Off in a cloud of dust

Ciao Mahi <3

Each spin of the rusty blade relieves my body a little bit more, the sleeves on my white Siddhi Yoga T-shirt are brown with dirt from having had my face hanging out a bus window for 4 hours & wiping the sweat off my forehead so often. Eesh... my tummy just made an uneasy sound, it gets to a point where you have to stop wondering what multitude of things it could be from and just accept the gurgles...

Silent baba & I

I'm trying to get a hang of 'organized travel' that seems somewhat ironic given that I'm in the country of chaos; which is exactly why you've got to give yourself that extra hour's space in case a herd of cows is causing a road block, or the heat sends you to sleep and you miss your stop. I have exactly 1 hour before my train to Jaipur is due to arrive...

Honey and apples

I'm flying solo! Having parted ways with my fellow yogi's, milked 'Om Star Cafe' for all it's worth and finally made a trip up to the elusive mountain village 'Dharamkot': in which we got completely lost, ended up surrounded my mountain goats in some village out of the 1920's and eventually found our way out as the stones beneath our feet began disappearing with the darkness (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0ZjOLJyL9k). 

Our beautiful group of yogi's

Mmm ladies fingers..

It was a glorious few relaxing days post-teacher training; biding time in Bhagsu with M, S and C - an eclectic bunch with a shared naughty streak. But it was time for a change - I picked up my laundry, packed up and heaved on my backpack that felt a ton heavier. Wandering through the mist, down the hill as we'd watched so many others do before us. I waved farewell to the others who I could vaguely see behind the ropey dream catcher of Om Star. I paid my dues to the Bhagsu cake man (still confused as to which of his crossed eyes to look into) and parted with my notorious yellow umbrella, passing it on to the smiley shoe walla.

K, the monk I'd had lunch with the day before, had sweetly organized for his friend to take me to the bus stop. So I hopped into the back of the taxi labelled '501' with a slightly over-eager taxi driver and took a deep breath, muttering the safety mantra to myself as the play station game began along the bumpy and terrifying drive down the mountain to Dharamshala.

Lunch with K.

The driver lead me to the bus with a big white 'KUMAR' sign on its side, I shoved my backpack into the dusty trunk and sat down, noticing the difference in temperature in comparison to the cool climate of Bhagsu. The blurry waves of heat made my upper lip sweat as I sat stagnant on an almost empty bus. Oh how glorious that empty bus was before the masses crowded on and off over the next 4 hours. At each stop, men carrying fresh coconut, dried dhal, bananas or bowls of onion sambal would weave through the mid-line of the bus, singing the songs of their product.

I'd saved a last piece of peanut butter Bhagsu cake for the journey, opening the little gold box that it came in and tasting that amazing reeses-like chunk of indulgence, that was rapidly melting as we descended further down the mountain. I was weary of not drinking my water too fast as I usually did, due to the absence of toilet facilities on the bus and having uncomfortable flashbacks of the last traumatic bus/ toilet experience in Cambodia with J years ago...

I'd bought '11 minutes' by Paolo Coelho as a snap-purchase before leaving. The book rental hut had done me well over the last month... I'd managed to get through 'The White Tiger' and '1000 Splendid Suns' - grateful to have ended on a more heart warming note with the latter.
I got through 100 pages and sighed with boredom, placing the book on my lap and looking out the window at my surroundings. Green rice paddies, a flowing river, a bleary eyed man with his gut hanging out of a sweaty tank top, selling dried fish. I looked anxiously at the shop billboards as we zoomed past them, waiting for the word 'Pathankot' to show up and give me some sort of reassuring sign. The girl behind me, sensing my distress tapped me on the shoulder and told me in broken English that I had 2 more stops... phew :)
It was the last stop so everyone got off the bus and I followed their unconventional trail across the railway tracks; stepping around the cow nibbling on a black banana skin. I took off my luggage and threw it over the platform that I scrambled up after. Caw Blimey! If I thought I was hot on the bus, I was wrong. A delusional wave passed over my body and I felt my clothes getting damper, gazing at the long strip of chairs with peoples eyes gazing right back at the only caucasian in the station. Everyone was sat aroun
d, waiting; It's definitely something I've noticed here... the acceptance of individuals, the comfort in which they wait. We call it Confucian dynamism in Psychology, different concepts of time; here there's almost an unspoken understanding that the goal will be reached regardless of when it happens.
A few long bearded babas were lying on the ground, contentedly watching the ceiling, surrounded by bags & wearing only loin cloths. I smiled at them and quickened my pace at the sight of a moving fan in the station cafe. Walking into the little room where warm air was being circulated, I dropped my bags, took a cold carton of 'buttermilk' out of the fridge and placed my luggage on a chair. Mmm, something refreshing, I took a sip of the new and unusual drink, EUGH... Salty, sour milk filled my mouth, I put the carton back on the table. No more buttermilk for me. I ordered a hot, sweet tea instead (ya know, hot drinks actually cool you down) and a Veg Thali (a metal dish in which each indent contains a yummy curry, chapatti & rice). I paid the hefty bill that came to about 40p and stood outside to wait for the train. There were only a few arriving on the opposite side of the tracks, but when they did, passengers would jump off, luggage in hand, run across the railway tracks and chuck their luggage over the platform, just as I had done. It almost looked like a dodgy border crossing with so many figures scurrying in the dark.

