I really appreciate the flow of this trip. Everything seemed to show itself at just the right time and place. Devi Garh had provided us the perfect digs to recover from Varanasi. So, even though most of us were beginning to feel the call of home, we were ready for some new adventures when we boarded the bus for the one hour ride through the countryside to Udaipur and the waiting Leela Palace.
The countryside is hilly, sizable hillocks that could be classified as mountains in some locales. The land is rocky with a variety of vegetation. It is agricultural as well, so we wound through the fields of green growing ?, lush with the spatterings of robes on a stick (scarecrows) dancing in the breeze. The two lane road was fairly void of traffic and people, so a rural experience was delightful, reminding me of what I think Greece will be like when some day I visit her. Even saw a few herds of goats, being shepherded by two women in bright robes along the road. Interestingly, there are no billboards on the biway, rather, entire houses are painted as an advertisement, like Vodophone, and India Oil, and Coca Cola. Curious....and stucco walls are actually partitioned off to include local advertisements, reminding me of the outfield wall of the semi-pro baseball stadium in San Luis Obispo, or in countless other American towns...can you say homesick?
It was the first place, since high up in Ananda, where we saw consistent blue sky, void of smoke and pollution. The spattering of whispy clouds gave no clue that the monsoons are starting to enter the consciousness of the locals. It was a lovely ride. I made a game out of watching the trucks that passed on the right. In India, the trucks that carry stuff are all gaily painted and decorated with spiritual paraphanalia. Every front is different...some have the eyes of Shiva on them...some the backwards swatiskas (a traditional ancient symbol in these parts)...some even sport ribbons on the mirrors...most have an altar of some sort on the dashboard. Remember how I reported that spirituality was a way of life here...the truckers definitely had that going...and with the way they drove here, I can understand calling in some heavier, mightier support... down the twisting mountain road we traced our steps back to the road from the airport, this time turning right and heading for Udaipur.
As we touched the outskirts of the city we caught our first glimpse of the marble industry's presence...a large, visible showground of the stone of many colors. Turning onto the street of the marble quarry, we entered a lengthy display of business after business peddling marble. They were of all sizes and shapes, the stores that is. Right next to an acre-sized business, there was the mom and pop marble store, offering all of 5 pieces. It was amazing as there must have been a hundred different ones over a five mile stretch. Thinking back to the Devi Gahr palace that was all marble, I can bet they got a good price when they built the thing. The marble business slowly gave way to the smaller shops that supported the lives of the people and then we were into the city of Udaipur. The now familiar din of moving vehicles and horns demanding passage now flooded our rural reverie. Winding through the city scene of shops, storekeepers, patrons, beggars, dogs, cows, motorcycles, cars, sadhus, we made our way to a lake, fairly large and picturesque. The bus dropped us off at a small walkway that descended down to a canopied dock. Our guide informed us that a boat would be there momentarily. I must say it felt so good to be around the water. Looking out over the sizable scene revealed some large buildings rising right out of Lake Pichola, as it was named. The whole panorama was framed by the beautiful Aravoli Mountains in the distance. There was a smooth, peaceful vibration about the whole picture before us. Looking out over the water we could see the water taxi approaching, with the uniformed driver and attendant readying the boat for docking.
The people of India are a beautiful people, attractive faces, dark skin and hair, and a, generally joyful, honoring demeanor. Sure these men worked at the hotel, but i have been at some pretty nice places where the help did not give much attention to the guests. Here there was an overflow of nice...and sometimes, its nice to be niced up, if you know what I mean, especially after the flow of all we have been through. The dashing burgundy uniforms, the white turbans, and the finely manicured facial hair gave the smiles and slight nod of the head an accentuated pleasantry. Off we went across the water, towards the Leela, which had yet to reveal itself. Passing three different sizable hotels of varying grandeur, we turned toward another glistening structure looming out of the water before us...my oh my!
