Salesmen Redemption

​I love The Lonely Planet guide books. 

One of the things I planned to do in Aurangabad was to visit the Himroo Textile Factory. But this time, I was armed with my trusty Lonely Planet guide book. So before I even arrived I reached out to Imran Ahmed Qureshi, the owner of the AUTHENTIC hand looms in Aurangabad clearly identified in the book. He graciously sent his son to pick us up at our hotel. I learned that he is the sixth generation to own this one of a kind business. 

We had a great tour and I learned all about how these beautiful shawls are made by hand. It takes weeks to make just a few meters of the gorgeous woven fabric. And the fabrics are covered with lovely silk images from the ancient culture they hail from. Needless to say, I girded myself for the huge price tag that must come from such generous labor.

Imran showed us a multitude of shawls and wall hangings. I fell in love with a colorful mandala patterned table runner and found another one for my daughter to display in her new house. And I was grateful to pay less than I paid for the amethyst geode ripoff. 

I like to think that perhaps the universe gave me this experience to soothe my troubled ego from the prior shopping on this trip.

An Easy Mark

​I suspect I’m not the first person to get caught up in an Indian ripoff in Aurangabad. My first mistake was going into the store at all. My second mistake was not being prepared once I got sucked into the vortex of these “exceptional” salesmen. My third mistake was not haggling. Very seldom do I haggle in the USA. I can’t offer less for groceries or clothing or pretty much anything. 

I also just don’t like the whole process. I make a counter offer and pretty soon I’m buying EVEN MORE stuff. I generally like people and want to get along. That makes me an easy mark for any of the experts at the entrance to the Ellora Caves. 

So, yes. I paid too much for a beautiful amethyst geode. And yes, I spent the next 24 hrs beating myself up. With a rip off, there’s the financial cost, but there’s also the emotional cost. Reliving the scenario over and over again. Recognizing the obvious signs of the cheat after the fact. Having conversations with absent people. Ugh! 

I learned a tough lesson that day and am looking forward to showing off my new purchase and sharing the story of my shame with friends and family. And I do really like my new amethyst geode 🥰

Kids Grow Up

​Our last visit to Ganeshpuri was 10 years ago. We made some special friends in this little ashram village. It is the home of three gurus, Nityananda, Muhktananda and Guru Maya. These spiritual leaders are what brought John to Ganeshpuri in the first place. I came along for the ride and made some special friends. 

We always stay at GuruPrasad Guest House, owned by Dinesh Patil. This friendly Homestay includes a charming family of siblings, cousins, Ammas, Papas, aunties, uncles and all the rest. 

On my first visit I met Dinesh’s kids, Sameer and Deviani. Deviani was a spunky little 8 yr old with a radiant smile and an abundance of curiosity. Not much has changed with her. She is beautiful and driven. Our visit included lovely conversations about her life plans and philosophy. 

Sameer, her older brother, was there as well. He was a somewhat withdrawn little boy all those years ago, but this visit revealed an enthusiastic young man who loved his spiritual life and travel. 

While there were many special moments in this visit. Seeing how gracefully these two kids grew up was a big highlight.

Communication Challenges

​My sister was always the barber in the family. She would sit John down in the kitchen and work her magic. Ever since she died, he’s been resistant to getting haircuts. 

In the tiny village where we were staying, he decided to be spontaneous at the “strong” encouragement of a local barber. 

So away we were swept to his “shop” and he began his “magic”. The haircut went pretty well and he said “just little” about John’s beard. We both said, “Yes, just a trim”. 

Unfortunately, a little is a lot in marachi (his native tongue) and more unfortunately, he managed to shave off half of John’s face before we could course correct. 

I love John’s beard and I will miss it for the next few weeks, but there’s no turning back once half the beard is gone. 

I only wish my sister was alive to laugh with us.

So Many Men

​At the risk of sounding sexist, I have to speak to the disproportion of men to women here on the streets of Mumbai. As a woman, I noticed the challenge of making connections out on our stroll in search of Aram Vada Pav, a street food vendor, in Fort, near Colaba. 

Being “from away” only adds to the challenge as I desperately grab John’s hand whenever we need to cross the street. I fear for our lives with every attempt at crossing. 

The best practice has been to walk closely to a clearly confident person crossing over. If only a video could capture the fear in my eyes upon each cross. 

But also, being “from away” makes us a bit of a curiosity to others. I’m aware of being stared at. But I’m not sure why. When I do make visual contact with one of the occasional women I see, I feel an interesting sense of connection. I also feel an admiration at her courage to navigate this overwhelming city so independently. 

When we arrived at Aram Vada Pav, there was a huge crowd all ordering the delicious potato sandwiches. When I looked at the menu, it was completely written in Hindi. I had no idea how to order, or what to order or how to pay.

Finally, I asked the “one woman” in the crowd if she spoke English and, of course, she did. “Can you please help us order?” She proceeded to order, help us pay and give us perfect instructions on how to collect our treats. Without her, the experience would have been daunting. 

Cheers for the smart, brave and confident women of Mumbai! 

Mumbai … please!

​When John said he really wanted to go to India, my first thought was “it’s so far and so long”. Now that I’m on the bus heading to Boston, I’m just praying the BLIZZARD doesn’t interfere. 

But I’m ready. I WANT to go to India. It’s been a hard year for so many reasons and I’m looking forward to the enthusiasm of Indian folks. The sheer joy of the moment. 

Our flight couldn’t have gone any better! We had any empty seat between us on BOTH legs of our flight. Arrivals were ahead of schedule.

Stepping out into the rank fumes of Mumbai was somehow reassuringly familiar. I’ve come a long way from that first visit to Mumbai nearly 10 years ago when I holed up in my hotel room and cried for two days! Yes. Arrival in Mumbai felt nostalgic and welcoming. 

We are staying in Colaba for two days and a quick stroll turned up our old friend Shankar. He is a cobbler with a small business out on the road. His vibrant smile and joyful gratitude first attracted our attention ten years ago and we have been keeping in touch over the years. During this visit we look forward to meeting his wife and seven children!

I woke up at 5:30 am (wide awake) thanks to the absolutely bizarre experience of flying across the world. But the schedule was on our side having arrived in Mumbai at night. 

My goal for the day is to have Vada Pav and check out if this incredible kabob spot is still around later tonight. 

