Some Final Thoughts On India

I had a nondescript day of hanging around a tourism office with a bunch of Kashmiri men. What can I say....I ate an uttapam and paneer tikka, I had a lot of tea, and I got flirted on by a bunch of Indian men who seemed quite taken by me. I was offered a tourism job with the whole lot of these men when I'm done with my studies, and I danced to a bunch of Bollywood songs before a Muslim "baba" came into the office and I was swept away by a friendly driver to the airport.

I am waiting in the airport for my plane back to the US, and I've decided this is the best time probably to try to put a few reflections together from my 6 weeks in this massive India. I do not say that I will be making any revolutionary discoveries, or anything completely unique, but for myself I feel the need to express my impressions of India.

According to my incredibly brief trip, what is India? A lot of things; every region, every state you cross here is like going to a completely different country in itself. How can I package this place into a simple blog post? By my favorite things: lists... India, to me, is:

• Inconsistent - People will tell you one thing, and do something else. People here are so determined to please (and appease) everyone else, that they'll tell you "yes, of course" or give you an answer to a question that, though pleasing, is never going to happen or not true.
• Extreme - How was this place not extreme? Extreme rain, extreme heat, extreme noise, extreme meals... things are done here in such a way that it's typically blown up. Highly charged, even. Take, for example, our village meetings; men were yelling and shouting at each other across the room while we were reassured that it was as normal conversation. Everyone wants to be married off (or marry YOU off) as soon as the age 20 is hit.
• Contrary - Similar to inconsistent, only worth being iterated independently. You've got so many people doing so many different things that matters are bound to be clashing with each other. And people will tell you when they do not agree with you, in conversation at least.
• Not concerned with perfection, or details - Signs with names of villages or titles of shops will never be 100% the same across the board. For example, there are probably 5 different ways to spell half of the villages we worked with in Orissa; and each time we were working on organizational spreadsheets, we would have to look for all of the diverse names and piece-by-piece discern village names and numbers. Also, most English signs were incorrectly spelled, or said things that made no grammatical sense. On trucks, "We are, too" was spelled "We our two" and one sign explained that "Tyres will be flattered".
• Racially sensitive - I have never been so aware of my skin color than I was here. People stared at me because I'm white. People gave me royal services because I'm white. People charged me triple because I'm white. Even Indians discriminate among Indians because of what tint of brown they are. Skin-bleaching lotions are top beauty products around here, apparently; it seems no one wants to be brown anymore.
• Hyper-religious - There are so many temples and mosques in this country that it could make your head spin. I wouldn't necessarily say spiritual... there are many, many religions working around these areas: Sikh, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Baha'i, Christianity, etc. But as most people talk the talk here, I would not claim that people here all walk the walk. There is a lot of materialism oozing into cultural values here nowadays, which makes many of these temples seem more commercialized than they should be.
• Colorful - What can I say? Bollywood exaggerates none of the colors of India. There are more vibrant colors here than I can count.
• Funny - People here are funny. English attempts by most are funny. Situations are always slightly odd, awkward, or even "off". The hilarity of India and the strange instances that everyone accepts and writes off as "understandable" makes me still cock my head in amused bewilderment.
• New in sanitation - This is, after all, the core reason for my coming to India, isn't it? I've seen people defecate, urinate, bathe, and wash clothing in places that seem way more than precarious...
• Uncomfortable - Squat toilets are still hard for me. The temperature is sweltering. In monsoon season, either you are water logged by the rain, or constantly dripping with sweat. Mosquitos and flies are taking over the country, and your skin. Men in shops will never stop tugging at your attention with consumables. And the abject poor will tear at your heartstrings while walking down any road.
• Magnificent - Because it just is.
• Highly charged - The energy here is dynamic and intense.
• Complicated - I will let my previous blog posts speak for themselves. That, and the processes needed to get anything done is comparable to the French system.
• Huge - Both in size, heart, population, poverty, and culture.

I'm still digesting most of what happened to me on this trip. Even without the reflection I know that a whole lot happened to me in a very short time span. I have learned a lot of lessons about myself, and the world.

