What is real?

When it comes to Pashmina… the tourist may never know.  Our last night in Jaiselmer found us tired, confused and overloaded with presents.  Desert Boys, the lovely warm and amazingly cheap hotel we were staying at made sure that we were well fed despite showing up at their doorstep minutes before the closing of the restaurant.  We sat on the floor in our beautiful room, wearily comparing the Pashmina bought in different places.  Some from a reputable shop in Varanassi, another from a “trusted” source around town, and the third set from supposedly the most reputable store, recommended by our travel agent (whom I would now not recommend).   We could not tell a difference anymore, other than knowing how much we paid for it, and that we definitely paid too much. 

Your reality is your experience. Mine at that moment was that I spent the whole day searching for that illusive perfect shawl for my mother.  She wanted Pashmina.  I wanted gorgeousness to wrap around her shoulders.  I also wanted to finish all my shopping for presents here, in Jaisemer, while I had my one relaxing day of no sight seeing, so that I could send the package home and be done.

The approach turned out to have major flaws with timing, place and space.   Though charming and full of great shops for clothing and textiles, Jaiselmer is not the place for Pashmina.  Turns out that the post office mailing cut off is 2pm even thought it is open until 6pm (as I found out at 5pm).  Running around windy old streets in a town where almost everyone is after your tourist dollar and every turn looks the same is probably not a good place for mass present selection.  The result was that we got the full TOURIST experience.  Since this day marked the end of the third week in the India, perhaps it was time.  

At the end of the day, after spending more than 7 hours in all the Pashmina stores in the city, digging through all the colors of the rainbow, needlepoint and machine wonders, and cheap knock-offs (or were they?), I knew that I could only trust myself.  Contemplating the question of what is real; I knew that before, during and after the whole ordeal my intention was pure, the desire to please those I was shopping for strong and the time, care and thought put into selecting each peace was really given from the heart.  Giving up yoga, food, sights and my sanity as I lost myself in the Pashmina hunt, at the end of the day I felt disappointed with my lack of certainty and trust in the fruits of my labors.

Tired and sleepy, as I write down these reflections, I remember the young couple we met in one of the clothing stores, the family of the shop owner.  Our time with them was like a bright beacon of purity and truth amongst the sea of haggling and half-lies of the day. Somehow, we went quite deep very quickly and eventually ended up on the subject of love.  It was hard not to go there, since they were both glowing and giddy with one another.  When asked how they found each other, they told us their story taking turns, filling in when the other was searching for worlds. 

He proposed to her on the third day he met her.  He told her that within two years he would like to make her a Mama.  He’s seen many beautiful women, but she was also a serious girl who was a match for his intellect, optimism, and outlook on life.  This is hard to find, he said.  It took her another year to accept his proposal.  She took her time falling in love, settling things with their opposing families that were of different backgrounds, languages and beliefs.  Now, 8 years later, bouncing their 5 year old on their knees, the couple was beaming. 

“My whole family is jealous of my married experience.  The husband they were “against” is an open-minded, well-traveled and well-educated man.  He allows me to pursue whatever I want to do and supports it!” she said happily.

It really looked as though this couple was truly in love, a rare find in a world wrapped up in marketing, comparisons, and too many choices of “pashmina”.  I couldn’t help but ask the question one question on my mind. 

“What do you think is the definitions of real love?” 

“Mental satisfaction,” the happy wife responded.

I was not expecting this very rational statement.  He picked up her thread and gestured to show me his “wings”. 

“When you are satisfied, your mind is at rest you are free!”  Continued the happy husband further: “You can live as you wish, able to do anything knowing that you are supported and trusted.  This is how I feel with her, and how she feels with me.”

In the world filled with shinny illusions wrapped up in pretty packages, this happy couple was carried through by trust in and satisfaction in their love.      

As I sat tired and defeated, thinking back to that one heart-felt conversation among the hell of the pashmina “reality”, I was slowly shifting gears.  When viewed from the angle of trust in love, I realize that in fact I truly had a very wonderful day!  My reality was driven by an overwhelming desire to please my loved ones and I was blessed with a plethora of choices on how to do that.  I got to exercise my power of taste, explore a complicated new world prized goat hair, and pour myself into my gifts fully, not resting until every last thread in every last shop was overturned in the search for perfection.     