Mumbai

No matter how much I think it will be different, Mumbai still beats the shit out of me. First time I holed up and cried and wouldn't leave my room for two days. Second time, I just flew into Cochin instead. This time I thought I could take it. I was wrong.
I'm primarily overtaken by the sensory overload.
First and foremost there is a constant acrid smell. I was walking by the ritziest hotel in Mumbai and I'm overtaken by the smell of raw sewage. I'm in my hotel room and the acrid scent of burning trash wafts into my window and it's relentless. We go to a rooftop restaurant to "get away" from it all, but the smells rise and the gasoline and diesel is particularly strong. It literally hurts to breathe.
Then there is the constant presence of noise horns constantly honking. Engines rumbling. At night the black crows caw without stop.
Then there are all the humans. So many of them. The men stare for unusually long periods of time. And there are so many men! I welcome the occasional and friendly gaze of a woman.

And there is the constant presence of want. Desperate want! Relentless and desperate need.
Then...of course...there is me with all the stories in my head. The narratives that exacerbate each decision I make. Each look has meaning that I'm inventing.
My body hurts too, because I'm stiff and out of shape and I'm climbing steps and lugging backpacks and walking a lot. And the emotional stress of it all is complicating it even further.
Then there is the JET LAG. Exhausted in the day and waking up at 3 AM, wide awake..
And just when I think I've had enough and I'm ready to leave this horrifying place...

India happens. The refreshing exuberant nature of Indian people.

We decided to take the ferry out to Elephanta Island, which is just off the coast of Mumbai. It is very cool with amazing and ancient sculptures built into ancient caves. But the trip itself is even more refreshing and amazing. Floating across the ocean,  the air is "almost" fresh. While we are on the ferry, we meet Indians on vacation. Their joy and enthusiasm is delightful and unique. Truly unlike anything I have ever come across in the US. They ask us the familiar, "Where from?"  And the flood gate of questions, selfies, introductions suddenly opens.  I meet a family from Hyderabad that wants to teach me Bollywood dance moves. And I say yes, so there I am, the fat American, wagging her hips to the joy of my instructors . Then I meet two Muslim girls who speak impeccable English and the conversation ends with "We are friends now?" And, of course, a selfie. And I suddenly feel as if I have found the answer to world peace.

The absence of  boundaries is refreshing and exotic to me, just like my being an American seems exotic to them. It's all very ironic I guess.

Finally, the excitement dissipates with my inability to speak any Hindi other than what is your name and I settle in to watching the excited and innocent joy of laughter, dancing and feeding the flock of seagulls that fly alongside the boat and I realize at last I have arrived in Mumbai.

Thai Massage

One of the hardships of being a massage therapist and receiving massages is the difficulty of finding a great therapist. There is a big difference between intentional touch and "just being rubbed", as one of my massage friends likes to say. I'm constantly trying to improve my touch awareness. And trying to feel how the muscle, the body and the energy responds to touch.
Practicing intentional touch in my own work, makes me acutely aware of how it feels to have someone not adjust pressure or just endlessly bump over a knot in a muscle.
I've received a good share of "being rubbed" here in Asia, and in the US. Since Thai massage is very common, (there were literally rows of massage studios on every street we visited) it was not unusual to see a therapist giving a massage while chatting on her phone or talking to another therapist. My tact is usually to selfishly send John first and get a review from him.
After receiving an awesome Thai massage from Sae at Friends Massage, in Chiang Mai, we decided to take a three day class. We did our research and found a reputable, well reviewed school called, Sabai De Ka.
Our teacher, Na, was delightful and abundant with both humor and knowledge about her craft. The first thing she did was apologize for her English, which I assured her was 99.9% better than my Thai.
Thai massage is performed over loose clothing and involves a lot more stretches and compressions rather than the long strokes of the Swedish technique. It has been used for centuries and was originally taught in the temples. There is no oil used other than the occasional salve for a tight muscle.
The course covered all the techniques for a full Thai Massage adapted for a table, since traditionally it is done on a mat on the floor. But we wanted to be able to integrate it with our other types of massage, so we opted for the table course.
I really like how Thai massage encourages the therapist to use her whole body to improve stretches. It's not unusual to use a foot for better leverage for a stretch. Since it uses a lot of stretches, a therapist needs to listen to the body and the client to make sure the stretch is just right. The wonderful massage I received from Sae, at Friends Massage, used experienced intuitive touch to not overstretch my wonky shoulders. Even with a huge language barrier, she was able to feel when a stretch was a little too intense and she easily adapted.
Our teacher, Na, also had to be intuitive about our techniques, constantly helping us to adapt and change for our clients.  A phrase that I heard regularly was, "You no flexible. You go like this" and then she would teach us some adaptation to the technique.
Thai massage involves lots of repetition, so we were taught to use 10-30 repetitions of a particular move. Of course, we had limited time, so sometimes when we worked on each other, we would shorten the repetitions considerably, which was typically accompanied with my favorite line of all time, "Mr. JOHN, your wife have great body, you no cheat her!" I can assure you that John will be hearing that phrase for a long time to come!
All together, we learned enough techniques to give a 4 hour Thai massage. We obviously have many hours of practice ahead to master these new techniques, but we are both excited about integrating lots of these techniques into our practice and offering our most authentic Thai Massage when we return home.

Did I Mention I Saw A Tiger?

