, carry on this tradition. It provides a connection between all of us, no matter what race or religion, age or gender. We are all on the path to finding our personal spark of light, working hard in order to allow it to well up within us, and then once it is developed, allowing it to shine brightly, emanating as a beacon that perhaps, with much discipline and devotion, might inspire someone else to brush aside the darkness with their own small, but brightly burning flame. And even though our paths may diverge and there may be many stops along the way, we are all beginning from the same place and traveling to the same destination. We're all making our way through this world just trying to look on the bright side.

Happy Diwali to everyone. May your days be filled with laughter and joy, your nights with peace and comfort and may your inner light shine more brightly than you ever thought possible.

Settling In and Slowing Down

The alarm went off at 4:15 this morning. Even though it sounds crazy, I kind of love getting up at that time of the morning. It's probably one of the only times that the streets in India are quiet, when there aren't very many people out, except for the other insane yoga students. In this country where things often seem to be in utter chaos, the relative calm and stillness of early morning is even more apparent.

It soothing. It's comforting. It's contagious.

Today was my second practice since I arrived in Mysore. Both have been led Primary Series, with Sharath wandering amidst the columns and rows of multicoloured mats counting us through each vinyasa and pose in Sanskrit. Encouraging a slow and steady connection of breath and movement, I've found myself savouring these mornings of led practice with my teacher. In the past I've often found the slow speed of Sharath's count a little bit torturous, forcing me to hold poses that I would normally try to rush out of before completing the five full breaths, or sustaining inhalations or exhalations for much longer than I would if I were practicing on my own. However, after the last couple of months, in which I often found myself frantic with the pace of my regular life, this slowly rolling cadence feels like a perfectly tuned heartbeat; a constant and life sustaining rhythm that propels me forward while creating space in body, breath and mind. It's amazing, and I'm so grateful for the room that he is creating for me, and helping me to create, both on and off my mat.

When I leave the shala, I'm trying to take this lesson with me into my day. I routinely hear his voice in my head, mimicking his continual question from class: “what's your hurry?”

What is my hurry? That's just it. Here, I don't have a reason to rush or panic or anticipate. Here, all that matters is the moment: what you feel like doing right now, where you feel like eating, if you feel like you'd rather take a nap. Life moves at a leisurely pace, and I firmly believe that, for me, coming to Mysore is a way to help me separate from my tendency to take on more than I should; my tendency to overbook and overextend myself and convince myself and everyone around me that I can handle it. Mysore is my wake up call. Better yet, Mysore is my get some rest call.

Now, if only I could convince my jet-lag, time-change induced insomnia to agree.

Everything in time.

The coconut stand:

a great place to take a few minutes to sit, drink, and talk with friends.

Before Packing Up; After Setting Out

Before:

It's hard to believe that in less than 48 hours I will be walking down a breezeway, boarding a plane, and finding myself on the 28 hour trip that will land me in Mysore, India. There will be DC traffic and airport security, cramped seats and likely crying babies. There will be a layover in Paris, a perilous midnight car ride and a process of re-introduction. More importantly, though, there will be goodbyes and “see-you-soon”s and more than likely a few nervous tears as I let go of my life here – setting it on a shelf for the next three months.

This adventure isn't easy, and sometimes it's downright awful, but after my experience in Mysore last year, I feel like returning isn't even a choice – beyond my control or desires, this is a trip I HAVE to make.

Year in and year out Ashtangis from all over the world converge on tiny Gokulam, the Mysore suburb the Jois family calls home. We come looking for something bigger and stronger and beyond ourselves. We come to learn from the source, to find connection to tradition and lineage. We come as singles and pairs, families and friends; we come anxious and comfortable, worried and elated. But no matter how we arrive, we leave changed, and it is for that reason that so many of us will make the journey 3, 8, or 12 times over. For us, the progress and evolution that is made, the internal and external work accomplished, is compelling enough for us, and those who care for and about us, to warrant the sacrifices required to leave homes, jobs and families for weeks or months at a time. And this is what I try to remember as I dig through my belongings, finding all I think I'll need for the next three months and pack it into my suitcase while my depressed pooch looks on. I pack up the necessities of my life, including bits and pieces that remind me of all the people, places and things that I love, but am leaving behind.

While I know I'm better prepared mentally for this trip, there is still some trepidation. And as the day that seemed so far off for so long suddenly stands up huge and looming in front of me, my very nonchalant attitude is quickly turning to panic.

I JUST NEED TO BREATHE!!!

Which is precisely what I'm going halfway around the world to do. And what I need to remember is that when I get back to this life, pull it down off of its shelf and dust it off I will find new beauty in it. I'll discover things that I've been overlooking, and see it with fresh perspective, because it will be different. Because I will be different. And that change can be a spark from which to ignite the world.

After:

It's been less than 12 hours since I hauled by crazy heavy suitcase from the car and into my serene Anokhi Garden room, and already I'm feeling at home. It's hot and noisy and everything here is just as I remember: the cows in the street, the cacophony of honking horns, the chatting around the coconut stand. I can already feel the change in my level of comfort on this trip. The way I'm adapting back, continuing right where I left off last year at this time. This morning I hopped on the back of a scooter without a second thought, sought and found a place I'd never been to on only one try, and generally spent my first morning getting more accomplished than I thought possible.