Now, I have been in some mighty fine hotels in my time, and I have even stayed in the Motel 6 in Needles, California...let's just say I have had a wide variety of experience. The Leela opened just last year. It is a part of a chain of luxury hotels throughout India. They have done their homework. From the dock upon which we landed, it was obvious this was a place to behold and experience. Wide eyed and mouth agape, I crossed through the metal detector into an open area when the harmonium and tabla duo kicked in their song of greeting. Thus far we had grown accustomed to each hotel's personal touch greeting, from a line of servants giving malas, to rose petals from above, to fanfare, to a chant with beads and a kiss on the cheek...all unique, and all letting us know that we were welcome and that they were glad we had chosen the place...bit different than most other places I have stayed in, including that Motel 6.
It was a stroke of gemius to give us this kind of a place in which to spend the last three days of our India sojourn. It was the perfect place from which to sit in the beautiful room or on the balcony overlooking the lake or in any of the on site special nooks inside and outside, and reflect on all that had come and gone since landing in India on December 20th. The best for last...
Our wing had a man assigned to it to make sure our every need was met. Ashish was his name, and with a small crew he did just that. Everytime I opened the door, no matter the hour, he appeared with a smile and a desire to do something for me. He would even stroll with me to the elevator to make sure the button was pushed...now I am a do it myself guy...but, you know, sometimes it is great to be doted upon, even if it is for a good recommendation at the end.
Aaah...relax and enjoy...great bathroom, shower and sunken tub....comfy beds, except they have those sheet comfortor combos that do not really accomodate the person like me who gets too hot and only needs a sheet...bitch and moan...assortment of chocolates and a supply of bottled Himalayan water...music on in the background, internet, dinner in an hour...lay back and let go...when suddenly I hear a loud voice from outside the open balcony window, speaking in Arabic...it is the Islamic Call to Prayer, happens five times a day and goes for about 5 minutes each time. Cool, but why is he on a PA system at distortion volume? Later we find out that there is some struggle with the volume amongst the Hindu population...said it was a special privilege because they were a minority...despite all that it was beautiful...another act of devotion to an ongoing way of life.
After dinner we witness a solo dancer with a small combo of harmonium, tabla, and sitar performing in a beautiful open aired black and white, geometrically adorned stage area. The music was classic and the dance was hot...it's all in the hips and the eyes. Half way through, most of the party leaves, but Debra and I stay. I am recording the music and half thinking the dancer keeps looking at me...a brief fantasy and then the woman finishes her dance...she motions in my direction...but it is for Debra...she had acknowledged her and now was being invited to share the last dance. The music kicks in and there they go...Debra does a great job keeping up...hips going in all directions...the music pulses...and the diminutive crowd of four go wild...sweet moment of culture and inclusion...
I check out the stage the following morning and it has become a fountain, water flowing from the center pulsing circles out to bubble over the sides...nice design...pigeons drink and dance to faint strains of last night's music...I grab my recorder and record the ambiance...7 minutes will make a great background for something later on...lovely, and meditative too!
It's on to the boat and to the waiting bus for a ride to the city palace...for the shopping bug has swept through the group...last minute presents for self and others. We hop off the bus early because some in the party remember the back way into the palace shopping area...or so they thought. Narrow street, single file, near misses, frustration, words exchanged, turn around, walk back to where the bus let us off, ask directions, find that the bus was headed there...sigh...walk...walk...up the long hill to the palace entrance...tickets....not going in, just shopping...tickets...OK...scarves, rugs, clothing...nothing, yet...out the palace gate into the city streets...instant change of energy and shops....there's a place where we got that statue...down some stairs....that's not it...hey...back here....turn around and head down the stairs around the curve into an doorway that leads to a doorway that opens to a courtyard with statuary that leads to another door...yeah, this is it...wall to wall scarves and shawls...cashmire, pashmira, silk, cheap...take your pick...wow...10 men helping...try this...this...good quality...this...better quality...the piles grow...opened stashes of scarves litter the floor...overload...breathe...how much...what's the rule, again?...start with 60% and work back up...but we all are buying...better deal...rupies or dollars?...how does this look?....not my color but it will work with______...40 minutes, 6 scarves: 3 pashmira, 3 silk...no cashmire $200 US each...pashmira feels pretty good....done...get me out of here...onto the street...people and pushing and begging and beeping and smoking and noise...sigh....thoughts return to Leela and the room....walk back...2 miles to the boat...past the camel rides and the pairs of men parked on the motorcycles and the sugar cane crushing vendors and the samosa carts and the cows and the mothers with babies...with that soft voice and the sad eyes and the hand out...street still lifes...one after the other.