I know now that I truly want to work in the developing world, at least for an indefinite period of time. I really have enjoyed the people, the foods, the experiences... everything here. And I know now that I feel a much larger sense of need - and accomplishment - while working with these people. Even doing the fieldwork made me feel more accomplished than 6 months at an office job. That said, I don't believe a career in pushing papers is up my alley; in fact, I think I will try my hardest to avoid these type of career moves like the plague, at least for a while. I'm young, and I can handle the extremities of fieldwork and development.

Would I live in India? Yes. Probably not Delhi, and probably NOT EVER Bhubaneswar. But I do like the rural areas, and I have made a lot of nice friends in my travels here. Maybe Himachal Pradesh. Maybe rural Orissa. Maybe Rajasthan. Maybe even Punjab (though it's really dry and hot...). I feel like I would be able to handle the heat, the humidity, and the people. Everyone kept on asking me when I'd come back, and I kept on answering, truthfully, that I might try to work here after my studies.

See you in America...

Reunion and Farewell

The last full day I have had in Delhi was yesterday. Maulin and Tara had really long layovers before their flights to NJ/Bangalore, respectively. So they took a cab to my hotel and we hugged and talked all about our weeks alone, wherever we were. Apparently Maulin's family took him in and kept him locked away in their houses of Gujarat, while Tara experienced Mount Everest and Katmandhu in Nepal with plenty of stories to share. I, of course, told them about my interesting travels.
So we ate a nice little meal at some nearby shop, Sudh. It is one of those places you pick up your meal from a counter, but again my whiteness singled me out in the crowd. Some man took my order for me, and served me my food at the table without me barely having to me. Meanwhile, Tara and Maulin were told to get their meals themselves, it was self-serve after all. It is slightly discomforting, having these special services all of the time, but I'm not sure how to stop this all.
Tara had an earlier flight to catch, leaving Maulin and I plenty of time to hail a cab and go to the relatively new, hand-made, massive and awesome Akshardham Temple. The line to get into the temple was simple because we were not allowed to bring in any purses/bags/electronics, so we waited for 30 minutes in line to drop off our things. We also had to go through a security check, where ladies and gents were separated into opposite sides. I am still not sure why it seems that there is a disproportionate amount of men at all temples or sites in India than there are women, but I got through quickly and had to wait for Maulin for about half an hour - I have had to do this for him at almost all of the places we have visited. While I waited for him, I was stared at by all of the waiting women and a few men. I was still the only white woman around. But for some reason Maulin couldn't locate me in the crowd, as I stared at him coming out of security. "You must be blending in!" I doubt it.
The temple was still a bit under construction, but it was still a sight to see. There are massive manicured lawns and gardens that surruond the temple area, full of statues of historical Indian figures. Pools of water hug the temple on three of its sides. And the carvings are incredible. The entire place is hand-carved pink sandstone, with intricately detailed images of deities. Life-size elephant carvings are on the bottom of the temple, and we gawked at the unbelievable craftsmanship and labor put into the temple. It didn't feel like a religious site, but it was still an amazing place with quite a lot going on. Maulin and I pointed and oohed and ahhed for about an hour, looking up at the soft stone and the stories etched into every square inch.
The site was really crowded, so we didn't manage to see any of the exhibits, but we did manage to inch our ways into a prayer service. We were given directions from a kind worker while we sat in the back, placing the water in our palms, mumbling some Hindi after the orator, and pouring water on the swami/deity that we were praying to. I received a bindi and a bracelet to wear for protection and good luck - or so I gathered. It was an interesting experience, and at the end we were given a nice box with a sweet in it for Maulin and I to munch on as we exited the temple. Maulin approved of his cap to the Indian trip, and I agree; that temple was a great way to finish a long voyage.

We had a calm last night together in a restaurant. Sadly, we had managed to find the only restaurant in the area where all of the white people eat. So were surrounded in this nice restaurant with tables of 16-peopled white parties, as we took a simple meal with some send-off wine for Maulin. He left me around 9pm for his morning flight, and I am left here alone for another 20 hours in Delhi before my flight.