Things are coming together so quickly. This morning, as I came out of my room to get some breakfast, a friend from last year came in from the other room calling my name with a big smile. A quick hug, a hello, and suddenly my biggest anxiety was alleviated - he offered me a place to stay! I am officially not homeless! I'll be staying with him for the entire time in our perfect 2 bed, 2 bath flat. And it has a kitchen! It has no bowls or utensils to really speak of, but it's a kitchen nonetheless and I am a happy girl. It's 2 minutes from the shala, it's big and clean and bright and is going to be fantastic. And now it's eerily calm. I've got nothing really to worry about. How is that even possible? It's the magic of Mysore.

Tomorrow I will register at the shala for my Friday start of practice, Saturday I'll move, but other than that, it feels as though I'm easily settling in - and it's a wonderful feeling. And of course there are things and people that I miss like crazy when I'm here, which makes it so challenging, but once you're here all that reasoning you did before you came just takes up residence in your heart and you don't just know you're following the right path, you feel it, with your whole self.

On the Move

Mysore – Week 4

It's amazing how time gets away from you – as I complete my final full week in Mysore, I can hardly believe that it's already coming to an end. It's almost as if I've entered some sort of panic mode, hurriedly trying to fit in the final few adventures, making the most of last days with new friends, and every practice just working as hard as I can to continue the progress that I've made here.

I've been on the move this last week, working my way around Mysore, taking in the sights that I'd been putting off, always thinking, oh maybe next Saturday – well, today is my LAST Saturday, and it was here before I could even realize what was happening. But I'm feeling content about my whirlwind tour of the city. Last Sunday night, after a restful day, I headed into town with a couple of friends to celebrate our final evening together (they've both left since). On Sundays, the main palace in Mysore becomes a gathering place for couples, families and tourists who all cram their way through the gates and onto the grounds for the weekly lighting of the palace facade. We arrived around 6:45 and made our way through the queue. The sprawling lawns were filled with people eating, laughing and generally just enjoying a perfect South India evening. At 7:00 p.m. with the flick of a switch the palace lights were turned on and what had been both grand and beautiful to begin with turned into something absolutely magical. The thousands of lightbulbs lining the palace, temples, and gates to the grounds are all illuminated simultaneously, and though I suspect that the rest of the city experiences brown outs for the remainder of the evening, it's totally worth it. To accompany the lights the air was filled with the sounds of drums and horns and as we got closer to the front of the palace we discovered a military band, all in uniform. We watched for a while, noticing that the quality of the music seemed to deteriorate slightly after the first number (perhaps practice time was limited) and once we felt we had had the full experience, we took to the streets for some roasted corn (not nearly as delicious as it sounds/looks/smells) and grabbed a rickshaw home. It was a wonderful way to spend a final evening, and a nice way to wind down my time in Mysore.

This week I also visited another classic Mysore sight, Chamundi Hill. A huge hill just on the edge of the city, most people make their way to the top via rickshaw or car. But anyone who knows me has already surmised that this was not the way I would want to mount this classic pilgrimage site. The alternative, a 1000+ step climb is the way the true pilgrims do it, and I was not about to let that experience pass me by. We started early, trying to avoid the hot weather, and were sent off in style by a group of monkeys who have made the base of the steps their home. About two thirds of the way up we stopped to visit the Nandi Bull, a huge statue of the bull incarnation of Shiva over which they pour coconut oil in order to have it turn black in the powerful Indian sun. Reportedly there is also a cave swami at this site, but after we heard that his cave more resembles a 4 star hotel, including satelite TV, we decided against a visit. After our legs had rested for a few minutes we decided it was time to finish the climb, taking the last few hundred steps well, and finding ourselves at the top of the hill and in front of a large temple. Upon entering we were aided on the winding journey through; we made our flower offerings, received our puja bindis and then found our way back to the large surrounding terrace with beautiful views of the city and fresh coconuts to quench our thirst. Though refreshed the trip down was not as easy as you might think, and we all felt as though we'd definitely gotten our exercise for the day.


Though the sights I've seen this week are incredible and beautiful and have added infinitely to my time in Mysore, they were both initiated as a final farewell for friends who are leaving. Our month is coming to an end, and for those of us for whom it is not feasible to stay on for another 2, 3 or 5 months, it is difficult to say goodbye. Even when I went to the shala to register to practice for a couple extra days before I leave, Sharath questioned my one month stay with what I felt was disappointment. But that is the nature of this place, people are always coming and going, and the constant influx and departure of students and friends forces you to deal with that generally hated concept – change. Rather similarly to when I arrived – I once again am in transition. Apparently it is a lesson I need to re-learn.

I could even feel it this week in my practice, the frustration I felt when I arrived came creeping in as I tried, without success, to achieve one of the milestones of the Primary Series, standing up from Urdhva Danurasana – backbend. Some days it's feeling so close, and others so very very far away, and it's hard to keep in mind that even as my practice has progressively grown in the last few weeks, my body and my mindset change from day to day which can have drastic effects. Through it all, it's difficult to remember that each practice is going to be different, sometimes in positive ways, sometimes not.

We are always in transition; no pose, no person, no place, no state of mind is permanent. So, climb the steps, be awed by the lights, cherish the friends, and be compassionate to yourself – in this life we are always on the move, enjoy it!

Learning My Lessons

Mysore – Week Three

The weeks here are flying by, which seems funny considering after practice I have no responsibility whatsoever. But a wise yoga teacher told me that it's “easy to busy yourself up” in Mysore, and I have to say that she was certainly right.