I've visited India four times. Each time I am most excited about the exotic wildlife. Monkeys abound. Camels and elephants seem to be part of everyday life. Whenever we go on safaris, we are told. Don't count on seeing a tiger. So when we went to Periyar National Park I accepted it. When we went to Wyanad, I  accepted it.
This year, I decided that we would go to Gujarat and try to see the Asiatic lions there at Gir National Park. I was tired of accepting not seeing a tiger.
Well, plans changed and we ended up going to Ranthambore National Park near Jaipur. 
Planning trips in India is tricky. The tips on seeing wildlife abound and they are always accompanied with the caveat, "Don't count on seeing a tiger". One of the tips was to get your park pass in advance because the lines are super long. They were accompanied with stories of folks queuing up at 5 and 6 AM. The more I read, the more overwhelmed I got. As luck would have it, getting overwhelmed dissuaded me from going through the online process (which was equally discouraging). I just figured I would wing it. I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway, right?
When we made our reservations for Ranthambore, I pondered whether to stay at the considerably more expensive "tiger safari resorts" which mentioned their proximity to the park, their ability to book jeeps and canters for safaris and their luxurious rooms. But, as luck would have it, I decided to save some cash and stay at the Hotel Aditya, advertised as the best "budget" hotel in Ranthambore.
Once we arrived, I asked Shawn, our host, if he could arrange a couple tiger safaris for us. I figured, we might have more luck if we went twice. But, upon arriving and realizing that the only interesting thing about Ranthambore was tiger safaris, I decided to cancel one of  the trips and leave a day early, because I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway.
When I asked Shawn what time of day it was best to see a tiger, he  suggested afternoon, which surprised me because I felt like I had read that mornings were better. But I took Shawn's advice, since I probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway. Shawn told me the price for the jeep safari, which was 3500 rupees per person, which is pretty steep in India. (we were paying 950 for our hotel room). It's about $45 per person. But after some grappling in my head about how I'm probably not going to see a tiger anyway, I decided to splurge on the unlikely chance that, maybe, I would see one.
Another guest at the Hotel, Neil, from Australia, was equally interested and decided to join us. We chatted together for a while and concurred that we probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway.
The next day, our jeep arrived. And, as luck would have it, the other passengers were an Italian couple and their personal and experienced Indian guide, who also happened to speak excellent English and happened to know that zone 10 was THE ZONE for tiger sightings  this year. As luck would have it, T42, was hanging around that zone ever since (according to Shawn) his mate was poisoned by the natives and T42 refused to leave for days as he mourned over her body. The narrative was moving, but we all agreed that it was unlikely that we would see him.
It was a long day of everyone carefully scanning the woods. The guides suggested that we not stop to look at deer or other wildlife until the ride back to increase the opportunities to see a tiger, to which we all heartily agreed.
The ride seemed endless. At one point we stopped and observed a tiger feeding ground. We could see old bones of deer and other animals that had been eaten months earlier. We saw tiger paw prints on the road. These things are an exciting reminder that the tigers are there...even though we probably wouldn't see one. There was a ridge around the feeding ground that we almost drove along, but I think our guides were reluctant to risk it since it would be a precarious fall if he veered too far left or right.
The sun was just starting to set and it looked like our day had ended. I accepted our fate and acknowledged it was worth a try.
Suddenly another guide was waving to us. He was up on the ridge. Although, I couldn't understand his words, his eyes and arms screamed tiger. In seconds we were braving the ridge and there he was, T42. He was huge. He was so regal, just napping in the shade. We were climbing all over the jeep trying to get a different angle as the others jockied for a view. T42 looked right at us. He yawned. He stood up and stretched. He was completely indifferent to our presence. Our guide pointed out his kill from earlier that day. He was full of food and napping off his full stomach. It was even exciting to watch him take a dump. His coat was shiny and he had none of the qualities I have seen in caged tigers. This was his realm, we were guests in his house.
Within minutes, five jeeps were lined up behind us, yelling for us to move and give them a view. I was  selfishly grateful for our guide's insistence on lingering
We finally gave up our spot for the others, but I selfishly wished I could have stayed all evening watching him. It was such an honor and a privilege. The drive home was rich with jubilation. To think that I even wondered about spending $50 on such an amazing experience. Every 10 minutes or so, one of us would say, "We saw a tiger!" And then an animated conversation about it.

Did I mention that I saw a tiger?

I've visited India four times. Each time I am most excited about the exotic wildlife. Monkeys abound. Camels and elephants seem to be part of everyday life. Whenever we go on safaris, we are told. Don't count on seeing a tiger. So when we went to Periyar National Park I accepted it. When we went to Wyanad, I  accepted it.
This year, I decided that we would go to Gujarat and try to see the Asiatic lions there at Gir National Park. I was tired of accepting not seeing a tiger.
Well, plans changed and we ended up going to Ranthambore National Park near Jaipur. 
Planning trips in India is tricky. The tips on seeing wildlife abound and they are always accompanied with the caveat, "Don't count on seeing a tiger". One of the tips was to get your park pass in advance because the lines are super long. They were accompanied with stories of folks queuing up at 5 and 6 AM. The more I read, the more overwhelmed I got. As luck would have it, getting overwhelmed dissuaded me from going through the online process (which was equally discouraging). I just figured I would wing it. I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway, right?
When we made our reservations for Ranthambore, I pondered whether to stay at the considerably more expensive "tiger safari resorts" which mentioned their proximity to the park, their ability to book jeeps and canters for safaris and their luxurious rooms. But, as luck would have it, I decided to save some cash and stay at the Hotel Aditya, advertised as the best "budget" hotel in Ranthambore.
Once we arrived, I asked Shawn, our host, if he could arrange a couple tiger safaris for us. I figured, we might have more luck if we went twice. But, upon arriving and realizing that the only interesting thing about Ranthambore was tiger safaris, I decided to cancel one of  the trips and leave a day early, because I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway.
When I asked Shawn what time of day it was best to see a tiger, he  suggested afternoon, which surprised me because I felt like I had read that mornings were better. But I took Shawn's advice, since I probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway. Shawn told me the price for the jeep safari, which was 3500 rupees per person, which is pretty steep in India. (we were paying 950 for our hotel room). It's about $45 per person. But After some grappling in my head about how I'm probably not going to see a tiger anyway, I decided to splurge on the unlikely chance that, maybe, I would see one.
Another guest at the Hotel, Neil, from Australia, was equally interested and decided to join  us. We chatted together for  while and concurred that we probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway.
The next day, our jeep arrived. And, as luck would have it, the other passengers were an Italian couple and their personal and experienced Indian guide, who also happened to speak excellent English and happened to know that zone 10 was THE ZONE for tiger sightings  this year. As luck would have it, T42, was hanging around that zone ever since (according to Shawn) his mate was poisoned by the natives and T42 refused to leave for days as he mourned over her body. The narrative was moving, but we all agreed that it was unlikely that we would see him.
It was a long day of everyone carefully scanning the woods. The guides suggested that we not stop to look at deer or other wildlife until the ride back to increase the opportunities to see a tiger, to which we all heartily agreed.
The ride seemed endless. At one point we stopped and observed a tiger feeding ground. We could see old bones of deer and other animals that had been eaten months earlier. There was a ridge around the feeding ground that we almost drove along, but I think our guides were reluctant to risk since it would be a precarious fall if he ever too far left or right.
The sun was just starting to set and it looked like our day had ended. I accepted our fate and acknowledged it was worth a try.
Suddenly another guide was waving to us. He was up on the ridge. Although, I couldn't understand his words, his eyes and arms spoke volumes. In seconds we were braving the ridge and there he was, T42. He was huge. He was so regal, just napping in the shade. Within minutes, five jeeps were lined up behind us, yelling for us to move and give them a view. I was  selfishly grateful for our guide's insistence on lingering. We were climbing all over the jeep trying to get a different angle as the others jockied for a view. T42 looked right at us. He yawned. He stood up and stretched. He was completely indifferent to our presence. Our guide pointed out his kill from earlier that day. He was full of food and napping off his full stomach. It was even exciting to watch him take a dump.
We finally gave up our spot for the others, but I selfishly wished I could have stayed all evening watching him. It was such an honor and a privilege. The drive home was rich with jubilation. Every 10 minutes or so, one of us would say, "We saw a tiger!" And then an animated conversation about it.

