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