Last Post...

I left Mysore yesterday, taking a 1:50 am flight out of Bangalore, through Frankfurt and then home to Miami. For those of you who have read my blog and would like to send me a message offline asking any questions about Mysore or telling me about yourself, I have set up an email: lithe_one@yahoo.com. I am considering returning to Mysore when I am not injured - perhaps in early 2007. At that time I may resume the blog. In addition to hearing from readers in general, I would also love to hear from anyone who may be practicing in Mysore at the same time.

This trip verified that I am good at the surrender part of yoga. I am bendable and squishable but somewhat deficient in upward-moving energy. A few days ago Ken the Rolfer described the challenge for me in yoga as, "trying to make a sculture of a person with clay that is too wet." He said this while wearing dark orange pants. My friend Ing from home (who has a psychic gift) told me I would meet some man with orange Indian pants. Men wearing orange Indian pants are not common. In my blog entry titled, "Two Days Till India" I wrote that I had a dream in which: "I am on an island with many large fantastic sculptures of subjects like Atlas holding up the world. They look like they are made of sand.... but I touch one and it is mud. How are they held together?" So, I will remember Ken's observation as the koan that I can take away from this trip: How do I hold up the world when I am made of clay that is too wet?

Guruji's Birthday

The date of Guruji's birthday changes from year to year because it is held on a full moon. The first couple hours they had a pooja while students and family watched. The pooja was several men in a circle chanting and throwing ghee into a fire. An Indian woman next to me said that they were thanking for long life and so forth. Guruji sat in the background. If I had not know, I would have thought that it was a celebration of Sharath's wedding anniversary because he and his immediate family were the center of the event. He sat behind and watched. Sharath's daughter led a group of children in running around. After the pooja, the students were fed in shifts in the basement. This meant waiting in line for almost two hours. I left the line three times to do three errands. I was slightly sick from the food - as were a few others I have heard of. So, it was interesting to see the pooja, but I feel I have now been and will not feel I need to go to another.

Doing the Necessary

Yesterday, while driving along on my motor bike, my back wheel slipped on something and while trying to compensate I squeezed the left brake and (mistakenly) the right throttle at the same time - running into a wall, which, as an aside, had a large swasticka on it. Fortunately the monkey bars on the front of my motor bike hit the wall and bent inward taking the first force, I then went over and my knee, and ankle hit the wall. My hands were still gripping the handle bars which jammed back with the impact into the fleshy part between the thumb and the index finger. After sitting a while and speaking with several people - two of whom insulted my driving as I sat on the ground stunned and two of whom helped me to stand up and see if I could walk etc. I determined that I had not broken anything. My right brake was jammed and my clutch did not work. I went home very slowly - stopping at the southern star to rest for a while and then again at Coffee Day. On the way I ran out of petrol - but had some petrol in the reserve tank. My bike has no petrol gage - this adds to the excitement of having a motor bike I guess. This morning Saraswati had me try to do some practice. I did two sun salutations and then went to finishing. My wrists feel like they will be more damaged by down dog and chaturunga. I am however very lucky because I do not think that any of this will be a chronic problem if I am careful now. It seems that my first trip to Mysore was not to be about the physical practice. I can use my fingers but grabbing things hurts. My opposable thumbs aren't very opposable. Fortunately the right is better than the left and I am right handed. If injuries are an anology of an unaddressed concern, then perhaps I cannot grasp something important or I cannot hold on to something important... or both.