Though I still had little trust in the reality of Pashmina, despite certificates, burn tests, and complicated explanations and stories, I decided that when you are driven by love to pour your heart, energy, thought, time and best abilities then the outcome must be good and valuable.  With that, all the conflicting opinions of what is real Pashmina were dropped.  What mattered was that I was real and with that, I was satisfied.  

Change ‘n Stuff

Life transformation, big or small, starts with stuff.  At least in all the stories I heard and the one I experienced.  If you are going anywhere, you’ll need to pack, unpack, repack, and generally change your belongings.  A new hobby will mean an addition of either a yoga mat, a backpack, a bike, a pair of running shoes or perhaps a blow torch (it all depends).  A new job may mean a set of clothes to fit the culture and mission, perhaps a new set of electronics.  An addition to the family is a whole new set of equipment to handle young new life, half of which you never heard of or knew you needed.  Finally, if you move, then furniture and hardware stores will be calling your name for a while, all over again.  All the stuff goes somewhere, settles into the niches and crevices of your new or old abode, and quietly waits for you to call it into usage sometimes daily, sometimes monthly, and sometimes, never. 

November 2011 I was going for the big quarter life change, and influenced by all the pop American transformation novels (yes, like the Eat, Pray, Love variety) I decided that plotting a course from a well-furnished and profusely stocked one bedroom apartment to a mini-storage and a backpack must be done.  Freedom from rent and utilities, shedding the old to make room for the new, pulling apart the pieces and then rearranging them into a new whole was the agenda.  What I didn’t anticipate is the sheer pain, stress and anxiety the shifting of stuff that surrounds your life.   

Your belongings serve you well until you have to move them and then they rise up and out of the drawers, shelves, and cabinets, bonding in multitude to take revenge on the owner by overwhelming in sheer numbers and volume. Each little thing demands a decision: to pack or to throw away?  Out come your old high school papers that must be looked through and sorted, your vacation photos, your old receipts, letter, electronics, shoes, etc.   Each file and each drawer is like a fresh can of worms and a time suck bundled in one.   Turns out that you have much more clothes than you need, even if you do sort it every month and give away what you no longer wear.  You have too much electronics, new and old.  Too many books.  Too many gadgets in the kitchen.  TOO MUCH STUFF.  It becomes quick sand, escaping the box into insurmountable holes and dragging you down into the land of “I’m never going to free myself.”

In the Fend Shui philosophy, life changes start with house cleaning and re-arranging.  While it may seem odd that quiet, inanimate objects may be holding you back from whatever change needs to happen, but they do define your routine, the flow of energy, and color your every-day existence.  They demand care and shape you as they provide the comfort and utility for which they were purchased in the first place. Unwise purchases and things un-used hide in corners, symbolizing all that you cannot bring yourself to deal with and sweep under the carpet in denial.          

In the end, I did manage to make my escape, but barely.   By the skin of my teeth, the lack of my sleep, and the tremendous help and effort on the part of my friends and family who helped me pack, watched over movers, and kept me relatively sane while taking out garbage bags and moving boxes. Thanksgiving of 2011, though filled with stress, was also filled with deep amount of gratitude for the help and love I received along the way while en route to a trip they did not always fully understand, but supported as best they could.      

With my larger backpack in the hull of the plane, and the smaller one resting at my feet, I was finally more prepared for life than I was in my fully loaded Berkeley abode.  There were more bug antibodies coursing thought my system than ever before and at least a fifth of my pack was filled with pills and wraps for every occasion.  While no longer ready to receive guests with extra sets of everything, I was the perfect guest myself, complete with my own travel sheet, pillow, towel and full of small presents for amazing strangers and teachers I would meet along the way.  Extra bottles of mosquito repellant, super light shoes, favorite yoga pants, a shawl, fleece, rain jacket, my netbook, camera and kindle rounded out the stuff that staid with me throughout the following three and a half months.  For the duration of the trip all stuff, new and old, would be weighed, though over carefully, and finally carried on my back, if deemed double useful and dear.  The rest, like personal baggage and preconceived notions would have to be shed along the way.