My practice is continuing to grow under the watchful eye of Sharath and his assistant teachers. And although the work is intense and I'm really beginning to feel it, I can see the opening that is happening – both in my body and my mind. It has been a difficult transition, I will admit, coming from a completely different style of teaching and practicing and having to adjust to the method that they use here. At first I really felt as though I didn't know what the expectations were, what I was supposed to be doing; little things are different in what could be described as Ashtanga's “traditional alignment” – a point of the toes there, a touch of the chin here, position of your heels, or your fingers or your gaze. As it turns out what I'm supposed to be doing is surrendering – to the practice, to the teachers, to the idea of possibility - and working to my edge in every posture, every breath, every morning and then seeing where that can take me. And with Sharath's first-time addition of assistant teachers in Mysore practices, as well as much smaller class sizes, we are all receiving more personal attention than I would have ever imagined and I think this is having a large and positive impact on all the students who are here.

The led classes, though less focused on adjustments have their own set of benefits. I try to listen intently to Sharath's count and his much repeated mantra “don't hurry.” No rush between chatarunga and updog, no speeding out of difficult poses, and the painfully long counts in things like Navasana (boat pose), Sirsana (headstand) and Utplutihi (lifting the entire body up while seated in lotus), build strength, stamina and patience. This need for less speed is translating into my Mysore practices as I work to slow the breath and remember each position of the count, I'm noticing that my sequence is now taking close to two hours rather than the usual one and a half.
Each morning after practice I come home and spend the morning in my own way – having breakfast, this week enjoying fresh papaya, pineapple and pomegranate in my fruit salad – doing laundry, calling home.

My morning walk continues to be my ritual, time on my own to explore my little world of Gokulam, turning right or left whenever the urge strikes, going down alleys or streets whenever a sign or a house or an interesting person catches my eye. This time also lets me reflect on what happens here, the changes that are occurring in my practice, the transformations in my heart and mind. Walking through the town helps me to put things in perspective, to see the world and myself from a different vantage point. Some days it's mundane, overhsadowed by the soreness of opening hips and hamstrings, thrown off track by loud engines and honking horns. Some days, though, like this morning, it's downright magical, making my way through the streets as the sun rises and city begins to stretch it's arms. With far fewer rickshaws and motorcycles the streets are now filled with bicycles and pedestrians, sleeping dogs and munching cows. This morning I watched as a milk delivery man adeptly steered his bicycle, carry two huge open buckets, parked and went door to door, pouring the fresh milk into waiting containers. I had a beautiful interaction with a man selling flowers, who took the enormous basket down from his head and fastened me a bracelet and necklace of jasmine before heading on his way. I stood, fascinated, as women with steady hands sprinkled chalk dust along the road, marking out the intricate design that will decorate the gateways to their home until the next rainstorm. And on my way back home I discovered one of many tiny temples, tucked in backstreets among houses, and went in to experience the silent beauty. I ended my walk at the corner coconut stand where Guru, the proprieter, poured me a steaming glass of sweet chai, and I sat on the hill and watched Gokulam come to life.
The afternoons are often filled with social things – lunches, shopping, trips into town. A highlight of this week was lunch at Aunty's House, a tucked away restaurant in the loosest sense of the word. It is quite common here for women to open their homes for lunches and dinners and call themselves a restaurant. Aunty's House is exactly this. Aunty lives tucked away in the back corner of a housing complex near one of Mysore's many palaces. The only way to find it is to go with someone who knows. My friend, Victoria, who was introduced to Aunty by another friend of hers, led me down a tiny corridor and into an equally tiny room that is the entrance to Aunty's. We sat at her miniscule table with three young Indian boys, already enjoying Aunty's lunchtime meal, as Uncle napped happily on the floor beside us and Hindi soap operas played in the background. Aunty brought us plates and warm chapatis and then individually offered us the preparations of the day – cabbage, green beans, eggplant sambhar, rice – all of it delicious and made with love. We ate with our hands, as is traditional here, and spoke what little we could with the boys, mostly about cricket, and once we had cleaned our plates, we thanked Aunty and headed home with full and happy bellies.

The evenings for KPJAYI yogis are quiet affairs, as the 3:30 wake up is prohibitive of much nighttime fun. However, this week we had a moonday holiday as well as our regular Saturday off, and so we enjoyed both of our free evenings as much as possible. The first we spent eating microwave popcorn and watching the pilot episode of True Blood, and when we emerged into the dark from my apartment for an evening walk the full moon was glowing brightly in the sky. The second free evening was spent down at Gokul Chats – a local hangout for snacks and tea and fresh lime sodas. We ate veg noodles, drank chai at a second stop and then strolled the main street admiring the lights and marvelling at the amazing talent of an Indian boy who cuts potatoes for hot chips into a bubbling cauldron of oil at the speed of light on an incredibly sharp mandolin.

Of course, when you wake up at 3:30 in the morning you're quite tired by 9:00 at night, and so it does tend to make our evening come to an end a little sooner than we might like, but hey, that's the price you pay to practice yoga at the source. In my humble opinion, it's worth it.

I've only got 10 days left in Mysore, and I'm already starting to feel a little sad. However, I'm determined to make the most of it, both inside the shala and out. This experience has been wonderful and though I tried to come without expectation, I think that it is turning out better than I could have hoped for.

I'll be posting again before I leave, so don't think the journey is over. Quite to the contrary, I'm beginning to realize. This trip is perhaps just the start down a path – and I'm looking forward to seeing where it leads.