I have to admit to feeling rather sad, lonely and disappointed amoung other things. Since Ken the Rolfer wants me to notice the feelings that I am having I guess this is good because I can come up with a nice list of adverbs for him. But, in the spirit of finding the best in the situtation, I will move on to another somewhat related but happier subject. The price of medical care in the India is substantially lower than in the United States. Because I am self-employed, my insurance requires that I pay for the first $3000 USD of medical care each year. This means a yearly check-up, routine dental care, eye exams, pap tests, mammograms in a year are my responsibility. I have to admit that I have not kept up with this at all at the rate that the American Medical Association recommends. While here I have had an eye exam and gotten glasses, a year's supply of disposable contacts and prescription sun glasses together for less than it cost to buy one pair of glasses in the U.S. I have gotten my teeth cleaned for approximately $7 - by a dentist using sterile instruments. I had a mammogram and was given the films for $12. The picture above is the waiting room at Bharath Hospital where I got the mammogram. The Dermatologist who examined my skin for $3, gave me a prescription for a cream that costs $100 in the US. It cost $5 here. He also gave me a prescription to go to the local blood drawing lab and have a pap test. On the requisition form he circled pap test and then wrote at the bottom, "Dear Ravi, Please do the necessary - Dr. S.S." So I went around to the lab to see if I wanted Ravi to do the necessary on me and decided that I would prefer to go to Appollo hospital and have the nice woman Gynecologist do it instead. However, while at the lab I had a blood test (checking to make sure that the needles came from sealed packages and sterilizing my own arm with purell). This test checked my thyroid and cholesterol levels - with both I have hereditary issues that I am working on controlling through diet and yoga. These tests cost less than $10. Now I don't have to see a doctor for years! (unless I have another accident...).

Guruji Product Placement....

At the end of Guruji's last conference, two men and a woman in a saree came up to the front where Guruji sits and presented him with flowers and some incense. They were from a Mysore incense company. Then, one of the men knelt to touch Guruji's feet (a sign of respect in India done to an elder such as a wise man or a grandparent). The other man took a picture...

This was fine. Although there are signs in the Shala that say no photographs, photographs with Guruji are allowed on days when there is conference. But then the man touching Guruji's feet adjusted the incense that he was holding so that the name of the incense was showing and facing the camera and then raised his eyebrow at the other man who took a couple more pictures. Because the man turned the incense label towards the camera, neither Guruji nor Sharath saw this product placement; however, two other students sitting with me in the front exchanged a look. The picture shows approximately what it looked like except that the name of the incense has been changed and the hands were not coming out of a dark hole in the floor.

"A three hour tour..."

When CK and I went to the jungle 75km south of Mysore, I experienced what "full throttle" and "white-knuckled" mean. My motor bike is considerably less powerful than her Honda Activa. Downhill top speed is 70 km per hour for my bike. Well, after a couple hours clutching in full throttle my knuckles had burst blood vessels making my knuckles red on my throttle hand.... so I decided to see a doctor about it.

As an aside, at breakfast a week ago a smoldering Brazilian Ashtanga yogi with a mysterious past listened to the reason why my knuckles were red and then told me that I must relax on the bike and that he would take me out and show me how if I needed it. This morning he came over to my table and told me that he saw me on my bike and I am now relaxed and drive "beautifully" : - )

Anyway, the dermatologist in Mysore told me that I had to have a laser cauterization and that kind of laser can only be found in Bangalore. He recommended Manipol Hospital Dermatology clinic. So, I took an early bus out of Mysore to Bangalore. When I asked at the ticket counter the man said it would be a three hour trip.

When I got on the bus a 16 year old girl in the first row patted the seat and immediately said to me, "Sit here, sit with me." I thanked her and sat down and we exchanged names and so forth and she told me about her family and she was very sweet. Her name was something like Kalia and she was going to Bangalore to see her Orthodontist. Then, about 15 minutes later, as the bus was about to start, the ticket-taker man who had been standing around in the aisle doing nothing as all the seats filled, barked at her, "that is my seat - you stand." Then, they argued in Kannada and she leaned over me and yelled out the window, "PAPA!" At which point an older man who had been standing around outside looking worried came in the door and he and the ticket taker guy yelled at each other and then some money was exchanged and the bus went on its way and she remained in her seat. Perhaps some enterprising man here could start a rent-a-papa business!

Now, after we had started and were just at the point outside Mysore where you are, in fact, in the middle of no where, the driver and the ticket-taker (who was now sitting on the engine next to the driver) started talking. Kalia translated that they were discussing that the office had told them (before they left) that there was a farmer's demonstration on the main road to Bangalore - so they would have to take a detour. They had not bothered to announce before we left that this would make the three hour trip a five hour trip so that customers could, for example, decide if they wanted to go another day. But, I reflected, if they had done that the bus would have been less full and they would have made less money. I looked out the window at field after field. The only person in sight was a man wearing only a loin cloth and a turban - dark and wrinkled from working outside - holding a stick and squatting next to 10 black goats and one cow. Both he and the cow were gazing into the distance. Asking the driver to stop the bus so I could get out was not an option. I was going to Bangalore.