The sleeper bus :)

8:10, the train was 10 minutes late... with the amount of baggage I had, I couldnt be bothered to heave it on and off so I stood still, holding everything, feeling the weight of my bag grow by the minute as the deafening sound of hundreds of sparrows echoes around the metal roof. The train arrived and the mad rush began, I shuttled along behind a couple onto the second class sleeper carriage, showing my ticket to as many people as necassary until I was guided to my bed for the night. There was a pillow & blanket, a mesh holder for water, a slightly larger one for books/ snacks and a brown paper package (tied up with a manky piece of celotape) full of fresh sheets and a towel. It was almost better than a hostel! Within 10 minutes, men had passed through the carriages offering chai, soup and other snacks. There were 2 men in the bunks below me and a woman opposite; I smiled after a failed attempt at conversing, allowing the curious, befuddles looks as to why a foreign woman on her own was sleeping above them. 

Off to Jaipur we gooo

Sitting crossed legged on my top bunk I closed my eyes and took everything in, amazed that it had all gone to plan (so far). I made my bed, awkwardly washed myself in the 'Western toilet' and heaved the smelly blanket over my body to try and block out the unnecessarily freezing AC that was blasting down on me. My handbag was tucked safely behind my head and my alarm was set for 10am the next morning, when I'd open my eyes for the next heated adventure in Jaipur...

Recipe of the day: Shahi Paneer (Paneer in cashew curry)
http://showmethecurry.com/curries/shahipaneer.html

Chronicles in the clouds 4

My blog posts seem to have fallen short of time; the weeks have blended into one another and somehow the 200 hour yoga teacher training journey that we all embarked upon, has come to an end. Everyone has parted ways and flown the Bhagsu-nest, travelling to mountainous peaks in Nepal, Rajasthani deserts or summer days in Europe. A few of us have stayed on, transitioning slowly, renting little rooms (for 1 pound a night!) and settling into Bhagsu a bit...

Challenge complete!

Shopping in Mcleod

There was a lovely quote by our satvic teacher dressed in white at the closing ceremony: 'we meet to learn and we part to share'. Over the last month we've followed a strict 12 hour schedule for 6 days of the week, wondering in and out of lessons with intermittent breaks to the local market, or a nearby cafe. K. perfectly described our structured lives, living as 'yogabots.' The strings started to loosen for some faster than others, Masala Chai became a gateway for caffeine addictions to resume & the smokers haze in Dharamkot drifted down to Bhagsu. Satvic meals occasionally got replaced by a creamy curry & the consumption of Bhagsu cake became a regular occurrence; I could see the flash of  headlines in bold print 'Beware of Bhagsu Cake, the slow killer'. 'Hello to the King/ Queen' is another indulgent item on the dessert menu that I have recently discovered - the name some sort of a remnant from the British Colonial era.. it consists of an ice cream sunday with hot banana and bhagsu cake, mmm; it definitely left a sweet note at the end of our last group dinner.