Fire, Friends, Food, Fun

Mysore, India – Week 2

So, we're on day 7 of the Gauri Ganesh festival, and while the locals may be enjoying the celebrations immensely, those of us waking at 3:30 in the morning are a little less impressed with the impromptu drum circles, music concerts, and pyrotechnic displays that are taking place each evening. Watching the clock tick past 9, 10 and 11 p.m. when you know you've got to get up for practice in the morning can be slightly frustrating. Although, I suppose that's why they invented earplugs.

Each morning, I'm now waking before my alarm, worried that I'll be late for practice, and not wanting to miss my 4:45 (shala time – which is 4:30 for the rest of Gokulam) start. I get up, throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, down a glass of water and what I've deemed my Bhujapidasana banana and head to class. While most of the students here refuse to eat before practicing, I find that my body doesn't tend to react well to the fiery Ashtanga practice without enough nutrients, and with a bedtime around 8 p.m. and regular lunchtimes around 1:30 or 2, my dinner is light and consists mainly of cucumber-tomato salad and a veg bread or samosa. The first week I attempted practice on an empty stomach and then made the decision that it isn't for me. I'm now receiving questions that accompany the “you're crazy” face about my daily baby banana which I eat about 30 minutes before practice begins. I call it the Bhujapidasana banana because I feel that though my body can make it to Bhujapidasana (a challenging arm balance just over halfway through the series) on it's own, I need the extra fuel to finish strongly. Those 4 or 5 bites of vitamin and potassium packed sweetness are enough to pull me through until I can walk out of the shala and thankfully accept my freshly decapitated coconut.

All of this thought and rambling about food probably seems crazy, but for me it's a huge factor in determining how my practice progresses and since I'm here for the yoga, I really want to do everything I can to make each morning count. And I think it's working! This week my practices were much better, stronger, more fluid (though still not as fluid as at home) and I feel like I'm making huge strides. With the pain that's been plaguing my right hip and glute for the past 8 months magically gone, I've been able work much more deeply into all my forward folds, binding my wrists in every pose, which is something I never even contemplated accomplishing. My backbends are also deepening, and I surprised myself this week to look up towards the front of my mat while being assisted in the backbend, and there in front of my face were Sharath's toes. This, my friends, is a good sign. And along with my increased flexibility and opening, my concentration has drastically improved. My scattered brain is focusing, narrowing my field of vision from those practicing around me to my own mat and precisely what is happening on it. It may have taken two weeks, but I feel like I'm hitting my stride here in Mysore, and I'm incredibly pleased.

The comfort, though, is not limited to the shala, as I'm also finding my way through the social and cultural maze that is Mysore. I've found a community of friends that I enjoy and I'm also grateful to have time to myself to read and relax and just be in India. Every morning and most afternoons I take a walk around Gokulam, exploring different streets and shops, stopping for supplies, or a chai. In the afternoons I also visit my fruit guy who provides me with the array of goodies that make up my morning meal – watermelon, pineapple, pomegranate, and the tasty tiny bananas – all of which can be purchased in one go for about 75 rupees, about the equivalent of $1.75 and will last me several days. After class we can also purchase homemade ragi (millet) bread, freshly ground natural peanut butter, honey, tahini, hummus, ghee, carrot-banana bread and a whole variety of other things from a man who comes to the shala to sell these natural foods to the hungry yogis. It makes eating at home each morning a treat for me, and I'm happy to hole up in my little apartment and feast after a shower and a call home.
But it wouldn't be any fun if all I did was sit at home and so I go out and play, too! I've made a few good friends and we see each other most days for lunch-eating or craft-making or city-tripping. Yesterday we took a cooking class with Anu, the lady across the street from me who runs a restaurant for the yogis and cooks a delicious, slightly westernized, and healthy version of many Indian dishes. She taught us about all the main spices used in Indian cooking, how to prepare and add them to a variety of dishes and then we watched her demonstrate how to make dal and palak (spinach) and sprouts while we nibbled on freshly made paneer (Indian cheese), grated coconut, sweet lime sodas and hot chappatis which we rolled and cooked ourselves. We then had a traditional Anu feast, complete with pumpkin, which is one of my favourite Mysore dishes, well spiced and absolutely AMAZING!

Tonight we're off to the city, hoping to have a lovely evening and enjoy the fact that tomorrow is Saturday, which means no practice and consequently, the option of sleeping-in! I'm considering staying in bed until 6 a.m., which at this point is pure luxury.

Well, my friends, this is currently my life. I practice and walk and eat and walk and spend time with friends and read and there's definitely more eating in there – and chai drinking – oh and I'm working to restart my meditation practice, which I consistently did for many months last year, but then allowed to drop off. I figure with a little spare time on my hands, this is a good time to try to reinstate it. The days fly, which seems strange considering I really don't have anything I have to do, but I'm working to embrace this lack of responsibility, as it is something I may not experience again for a while.

I hope you all are happy and well and know that I'm thinking of you, and will be glad to see your smiling faces when I return.

Transitions

Mysore, India – Week One – This blog is an amalgamation of my first week of practice and life in Mysore

It's 3:45 a.m., and all over Gokulam alarms are going off and lights are switching on. It's the commencement of the new session at K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute and the little yogis and yoginis are crawling out of bed, wiping the sleep from their eyes (assuming, of course, they got sleep) and preparing themselves in anticipation of this morning's 4:30 Led Primary Series. I too am pulling myself from my bed, gathering my mat and my keys and my coconut funds and heading out the door.