So, we took the "detour." This was a dirt road through a network of small villages with the villagers standing by the side looking stunned that they suddenly had a traffic jam of trucks and buses in their town. After about three hours of this we had not yet reached Kannapura (I think that was the name) when two police cars blocked the road ahead. Leaning against the cars were two police men - striking manly poses - but in a distinctly bollywood style. To strike a manly bollywood pose, stand and thrust your hips forward while at the same time currling your shoulders forword and flex your chest and stomach musles. Each officer had a rifle. We stopped.

ALL the men got off the bus. ALL the women stayed on the bus, their hands folded daintily in their laps looking unfocused at a distant point on the horizon. Their faces showed that character that can only be earned by knowing you are not allowed to urinate in front of the opposite sex, understanding that this is one of the burdens of this life, and accepting it with grace and patience. Meanwhile, the men - who were not taxed with this spiritual duty - were all urinating. Not behind a tree - but in the gutter. After it seemed that all of that had ended (I was not watching too closely) I waited for the bus driver to come tell the women waiting on the bus what was wrong. This did not happen.

I decided to get up - and stretch my legs. On the road, the crowd of relieved men were now getting water from a nice lady at a well. There were three buses stopped. I was the only woman who got off a bus. The police had picked a place to block the road that had no phone, no food, and no place for a woman to hide and relieve herself. I went over to a man with glasses and western clothes and asked, "Why not going?" He did not understand me. "Why stop?" I repeated this a few times with different men with no luck. The village lady at the well beckoned me and kindly mimicked drinking. Of course, one pees before one drinks so that I was not going to drink and also one drinks when one knows that one will be able to pee in the future. I said no and thank you in Kannada.

Off to the side - looking out of place were six tibetan monks in long dark red habits squatting on a low wall. I tried asking one of them but also no English. Finally a young man with thick glasses walked past me. The front of his shirt said, "100% geek" and the back said, "2oo% Linux." This man answered my question saying that this road also was blocked by the farmers demonstration and we would be stopped an hour. I asked him how he could be so precise - might we be there longer and he assured me that no, the demonstration is precisely timed otherwise the demonstrators go to prison. So, I asked, this was all known in advance? "Oh yes", he said pleasantly, wiggling his head back and forth Indian style. "It is all arranged days in advance with the police."

By the time we reached Kannapura, 5 hours had passed. To be clear, the driver had relieved himself and had had water at the police stop - so - without consulting anyone or making any announcement because he was in charge after all - he determined that there was no reason to stop. And, in fact, he began driving out of Kannapura as though he did have to relieve himself and the only place was in Bangalore... or perhaps that is just how his driving appeared to me from my point of view. On a two-way, dirt road, he was passing trucks and other buses while going around turns, leaning on the horn and forcing oncoming traffic off the road. Finally, as he was trying to pass a bus, in the opposite direction the on-coming traffic was also a bus. At the same second both drivers realized that the other was not giving way and they slammed on the breaks - stopping facing each other about 5 feet apart. The truck behind us went off the road to the left where - fortunately - there was no drop off and the truck behind him came, screeching to a halt at an angle.

Once again I looked out the window to consider if I had other options than going to Bangalore. Perhaps another day would be better? There was a large field with an old woman in an ancient saree whose color was no longer clear. She had a reed and was hitting a water buffaloe's back side gently. The buffalo moved forward one step and stopped. Off to the other side two younger women with clay pots on their heads stood staring with their mouths open at the buses and trucks stopped all at angles in and off the road. I could see no structure in any direction... not even a reed hut. Then after a 10 second pause - all of the buses and trucks involved started up and began beeping continuously and vying to be on the road and in front of someone else.

We arrived in Bangalore and six hours had passed. The driver and the ticket taker were talking again. Kalia translated that they did not know how to get to the bus station because they don't normally come into Bangalore by the Kannapura road. At the next traffic light I looked out the window and saw a passenger-less rickshaw. The driver and my eyes met. I, personally, opened the door of the bus and got off. The rickshaw ride to Manipol hospital took an hour. The doctor took one look at my knuckles and said, "Oh you need a [something something] pulse laser. It works on very fair skin. We do not have that in Bangalore yet."

