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'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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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