It's a 5 minute walk from my house to the shala, just enough time for me to realize how stiff my body is from trains and planes and beds that are, for some reason, as hard as rocks. It's enough of a walk for me to gauge how weak my body has become in the past few days from some sort of sun-sickness, a fever, chills, dehydration and an inability to eat. Yet still at quarter to four in the morning I am more than willing to pull myself from beneath the blankets, to walk out into the dark street, nodding and waving to the other crazies who have also paid to be tortured at ungodly hours, and make my way to the shala gates. We remove our shoes, and silently take our spots in the room. Laying out our mats in strategically chosen places, not too close to the stage, avoiding the doors, or the seams in the mats.

I sit on my mat and take in the room around me. From every wall I see the faces of the Jois family, the lineage I've come here to follow, looking down on me as I practice. An honoured picture of Pattabhi's teacher, Krishnamacharya hangs high above the others, commanding attention and respect. Up on the stage, taking his rightful place at the head of the room, is a picture of Guruji, himself, in his glory days of Ashtanga, strong and powerful in Samastihi, the intensity shining from behind his eyes. As I sit, waiting for Sharath to emerge and begin today's practice, I can feel my body start to soften. The stiffness from the days before melts away, absorbed by the mat and the room and the energy of this place starts to take over.

Before I know it, practice is beginning, and I'm making my way through the Sun Salutations, my body remembering the movements it knows so well, even in unfamiliar surroundings. We work ourselves through standing, arriving at the balancing poses. Much to my surprise (and fear, and horror, and excitement) Sharath is next to me as we move into Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana and as he takes my right ankle to lift my leg higher, I inhale with the pain that I know will follow, as I'm still battling a bit of an injury and some severe tightness in my right hip. But, I came here to learn from him, and in one breath I convince myself to surrender and as my leg goes higher than it ever has before there is no pain, only stretch, and a warm and friendly smile from Sharath as I come up from the fold and take my leg to the side.

We transition into seated postures, and as we do I notice how my vinyasas feel heavy and clumsy, a by-product, I'm sure, of the weakness I've been experiencing or perhaps an apt physical manifestation of how I'm feeling inside as I transition from traveller to local. I make a mental note to try to eat and drink more over the next few days, attempting to build my reserves and get myself back to normal practice levels. My flexibility, however, seems to have only increased since my arrival (emotionally I haven't got a lot of choice), and my forward folds come more easily, chin reaching shin in poses that for months have seemed impossible. We reach Navasana, and I know that I am not the only one who is struggling to not allow the boat to sink. “Straight legs” Sharath demands from the front of the room, but my body is refusing, and I'm terrified that he's going to stop me (and conversely, almost hoping a little that he'll stop me so my tired body can rest, but shhhh...that's a secret). My legs and core shake as I try, without success to straighten at the knee, every time I lower down to pick up in Lolasana it's a blessing and a curse, trading aching legs for aching arms. Obviously the three weeks of travel have taken a larger toll on me that I had anticipated.
After what seem like innumerable breaths we're moving on, reaching Bhujapidasana and then the Kurmasanas, my worry point of this practice. Bhuja goes alright, but as I transition out and then jump my feet around my arms again for Kurmasana and Supta Kurmasana, a lump forms in my chest. If I'm going to get stopped, this is likely where it will happen. I “go flat” as Bill would say, into Kurmasana, and then begin to work my hands back. My fingers touch without problem, and so I walk my feet towards one another, tucking my head down. The right foot inches forward a little, the left foot inching back, and with a little maneuvering – tada – feet are crossed! What?!!? Feet are crossed?!? My feet don't cross. Not on my own. They touch, they mingle, they think about crossing, but they don't do it. Until now. Each day since I began practice in Mysore my feet have crossed. And though they're not really behind my head, with assistance I can feel them getting back there, my shoulder tucked deeply beneath my legs – no pain, no resistance. It's like magic!

I wish I could say I sailed through the rest of the practices, but the honest truth of it is, each day I'm fighting for poses, I'm fighting for vinyasas. In the led classes the final pose, Ut Pluihi, is insanely hard and Sharath nearly diabolical in his excessively slow ten count. As we all attempt to lift our weary bottoms off the floor, to not let him see if we drop down for fear of disappointing him, and ourselves, but I've been told it gets easier – that the 4:30 start time begins to feel normal, that your body will adjust and perhaps even enjoy. The new week begins tomorrow with Led Primary, so I guess well see.

We finish practice each day by around 6:45 and it's immediately out to the coconut stand. Coconut water has not really been something I tend to enjoy, but when the coconut man hacks the top of the coconut off with a machete, you stick in a straw and drink that luscious 10-rupee nectar after an early morning practice, nothing seems more nourishing. The coconut stand is our water cooler – and it's also the social calendar for each day. It's where we make our plans; who'll have lunch with who and where, will we go to town, to the market, to the palace? What time did you go to bed last night? How was your practice this morning? What poses are giving you trouble? How many mosquito bites do you have? Do they have this thing at Nilgiri's or do we need to walk to Loyal World? In Mysore, our universe is very small.

We actually live in what could be considered a suburb of Mysore, called Gokulam. A tiny town of sorts, that really seems to revolve around yoga, both Ashtanga and other styles, and the town caters to the students. People are friendly and helpful. They are accustomed to our confused faces and know how to direct us to one of the 5 or 6 yogi hangouts, or to the shala. Occasionally we surprise them – getting Idly (spongy rice cakes doused in curry sauce) for breakfast, or getting packed up samosas or other snacks from the bakery. But there are places that definitely know us, and know what we want. And it doesn't take long for all the yogis and yoginis to discover the many wonderful secrets Gokulam has to offer, like the hand-made chocolate bars sold from the tiny class counter of the literal whole in the wall “convenience store” on 7th cross. The amazing flavours like cardamom and ginger, hazlenut paste or peanut butter, will keep us flocking there for the month.