My Hog and Remaining Equanimous

Mysore has a motor bike culture. In Gokulam, in the Shala community, the men have motor
cycles and the women (who have them) have motor scooters. To the left is a typical man's bike - and below is my feminine "scooty". Like a girl's bicycle, the scooter allows one to ride in a dress (or saree) with one's legs demurely closed in front while the motorcycle puts an engine between a man's legs. A few days ago a girlfriend and I watched an Englishman Ashtangi ride away on a scooter and we both agreed that he must be very secure to be riding a 'girl's bike.'

Mysore ladies wearing sarees sit on the back of their husband's bike side-saddle with their hands folded in their laps. The man and woman do not touch. Still, this is considered very intimate and you do not go on the back of a man's bike unless he is your husband, father or brother - lest you become dishonored. A western woman is different. I conveniently don't have this type of honor.

For me, driving a motor bike on the opposite side of the road than I am use to, in a city that makes New York traffic seem orderly - has gone outside my comfort zone. But the sprained ankle made it necessary. Now, as a result of the sprained ankle, I can drive around the round-abouts, beeping, weaving and... remaining equanimous.

On a 3 hour bus ride back from Bangalore last night I was asleep sitting next to the window when I awoke - eyes still shut - and realized that the man to my right was feeling my breast.

Now - as background - I have to mention that a few weeks ago there was a poll taken by one of the weekly magazines here that found that a majority of Indians feel that a just punishment for a man raping a woman is for him to be forced to marry her. This is because she has been dishonored - as has her family and there is nothing worse than dishonor (even being married to a rapist). Also, I did a blog entry called Men Staring a while back and Anonymous was nice enough to comment with a link to a site about "eve teasing". While looking into eve teasing I read the advice that if you are with women you can make a scene - but if there are only men around you cannot be sure of the reaction if you humiliate the man.

So, I weighed, do I open my eyes, slap him and make a scene at 10:00 at night on a bus with almost all men in a culture I do not understand and in which I am an outsider? As I considered my next move with my eyes still shut, he was trying to put his hand inside my bra. When I was asleep he must have picked up my shawl that was crossed in front of me, gone under the Kamzee top and now was moving his hand very carefully into my bra still trying not to wake me up. I decided not to pick this battle and turned "in my sleep" so that I was facing the window (away from him) and put my hands under my cheek as a cushion, and, conveniently, this meant that my right arm was across my breasts.

Because of the distorted definition of honor that makes a man's behavior towards a woman the woman's responsibility not the man's, rape is rarely reported here. However, just because I did not feel safe making a scene does not mean I have to be silent now. Also, as a warning, if you make a comment telling me what I "should have done" I will delete it. He is the one who should not have done something. I was asleep. And I remained equanimous; he does not deserve more and I do not deserve less.

Guruji Conference notes....

The last Guruji conference was a month ago. Before I go on... I should make a disclaimer that Guruji's answers were in English that was often abbreviated and hard for me to understand. I perhaps thought he said something when he said something different. So, this report is somewhat subjective... and subject to all sorts of errors and misinterpretations to the point where perhaps it should not even be written.

Conference began with a silence while Guruji waited for questions. Unlike last time, no one asked any questions. So, Guruji spoke for about 10 minutes. He began by saying that Asana was the third limb and that the yamas and the niyamas were the first two limbs. He said that "you must take practice" and then the yamas and niyamas coming. Then he recited the yamas and niyamas, stopping to define ahimsa as 'not troubling others.'

When taking practice and the mind thinks of all sorts of things, "Mind elsewhere. This is very bad." This is the "chita vritti" of the second sutra "yogash chita vritti nirodha." In Ashtanga there is the pranayama of a 10 second inhale and a 10 second exhale. As asana shapes and controls the body, the pranayama "breaks, controls, and shapes the mind." "Breathing control means mind control; this is real."

He talked a little about there being 22,000 asanas and 22,000 nadis... "everything 22,000." The spine must be straight for the inside to be straight and breathing right. You cannot bend your spine forward and breath right. He demonstrated slumping and sitting up. He then talked about the nadis - especially an area 4" down from the navel and one on the crown of the head.

He talked about when sick after a few days going back and taking practice to heal. Finally he talked about doing pranayama separately from the ujayii breathing in the practice. This should not be done while one is working on the primary series or even the second. "When asana perfect; then pranayama."