And so it begins...

Four nights ago I was so ready for travel. Then three nights ago I woke  up at three am thinking of all the stuff to do...then two nights ago I woke up thinking about all the reasons I didn't want to leave...and last night I lay awake imagining all the tragic consequences of flying across the world and leaving all of my family and friends behind.
John is envisioning the chai in Ganeshpuri and I'm remembering the dust. John is remembering the beautiful view from the Sea Shore Hotel in Mumbai and I'm remembering the four flights up the dark, dirty stairway.
Yes. I guess I'm ready, but this is part of the process...I suppose.
It aches to leave my sister behind who is facing surgery in a couple weeks. It aches to say goodbye to my daughter who is brave and strong and beautiful. It aches to leave friends and familiar faces for the unknown.
I truly aches to sit on an airplane for 22 hours, trusting in only the universe and good people.
I do know that I will adjust and the sights and sounds and SMELLS of India will slowly become part of the adventure, but right now I just feel acutely aware of what I'm leaving behind.
It does not ache to leave cold winter and dark days.
I will bring love with me and I will bring love home. That's one thing I can count on.

The Family Table

When I was younger, like 55, I used to think I could predict what an experience would be like. But travel has reminded me that I’m not even close to knowing what the next adventure brings. Now, I’m not talking about danger or high stakes stuff although I have been in the company of a wild bull elephant. (An old blog will tell you about it  ) I'm actually talking about those times when I feel a little bit uncomfortable; when I know I will have to interact with strangers beyond the basic social  courtesies..

Yep, I know you’re thinking, Marcia…that’s what travelling is all about. And I do know that…but…I still feel squeamish if I know I’m gonna be outside my typical comfort zone… So, the fact that our homestay had a family style eating arrangement and the fact that we were going to be up in the mountains of Kerala, without easy access to alternative meal settings. Well, it made me squeamish.

We arrived at Varnam Homestay in a taxi whose driver definitely got the short end of the stick. He must have asked directions ten times  before he found the little oasis tucked away down rugged dirt roads and surrounded by rubber tree plantations and random ramshackle and not so ramshackle homes. When we pulled into the driveway, we all (including the driver) breathed a sigh of relief.

Beena, our hostess, greeted us with a warm hello and welcomed us right up to that “family table”. Hmm, let the awkward conversation making begin.

Yes, there were a few awkward moments, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much travellers in the same place had to talk about. That family table was the highlight of this leg of our adventure. Our first night, the two German women (I’m terrible with names) convinced us that we would love the organic farm tour, and we did. John and I had walked around the farm earlier, and I was amazed at how many fruits, veggies and spices we didn’t recognize. My favorite was the cinnamon tree. Eating cinnamon bark off of a young branch of a cinnamon tree is soooo  much more delicious than any cinnamon you will ever eat. I saw pineapples that weren’t on the shelves of the produce lane at Hannafords. One pineapple has its very own plant. I ate green peppercorns off of the vine. Anyway. It was pretty cool.

Back to the family table. At dinner, we would all talk about what we did that day. As the stay progressed, we started to talk about ourselves and learn about each other. By the end of our stay, there were passionate, friendly conversations about living with disease, decisions about end of life, politics and…of course.. the dreaded conversation… who had seen an elephant and who had NOT!

There was a lot of strategizing as those who did tried to help those who did not to have the penultimate experience of what I assume must be everyone’s reason to go to India.
“We didn’t need to go on the safari tour…you can just see them on the side of the road.” And then, quietly, “we haven’t seen one yet. We’re just going on the tour. It increases our chances, right.”

I  the meantime we entertained ourselves with 10 km treks through villages where adorable  little children come running out to stare and dare to speak English. A typical conversation went  "Hello Madame. How are you?" I would respond and ask,and how are you. " I am fine thank you." Then we would stare at eaxh other, trying to make a deeper connection.

We also walked along a river, where a boy had recently been mauled by a tiger. We would swim in that river, with monkeys up in the trees, only to learn later from Hussein, who by the way told us about the tiger mauling, that there were crocodiles in that river (but it’s okay cause they are FRIENDLY)

And that “family table” was also where we heard the beautiful, haunting Malayalam song by our hosts, Beena and her husband (I’m terrible with names). That was also the family table where my new friends sang happy birthday to me and I made the same birthday wish I had made two years earlier, which was to see a DAMN elephant! We did “kinda” see some way far off in the distance amongst trees and rocks on the safari.

But my birthday wish must have been on Maine time, not India time, because, the next day, as we were leaving our homestay and the western ghats of India, my new Brazilian friend, Marcello, (I’m getting better with names) spotted a huge, bull elephant, with brilliant long white tusks on the side of the ROAD!

On Selfless Service and Meditation

Seva is selfless service in an ashram. When you stay at Amma’s Ashram, you are kindly requested to offer two hours of Seva per day. For folks having a short stay, the tasks are pretty simple. Our Seva was wiping dishes. This was a crazily easy task, but one night I was really tired, so I skipped Seva and went to bed. Being at the Ashram triggers my self consciousness pretty well and…(let me be clear that nobody follows you around during your stay making sure you did your Seva), but my little transgression was haunting me a bit. So when the Seva girl was coming around looking for someone to sweep the temple steps, I volunteered.

One of the benefits of Meditation is that it helps you discipline your mind. On a good week, I usually meditate for about 20 min for 4 or 5 days. That means I’m not listening to my thoughts for less that 2 hrs a week. Mind you, my thoughts are generally not very important or meaningful…and most off the time they are completely self destructive.

While we were at the Ashram, we participated in a workshop about this type of negative self talk and a strategy we can use to change our thinking by activating your “resource identity” which trains you to revise the negative story you’re telling yourself to a positive one. In Sanskrit there is a term called Matrika Shakti that basically says that our words create our reality.

So, if that is the case, my self talk puts me in a hellish reality relatively often.  For instance, I create critical stories in my head about why someone is scowling or laughing. Or what someone is thinking or feeling. This is an awesome skill if you’re a writer and you don’t have an ego, but my stories and interpretations are always about ME. This person is angry because I am taking too long, or I’m not following the proper protocol.