It's easy to treat yourself in Mysore, and for me, it helps to battle the homesickness. Going out with a few US dollars worth of rupees in your pocket will allow you to return with all manner of goodies. Bangles and fresh flower garlands, lemons or pomegranates, chocolates or other treats, stationary, stickers, decorative dishtowels – all can be had for so little, and they can bring a lot of enjoyment, sprucing up often sparse apartments.

And then there is the experience of the walk and the browsing and buying. Different depending on whether it is day or night, the shops offer up a variety of products. However it's the tiny stalls and carts that always seem to draw me in. A man selling glass and metal bangles on the street, the women with their piles and piles of beautiful yellow, and white and orange flowers. The smells of the freshly baked or fried foods mingling with the sweet aroma of jasmine. All set to an orchestra of bells and horns and Bollywood soundtracks blasting from rickshaws. India is nothing if not alive and a feast for all of the senses.

Today especially things have a frenetic energy to them. It' the Gauri Ganesh festival and last night and this morning, in preparation for the festivities, the streets are bursting with people, sellers and buyers, families and singles alike. A group of young men were decorating the Ganesh temple with fresh flower garlands, the stray petals dotting the tops of their heads like snow. Whole families man carts filled with flourescent painted Ganesh statues: pink and orange renditions of the deity finding their ways into homes all over Gokulam (including mine). Women are wearing flowers in their hair, and young girls don fancy Indian dresses. They're even setting up palm thatched buildings and covered dais to house Ganesh statues all over our little town. It's quite a sight – and walking around the city you can't help but get caught up in the excitement and anticipation of it all.

New View Deja Vu

August 31, 2010

An all night train from Haridwar and we found ourselves back in Delhi. We grabbed a taxi from the train station and headed out for our new accommodations – a bed and breakfast style guesthouse is south New Delhi we had read many good things about, called K One One. As our cab moved through the streets and into a quiet residential neighbourhood we couldn't help but feel as though we'd entered some alternate universe – the streets were quiet and calm, and, some may even say, clean.

At the bed and breakfast we felt like royalty as they immediately prepared us a delicious breakfast and pot of chai. It really helped to take the edge of the night of traveling. Afterward we cleaned ourselves up and headed out for a day of sightseeing in our new surrounds.

We began at the India Gate – the huge memorial engraved with the names of those who've fought and died for India – and made our way along the Raj Path towards the Parliament and the Presidential Palace. As I may have mentioned before, Delhi is not really a city designed for pedestrians, and though this was a definite improvement over the other places we had attempted to walk, it was still a challenge, especially because of the monumental amount of work taking place in preparation for this fall's Commonwealth Games. The grounds of the palace are not accessible to the public, but rather like the White House in Washington, you can stare through the gates and see the beauty within. Immaculately groomed lawns, fountains, gorgeous trees – in short a little oasis in the midst of Delhi's chaos.

Next we hopped the subway, and headed to Connaught Place – the upscale shopping area of New Delhi. Though we refrained from purchasing, we did wander into a Thali restaurant for lunch. What we didn't realize was that it was an all-you-can-eat restaurant, and so as we finished (or even approached the bottom of our little bowls) there were waiters there, by the dozens it seemed, to top up dal or provide another roti. We were completely stuffed before we even knew it and off and running to our next destination.

Our final stop for the day was Humayun's Tomb, a serene abyss near to our little B&B. Another Mughal era construction, this mausoleum houses the body of Humayun, the second Mughal emperor, among others. It was a divine place to spend a little quiet time, and gave us a little taste of tomorrow's final adventure.

September 1, 2010 – Agra (again)

Another early morning, and we once again found ourselves boarding a train. A few hours later we were back in Agra, but this time with the Taj as our only goal. We went straight there, spent a little time trying to figure out exactly where to purchase tickets, and then after a little discussion with security over the threat level of the emergency tampon I keep in my purse, we finally laid eyes on that gleaming white marble.

Breathtaking.

Built as a monument of love for Shah Jahan's wife, the beauty and intricacy of the Taj Mahal are even more impressive in person than in photographs. The incredible inlay and carving work in the stone is beyond belief, and sheer size of the building has a way of putting things into perspective. It really is incredible, and we both agreed that the return trip was well worth it. We spent quite a bit of time walking around the grounds, admiring the Taj both up close and from afar. We also went to the mosque that is still in use every Friday (when tourists are not allowed on the grounds), and sat a little just enjoying some quiet as well as a little shade from the extremely hot sun. When we had had our fill we headed back to Saniya Palace where we had first gazed on the Taj over two weeks before, and spent our afternoon in the shade of their terrace, drinking in some lassis, as well as the view.

We took the evening train back to Delhi, and, with a little sadness went to bed for our last joint night in India. Tomorrow Bart heads home to Baltimore, to our house and our dog and I head south to continue on in my adventure...I hope you'll join me.

Pack your mat – we're heading to Mysore.

Rockin' Rishikesh

August 28, 2010

Arrived in Rishikesh by autorickshaw to a beautiful day. Only about 20 kilometers from Haridwar this little city is almost the complete opposite of what we've previously experienced. Chalk full of foreigners from all around the world we are neither out of place or unusual here, and for that reason it seems that Rishikesh has been putting an increased amount of effort into keeping their city enjoyable for travelers. The streets are cleaner, the pressure of vendors nearly non-existent, and I feel as if I could easily spend quite a lot of time here. There are still monkeys and cows everywhere, and adding in horses and donkeys to the mix has given extra interest, but the charm of these things is not overshadowed by negative aspects as it was in many other places.