I woke up today to have breakfast with the tourist guys, and tiredly attempted to respond to the nice men about whatever they were talking about. One wants to go out to coffee with me, but I'm not sure if I'm up for more travel than I will have to make tonight already. I checked out of the hotel, and am going to hopefully relax most of my remaining day here in the office before I get into a cab to go to the airport.
I would do more while I'm here, but it's Independence Day in India, and most things are closed. Many people are roaming around the main streets, and I would rather not get caught in a crowd before having to make a plane. There will be traffic, I'm sure. It's raining, too.
I'd rather take it easy and reflect on the last 6 weeks while in India. I know I'll have a lot to say later.

Delhi Movies

I ended up my first-last night in Delhi eating Indian-style on the floor with a bunch of the Indian guys in the back of their tourism office.

They then brought me to the cinema so I could see the Bollywood film I've been hoping to see, "Love Aaj Kal" (Love Nowadays). The cute guys came, two of them. One of them translated the movie into English for me the entire time. It was actually a really good film, and I could have watched it again, if given the chance. Great romance.

I ended the long, long day speeding down the road with two cute Indian guys in some kind of car, with blaring Indian music pumping out of the speakers. I went to bed laughing about the ridiculous events that make up my life.

Leaving Dharamsala...or, How I Almost Didn't Make It To Delhi

My last day in Mcleod Ganj was a bittersweet day of goodbyes and good food.

I woke up, still a bit sore and tired from the mountainous trek the day before, to have one final morning yoga with the class I found a few days before. It was a great class, with a bit more intensity than the class I had had before with the same woman instructor. We did more stretching, sweated a bit more. Maybe it was because her yoga teacher had come to the class that morning to evaluate her. In any case, I was satisfied for the 2 hours of class. I rather like that length of yoga class; you can get a lot more out of it than the hurried one-hour classes we have in the city.
Some odd things happened during the class. Firstly, phones were ringing during our sun salutations, jarring us from the serene flow that normally happens during yoga. Then, two Indian policemen came banging on the studio door as we held a downward dog position. The teacher's teacher left to deal with them, so I'm not sure what happened, but it was very bizarre to happen. Lastly, one of the women in class had brought her dog to wait outside during our class. The dog disagreed with waiting and decided to walk in during warrior pose to look for his owner.



The goodbyes began early. I went to First Cup to have my last good porridge in town with Tal and Hasina. We talked for a while, and Tal (being extremely tall and lean) ate about 3 meals in roughly an hour. Hasina and I went for some final errands for me and left Tal at the cafe, to only come back an hour or so later and find him still sitting there. It's really amusing to sit with Tal, because he seems to know everyone in the area; while sitting with him, people kept on coming over to talk to him, and others in the cafe would wave him over for a chat. When we came back to him, we found another Israeli talking with him. We rejoined the table and ended up reading for a few hours, ordering more drinks and food, until we went over to the English conversations with the Tibetan refugees.

I couldn't find Nyiga at first in the conversations, so I was placed in a room with a Buddhist nun. I didn't catch her name. She was very sweet, though, and though her accent was a bit too thick and her English was a bit too rough to hold a flowing conversation, I did manage to get some kind of information out of her about Buddhism life and the different sects of Tibetan Buddhism. She is what she called "Neehma".
Then Nyiga found me, talking with the woman! It was great, and we ended up stumbling through a conversation of three. It seemed that their English was better together, though, because they could talk to each other in Tibetan and make a team effort to explain things to me. Nyiga and I joked around a bit, and when it was time for me to leave and them to have dinner, he draped a white silk cloth on my shoulders, gave me a hug, and we talked about emailing each other still. When I come back here, Nyiga, I'm serious about trying nomadry with you. Get the yaks ready.


