[This is not to be read in sequence with previous posts, as
I am constantly adding and writing. This
is a mere glimpse into life and travel in India]
The laundry machine is humming and splashing (the water pipe
is not completely attached to the wall), the fan in whirling, the curtains are
blowing in the created cool breeze, the oatmeal is steaming, and the pots and
pans are soaking in the sink. The
chocolate cake from my Honey is chilling in the fridge, along with curd (yogurt
cousin-brother) fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, mandarins and bananas. A new pack of giner-lemon green tea is
sitting on the counter along with a huge jug of drinking and cooking water. The shopping bags unpacked, each box and
carton in it’s proper place.
Wait, where am I???
The parallel universe of the Gokulum suburb of Mysore,
India, welcomes foreigners with open arms full of comforts, fully set up for
foreigners to live for months without a care (more on this later).
Upon arrival in Mysore,
a 10 minute rickshaw ride transported me into a quiet suburb the likes of Berkeley,
CA where seeing white skin and foreign
English accent is not uncommon. Within
minutes, an American girl was spotted on the street (one of the first in India
outside of Goa) who took me to the only place I knew
about, the Patabi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Shala.
At the front, after stating that I just arrived, I was directed to Shiva
who lives a few doors down, by the friendly and energetic gray haired man who
seems to be the permanent welcoming committee outside the Yoga shala. Within 20 minutes (one has to wait at least a
little bit for everything in India), I was on the back of the bike of one of
Shiva’s boys and transported a few blocks down to see an apartment that one of
the local families “rents to yoga students only” as the numerous signs around
town explain.
Here, I am the
maharani of my own 2 bedroom 2 baths.
With the flatmate gone and the foreigner season almost over, I have the
whole place, along with a living room and dining room all to myself. There is a closet in each room!
My few items of clothing have spread them out
luxuriously in the closet, some resting on the numerous shelves, others hanging
on the hangers, exercising their egos and wrinkles. The backpack, which normally occupies all the
available empty space in my various rooms for the past 3 months is lost on the
floor.
All that space was appropriated well in no time at all. The living room, with a gorgeous tree
painting on the main wall is now my yoga studio.
There is enough room for pilates leg circles
and more! The dining room, complete with
a large square low table, couch and cushions became a reading and writing room
(the television ignored, as always).
The
washing machine and laundry room lines were filled with the colorful contents
of my backpack.
My first and only stable meal from “my” kitchen (first time
in 3 months!) was spiced oatmeal. Yes,
my dreams have come true in India,
they make oatmeal specifically for people like me, already pre-mixed with
masala and cashews. They only suggest I
add the curd for creaminess, as though reading my mind and indulging my old
habits! I went a step further, and added
tomatoes and onions (roasted) and it became a heavenly concoction and a
delightful dinner or breakfast.
Wanting to go home in the evening, what a concept? Sitting down on the couch to read book or eat a home made meal! No need for hand sanitizer because my sink
has soap, no need to have the “which country?” conversation, or any
conversation at all, if so desired. Just
quiet. In India! Hmmm of the fan at night, chirping of the
birds and Muslim call to prayer in the morning.
Beeping of the traffic, always, though it no longer registers.
Body shuts down. In
all this convenience and comfort, I become ravenous in the evening, knowing
that there is food to eat after the restaurant closes (what a concept!). After yet another home-made fruit lassie or
bowl of fresh fruit, curd and musli I pass out.
Sitting on the couch with a laptop or a book, on the bed, wherever in
the 4 room maze I might be, fully clothed, un-brushed teeth, out like a light
until the middle of the night. Without
external stimulation that happens everywhere in this country, the body seems to
go into conservation mode. I keep having
fantasies of watching one of my numerous movies, collected from fellow
travelers. Writing, responding to
emails, calling… As soon as I sit down, the next thing I know, it is one or two
am. I drag myself to the bathroom,
alternating between the two so no one feels left out, and then surrender into
the comfort of clean sheets.
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