I'm sitting in Om Star Cafe, looking through the giant dream catcher made of rope & watching the comings and goings of locals; the truck that's been trying to make

Once in Nature's 'pet' snake

a 360° turn on a narrow road for the last 5 minutes, another yogini doing their last walk down the hill with their backpack and yoga mat. Silent Baba's just ordered his hot cardamon milk with ginger and honey and is lighting his chillum - a distinct wave of charras floating through the room to join the clouds outside. Baba is the local, charismatic 'holy man' of sorts. He's 3 years into a 12 year vow of silence and communicates through gestures, sharp looks and his little notebook that he keeps tucked into his fisherman pants. Wherever you are, Baba will find you - walking bare foot, his one versatile dread swinging back and forth across his shoulders, brandishing his medieval walking stick with menacing dark brown eyes. His presence is loud despite the silence and his poetic messages allow a deep and somewhat confusing insight into the mystery behind the dreads.

An interesting Tibetan lunch :)

A traveler is walking down the stairs now, with a huge guitar on his back and a strawberry hat on his head. I feel like I'm in some sort of fantasy novel, the other day I was walking up the hill to 'Once in Nature' and I passed the woman selling her beeswax products on the rocks. I asked her how her bees were doing and she took me through that mornings routine. The next prehistoric landmark was the rock with the yellow painted sign leading to 'The Vegan Cafe' ... on this sat 2 monks and another man also wearing deep maroon garments. They leaned towards us as we walked by and showed us a picture of an Israeli man. They had been sitting from morning till evening for 2 days, asking everyone who walked by that rock, whether they'd seen the man that had lost his wallet. A man behind me happened to own the hostel near where the Israeli was staying, so they took down his number and thanked him. We wished them good luck, gave a little bow of respect and allowed them to continue their noble quest, having been given another piece of the puzzle.. For a minute, I reflected upon the ridiculousness of how frustrated we get in our daily lives when we have to wait for things, like when a webpage takes an extra minute to buffer and that hot, restless sensation takes over your body. These men had taken 2 days out of their lives for a complete stranger, you've got to admire that selflessness.

The shrine under the rock

The external simplicity of monk-hood has a gentle attraction; it's what I kind of love about Mcleod Ganj, despite its fairly chaotic energy, it is home to so many Tibetan Monks that carry around a contagiously peaceful energy. On our 3rd week into the course, we had a very special experience visiting The living Karmapa monastery, a stunning Tibetan temple and the Hindu temple that our main teacher Mahi had been to growing up.

Blessing the lingam

 I blessed the Shiva lingam with fresh water and leaves, following A's instructions. Listening to a few golden nuggets about how the blue Hindu god Krishna could be differentiated from Shiva because he always carries a flute... The 3 petaled flower that was a part of most statues and images in the temple stood for The 3 Gunas/ energy bodies (Rajas: Active/ awake state, Tamas: sleepy state and Satva: peaceful/ balanced state) that we fluctuate between during the day. It was interesting applying some of our knowledge to our cultural surroundings. We wandered down the rocks to the waterfall and poked our head under the huge rock with a tiny Shiva Shrine hidden beneath it... Back inside the temple I joined the circle of our group that was sitting with the local astrologer who was giving readings. A boy came in with a metal tray and sat down in the centre of the circle; after passing around the little metal cups, we sipped hot Chai and listened to our astrological destiny. Despite the slight lack of authenticity given the presence of the 'automatic astrology programme' on the computer in front of him, it definitely gave me something to ponder.

Tibetan wood-work

The day blossomed along with the deep wooden grooves and turquoise on the outside of the Tibetan temple... we watched how they paint the intricate Mandala's, carve the little wooden statues of Sakyamuni or bash circular metal plaques that become delicate goddess wrists. We crowded into a restaurant and ordered our food (all of which was probably cooked by one man; those at the end of the queue weren't too happy), receiving the nimbu-pani (lime soda) and breathing out a sigh of relief at the touch of a cold glass on a humid day. The Monsoon downpour began, and the dry roads were soon flooded with waves of rainwater, the traffic at a standstill and the horns continuously honking. Mahi took control of the overwhelmed staff behind the counter as we lined up to pay for our food, emphasizing the school-trip vibe :p.