I walked over to get some momos to-go for my long trip back to Delhi at Peace Cafe. When I walked into the restaurant, I found the original group of British guys I hung out with on my return trip from Amritsar! I hadn't seen them since the first day, but here they were, ready to leave for Manali in a few hours - much like how I was leaving for Delhi in a few hours. It was like a small reunion, only their group had about doubled/tripled in size. They had me join their dinner party, though, and I rounded the number up to 12 English-speaking folk, essentially filling the whole restaurant. I had my final authentic Thentuk dish. We talked about what we had done in town so far, and I encouraged them to come to NYC so I can show them around. They seemed to be seriously interested in my offer, so we'll see how that goes.
And I left with a bag of momos.


I came back to Pink House and spent my final evening hours in the lounge with Javid and his Indian friends, along with some of the guests I had befriended during my solo stay there. We ate coconuts and danced to some Indian music. We laughed for a few hours, and the Indian men all seemed quite taken with my Indian-influenced conversation and dance. I did not tell them my marital status.
Finally, at 9pm, my driver came to bring me out of my little idyllic town to the Pathankot train station (2.5 hours away) for my 1am sleeper train to Delhi. It was sad, leaving this place that I felt so comfortable in, with all of my new friends. I fell asleep in the car in no time.
The first time I woke up in the car was when the driver stopped for a dinner/coffee break somewhere in the crevices of the dark mountain side. I wobbled in and out of consciousness for about 30 minutes before we started driving again, and I promptly fell fast asleep again.
The second time I woke up in the car was when I felt the car quickly slowing down and making dying noises - you know, the clanking sound of a dying engine should always be able to wake up us sleepers. The driver got out of the car to open the hood and prod away at the engine and battery, poking at parts that he seemingly hadn't seen much before this trip. I look around us, and we are in the middle of nowhere. I think the town was probably rural, and the main street we were on was very much closed and empty of people. I saw a sign for some hundred kilometers for a town I didn't know, but no signs for Pathankot. I called Maulin in a slight panic, wondering where I was, why I was alone with a strange cabby in the middle of nowhere, and how I was going to make my train. It was 11:45pm. I call Javid, who soudned distressed when he said to me, "Yeah, you're not near Pathankot..."
Then men started coming out toward our car. Slowly, villagers were looking at the car, and talking with each other. More and more men came to join the pack, and even a few Indian officers came over to look at the stranded American girl and driver. Though, no one seemed too interested in trying to get the car started; they were all enjoying each other's conversations too much. I started to panic more. In my non-existent Hindi, I started trying to beseech these men that I had to go, simply shouting out words "Pathankot" and "ehck (one)" while motioning me having to go. Of course no one knew English, either... "Acha, acha" was the response I got from all of the men, simply telling me to relax. No problem.
30 minutes go by, and it's 12:15am, and I am now very restless, and on the verge of throwing a fit. By this time, there are a few other cars parking nearby to look at what is going on. All of them tourist cars. Why, I was wondering, was I not in one of those FUNCTIONING cars, driving away?! The men all conversed as I looked around to soak in the lunacy in front of me. I am more urgent in my motions, and finally someone calls my driver to tell them to get me to my bloody train! After some issues with money and me begging a man with a car with more rupees to get me to the train, I am transfered to another tourist car and sped down the road.
As it so happens, we were 30km from the train station, which normally takes 40 minutes. I had 25. We sped a lot, barely missing cows and dogs and other cyclists.
At 12:55am the cabby stops at a slight blockade in the road. The train tracks' blocks were down. He looked at me apologetically and says, "You will not make your train. This is your train..." I look up, and there a big sleeper train steadily passes our car, to the VERY nearby station. I get out of the car to watch it in the quiet darkness, and begin to swear profusely. I am not much of a swearer, but I decided that this was a time of urgency, and the only thing I could do was swear. And swear I did. Here I am, watching MY train go by, with MY seat, and MY only way to get to Delhi for a very long time. I almost prepared my bags so that I could run onto the tracks and garb hold of the train before it leaves me completely behind. The driver said it wasn't a good idea, so I looked at him and said "You're getting me to that train."
The blocks went up, and the cab slid through to the train station. The train was still holding there. I threw some money at the cabby, and with my bags already on me, I ran to the train, yelling, "Delhi?!" As the train started blaring its horns and preparing to move, I threw myself into a car with my luggage.
The controller looks down on me on the floor and says, "You are Kimberly?" How did he know?
It so happens that the car I threw myself into was the car I was supposed to be in, serendipitously. So he showed me my sleeper bunk, and I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, sweating through my clothes and sheets. But it was not real sleep, because I was too hot and tired and stressed out from the experience.