Speaking of protocols, at the Ashram, there are lots of people very willing to tell you what to do and how to follow the protocol. Since Amma means mother, there is a lot of  “mother” energy and “grandmother” energy. That’s great energy when it is enlightened and filled with grace, like Amma’s energy. But the more earthly version of mother energy is a bit more challenging for me.

Speaking of Amma’s grace, everything in the Ashram is about your spiritual growth, so a cigar is never just a cigar. I'm constantly being spiritually tested by the guru. Someone once described Amma’s work with her children as polishing stones in a tumbler. We are tossed about in our own dust until our rough edges are polished like gem stones. My “dust” for this visit has been to pay attention  to the negative and self destructive stories I create in my head as I go about my daily life.

Speaking of daily life, When I was little, my Yiayias spent a lot of time with us. It was typical for my mother’s mother to spend the summer in Maine. She would cook and clean and hang out with my dad’s mother. They were pretty critical and I was pretty sensitive, so they would complain to each other about how I didn’t pick up my clothes or take care of my dishes. Usually the conversation included some rant about some character flaw such as laziness or gluttony or selfishness or rudeness. These rants were always under the guise of the Greek language, which I, in this case unfortunately, understood much better than I could speak. So I would hear all about how horrible I was, but never told directly. In fact, my Yiayia’s favorite expression to me was , “Marcia, you’re a GOOD girl.”which was always accompanied with an affectionate cheek pinch. So now I spend a lot of my head time examining whether I’m a good girl, so I can please my critical Yiayia. This experience, and about 5000 other "formative" interactions, has left me with what I have come to realize is what I sometimes believe is an uncanny ability to read minds.

Anyway...I show up for seva at the temple steps at 2:30, but the task is changed to sweeping and washing the floors in front of the elevators. Once I figured out how to sweep and wash the floors in front of the elevators I go right to work. I was going to do my very best Seva to honor Amma. To build my character. To show everyone what a dedicated Ashramite I could be. And this work was right up my alley. I am an excellent cleaner. I take great pleasure in it.  When I was teaching, I used to reward myself for grading papers by allowing myself an hour of cleaning time. I love strolling through the cleaning products and looking at all the different kinds of gadgets that improve the cleaning experience. I have developed a good critical eye for the gimmicks and the good stuff.

So... when I saw the “swiffer” and the seriously recycled mop pad I was going to use to wash the large marble floors in front of the heavily trodden elevators… I was crestfallen. And the frugal amount of watered down cleaning products was equally disappointing. As was the absence of really good hot sanitizing water. But my self talk scolded, “MARCIA, quit being  such a first world primadonna with your selfish expectations of fancy, fine tuned state of the art cleaning supplies. This is an Ashram. People dedicate their lives to loving and caring for the destitute and suffering masses. Use the mops you’re given and shut up!”

 So... I set to work. I was to clean Floors 4-7. These floors were in open air areas that offered access to fresh cool air and bugs and birds. And it’s HOT in southern India. Lots of moist humidity that seems to make every part of my skin feel sticky… a perfect magnet for all the dust flying about from the sweeping. I swept the steps and then the floors. As I swept I discovered that birds had shit under the railings at the edges of the floor. My head said, “They surely don’t expect me to clean up dried  bird shit with cold water and a swiffer… do they? But Amma’s devotees are pretty devoted. I could hear them in my head too. They were saying, “Of course you will make these floors impeccable in Amma’s honor.” Then my Yiayia’s Greek criticism joined them. "Look at these filthy floor. You need to put more pressure behind that swiffer...and why are you using a swiffer...get on your hands and knees."  Then another voice said, “Marcia, you lazy snob, step up, do your best. Then another voice said, “No way, that’s too ridiculous, obviously the shit hasn’t been cleaned by others. Nobody will even notice whether the shit is cleaned. Anyway, if I had the right products and hot water, then I could clean the shit.  Heck, I didn’t even have a little scraper. Just my silly, very old swiffer.”  I was so exhausted by the tirade I had in my head, I skipped the shit and left that floor feeling like a fancy pants westerner with her picky high standards and lazy work ethic.

The sixth floor was exactly the same with similar voices and sometimes much more imagination. I imagined Amma (the goddess of unconditional love) making this one exception and  calling me up on stage to use me as an example of how not to be lazy. Then she would kick me out of the Ashram. Then my grandmother’s voice commenting on how filthy the floors were and how they needed more cleaning. As I was having this lively  conversation with myself, a little old Indian woman, who remarkably resembled my Yiayias, came out to the hall and sat right next to the bird shit.

We exchanged glances. I tried a little smile, but she wouldn’t have it. Then I went back to my self and my, supposedly, selfless service. When I got to the shit part of the washing, we made eye contact again, and she pointed to the shit and gave me that incredibly ambiguous Indian head wobble, which, with my brilliant imagination and particular personal grandmother history, meant that I needed to conquer the bird shit.

Out loud, (in English I was pretty sure she didn’t understand), I said, “I know, but I can’t figure out how to clean it.” Which was followed by another wobble. I continued to wash the floor, but I was desperately haunted by Indian Yiayia’s gaze. I knew what she was thinking… about how I was a lazy western primadonna that has probably never washed a floor in her life and had no idea what she was doing.

When I returned to the bucket of cold water, there it was, the plastic dust pan, with the stiff squeegee edge, perfect for scraping softened dried bird shit from a marble floor. AHA! I grabbed the dust pan and proceeded to easily scrape away the shit, leaving behind only lovely shiny marble. Indian Yiayia must have approved because she stood up slowly and shuffled back to her room..her work was done there.

I think I need to meditate a little more often.

For love of sunglasses and water bottles

One of the tenets of enlightenment is that of nonattachment. The idea is that attachment causes suffering. So by not being attached to things or people, we avoid suffering…or something like that.

All I know is that I really loved these sunglasses  and this water bottle. The sun glasses were awesome because they had reader bifocals in them so I could read or look up close without having to change to my readers when I’m out in the sun. I had them for two years, which for me and sunglasses, is a huge amount of time. I even took great care of them, or at least I tried to.  Before them, I would have to choose between seeing and squinting. Every once in a while I could do a layered thing with the sunglasses and do the readers on top of them. So when I lost my sunglasses during  my first week in India, I was truly bummed out.

Losing the water bottle was tragic. Sally gave me this amazing water bottle that had a spritz mister on the top. One day it just showed up in the mail. I've been getting hot flashes and her sympathetic nature was activated when she saw the bottle on Groupon.