The living monestary

A moment of silence

We dashed through buckets of water and piled into the taxi that wasn't ours - distinguished by my yellow umbrella that was missing for the 100th time. Arriving at the large yellow monastery I felt a wave of tranquility with the the collective energy of all of the monks that surrounded us. I walked past the metal bowls filled with water alongside the yellow Buddhas, half-listening to a jumbled Mahi explanation as to why so much water was used (something about the importance of the water element). I sat on one of the long, low maroon sofas in the room, crossed my legs and closed my eyes. The monotonous chanting of monks reciting their scriptures sending me into a meditative trance. How often do you get to sit in a room listening to layers of ancient sounds, recited by monks rocking back and forth in such a repetitive, familiar motion.
                       

I'm brought out of my past reverie by the sounds of the speakers; mmm how organically music shapes your mood. Bhagsu is as awake & Rajasic as Bhagsu can be; the eggman has delivered the eggs, the milkman milk, the washing has been hung on the multicoloured plastic grooves and the sound of one motorbike engine has drowned out everything else on the street. A month ago, a group of multicultural yogini's met dressed in white, to learn about the beginning of a world of knowledge and now we part with our slightly off-white clothes to share our experiences across the globe.

Quote of the day: 'Impermanence' 

Getting my new tat!

'Impermanence' in Sanskrit

Chronicles in the clouds 3

This weekend, we started off with a thorough 'Sat kriya cleanse' that I'm sure looked somewhat cult-ish and grotesque to passerby's enjoying their peaceful walk via the waterfall...

Once in Nature

It was 7am and we all crouched, scattered across the bank of grass behind the main yoga hall, retching on empty stomachs at staggered intervals after having drunk multiple glasses of warm salty water. The technique is advised to be done once a month to cleanse your stomach and intestines of all the gunk that gets stored up over time... But I was surprised by how many of us were willing to engage in the activity, it was a bonding experience to say the least.

Trikonasana

We watched skeptically as our main teacher Mahi demonstrated, while instructing us to take our glasses, fill them up from the vat of salty water and drink until we needed to throw up. My mind grappled with the bulimic association of the activity and the phrase 'driink the Kool Aid' but I tried to keep a positive & open mind. My turn came to cleanse my stomach and in between my serious-faced retches I couldn't help but giggle at the surrounding sounds and S. Shrieking in a German accent 'Ya, Ya keep going, do it louder it's helping me!' Those that had completed the task wondered back along the path with puffy faces and tears streaming, ready to move on to the cleaning ritual for our nose & eyes... I'll spare the bizarre details.

Posting postcards in the tiny post office!

I emerged from the experience feeling somewhat vulnerable but cleansed of all the mental & physical waste that wasn't beneficial anymore. I felt for O who was walking around with a full belly of salt water that hadn't made its way out yet :/ ... If not one end, then the other?
For breakfast we ate plain, soothing porridge with no harsh or acidic flavours to disturb our stomach lining; lunch was 'Kichidi' a plain, 'ghee' filled risotto of sorts and then it all went downhill at dinner as I couldn't resist the outside temptations, gorging on 'momo's' and Bhagsu Cake (millionaire shortbread, that deserves it's own post altogether) ... whoops.

Beautiful lunchtime escapes with T.

It seemed fairly ironic that we began our day with a cleanse and ended with a rave, but alas, the nature of impermanence struck again. N, the nomadic American-Indian DJ was playing some deep house infused with worldly sounds at 'Once in nature'. The night started off fairly tame as teachers and students came together to eat organically sourced vegan food and enjoy a beautiful view, where the clouds changed with the sun set.
The slow, Sanskrit chanting began and soon transitioned into a cosmic rave, provoking impressive yoga poses all over the dance floor... everyone's inner party animal came out as cobras flowed into scorpions, surrounded by walking bridges and one-legged trees. The party moved along up the steep path to 'The Welcome Cafe' where we danced until the sounds slowed down (restricted by the early sound curfew). A Bhagsu cake and one too many Masala Chai's later and I was out...