Somewhere back while overnighting in Delhi we were scheduled to go out for an Indian food cooking class...we were wiped out and thus, cancelled...well, here in Udaipur, we get another chance and we set off for that adventure in the late afternoon, arriving at a home an hour later. This home was a part of a compound that housed 25 people, mostly employees of the family that was presenting the class and the meal. The man, his wife, and their son are all world class cooks. He, having been the right hand man to the king, is a treasure trove of stories about life in that lane. She, a quiet woman, does most of the cooking demonstration. Of course, she teaches us to make samosas...cool and tasty. A beautiful blend of spice and flavor that makes maximum use of the taste buds. And then, white chicken...now when we said that, you know what we meant, breast meat, not the thighs, back and legs...problem in translation...she takes it to mean WHITE chicken...so out comes this exotic sauce that is...you guessed it, white...put into a pressure cooker with a bunch of bony chicken parts...ha!...it ended up tasting very good at the meal a little later. After the demonstration, we retired to the main feast room where 12 dishes were laid out, having been prepped and prepared since earlier that morning. Truth is, the food was magnificent, made with love and knowledge and hand picked ingredients. All the dishes tasted unique and blended well together. And some were outrageously good...some stuffed eggplant and another chicken dish....mmmm...delightful evening for all. What a treat. I still won't be eating Indian food for awhile, but when I do, I will think of this family and the love that infused those dreamy dishes...
Now for some reason I am reminded of our first guide in Udaipur, good looking man with a manageble accent. All the guides wear casual jackets, just a size too small, colorful shirts with a scarf. Their hair is usually reflective of some George Michael video...hinting towards mullet. The style is everywhere on the men of means...amusing...the minute he got on the bus he started talking about the people he had been a guide for...and it moved to a talk about a famous wedding and then onto his wedding. He had been betrothed by family decision to wed a young woman he had never met. They were allowed chaparoned visits of limited time to get to know one another. Both shy, their time together was pretty quiet...but the wedding came as planned. Everyone that knows the families are invited....the guest list can easily range in the hundreds and even, the thousands. These are lavish 4 day affairs where all participate. It is, as he said, one big Bollywood video. Now there is an image....what is curious though, is that we found out later via the internet that there is a crises in India where a growing number of the female babies are being aborted because of the concern over the eventual cost of the dowry and the wedding feast...one can imagine a 4 day food orgy for a thousand would require a bundle of cash...Las Vegas can be a very attractive alternative...by the way, 16 years later, the couple is still together.
On our last day in India, we decided one more trip to town to visit the Shiva temple and buy some last minute trinkets was in order. And one in the party was looking for some of the hand painted deity prints popular during the 1930's. He had had some luck the day before, but his appetite was still there for more. 7 of us went, and this time instead of the boat ride, we snuck out the back gate and caught several of the putt-putts, the quasi motorized rickshaws, to take us down the winding back streets to the shops....50 rupees each...such a deal. wheeeee....wheeeee...wheeee....all the way to the city square. The temple was there with its towering white structure adorned with intricate carvings of Hanuman and Shiva and others...eventually we would partake, but for now, let's get shopping. Some deity stickers look great on the suitcase or as gifts to 20 year old daughters...check...a colorful cloth will be great for setting singing bowls on during workshops ...check...that prayer wheel would be useful as a tool for workshop participants...but, geez, so many to choose gfrom....look at this silver one with the inlay...high quality, says the vendor...high quality made from yak bone...very powerful...thousand rupees...six hundred...nine hundred...six fifty...750...7...sold...high quality...I get this...