Supta Kurmasana and Rolfing Insights...

I can get into supta kurmasana - but if I want to bind hands and have the feet crossed behind the head someone always helps me. Dr. Disco was showing me her supta kurmasana pointers - which were helpful but I still was putting my left leg behind my head while sitting up and then rolling around trying to get the right foot behind. My knees are on the floor in baddha konasana - so it is not a hip-opening issue. I can get into yoga nidrasana alone - which is the same asana flipped. I was looking for the reason for the problem because understanding the issue is the key to the problem.

Ken the rolfer asked me - out of the blue - how my supta kurmasana was. I told him and he said that I have a slight side-to-side spine curvature. Apparently my tailbone curves to the left - which is news to me. So when I go into supta kurmasana (left leg first as per the ashtanga orthodoxy) both my natural curve and the curve of the pose is very to the left. Then, while balancing on my left-leaning tailbone (so gravity is sealing the left-turning) I try to get my right leg behind my head. The reason others can put me into it is because my right hip is open and I am on the floor - not on my tailbone - when they adjust me. He suggested that I try doing supta kurmasana right leg first (not during practice of course) to counteract this.

So at home I tried going into yoganidrasana right leg first by taking my right gluteus maximus in my right hand and pulling the cocix firmly to the right - rather indelicate but effective. Suddenly getting into yoganidrasana is easier and I could feel the whole issue in my body and recognize that, for example, I would rather throw my left leg than my right over a motor scooter seat - because I feel that I prefer a left side bend. This new understanding does not solve the problem of balancing on a sitbone that is curved in the wrong direction to get into supta kurmasana. Perhaps I will have to get into supta kurmasana while still on the floor in kurmasana, reaching around and adjusting myself indelicately. If you are reading this and have any helpful thoughts, please comment...

I asked Ken if I should try to change the curvature of my spine and he said, "well, it is not terribly important... it shouldn't be the focus of your life... you should be happy that you are doing second series poses and have done ashtanga for as long as you have with no chronic injuries." So, apparently this is not something that will affect my health in some important way. He also told me, "I think you have the loosest feet I have ever worked on" and, "You have toes that most yogis would die for." I probably blushed. Perhaps I need to show my feet off more in social situations and wiggle my toes ...

Dirge

To get to one of the Internet Cafes here, you can take the road just past the hospital, pass the graveyard and continue through a neighborhood up a hill to Gokulam Road. Today the street outside the graveyard had many bicycles and motor bikes and many of the graves had groups of men or families sitting on them and people were milling around in the street - men with men - and women with women. Since the people were all over the graveyard I thought perhaps it was some sort of memorial for the dead rather than a specific person's funeral. The street itself had many women walking towards me talking to each other - some were wearing their good saree - some may not have a good saree. None of them looked sad or bereaved which added to my feeling that it was not a funeral.

I started up the hill with the houses on both sides of the narrow street and about 2 blocks up the people walking towards me thinned out and up ahead about 300 meters the entire street was filled from one house to the other with men coming towards me, several of them in the front were playing drums. Funeral. I parked my motor bike next to a house and tried to disappear by standing in the doorway. When they went by the men all stared at me - an angry stare - even the men banging drums. What did they want? I had gotten out of the street before they arrived, was not on my bike, respectfully still and solemn, modestly wearing a long skirt, long sleeves, a scarf and a hat, waiting for them to pass.

Behind the drummers were a mob of men carrying a bier covered with flowers. Sitting on the bier was a man in his sixties, sitting cross legged, his legs visible from the knees down, white and yellow silk draped across his chest, head hanging loose to the side, hands swaying off the bier and it ran through me with a shiver - dead but propped up - and not yet in rigor mortus. The men carrying his bier also did not look bereaved but angry and the bier and the departed were being jostled such that I knew he must have been tied on under his clothes or he would have fallen off in from of me.

Once the men passed, women came - all together with no men and talking to each other. In all over a thousand people were at the graveyard and in this procession. After they had all passed, I got on my motor bike and drove away.

Later a local man told me that after the procession passed me they had gone past the graveyard and up to the hospital and made a lot of noise and got into a brawl with some people at the hospital because they believed that the hospital's poor care was responsible for the man's death. During this, he said, the body was left to fend for itself. Then the crowd went back to the graveyard.