Making Friends

I started a book, "The White Tiger", yesterday. I finished it this morning. That's how much free time I've got now. And I'm enjoying it!

So today I woke up pretty sore from the yoga class I took yesterday. Though, I'm not sure what else I was expecting, considering I've been able to do little body movement that matters for the last few weeks. Oddly enough, I really relish in the soreness. It means I must have done something right.
Being determined to get back on track in my athleticism and spiritual-bodily oneness (which in certain cultures can be coined as masochism) I decided to start the morning fresh with another 2-hour yoga class. This time it was more Vinyasa with the Hatha, which I really appreciated.
The class was all women, which was a big of a change from classes I normally take in the city, but I enjoyed it and felt alright with grunting and struggling in my positions. Part of the struggle was because I was tired, part was because I'm out of shape, and part was because of my soreness from yesterday.
I always forget how difficult yoga REALLY CAN BE, if you do it correctly. Tailbone down, breathe in NOW, lengthen that arm, spread your toes, breathe out SLOWLY... Realizing I had not been as diligent and well-disciplined in my yoga practices at home has really slapped me around a bit, and I am understanding the value of having a teacher with me as I try to master a real, meaningful down-facing-dog. I have a reborn interest and respect for yoga, and I hope to get more serious with it sometime soon, while in the city.
The space I went to, at the Himalaya Valley Yoga Center, was really breathtaking. I found myself on a yoga mat in a very serene yoga studio, with little else but yoga mats, a picture of Gandhi, and a seated Ganesh in the front of the room. All of a sudden I was in warrior pose, staring through large windows that looked right on the Himalayas. Birds flew through the nearby trees. The sky was blue at the time. If only there were no walls or roof to the studio, it may have been the exact formula for a real nirvana experience. I concluded that I would be able to happily stay here and do this morning routine for quite some time.
Too bad I have a meager 3 days left here.

Today has been a day of reading. I read one book, finished it, and continued on with another, slightly denser read. I am attempting to rack up my peace and quiet days here before the bustling semester begins in less than a month.
I was running around doing some errands for my Christmas gifts (and for Maulin) when I found myself suddenly staring out of the shop window as a flash flood happened on the road in front of me. It does rain here daily, but I have never seen the rain pound so fiercely that the gutters and septic systems overflowed onto the streets, magically making the roads fast rivers. I stayed put for a while until the rain calmed down a bit, and slid back to the hotel room.

This evening I went to speak with Tibetan refugees (aka exiled political prisoners) so they could help improve their English. I didn't really know what to expect, but I found myself in some kind of dormitory walking aimlessly until a pleasant Tibetan guy in a blazer came over to me and led me to the roof. Meet 29 year-old Nyiga (though I'm probably not writing it correctly). Nyiga is an English student here in Dharamsala. Four years ago he was a political prisoner for 6 months in Tibet for distributing some controversial cassettes around his area. They didn't treat him nicely in the prison. Originally a nomad, Nyiga was a Tibetan monk for 5 years of his life, until he found the lifestyle with the Chinese occupation not pleasurable, and he went back to being a nomad. His family has about 3000 animals, including yaks. He eats yak butter by the stick.
A tangent: How on earth do these little skinny people eat such fatty foods all of the time!? This is not the first time I have been told stories of little Asian folk eating mounds of highly saturated foods. (Also, please refer to my past experiences with Rimi in France.) I want THOSE genes.
Nyiga's English was not that great, but we could have a somewhat functional conversation, and he pulled out a notebook, which made our mis-communications a lot easier to fix. For two hours we talked about a bunch of different topics, including his escape from the Chinese and my love of Hindi films. By the end of the session, we exchanged numbers and emails and I promised him - after him looking up at me with somewhat eager eyes - I would come back to talk with him tomorrow. I think we shall go get momos.