At 8am I got out of my bunk and read utnil we arrived at Delhi, two hours later. It was very humid and hot, and I was exhausted in so many different ways. The new challenge: finding my guest house/hotel. I slid into a cab that got lost for about an hour in Karol Bagh. I was sweating profusely, but more upset about not being asleep in my hotel room. The cab driver finally looks behind to me and says, "Ma'am, it is a house....not a hotel."
It can never be easy, can it?
So I haul my luggage up the stairs of an apartment complex until I reached the roof, hoping to find the manager that would bring me somewhere sane. Instead, I landed on a roof in some man's apartment, who looked at me a little bewilderedly, but then invited me to sit down and have a tea. Alright, no problem, he says. He knows the guys who were supposed to get me my resting spot, I'll get a hotel through them, no problem. Did I know what was going on? Absolutely not.
Some guy grabs my bags and brings me all the way back outside, for me to run into a very attractive Kashmiri, Zahid. Tired though I may be, I am still female, and I was taken aback by this guy. I blushed as he exlpains to me that I was going to have a hotel room nearby, and he showed me my room and gave me his mobile to call when I was down settling in. So I napped and showered. And found myself in his tourism office. A very nice group of guys have apparently taken me in and adopted me in this tourism office, and I get to use their internet as they serve me meals and tea.
So I decided to walk to Karol Bagh market and walk around. I went to a fast food joint, Raffles, for lunch, but the heat and exhaustion and constant hassle on the streets made me kind of sick, so I went back and took another nap.

Longest Day of Trekking

So last night I came into the Pink House to talk to Javid about my coming back to Delhi, while there was a group of other guests in the lounge with him. Javid looks at me and goes, "So I think you should go with these 3 tomorrow on a trek up to Triund. You say that you are a lucky girl, and I think this is your luck of the day; to go on a trek to this big deal Triund."

Triund is a mountain here in the Himalayas that holds a very small village before the Himalayan snow line begins. It is a 4-hour hike up to this town. I said, "Alright, Javid, I'll go because you said it's a good idea." I was tired and sore from yoga, and I knew none of these people going, but why not... I was not planning on doing anything spectacular that day, anyways.

At 7am I woke up and had breakfast on the roof with these guests. We talked groggily about the trek, and what we were bringing. I didn't really understand the word "trek", so I was planning on only bringing a back with water, camera, and maybe a snack.

Let me introduce you to the players of the trek, aside from me. Hasina is an Indo-British 36 year-old teacher who just got to India for 5 months to visit some family while vacationing all over the place. Eva is a Slovakian in her mid-late 20s who is in the middle of finishing her massage therapy in Ireland. Tal is a 28 year-old Israeli guy who has been a modern dancer, but is currently traveling around.

Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I can get in more depth about the very difficult day we had. We began the hike around 9am at the base of the mountain, giggling and talking about how we had no idea what we were expecting from the hike. And then the terrain revealed itself to us...a steep climb of jagged boulders and rocks on a narrow path without much designation of direction. It was also raining for about half of the way up, so our rocks (and even the soil terrain that happened occassionally) became slippery and more precarious. Climbing up the mountain felt like a crapshoot at times. It was a bad time to be afraid of heights, which I admittedly am.

My backpack was not helping my case; I was carrying a few full water bottles with some canned jam and peanut butter so we could picnic on the top. I also had a stowaway coconut. Though I am glad I got the extra workout and calorie expulsion...

So it took us 5 hours to climb and heave and pant and crawl and sweat and whimper up to Triund. Luckily, there were little rest stops on the way up, every 2 kilometers or so. We would usually sit down and rest for a few minutes, and snack on some moong dal or other bagged treats while we sat and discussed our awe towards the mountain men and goat herders that clearly lived at these tea shops halfway up the mountains. They walked up and down the steep inclines like it was nothing, and some would even run around, passing us on our trek up. Were they THAT used to the thin air up there?

