Hmmm

(Written during week 9 of the trip, posted later)

I was talking to a friend at home the other day about starting to feel physically depleted from my trip. Emotions and spirit are strong but the body is fatigued a bit.

She asked me if I thought that most people who come here for a few months feel depleted this way or whether it was just me in particular.

Her question has been rolling around in my head the past couple of days. 
Not sure why this question has engaged mind but it did so I'll share what arose.

There are a number of reasons why I in particular get physically depleted around the two month mark in India. 

Part of it is that I am attune to what is occurring in my body and mind. I spend a significant amount of time in various forms of meditation (my asana practice being one of those forms). As a result I have a strong sense of what my body and mind feel like as a baseline.

Another factor is that I am sensitive both emotionally and energetically. There is no way to accurately describe the effect that the sensory stimulation here has on the nervous system. I roll with it smoothly however, I think I underestimate the effect all the noise in particular has on me. 

I often live in quiet places and although the frequent loud honking of horns doesn't make me jump, it does cause a physiological effect.

Another part of it is that I am used to eating very cleanly...virtually no processed food, minimal amounts of dairy, wheat, sugar and fried foods, no alcohol, no drugs, no tobacco. I think this results in me having a lower tolerance to eating in an unhealthy way because my body is so used to getting good input. 

And finally the reality is that I am 4 weeks shy of being 54 years old. 

My lifestyle is that of someone in their 30s. In my mind I am ageless but there are realities of the body. I think that is something that I don't take into account much because I am strong enough to do this, but surely my chronological age must be a factor too.

I am curious to know whether other people within 10 years of my age get depleted while they're here. Surely they must. Interestingly, of all of the people that I talk with I am the only one who doesn't get stomach issues here. But then again I am more cautious than most in what I consume, it worked for me every other time so I continue to do it.

Rishikesh

Although Rishikesh is a big tourist destination for both Indians and Westerners at it's core it is a seeker's place and has been for countless years. That is why I like it here so much; I've been fortunate to have spent five weeks in Rishikesh on two separate occasions.

Many ashrams and gurus reside here. The air is replete with the sounds of chanting, bajans and bells. Each night as the sun sets arati (light) ceremonies can be seen and heard all along the water's edge.

It is so very India here and yet, as I said in an earlier blog post, there are enough Westerners around to afford me a level of comfort with regard to accommodations and food.

I've grown accustomed to the myriad sights, sounds, smells and tastes not to be found where I live  but while they're fresh in mind I want to try to describe some of them.

The sadhus here are numerous and of different types. Many who wander the streets in orange robes are visiting from somewhere else, there are turbaned men living in makeshift shelters or literally on the road or on the ground, there are those whose entire bodies are covered with holy ash and there are those who appear mad.

There are also those that sit and smoke lots of hash in little cylindrical clay pipes. A number of them have offered to sell me some, to which I reply "no thank you, I don't need it" and walk on with a smile because I truly don't.

Many animals also wander the streets here. The brown furred monkeys who steal food right out of people's hands as they walk by, the beautiful black faced grey furred monkeys who are bigger and mellower, dogs who lay on the ground sleeping so stock-still that you truly think they could be dead.

And of course there are the cows. So many cows on the streets, amongst the traffic, along the ghats. They are the objects of a great deal of affection. Some are decorated with painted horns, occasionally you'll see one wearing a beaded necklace. People pet them, feed them and turn on the public water faucets for them so they can quench their thirst. Many of them seem quite healthy and of course some do not. Overall I would say more cows appear healthy proportionally then dogs.

And of course there is no describing Rishikesh without mentioning her most salient future, Ma Ganga.

I have said in previous posts the Ganges is a beautiful river here and she is both an object of veneration and used as a source for everyday life tasks like laundry.

Flowered offerings drift by as one sits on her banks. Leaf baskets containing flower petals, burning camphor and incense serve as little boats ferrying prayers to the Divine ear.

Every day, all day, people come to bathe in her sacred water. I never get tired of witnessing this. There is something endlessly fascinating about this spectacle of color, skin and devotion.

Traditional Indian style chai stalls via for attention with the new fancy glass fronted coffee stores. The traditional stalls, whose chai is a fraction of the price, are primarily frequented by Indian people. The chai is made in well worn pots over an open flame and is laced with enough sugar to fulfill any dentist's dreams of avarice. Fortunately the serving size is minuscule by bloated American standards.

Rishikesh is paradoxical in that one can be experiencing a vista which appears placid to the eyes  while at the same moment is an all out assault on the auditory sense.

It's the honking that really gets me. It is the one thing that genuinely challenges my equanimity. A little toot to indicate one's presence would suffice to get attention but most drivers lack the Japanese aesthetic. When it comes to using the horn more is not less here.