We find our way to a shop down a street because it was supposed to have the prints...and boy, does it. So, for the next hour plus, we watch a delightful, knowledgeable shopkeeper bring out the treasures. And where only one of the party was interested before, suddenly the parade of painted product stirs the interest of others...they are beautiful, but I find that I am not interested..so, I wander and look at the jaguar hide chair with the paw arms on it...the intricate ivory carvings of familiar Hindu Deities...the Bollywood antique movie posters...the endless sea of statuary...the many things that look great in the store but will be, "what was I thinking?!", when one gets home...so I take pictures and eventually find my way outside to watch the river of people flow by. Foreigners and locals all with a place to go...brought together in this moment for this rendevous in time...for what purpose? we all showed up and now are free to go about our lives, one less requirement. A cow saunters through, narrowly missed by an aggressive youth on the motorcycle...beep, beep...the cow pays no attention... A man on a flat board moves by, legs cut off at the hip, now with flat boards on his hands to act as accelerators and brakes as he navigates the moguled street...the remarkable dance of humanity in its, oh, so many flavors...click, click, click goes the Canon...memories burned into the Sdisk...into the brain...stories of a life opened up...surely not in Kansas anymore...one more reminder of a choice made long ago...I think I will incarnate in California...I am moved by this technicolor exposure to life unknown before...many are so moved that they drop everything and come back to live...that is not me..the Pacific Ocean at the end of the day waiting with open arms to cradle the sun to sleep...now that is the life I resonate with...thank you, India...strains of Alanis Morrisette slip out of some container in my grey matter...
A trip up the steep stairs past the hopeful glances of the photo-op minded Holy Men Sadhus and into the temple...an intricately adorned display of devotion and delight...a sense feast for the eyes. Devotees in stocking and bare feet in various degrees of homage and prostration give a soundtrack to the scene. I am moved by people showing up...no hesitation...no self consciousness...letting their version of spirit speak and display spontaneously. My mind drifts, as I circle the temple, to my own practice, my stuttering connections to the inner and outer God, sometimes sandwiched between my current stack of projects...note to self, integrate, grasshopper, there must be room for spirit...
The putt-putt beckons as my last look at these littered streets that have expanded my being now fade into the din of dust and horn...it is time to go home and see how India will color my moments in the familiar. I smile and strains of the Buddhist hymn at Bhoudhanath swell...Om Mane Padme Hum...and the credits of gratitude begin to roll. Fare thee well...
The countryside is hilly, sizable hillocks that could be classified as mountains in some locales. The land is rocky with a variety of vegetation. It is agricultural as well, so we wound through the fields of green growing ?, lush with the spatterings of robes on a stick (scarecrows) dancing in the breeze. The two lane road was fairly void of traffic and people, so a rural experience was delightful, reminding me of what I think Greece will be like when some day I visit her. Even saw a few herds of goats, being shepherded by two women in bright robes along the road. Interestingly, there are no billboards on the biway, rather, entire houses are painted as an advertisement, like Vodophone, and India Oil, and Coca Cola. Curious....and stucco walls are actually partitioned off to include local advertisements, reminding me of the outfield wall of the semi-pro baseball stadium in San Luis Obispo, or in countless other American towns...can you say homesick?
It was the first place, since high up in Ananda, where we saw consistent blue sky, void of smoke and pollution. The spattering of whispy clouds gave no clue that the monsoons are starting to enter the consciousness of the locals. It was a lovely ride. I made a game out of watching the trucks that passed on the right. In India, the trucks that carry stuff are all gaily painted and decorated with spiritual paraphanalia. Every front is different...some have the eyes of Shiva on them...some the backwards swatiskas (a traditional ancient symbol in these parts)...some even sport ribbons on the mirrors...most have an altar of some sort on the dashboard. Remember how I reported that spirituality was a way of life here...the truckers definitely had that going...and with the way they drove here, I can understand calling in some heavier, mightier support... down the twisting mountain road we traced our steps back to the road from the airport, this time turning right and heading for Udaipur.