The city runs on both sides of the Ganges and is connected by two pedestrian bridges. We are staying at the northern-most bridge on the East bank of the river. For our first day we decided to walk south, out past the end of the east side of the city and search out the now abandoned Maharishi Ashram, where the Beatles stayed and composed the majority of the White Album. We did eventually find it, being swallowed by weeds (that rather resemble our front yard for the majority of this summer) and completely quiet. Much less pomp and circumstance then one would expect, but it's kind of a nice change. It was a great walk – 5 or 6 kilometers return to our room – and got us all warmed up for our afternoon yoga class.

Rishikesh is the yoga capital of basically the entire world, and you can find any style, any time and any teacher to suit your needs around the city. It was only a five minute walk before I spotted a sign for an Ashtanga class and that was all it took. By 4 p.m. Bart and I were vinyasa-ing our way through a great class, enjoying a nice stretch after being cooped up and stiffened up by planes, trains and autorickshaws. The teacher was very considerate and kind, working the class to be valuable and enjoyable for me, but also accessible for Bart and the other girl who was participating. He varied the series as needed, and added in some nice relaxation techniques at the end of class that I'm planning to share with my classes once I get home.

Needless to say after an exercise packed afternoon, we were both exhausted, and went to bed dreaming of the good days to come.

August 29, 2010

Returned to my little yoga studio at 7 this morning for another class. The teacher once again did a modified Ashtanga class for me, as I was the only one there to start, though we were joined by two others afterward. Bart, feeling a little under the weather today, opted to sleep in, and hopefully get himself prepared for the day.

After I returned, feeling wonderful of course, we headed out to grab a little breakfast before embarking on our chosen adventure for the day. We had decided that we both wanted to do a little hiking on this trip, and so we planned to do the pilgrimage walk out to Neel Kantha Temple, a temple dedicated to Shiva, and according to our trusty guidebook (I actually read it this time), an approximately seven kilometer walk on a forest path. So, all I have to say, is GUIDEBOOKS LIE! The forested path was indeed about seven kilometers, perhaps a little more, but it didn't begin until about four or five kilometers south of town! In addition, the book (the Bible as we've taken to calling it) neglected to inform that the seven kilometer forested path is straight up the side of a mountain – and no, I'm not exaggerating. Four and a half hours later we had walked until our legs were wobbly, sweat until we looked like we'd been soaked by monsoon rains, had our picture taken by numerous pilgrims, helped some elderly Indian women down the steep parts of the path only to have to turn around and go back up and mowed the only lunch we'd brought – two bananas an apple and a big bottle of water. And if we thought that was difficult, you should have seen the others out there with us! A small group of young men, probably in their very early twenties, were climbing the path prostrate! Using a stick to mark their body length they would lie on the ground, reach an arms length up, drop the stick, climb up to the marker, lie down and do it all over again. When we asked why they were climbing this way one told us that he was a yoga teacher, Shiva is the God of yoga and he had made a promise to approach the temple this way. It put me a little to shame, but I guess I did come all the way to India for yoga, so maybe that can almost begin to compare.

By the time we made it up we were completely exhausted – the extreme heat and humidity taking its toll on us. We opted for the community taxi ride back down – about a half hour plus drive down a snaking road, but it dropped us right at our hotel where we excitedly showered and got ready for dinner. While we were out looking for a place we saw my yoga instructor and he directed us to a little restaurant called Chillout – which was exactly that. We lounged on floor cushions, ate delicious Indian food and let ourselves rest after a taxing day.

I cool off after our long and tiring hike

August 30, 2010

Last day in Rishikesh and we're still recovering from yesterday's hiking extravaganza! Headed out to yoga this morning to stretch our sore muscles, and because we were both feeling a little tired we opted for a Hatha class. It was certainly more gentle and relaxing, though definitely not easy, and we both really enjoyed the Pranayama (breath control) and Pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses) portion that the teacher did at the end of the class. We also got to have a little time to talk with the teacher, who's name is Kumar, and he was telling us how he's hoping to open his own yoga retreat in his hometown, much more north of Rishikesh. He said he found the dirtiness and constant stimulation there makes it difficult to concentrate, and therefore his students are not getting the full benefits of the practice. What a shock to us to hear him complain about Rishikesh being dirty! Compared to everywhere else we had visited it seemed immaculate. Anyway, I wish the best for him because he really was a good teacher and has a lot to offer his students, and perhaps if he actually opens his studio Bart and I will come back to India for a vacation that is actually relaxing.

After class we went immediately down to the ghat that is beside the yoga studio and washed ourselves off in the Ganges – our ritual purification that we had avoided in all the other towns, due to the unsanitary water. In Rishikesh however the river runs cold, clear and fairly fast as it travels down from the Himalayan glaciers. Refreshed, but rather chilly we went to our room, showered, changed and headed to a little coffee shop we had read about in the guidebook (danger, danger!) for breakfast. They were reported to serve Yak cheese sandwiches, and we all know that if there is something available that Bart hasn't eaten in his life, he MUST try it. And he did – TWICE! The Yak cheese was delicious, sort of the flavour and depth of Manchego with a little sharpness of Parmesan, and it was served on a freshly baked whole wheat roll with slices of tomato. Heaven. I was a little disappointed I had opted for the fruit porridge, but since Bart did order a second sandwich, I got to have as many bites as I wanted. What a good husband.