Practicing in Shiva cafe

I arose the next morning, looking out the window and becoming the clouds that were lethargically floating around me. Up the cobbled path I walked along with my yellow umbrella (that I've managed to keep a hold of despite losing it daily), feeling surprisingly fresh at 8am after the rave the night before. The staff were feeling a little rougher, so K guiltily woke them up and a group of us rejoined for breakfast, sitting exactly where we'd eaten dinner 12 hours before. The indulgent 'chocomango bowls' arrived and the morning began: Home-made muesli, fresh mango, a dollop of home-made chocolate and almond/ coconut milk or yoghurt mmm yesss!!!

This is where we live!!

And now, I close my eyes and return to the present moment. I sit with my legs crossed, becoming aware of the lack of sensation in my bum... I'm on 4 chai's and can feel the caffeine running through my veins. Drinking in a deep breath of air, I feel my lungs expand as my heart takes comfort in the melodic chatters of my yoga family that's sat next to me. The sun's going down and suddenly, the weekend is almost over. We've spent 2 weeks getting to know the intimacy of our teachers, each other and our own journey through yoga. An important lesson I've learned while studying Patanjali's '8 limbs of Ashtanga yoga'  is that 'asana', the 3rd limb (that originally stood for only sitting postures and has grown to encompass all yoga postures) is only 1/8 of what yoga represents. The other aspects are detailed and dense so I won't go into them now, but they make up a pure yogi's existence, a set of ancient laws to live ones life by... It was interesting watching the documentary the other night that described how the west so often takes yoga out of context, focusing only on the 'physical' and turning 8 limbs into one. It's so special being able to learn the practice in its entirety.

From day 1, the learning has extended beyond the classroom; the number of people on the course was 'accidentally doubled  (don't ask) and although this required adjustment (from both the management and us) we have so many interesting characters, I don't think we'd change anything. Everyone has their own special thing, an educator in their own right, and through sharing their personal experiences, I've learned about the most diverse areas of life ... the courageous journey of a 12-step programme, the ridiculous technical engineering (with E as the mastermind) behind the scenes of Lady Gaga's flying costume (?!), living as a member of the R.A.F or working with illegal immigrants in Holland. There are teachers, journalists, engineers and photographers; everyone's a different character of different ages and nationalities... yet through a shared interest, we've found a smooth, unified harmony.

I've started to take joy in the little things: the comfort of a dry towel in damp weather (that happens twice a week at a push after laundry day), the enriching smile of the shoe-walla at the bottom of the steps as we say 'namaste' and...  radish-free salad ;). That which annoyed me on day 1 has become somewhat comforting - I quote S. when I write 'with time, you can get used to anything'... and I feel, it's about that time.

At the beginning of a yoga class, it's nice to think of a San Kulpa (intention)... So in a moment of reflection, as this week comes to an end I hope to resist the daily Chappitis that make my tummy hurt :(, engage in the hard work of our extraordinary teachers and fully take advantage of our cloudy surroundings with prayer-flag scattered waterfalls and the occasional flash of red.

Quote of the day:

Chronicles in the clouds #2

Happy boys

The Tibetan Kitchen

It's our second weekend here and due to the rarity of the occasion, they are usually filled up from start to finish with a new and exciting adventure... The first weekend we checked out 'The Tibetan Kitchen' for our first meal out of bounds; the luxury of so much choice on a vegetarian menu was both exciting and overwhelming but I finally made a choice, deciding to indulge in the notorious spinach and cheese momo's (tibetan dumplings) that had begun arriving on everyone's table and creamy Palak (spinach)/ Butter paneer curry. Despite the 2 hour wait, conversation filled the gap and we went home that night with bloated belly's and no regrets, ready for the following day.

A monkey through the rubbish

Fruit stalls in McLeod

The next morning, we started off on a long walk to Mcleod Ganj, the home of the Dalai Lama. We kept up a staggered pace, unable to resist capturing the beauty of our surroundings on each of our 40+ cameras (so it took a while)...
We wandered along the long, empty stretch of road in between infinite pine trees and then the energy sped up as we reached town, monkeys began appearing with baby's on their back, climbing among piles of unprocessed rubbish, a behavior that's become so sadly normalized. Along the busy street we weaved in-between shoppers and my eyes were magnetically drawn to the odd flash of deep red robes, as resident monks went about their day.