And so I bid farewell to this place, to India and Sri Lanka. It's been a spectacular trip...

Groundhog Day - Rishikesh Style

It's interesting to notice how adaptable one can be, how quickly the unfamiliar can become routine.

I've come to Rishikesh to sit satsang with Mooji for the five week "season". Five days a week I wake up and perform essentially the same routine, my current version of "Groundhog Day".

I wake to my alarm and do about 45 minutes of asana to keep the body strong.  Because I have the luxury of my own room and money in my pocket I'll make myself a peanut butter rice cake or some muesli for breakfast. I get dressed and take the 15-20 minute walk to the ashram where satsang is offered.

I walk along the banks of the Ganges attempting to be as present as possible, clearing my mind of thought to the extent that I can; using this time, as with the asana, in preparation for the day's teaching.

It is amazing that I am spending this much time along this sacred river which is quite beautiful here; greenish water flowing fairly rapidly in some spots.

I've become somewhat inured at the site of the women in their colorful saris and the half naked men bathing at the waters edge.

People are undertaking a project that I cannot fathom along the bank; each morning I see a man filling baskets tied to the backs of three horses with sand. I can't tell where the sand is going or what they're doing with it.

Such a paradox this country. Practically everyone I meet has a relative working in IT in the US or Canada, yet they move sand one shovelful at a time on the backs of horses.

The next encounters on my morning constitutional are often children trying to sell flowers to offer on the Ganges. Some of these children appear to be as young as three or four; regardless of their age they are tenacious.

They approach you and simply will not take "no" for an answer. For the first week or so I would politely say "no thank you", they would ask again and I would say "no thank you", they would ask again and I would say "no thank you" and they would ask yet again and I would say "you can ask me 100 times and the answer is always going to be the same".

I had this standard encounter while sitting near a western man I could tell had been around a while. After a little girl approached me (insert standard dialogue here) she approached him and he said something in Hindi. I asked him to teach me how to say "no".

He said "would you
like to learn to say no or would you like to learn to say something they can actually cognize?"

Naturally I chose the latter. 

I learned my new favorite Hindi phrase and after a day or two I got the pronunciation right. "Moojay nahee chaiaye" (spelled phonetically) means essentially I don't want that and it works like a charm! It amuses me when the younger children look completely befuddled because this white girl is speaking in Hindi.

A few more minutes walk along the river and then I arrive at the queue around 8:10 am.

To determine the order in which people can enter the satsang hall there is a lottery system. One first stands in line along a fairly narrow street in an Indian neighborhood. 

At 8:30 the back gate of the ashram is opened and we file into a large lot sectioned into 12 lines. At 9:00 the first person in each line reaches into a bag containing rocks with a number painted on each to determine the order in which the lines will be allowed to enter the satsang hall.

While in the first queue in the neighborhood I practice standing meditation and observe. I've stood in line 13 times now and am coming to know the morning rhythm of this ordinary neighborhood which at first seemed so foreign.

There are a series of vendors who come every day to sell items to the westerners (90% of the people in the queue are westerners). 

I see the boy who has the cart of coffee and sweets with the big sign saying "eat me". I am assuming that he does not understand that American idiom, or perhaps he does and it's really his big joke.

I see the man who sells whole coconuts and the tiny girl who sits on top of the cart unattended playing with the sharp metal implements used to extract the water from the coconuts.

I see the man who sells the hunks of fresh coconut meat which he douses with (what appears to me) to be a bucket of filthy water to keep them fresh.

I consume none of these things. 

Although it would be lovely to have a cup of chai while standing in line I simply don't take unnecessary risks when it comes to my health, I simply don't trust the cleanliness of the street food. Many people buy these things so perhaps they are all fine after eating them but I just say "no thank you" (once will suffice when it comes to adults).

I see the milk delivery man ride up with more big metal jugs than you would think possible strapped to to his " two-wheeler" (what they call a motorcycle or scooter here).

I see the man sweeping litter into the open trenches lining both sides of the street. It took a bit of time for my mind to actually accept that this is indeed raw sewage. I'd seen this in the South as well but part of me didn't believe what I was seeing.

I see the woman with a wheelbarrow and dustpan come to the houses and call out for people to bring out their trash. There's a little girl who performs this task sometimes as well, she's probably about 10 or 12. My heart goes out to her.

Although I am trying to keep my mind empty there are times when I cannot help but think about how this is her life and this is all it will be most likely. I think about karma and about the extraordinarily fortunate circumstances that I live under... I am the one standing in the queue and she is the one sweeping up the trash.

As is the case every day, gratitude pervades my being.