After packing and storing our bags we walked around a bit – doing a little shopping here, bartering there, browsing through the numerous stalls and shops that line the road between Lakshman Jula and Ram Jula, the two pedestrian bridges that connect Rishikesh's East and West banks of the Ganges. We walked the banks for several hours and then once the heat and humidity had taken it's toll we decided Chillout was a nice place to while away the remainder of the afternoon. We relaxed, ate and drank and steeled ourselves for the return taxi to Haridwar and then the overnight train ride back to Delhi. We really weren't ready to leave Rishikesh, and I can see why people would want to go and stay there for a while, it was definitely our favourite place on the trip.

Bart embraces his inner yogi and relaxes awhile a Chillout

Monkeys vs. Pilgrims

Haridwar – August 26, 2010

We spent most of our day on the train travelling from Varanasi to Haridwar today. The train was such a relief after last night's horrible station, that I was even elated when at some of the stops today we could either quickly pop off the train to grab a very quick coffee, or vendors could jump on the train to sell passengers anything from chai (which I bought) to newspapers (which I bought) and samosas (which I bought). The latter was the best as the man set down this enormous bowl and pulled back a towel to reveal the piping hot and fresh smelling pockets, and then took out my two, wrapped them in newspaper and charged me 5 rupees. 5 RUPEES – that's somewhere around 12 cents US for homemade deliciousness delivered to my train car. Amazing.

We arrived in Haridwar late on Thursday afternoon, and as the train pulled into the station we were relieved to finally be finished with the 14+ hour trip. We took an autorickshaw to our hotel, which fronts onto the now fast-flowing upper section of the Ganges. A shower and a short rest and we felt fairly restored, and the final bit was nothing that a little supper couldn't fix. It was bed early after a very small amount of sleep last night a hope that tomorrow would be both fun and relaxing.

Haridwar – August 27, 2010

Haridwar is a city of pilgrims. Each year thousands make their way here to visit both Mansa Devi and Chandi Devi temple and receive blessings. Once every 12 years, which happened earlier this spring, Haridwar is the site of a main festival, Kumbh Mela, and the city is flooded with millions of Hindu devout. For this reason, it didn't surprise us to find that among what appeared to be a large number of tourists, we were two of the very few (I think we saw five or 6 others) non-Indians.

Wanting the full pilgrimage experience, Bart and I headed out on foot early for our morning visits to both Mansa Devi and Chandi Devi. There are cable cars up to both temples, which are about 6 kilometers apart, as each sits atop a high peak overlooking the city. At Mansa Devi the truly devout hike their way up, a 1.5 Km walk that winds up the hill, and as pesky walking tourists, we decided to do the same. It was an incredibly hot day, but to us it seemed to make the experience that much more authentic.

The road to Mansa Devi is lined with stalls and vendors selling red bags of prasad – offerings to take to the temple. We purchased ours which contained a coconut, bangles, a bag of puffed rice, and a ribbon. Carrying it up to the temple though, we almost lost it as we were accosted by prasad-stealing monkeys who have obviously learned that the red bag is full of good monkey treats. I was able to hold on to my bag, but the monkeys then went after Bart who was carrying not prasad but a red water bottle. Those little guys were determined that his bottle was full of the same puffed rice and coconut and were quite aggressive in their attempts to steal the treasure. Wisely, some Indian men suggest we hide the red things inside the green bag I was carrying, which helped immensely.

Our uphill trek ended at Mansa Devi where we were ushered into the temple in the crowd of pilgrims, and we followed their lead as we offered our coconut and rice, donated for brightly covered strings which we tied around tree branches, and allowed priests to bless us and our families. In such contrast to the many churches we've visited around the world which are often sombre and quiet, Mansa Devi was abuzz with joyful worshipers. There was pushing and laughing and singing and bell ringing – the aliveness of the spirituality in this country is intoxicating and we allowed ourselves to fully embrace it and be embraced by it.

Our second stop was Chandi Devi Temple, which is slightly smaller and less crowded. For Chandi Devi we rode to the peak in the cable car, which was probably Bart's least favourite part of the entire day. Inside the temple we again made our donations – receiving rice and coconut which we offered at different deity statues and we were blessed by several priests. Now the blessing we received here were slightly different. At each station we were asked our name and country, a piece of coloured string, usually red or yellow, was tied around our wrist and then we were told to bend down while the priest said his bless and then thwacked us on the back with a huge piece of rolled up fabric. The first thwack came as quite a surprise, the weight and noise of the cloth making contact with our backs somewhat startling, but once with got in the groove it was all okay. And whether is was the multiple blessings or the promise of lunch we'll never know, but the cable car ride back down the side of the mountain seemed to go a little easier for Bart.

In the afternoon we visited Hari-ki-Pauri Ghat, the main bathing ghat (steps into the Ganges) in Haridwar, which was completely full of pilgrims and vendors and in an attempt to escape we headed home for a rest and a little monkey watching before we would head back for the evening puja ceremony. Just as in Varanasi, there is a puja each evening in Haridwar complete with fire and chanting, and as the bells ring out over the city I released our flower boat down the Ganges. Dinner and an evening stroll would wind the day down, and after a sweet finish with some “Famous of Haridwar” gulab jamun, which I have to say deserves to be famous, we were soon off to bed in preparation for the next leg of our trip which would begin in the morning.

Tomorrow we hit the road for Rishikesh.

Setting my puja offering afloat on the Ganges