A flash of red

Roasted corn

Resisting the temptation of all the beautiful Tibetan ornaments, gems and clothes was a mission - but we saved our limited time (& money) and soon reached the circular path that lead to the Dalai Lama's residence. The concrete path lead into the jungle where prayer flags were strewn in all directions; the jumble of sounds from town soon relaxed and mantra wheels began appearing along

Mantra wheels

the sides of stone walls. On each wheel was written a mantra/ prayer, and as you spun each one, the mantra was released. The beauty & interactive nature of the walk kept one present the whole time and our excited conversations faded through a hush, into silence.
We respected the Buddhist tradition of walking around the temples 3 times clockwise (a form of circumambulation) and reading the plaques on which horrific and inspiring stories of monks & lamas were written.

The wall of faces

Prayer flags & I

The mindful walk (also called 'Kinhin' in Zen Buddhism) continued and we reached the wall of photo's that suddenly brought back an eery memory... It reminded me of the S21 Prison in Siem Reap/ Cambodia: lines of faces were framed beneath a cabinet, illustrating all the Tibetans that had self-annihilated in protest of the extreme oppression that the country is facing by the Chinese. Most of the people on the wall ranged from 12 years old to 80+ and had inflicted suffering that I can't even begin to fathom, burning themselves alive.

O, M & I taking a picture with a few
strangers and our funny friend

The individuals that had escaped Tibet, had trekked across the Himalayas (a dangerous and illegal journey that can last 3 months) to reach Dharamshala, India. My heart swelled with pain at the torturous thought of what was currently happening in Tibet: the country behind invisible bars... what a jaded view of China I now have. When i went home that day I did a short 'metta' meditation, sending the oppressors love & compassion, for how can one bring down a super-power with more hatred & fear, draining emotions that I'm sure they already have in abundance.
We continued the walk around the circle and put down our cameras at the request of the signs leading into the Dalai Lama's residence... The words 'Please be silent' didn't seem to gain a lot of respect from the swarming tourists and the number of photographs we were asked to partake in alongside young men soon became tiring (and slightly uncomfortable), so we curved our way back into town and returned to our 'regular' for lunch... Just as my Veg. Thali was arriving, the clouds rose up dramatically behind the corrugated iron rooftop, swallowing the view.. we took out our cameras and captured another magical show of black hawks swooping through a grey sky.

Recipe of the Day: Spinach and Cheese Momo's
http://www.yowangdu.com/tibetan-food/spinach-and-cheese-momos.html 

Chronicles in the clouds

En route to
 Dharamshala

As I look ahead of me, the clouds have again enveloped the rippling landscape of mountains that stand smothered by shades of green flora... As it´s mid-monsoon here, the weather fluctuates between downpours and cloudy skies, with the odd patch of clear blue that reveals the grandeur of our surroundings... Just as sunflowers turn to face the sun, the yogis all appear in waves on the balcony, to soak up the rare rays and feel the warmth on our skin (that's getting paler by the day)...
I, along with many other beautiful souls are halfway through our journey to become Yoga Teachers with 'Mahi Power Yoga', far far away in a little town named upper Bhagsu (Dharamshala, India).
I arrived in Delhi alone, feeling that familiar rush of humidity in the airport after a long journey from London via Dubai ... a phrase that has resonated with me throughout this trip is ´You may make plans in India, but in the end, India makes plans for you´... this lack of control was initiated from the beginning. A group of us got in touch with each other and organised via whatssap to meet up at the airport, before our last leg of the journey in a tiny aircraft to Dharamshala ... but alas, the wifi was not working and we had  no way of recognizing our fellow virtual strangers..
I sauntered around the airport for a while and then sat down to sip on a king coconut and hide my bare legs from the wrath of disapproving looks, wishing I had access to the leggings in my backpack that had been shuttled off somewhere else... The expats in the little airport were soon reduced to shaved head Hari Krishna devotees, or a bunch of slightly worn-out yoginis; so it didn't take long to find each other and the excitement began as we shared stories of our lives, journeys and expectations of the course...