We got up to the top of Triund right around the time I felt I was going to cry and/or pass out. Our clothing was dripping with dew and sweat, and our bodies were crying for a break. The grass up at the top of the mountain was ultragreen, and almost mossy. Really beautifully laid out in front of us was the little village of Triund. Population 7, always. Nestled in this village was a 3-room guesthouse for trekkers who would brave a 2-day trek up to the snow line on the Himalayas. The quietness was shocking. And it was definitely cooler up there. I went to the tea shop on the hill for a cold drink, and they simply pulled a drink off of the shelf, explaining to me that the high altitude had naturally fridged the drinks. Amazing.

Too bad it the top fo the mountain was hidden in a thick soupy fog. We were unable to see any of the view down, which was actually the reason we hiked up in the first place. Apparently you can see most of Himachel Pradesh there. And you're also supposed to be able to see the snow line on the Himalayan side of the moutnain. I'm sure it's great, but we didn't see any of it.

So we ate peanut butter and jam sandwiches for an hour or so, and then started our trek down. The trek down only took 4 hours this time. We were so sore from the hike up that it made the hike down (what with gravity and all) a bit difficult, and the rocks going down growled viciously at me and my healing ankle. It also poured on us on the way down, so we had to take a 45-minute break at a tea shop, where we watched the pouring rain as we sipped some ginger tea and watched the mountain men play cards.

At the bottom of the hill, we eagerly yet sluggishly made our way to a restaurant and ate quite a lot of Tibetan food. Was it good food, I regret to say no, but it filled us. We grabbed some brownies and brought them back to Pink House to hang out tiredly with Javid in the lounge for the rest of the night. The rest of the night, I must add, was maybe 2 hours more; we were all so tired that we didn't make much of a party and went to bed early.

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.

Yoga and Toast

Today, Sunday, I woke up to start my yoga practices finally while here in India. For the last 2 weeks I have been unable to perform any athletic movement, except for the rock scrambling a week ago. There has not been any time for me to try, firstly, and also the amenities have not been available while traveling in cities. I am not going to try to jog around Mcleod Ganj on their cobbled streets and sprain my ankle again, no sir.
So, one of the benefits of being alone while here in Mcleod Ganj is that I can make my agenda without worrying about other people’s agendas. I can go out and eat breakfast after 10am, if I so choose. I can even miss a meal! And I can stay in my room and read and/or write these lengthy blogs for everyone’s enjoyment.
Anyways, I woke up to try one of the morning yoga classes up and down the hill. Problem, I was ignorant to think that Sundays would have normal schedules for yoga here. Nothing in India works that way; Sundays are the day off for even the gods, I believe. Maybe not for the Sikhs, but for everyone else it seems so. Anyways, I scaled the hill and went to every studio to find no morning classes being held. So I grabbed the schedules, and decided to settle and try again for a later Hatha class at Universal Yoga.
I went right to First Cup and started reading a book that I stole from their shelves, “The White Tiger”. I will give it back to them when I’m done. I took my time, and finished my tea and porridge a few hours into my book.
And then I came home and began retyping all of the blogs I lost.
So at 2pm I took the Hatha Yoga class. Classes here tend to be about 2 hours long, and it was a really excellent class. It was slow moving, but I really had time to work on my positions and make sure that I was aligning my body properly and safely. Let me tell you, I hadn’t realized how hard the right positions could be until this class! Maybe I just hadn’t had the right kind of classes, but I was breaking a sweat 10 minutes into the class, and we were only working on positioning the tailbone down. I also forgot how much harder the positions can be, and yoga in general can be, when someone is telling you when and how you can breathe. That alone made me start to pant a little bit.
The class ended, and I rewarded myself with a cheese tomato toast and momo while reading at Peace CafÈ.
And now, I have successfully finished filling in over a week of travel in this blog! Who knows what the night will take me now! Probably back to the books…. I think I’ll make my daily call to Maulin now.