As we touched the outskirts of the city we caught our first glimpse of the marble industry's presence...a large, visible showground of the stone of many colors. Turning onto the street of the marble quarry, we entered a lengthy display of business after business peddling marble. They were of all sizes and shapes, the stores that is. Right next to an acre-sized business, there was the mom and pop marble store, offering all of 5 pieces. It was amazing as there must have been a hundred different ones over a five mile stretch. Thinking back to the Devi Gahr palace that was all marble, I can bet they got a good price when they built the thing. The marble business slowly gave way to the smaller shops that supported the lives of the people and then we were into the city of Udaipur. The now familiar din of moving vehicles and horns demanding passage now flooded our rural reverie. Winding through the city scene of shops, storekeepers, patrons, beggars, dogs, cows, motorcycles, cars, sadhus, we made our way to a lake, fairly large and picturesque. The bus dropped us off at a small walkway that descended down to a canopied dock. Our guide informed us that a boat would be there momentarily. I must say it felt so good to be around the water. Looking out over the sizable scene revealed some large buildings rising right out of Lake Pichola, as it was named. The whole panorama was framed by the beautiful Aravoli Mountains in the distance. There was a smooth, peaceful vibration about the whole picture before us. Looking out over the water we could see the water taxi approaching, with the uniformed driver and attendant readying the boat for docking.
The people of India are a beautiful people, attractive faces, dark skin and hair, and a, generally joyful, honoring demeanor. Sure these men worked at the hotel, but i have been at some pretty nice places where the help did not give much attention to the guests. Here there was an overflow of nice...and sometimes, its nice to be niced up, if you know what I mean, especially after the flow of all we have been through. The dashing burgundy uniforms, the white turbans, and the finely manicured facial hair gave the smiles and slight nod of the head an accentuated pleasantry. Off we went across the water, towards the Leela, which had yet to reveal itself. Passing three different sizable hotels of varying grandeur, we turned toward another glistening structure looming out of the water before us...my oh my!
Now, I have been in some mighty fine hotels in my time, and I have even stayed in the Motel 6 in Needles, California...let's just say I have had a wide variety of experience. The Leela opened just last year. It is a part of a chain of luxury hotels throughout India. They have done their homework. From the dock upon which we landed, it was obvious this was a place to behold and experience. Wide eyed and mouth agape, I crossed through the metal detector into an open area when the harmonium and tabla duo kicked in their song of greeting. Thus far we had grown accustomed to each hotel's personal touch greeting, from a line of servants giving malas, to rose petals from above, to fanfare, to a chant with beads and a kiss on the cheek...all unique, and all letting us know that we were welcome and that they were glad we had chosen the place...bit different than most other places I have stayed in, including that Motel 6.
It was a stroke of gemius to give us this kind of a place in which to spend the last three days of our India sojourn. It was the perfect place from which to sit in the beautiful room or on the balcony overlooking the lake or in any of the on site special nooks inside and outside, and reflect on all that had come and gone since landing in India on December 20th. The best for last...
Our wing had a man assigned to it to make sure our every need was met. Ashish was his name, and with a small crew he did just that. Everytime I opened the door, no matter the hour, he appeared with a smile and a desire to do something for me. He would even stroll with me to the elevator to make sure the button was pushed...now I am a do it myself guy...but, you know, sometimes it is great to be doted upon, even if it is for a good recommendation at the end.
Aaah...relax and enjoy...great bathroom, shower and sunken tub....comfy beds, except they have those sheet comfortor combos that do not really accomodate the person like me who gets too hot and only needs a sheet...bitch and moan...assortment of chocolates and a supply of bottled Himalayan water...music on in the background, internet, dinner in an hour...lay back and let go...when suddenly I hear a loud voice from outside the open balcony window, speaking in Arabic...it is the Islamic Call to Prayer, happens five times a day and goes for about 5 minutes each time. Cool, but why is he on a PA system at distortion volume? Later we find out that there is some struggle with the volume amongst the Hindu population...said it was a special privilege because they were a minority...despite all that it was beautiful...another act of devotion to an ongoing way of life.
After dinner we witness a solo dancer with a small combo of harmonium, tabla, and sitar performing in a beautiful open aired black and white, geometrically adorned stage area. The music was classic and the dance was hot...it's all in the hips and the eyes. Half way through, most of the party leaves, but Debra and I stay. I am recording the music and half thinking the dancer keeps looking at me...a brief fantasy and then the woman finishes her dance...she motions in my direction...but it is for Debra...she had acknowledged her and now was being invited to share the last dance. The music kicks in and there they go...Debra does a great job keeping up...hips going in all directions...the music pulses...and the diminutive crowd of four go wild...sweet moment of culture and inclusion...