Hot flashes are never really comfortable, but breaking into a sweat in cold Maine is a lot more tolerable than it is in hot India. I used it in Maine primarily for drinking water and occasionally enjoying watching folks react to a fake sneeze accompanied by a spritz of my delightful water bottle mister.

It was in the humidity of Kerala that I really developed a deep relationship with Mister Waterbottle. He would tag along on the dusty roads of the Ashram and offer up a cool drink or a refreshing mist whenever I needed one. He also became a bit of a rock star since he was truly one of a kind. Others were surprised at first to see him give me a light spritz. Then I would offer them his services and they would appreciate that amazing relief he gave from  the oppressive heat. I felt like I had a magic wand of instant refreshment!

I carried him with me everywhere I went. He would sit patiently as I ate dinner or sat in the temple listening to bhajans. He came with me to the coconut stand and the juice stand. He accompanied me to yoga and workshops. Once or twice I would forget him, but I’d quickly remember him and devotedly reunite with him. We were destined for each other. Mister Waterbottle was my hero.

So on the night before we were to travel to our next  destination and I didn’t find him when I returned to our room I was devastated. What had I done! How could I have left him behind after all the refreshing moments we had shared. John immediately recognized the significance of this loss and he thoughtfully went out and searched everywhere from yoga studio to temple to coconut stand, but alas Mister Waterbottle was gone. I even woke up in the middle of the night parched and thinking he was still with me.

In the quiet darkness I pondered his absence. Maybe it was because I skipped Seva and God was punishing me? Maybe I showed him off too much and someone else coveted having him and snatched him away from me. Perhaps he was carelessly tossed away, abandoned in the recycling when no one came to claim him at the yoga studio?

I’ll never know. But as I travel away on  this train, I realize that attachment does cause suffering.

But I resolved my "first world" problem with this pair of cheap sunglasses and this extremely cumbersome water bottle.

Happy Panji...doh..Panjo...doh...Pongal

Being in India gives me a taste of what it is to be a minority, a foreigner, a side-show freak at times. People stare at me and children are afraid of me. I try to say hello and they bury their scared little faces in their mothers' necks. Trying to communicate is very challenging since I, unfortunately, only speak one language. I usually find myself speaking loudly and gesturing way too much. 

The fact that we are traveling and tourists makes being authentic and real even more difficult. I never know what someone's motives are. I remember I one time paid a girl to take her picture because it was expected by the half dozen others whose pictures I took. When she was surprised that I offered to pay her, I felt like shit. I immediately stuffed my rupees away and left the scene of the crime.

I try to connect with the touts and the Tuk Tuk drivers. And in India, I notice that it's not too difficult to have a sweet moment...if you look for it. There are some opportunities, but not as many as I'd like.

So it was a really special treat when Moony invited us into his home to meet his family. It was one of the first times I was able to let my guard down and just trust the company and appreciate who they were. 

We entered his home and were immediately greeted by a huge collection of older and younger folks. There was Moony's wife and their four children. There were his brother and sister-in-law and their two children. There were a bunch of other relations that I couldn't keep track of. His house was very modest and very different from western homes. The floor was cement and there were no chairs in the room. Of course he scuttled about to find a couple for us, but we just all ended up sitting together on the floor.

Then there was the whole language barrier. Mostly warm looks, curious stares and lots of friendly nodding. Then the ice was broken when Jake broke out his camera. But brilliantly, he didn't take photos. He just gave the camera to the kids and let them go at it. Pretty soon the adults were taking pictures with it too. Every possible combination of relationships were documented in the photo session that followed.

Once the photo shoot ended, the universal glue was presented....the thing that brings us all together...yep..food. Moony's wife, who I took to calling Mommy Ji, brought sweet rice and bananas in honor of Pongal, the festival that celebrates the harvest. Of course she didn't bring spoons and Moony said something to her and she ran off and rummaged about for some spoons for us. Then there was a little more awkward silence and I cheered "Happy Panji" which was received with confused looks. Then I tried "Pongil"...to which they responded "ahhh Happy Pongol". And we all had a good laugh at my bad Tamil.

The children also helped to break the ice some more. They practiced their English on me and I was delighted to get to play a game of naming body parts with them. I would point to my nose and Moony's adorable littlest daughter would proudly say "nose" with her sweet Indian accent.

While I'm doing this, Moony's teenage daughter is giving Jake a beautiful henna tattoo on his hand and her cousin is giving him another on his other hand. Jake is huge by Indian standards and he looked like a temple sculpture with both of his palms held out for the henna.

In the meantime, Moony's sister in law has run off and returned with her baby for me to meet. Indian babies are particularly adorable with their eyes made up and tiny bindies on their foreheads.

But, Janu, the adult niece (I think) of Moony was holding out on us and I soon learned that she also spoke very good English. Once that was revealed, she loosened up and we were invited to her house, where she offered me a piece of sugar cane, which I immediately began to gnaw on. It was cool because it was one of those things that typically wouldn't be offered to western tourists. But it's a delicious treat to chew and suck the sweet sugary juices out of it.

She showed us pictures of her husband and we lingered in her place. She told us about her husband, who is a milkman, and we exchanged addresses. 

We went back to Moony's house and we got to see the pooja, which is a little altar where they honor a particular god. I'm not sure which god it was, but I'll bet it was Ganesha, the elephant God of welcome and new beginnings, since that's what our visit was all about.

Moony Ji

One of the hard things about traveling is that you're immediately funneled into tourist areas, treated like tourists and made to feel like outsiders. I've come to accept that this is just the way it is and there's not much I can do about it.

So, when Jake said, "I met a guy who feeds homeless people and he's taking us out with him to feed the homeless tomorrow at 11", I immediately felt doubt and cynicism about it. What's the gig? Is this guy for real or is this a clever scheme to get us to his store to buy stuff? But Jake just smiled at me and used my own words, "just say yes" to convince me that I should trust and go.

We were picked up by the sweetest, kindest man who got out of his car and put his hands together in the familiar prayer gesture and welcomed us into his little van. On the back and side windows it said, MMC TRUST DESTITUTE FEEDING. Inside the car we were seated next to about twenty prepackaged food tins. 

As we started to drive away, he handed me an article that described his simple story. He was a mechanic that one day saw a hungry and homeless person on the street and when he asked the person what he could do to help, the person said he would just like some tea and bread. This was Moony's calling and since then for the past ten years he delivers 100 meals to homeless people every morning at 8 o'clock. Yep. That's it. He cooks rice and gravy for them and delivers it in tins and little bags. His dream is to start a home for the homeless in Madurai.