The opening ceremony

Our beautiful teachers

After arriving at the airport, the rocky ride to Bhagsu began; we were truly in India... the driver erratically swerved the wheel from left to right as though playing a racing game on Wii for the first time. We had become a part of the jerky flow of organised chaos, along the dusty roads, past fruit stalls, giant plastic blow up toys and mountains adorned with prayer flags. At one point, the traffic was at a complete standstill and the cars were helpless as people were speedily weaving between them... We looked at our phones, the time ticking down until the opening ceremony was due to start. I ceased a moment and jumped out of the car to buy a phone charger from the shop next to us (that broke 2 days later) and returned to our unmoving vehicle; it was the first test of everyone's patience as to how long it would take for the jam to cease.

Yoga in 'Summer Hall'

Each of us (surprisingly) arrived in one piece. We jumped out of the car, were greeted by one of the team and assigned our rooms. Luckily (after a bit of re-organisation) I landed myself in the main building, 'Forest Hill' and despite a few dodgy locks, I feel blessed to have a huge double bed and a mountainous view outside my window, just what I'd imagined... We swiftly dropped our stuff and changed into white clothes to join the ceremony just in time- the delirium of our long journeys kicking in.
The fumes of incense twirled around the 40+ new faces and sound waves of chanting resonated all around us, soon to be drowned out by the heavy monsoon rain. A few strands of red string were tied around each of our wrists as a symbol of protection, our commitment to each other & the upcoming month. We ate dinner that night (blissfully unaware of the ´eat in silence´ signs that were taped on the walls) and formed our initial bonds before welcoming our first glorious sleep.

Yoginis

Drying the tomatoes
on our balcony

Alarms shrilled at 6am and the course began... every day has followed an intense structure consisting of 2 hours of morning yoga (that varies in style between Hatha, Ashtanga and Vinyasa), breakfast, Yogic Philosophy, Anatomy, lunch, ´the art of teaching´, yoga therapy, meditation, dinner, bed.
From 7am - 7pm our minds and bodies are imbued with the ancient knowledge (Vedas) and writings (Upanishads) of the Rishis (ancient architects of knowledge from medicine to music). Our bodies are strengthening as we engage in Mahi's therapeutic yoga classes, become accutely intune with our own (mis)allignment in asanas, follow a strict Sattvic diet (mild, vegetarian, Indian food, adoorned with cumin seeds...) and a healthy sleeping pattern. The meditations each day have been an eclectic mix to say the least; from dancing to jibberish, Osho to visualisation techniques and pranayama to Tai Chi - each has been approached by everyone with an open mind and allowed a lot of emotional release.
One common favourite was the dancing meditation that began with 10 minutes of closed-eye 'body shaking' and lead into 40 minutes of spontaneous dancing to the changing beats. Laughs were echoed as 'I'm a survivor' by Destiny's Child transitioned into a fast paced Hindustani tune (and everyone began screwing in their imaginary lightbulbs...)  The windows soon transformed from transparent to a sweaty opaque with everyone's body heat, we finally lay down in Shavasana (corpse pose), closed the practise and stood blissfully in line for dinner that snaked from the yoga hall to the buffet table.
The emotional release from all the self-work has been manifesting itself physically as the numbers in lessons continue to sporadically decrease, yogis retreating to their rooms after falling victim to another cold or tummy bug... Luckily (touch wood) I have remained healthy so far, trying to stay aware of whatever comes up & steer clear of becoming the next protagonist of a Delhi belly story (just as my stomach rumbles :s)...

Lunchtime escapes to
our local waterfall :)

Mmm I can smell a freshly made Masala Chai brewing near me: the spicy aroma of cinnamon, cardammon and cloves, it's like an Indian Christmas... I'm at ´Once in Nature´, a beautiful cafe perched at the edge of a mountain,  about 10 minutes from our Centre. I've been escaping here on my lunch breaks, sauntering up the cobbled path, past the mountain goats and deadlocked babas smoking charas... to sit in silence & indulge in my current book ´The White Tiger´ by Aravind Adiga: a sinister read appropriately set in India.
The other day as I turned another page, there was a moment where I sat back and laughed... the ink had faded at the beginning of all the pages of the book, forcing my mind to pause and figure out the meaning of the sentences... I laughed at the text in front of me and the sounds of my 'quiet escape': loud conversations in Hindi and nearby drumming, not the most relaxing but appropriate background music nevertheless...

Ah, the limitations of time... that's the end of my lunch break today, time to get the books out again.

Message of the day: 
"Nothing can make you suffer without your silent permission"