I check out the stage the following morning and it has become a fountain, water flowing from the center pulsing circles out to bubble over the sides...nice design...pigeons drink and dance to faint strains of last night's music...I grab my recorder and record the ambiance...7 minutes will make a great background for something later on...lovely, and meditative too!
It's on to the boat and to the waiting bus for a ride to the city palace...for the shopping bug has swept through the group...last minute presents for self and others. We hop off the bus early because some in the party remember the back way into the palace shopping area...or so they thought. Narrow street, single file, near misses, frustration, words exchanged, turn around, walk back to where the bus let us off, ask directions, find that the bus was headed there...sigh...walk...walk...up the long hill to the palace entrance...tickets....not going in, just shopping...tickets...OK...scarves, rugs, clothing...nothing, yet...out the palace gate into the city streets...instant change of energy and shops....there's a place where we got that statue...down some stairs....that's not it...hey...back here....turn around and head down the stairs around the curve into an doorway that leads to a doorway that opens to a courtyard with statuary that leads to another door...yeah, this is it...wall to wall scarves and shawls...cashmire, pashmira, silk, cheap...take your pick...wow...10 men helping...try this...this...good quality...this...better quality...the piles grow...opened stashes of scarves litter the floor...overload...breathe...how much...what's the rule, again?...start with 60% and work back up...but we all are buying...better deal...rupies or dollars?...how does this look?....not my color but it will work with______...40 minutes, 6 scarves: 3 pashmira, 3 silk...no cashmire $200 US each...pashmira feels pretty good....done...get me out of here...onto the street...people and pushing and begging and beeping and smoking and noise...sigh....thoughts return to Leela and the room....walk back...2 miles to the boat...past the camel rides and the pairs of men parked on the motorcycles and the sugar cane crushing vendors and the samosa carts and the cows and the mothers with babies...with that soft voice and the sad eyes and the hand out...street still lifes...one after the other.
Somewhere back while overnighting in Delhi we were scheduled to go out for an Indian food cooking class...we were wiped out and thus, cancelled...well, here in Udaipur, we get another chance and we set off for that adventure in the late afternoon, arriving at a home an hour later. This home was a part of a compound that housed 25 people, mostly employees of the family that was presenting the class and the meal. The man, his wife, and their son are all world class cooks. He, having been the right hand man to the king, is a treasure trove of stories about life in that lane. She, a quiet woman, does most of the cooking demonstration. Of course, she teaches us to make samosas...cool and tasty. A beautiful blend of spice and flavor that makes maximum use of the taste buds. And then, white chicken...now when we said that, you know what we meant, breast meat, not the thighs, back and legs...problem in translation...she takes it to mean WHITE chicken...so out comes this exotic sauce that is...you guessed it, white...put into a pressure cooker with a bunch of bony chicken parts...ha!...it ended up tasting very good at the meal a little later. After the demonstration, we retired to the main feast room where 12 dishes were laid out, having been prepped and prepared since earlier that morning. Truth is, the food was magnificent, made with love and knowledge and hand picked ingredients. All the dishes tasted unique and blended well together. And some were outrageously good...some stuffed eggplant and another chicken dish....mmmm...delightful evening for all. What a treat. I still won't be eating Indian food for awhile, but when I do, I will think of this family and the love that infused those dreamy dishes...