We rode along with him and participated in the delivery of food to about seven people. Jake had generously given Moony $50 in our name, so there was a lot of picture posing and hand shaking and John and I looked like ambassadors or something. It felt a little disingenuous and awkward, but we were willing to do it, if it helped Moony continue his good work.

To witness the authentic gratitude of the people was a great privilege. One guy kept waving his hand and praising the gift of rice and gravy. Another woman had a vibrant smile. Moony took us to the home that he provided for Rajesh who was severely handicapped. So much that he needed to walk with his hands. He also couldn't speak. Moony provided him with a cement room and he cooked on a small fire in the front yard. He was happy with these meager provisions 

These people were so destitute it was hard to witness. I felt pity and shame. I always struggle with myself when I participate in charity. It feels like never enough and almost ridiculous and absurd that I'm who I am and they are who they are. All these feelings are a silly waste of time and I'm starting to learn that being charitable should be a "just do it" approach. Just be your imperfect self and do it. 

When I asked Moony why he did this, he just put his hands together over his heart and gazed at me. It was the clearest, most accurate message he had communicated to me during our visit. 

While we have been traveling, Jake has taught us some basic Hindu language to help talk to folks that we met. One thing he taught us was that when you say, "ji" after someone's name it shows respect. As we finished our little charity excursions with Moony, I thanked him and called him, Moony Gee. He liked that and had a hearty laugh about it.

If you would like to help Moony Ji to continue his dream you can contact him at...worldmkr2000@yahoo.in  and check out his website at www.mmctrust.in

Elephants, Tigers and Rafts, Oh My!

Periyar Tiger Reserve is a lot like any woods in Maine. There's a man-made lake there with ancient stumps sticking out of it, lots of trees with similar green leaves and...oh yeah...TIGERS. 

The coolest thing about walking through Periyar is that, as you're  walking, you're imagining what you would do when a tiger jumped out of the brush and attacked you. 

My scenario, which I shared at dinner that evening after the park visit, was something like, "I'd jam my arm into the tiger's mouth, thus sacrificing my arm, but saving my neck, which I'm sure would lead to ultimate death. Then I would expect John to pounce on the tiger thus detaining him from killing me long enough for the guide to shoot the tiger dead." But Jake quickly reminded me that the tiger also has two giant paws with razor sharp claws which would easily rip open my jugular vein. 

Good-bye Maine woods...right.

So we started our day at Periyar at 8 AM. We elected the rafting adventure because we would likely have more opportunity to see wildlife since the raft is quieter. I had read several guidebooks and websites about Periyar (as well as conversations with a lovely New Zealand family) that warned that folks rarely see wildlife on the wildlife viewing excursions offered by the reserve. So I tempered my enthusiasm with good common sense. After all, it was a lovely day and we were paddling on a peaceful lake in the western mountains of southern India...what's not to like.

But I secretly wished for more. You see, it was my birthday that day, and you always get one wish on your birthday, right? 

So when Jake asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I said I wanted to see an elephant. I figured that an elephant would not be as scary as a tiger, and I actually love elephants more than tigers. So I wished for an elephant.

I imagined that seeing an elephant in the wild would be something like most elephants I have seen. They are kind, smiling eyed, docile creatures. Sometimes you can feed them bananas out of your hand and pat them on their big floppy ears. They stand still for you and the caretaker can make them do tricks.

So as we slowly paddled about on Lake Periyar, I imagined elephants coming down to the shore to have a drink of cool water. I kept a close watch on the shore, but the most we saw were some black wild boars scurrying about and very far away. In fact, we could hardly recognize them. The day grew longer and hotter and the trip was from 8-5. The likelihood of seeing animals was growing dimmer by the hour. 

We had to trek through the jungle for a good chunk of the time. The guides were very helpful and pointed out all sorts of unique plants and interestingly shaped trees. I had read that the guides in Periyar were reformed poachers who knew all about the jungle and the behaviors of wild animals. I wished I had had the ability to chat in greater depth with one of them, but even the few things he did share indicated that he knew his stuff. This one guy looked like he had spent the bulk of his adult life in the jungle. He had super dark skin and sharp eyes. He was spry and strong even though he looked very old. He could easily identify footprints and droppings and tell me how long they had been there. He knew all the different plants and how they were useful. I wondered if he enjoyed his new career as a guide and if it lacked the excitement that poaching presented.

 It was getting hot and frankly, boring. Everyone in our group was polite and not very talkative. 

Then we heard it. This awesome sound. So amazingly loud that it startled me.  I had previously mistaken sounds I'd  heard. I thought a woodpecker was a tiger purring. I thought a monkey was a tiger's roar. But this sound was definitely something big and powerful. Jake aptly described it as Satan's trombone.

The guides immediately flew into action. Very quickly I learned that it was an elephant. Then we heard another similar sound. There were two elephants. Of course we all started to run toward the sound. But the guides came running back toward us. You could see the authentic fear in their eyes. Their eyes were huge as rupees. They weren't trying to help us see the elephant, they were trying to protect us from the elephant. One of the guides kept saying "dangerous, very dangerous" and his eyes confirmed that sentiment. 

So we were all huddled together like hostages in a little clearing. The elephant could charge and crush us. I quickly remembered John telling me that there were 400 deaths by elephants in India every year. This made me want to run very far and very fast. But seeing wild animals is what we were there for. We wanted to see this creature we were being told to run away from. Each time the guide with the gun waved his arms to send us back, there was some hesitation. This only made the guide show even greater alarm as he kept swinging his arms to send us further away. 

So many possible scenarios went through my mind. At one point I asked one of the guides if it would be good to hide behind a tree. He laughed at me. Hmph.

The other two guides were ever so cautiously attempting to investigate the situation. There was a lot of talk that I couldn't understand, but I could tell from the tone of their voices that they were not all in agreement about how to handle the situation. The one with the gun was insisting that we get further and further away. The other guy was more willing to risk...which I liked...cause I wanted to see the elephant.

Finally the little guy won over the guy with the gun and we were allowed to creep up slowly to peek at the BULL ELEPHANT about 50 yards away from us. He was munching on a tree. Every once in a while he would start to move and the guy with the gun would start waving for us to get back. 

"Go away, go away" he would shout and wave his hands at us. Then we would creep back up and watch a little longer. 