Now for some reason I am reminded of our first guide in Udaipur, good looking man with a manageble accent. All the guides wear casual jackets, just a size too small, colorful shirts with a scarf. Their hair is usually reflective of some George Michael video...hinting towards mullet. The style is everywhere on the men of means...amusing...the minute he got on the bus he started talking about the people he had been a guide for...and it moved to a talk about a famous wedding and then onto his wedding. He had been betrothed by family decision to wed a young woman he had never met. They were allowed chaparoned visits of limited time to get to know one another. Both shy, their time together was pretty quiet...but the wedding came as planned. Everyone that knows the families are invited....the guest list can easily range in the hundreds and even, the thousands. These are lavish 4 day affairs where all participate. It is, as he said, one big Bollywood video. Now there is an image....what is curious though, is that we found out later via the internet that there is a crises in India where a growing number of the female babies are being aborted because of the concern over the eventual cost of the dowry and the wedding feast...one can imagine a 4 day food orgy for a thousand would require a bundle of cash...Las Vegas can be a very attractive alternative...by the way, 16 years later, the couple is still together.
On our last day in India, we decided one more trip to town to visit the Shiva temple and buy some last minute trinkets was in order. And one in the party was looking for some of the hand painted deity prints popular during the 1930's. He had had some luck the day before, but his appetite was still there for more. 7 of us went, and this time instead of the boat ride, we snuck out the back gate and caught several of the putt-putts, the quasi motorized rickshaws, to take us down the winding back streets to the shops....50 rupees each...such a deal. wheeeee....wheeeee...wheeee....all the way to the city square. The temple was there with its towering white structure adorned with intricate carvings of Hanuman and Shiva and others...eventually we would partake, but for now, let's get shopping. Some deity stickers look great on the suitcase or as gifts to 20 year old daughters...check...a colorful cloth will be great for setting singing bowls on during workshops ...check...that prayer wheel would be useful as a tool for workshop participants...but, geez, so many to choose gfrom....look at this silver one with the inlay...high quality, says the vendor...high quality made from yak bone...very powerful...thousand rupees...six hundred...nine hundred...six fifty...750...7...sold...high quality...I get this...
We find our way to a shop down a street because it was supposed to have the prints...and boy, does it. So, for the next hour plus, we watch a delightful, knowledgeable shopkeeper bring out the treasures. And where only one of the party was interested before, suddenly the parade of painted product stirs the interest of others...they are beautiful, but I find that I am not interested..so, I wander and look at the jaguar hide chair with the paw arms on it...the intricate ivory carvings of familiar Hindu Deities...the Bollywood antique movie posters...the endless sea of statuary...the many things that look great in the store but will be, "what was I thinking?!", when one gets home...so I take pictures and eventually find my way outside to watch the river of people flow by. Foreigners and locals all with a place to go...brought together in this moment for this rendevous in time...for what purpose? we all showed up and now are free to go about our lives, one less requirement. A cow saunters through, narrowly missed by an aggressive youth on the motorcycle...beep, beep...the cow pays no attention... A man on a flat board moves by, legs cut off at the hip, now with flat boards on his hands to act as accelerators and brakes as he navigates the moguled street...the remarkable dance of humanity in its, oh, so many flavors...click, click, click goes the Canon...memories burned into the Sdisk...into the brain...stories of a life opened up...surely not in Kansas anymore...one more reminder of a choice made long ago...I think I will incarnate in California...I am moved by this technicolor exposure to life unknown before...many are so moved that they drop everything and come back to live...that is not me..the Pacific Ocean at the end of the day waiting with open arms to cradle the sun to sleep...now that is the life I resonate with...thank you, India...strains of Alanis Morrisette slip out of some container in my grey matter...
A trip up the steep stairs past the hopeful glances of the photo-op minded Holy Men Sadhus and into the temple...an intricately adorned display of devotion and delight...a sense feast for the eyes. Devotees in stocking and bare feet in various degrees of homage and prostration give a soundtrack to the scene. I am moved by people showing up...no hesitation...no self consciousness...letting their version of spirit speak and display spontaneously. My mind drifts, as I circle the temple, to my own practice, my stuttering connections to the inner and outer God, sometimes sandwiched between my current stack of projects...note to self, integrate, grasshopper, there must be room for spirit...
The putt-putt beckons as my last look at these littered streets that have expanded my being now fade into the din of dust and horn...it is time to go home and see how India will color my moments in the familiar. I smile and strains of the Buddhist hymn at Bhoudhanath swell...Om Mane Padme Hum...and the credits of gratitude begin to roll. Fare thee well...
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