But there was also the danger of the MOTHER AND HER BABY on the other side of the path catching wind of us and charging from there. The guide later explained that it was a particularly dangerous situation because we were in the woods and the elephants can't really perceive what's happening and they're  more likely to be aggressive. 

We all loomed in the glow of elephant energy for a good twenty minutes and then started to head back to the raft. 

As we were returning, half of our group was missing. One of the women noticed this and we all ran back to see the second sighting of the elephant. This time we got to see her whole body and we were about 75 yards away. She looked so important and strong. There was something noble about her on her turf and on her terms. Very humbling.

We lingered a little longer then started back to the raft and then the hike back to the gates. All the way back I was keenly focused on the possibility of another sighting. It was an awesome experience that I'm amazed to have had. Happy birthday to me! 

Go with the flow, baby!

So we decided to take a day cruise along the Kerala backwaters, which are these series of canals surrounded by rice paddies and homes. Our guide described the boats as canoes and then he gave us a choice of motored or paddled. I thought I said motored when I arranged the date, but when we arrived there was an ancient man standing next to a canoe with no motor, just a couple of tiny paddles and three fat Americans. I asked about the motor and ...well...let's just say there was a communication breakdown. 

I shrank with shame as I climbed into our boat and the trip began. We had booked a 5 HOUR cruise because our guide said it would take that much time to see everything. And I started out the trip worrying about how boring it would be to slowly paddle around in a canoe on this lazy river. And how mortifying it would be to have my great grandfather doing all the work. I was convinced that being motorized was much more exciting and that this communication breakdown had ruined the day.

Well, as is usually the case with my assumptions, I was wrong! We had a great adventure. Our old man was far from feeble or resentful. Right at the start of the trip, he donned  a brilliantly colored umbrella hat and a brilliant smile to match it. His canoe was decorated with flowers, an auspicious peacock feather and a book with the writings of Amma, the hugging saint, we had just visited. And Jake got several opportunities to jump up and do some paddling as well.

As we drifted through the backwaters we saw so many things up close. Things we would never have seen from the a larger boat. Being close to the water meant that we could reach out and touch the beautiful purple flowers that were floating next to the boat. We were so close to shore that Jake could hop out of the boat and stroll along the paths with the villagers as they fished for dinner, washed their clothes in the water or just sat by and watched the day pass. Jake stopped to chat with one family and all cheered "Barack Obama" after he told them we were Americans. I loved how I could make eye contact with the women washing clothes or dishes along the shore. And the children skipping along the pathways waved and said in their perfect English, "Hello, how are you?".

We stopped for lunch at this one place and easily got to hang around as long as we wanted to since we were the only passengers in the boat. The owner of the tiny restaurant served our lunch on a banana leaf. We ate a traditional Keralan meal of coconut chutney and mango pickle and rice and curried veggies. I got to have a green coconut which is really delicious. They poke a whole in a green coconut and give you a straw to sip on the cool water inside. Then, when you're done, they split it open and you scrape out the coconut jelly on the inside. To top off the visit, Jake and I had the awesome privilege of holding an eagle on our arms, just because we happened to be there at that time and the friendly keeper of the eagle liked us.

The journey was wonderfully peaceful without the loud buzz of a motor and our little canoe could explore down tiny little water pathways that would just gum up a motor. We got to explore all the different backwater neighborhoods up close and witnessed their pretty idyllic lives with beautiful rice fields for back yards.

Yes, we all agreed at the end of the day surrounded by a golden sunset on the backwaters of Kerala that paddling in a canoe was a great way to go with the flow.

Oh Karma, Why must you torture me? 1/8/2015

Last time we went to India, John's piriformis acted up and it was pretty painful. If you don't know what a piriformis is, it is a muscle deep in the cheek of your butt. It's a tough muscle to reach and his best massage skills still didn't do the trick. So he found this Ayurvedic store in Kerala and bought some special oil recommended by a doctor there. It was really strong smelling and he smelled of it for much of the trip. After awhile, I took to calling it ass-oil, since the real name was impossible to pronounce.

On the way home, we were going through airport hell and I was in a rotten mood with the world. And when I'm in a rotten mood with the world, I typically take it out on John. (See "Marcia and the train" entry in earlier blog entries). So picture me lugging a ridiculous amount of baggage through the airport and discovering that John's ASS-oil had spilled all over our clothes and the bag and it reeked of ASS-oil everywhere. So there I am, tired and exhausted and complaining about HIS ASS-oil!

Now jump ahead three years and imagine me with a sore shoulder. Imagine me asking an Ayurvedic pharmacist for something for sore shoulders and he gives me this amazing product an OIL that nearly heals my aching shoulder. Can you smell it yet?

Now imagine it...yes...leaking and sharing it's delightful aroma with the rest of the clothes in MY bag.

Oh, Karma.

Yep...Karma.

There and back again. 1/3/2015

After a few days of foggy jet lag, I'm starting to feel like I'm on an adventure and no longer sleeping by day and shifting, twitching and thrashing by night. Jet lag is not fun and I manage to deceive myself into thinking I don't really have it and I'm just a useless, lazy, boring human being instead. Hmmmm. Not my best reasoning, but now you might understand my urge to seek meditation and spiritual enlightenment...anything to escape my own mind.

But, alas, this is not a rant about my shortcomings. This entry is filled with sage wisdom about the value of returning to the same place.

Last time I came to India, we visited a little village called Ganeshpuri. It's the home of three gurus that we both feel a strong connection to. We decided that we would re-enter India via Geneshpuri again, especially since Mumbai was such an unpleasant experience last time I came. (See previous entry "Mumbai is not for Beginners") But since I've been here I've realized that it's very sweet to come back again to the same place...especially a small place like Ganeshpuri. We were picked up at the Mumbai airport by our friend and host Denish. That was truly luxurious considering that the alternative would have been to negotiate with strangers and struggle desperately with how to explain where Ganeshpuri was. 

There was also something nice about returning to our same room and village . We knew where to go to get our first Chai of the visit and we knew a few names. Even the street venders remembered us, which felt kinda special. No these weren't incredibly close friends, but there was an authentic welcoming energy to reuniting with them.

One of the things I don't really like about travel is being a stranger and worse, a tourist. Yeh, we were still tourists to these folks, but we were also old friends. Granted, the cynic in me wants to say, yea, of course they are gonna call you friends. It will help them seal the deal and get your money, but I did get some enlightenment while I was here and I like to think that the authenticity I read in their eyes was as truthful and sincere as it felt.

I feel ready to move on and know I got a little of my "family" right here in India.

Next stop, Kerala!