days debrief
INDIA | Saturday, 5 January 2008 | Views [1421]
For most Westerners, it's unfathomable for a major city to function
without 24-hour electricity. Yet like the monsoon rains on their
mission to Ganga-ji (respected river), the 1.3 million people who live
here in Varanasi somehow always manage to redirect, divert, finagle and
finesse around the obstacles of 10 powerless hours, to fluidly find a
way to go about their day. And despite the fact that the electricity
has gone off TWICE in the typing of this single sentence (once for 3
hours, once for 20 minutes), I've never heard a native complain. Hold
on. I have to "save."
Three hours ago, my resolve to sit down at
this computer and write till something came out was as strong as the
espresso I shot to chase it. But the power outages, along with missed
trains and traffic jams, prepared yet another alternate reality and
route to amble along. So now I'm back at the blinking cursor, but the
caffeine I fired up with four hours ago has stopped doing jumping jacks
and crashed on the couch. Being the hated type that jumps out of bed at
sunrise, I now write from a slightly sleepy and somber mood; why not?
Let's try something new.
No one knows what I'm doing these
days; neither my family nor friends. So if you fall into one of two
former categories, don't feel left out, because much like Varanasi,
everyone is in the dark. So it is with the purpose of filling in this
gap of trivial yet missing information that I chose the content of this
update. Also, my fingers are still stiff with bed rest, having spent
too much of the last month turning many pages (of books and in life)
but not outputting much in the medium of type. *save*
So what
am I doing? I'm squinting my eyes and wondering myself. And that is
because I don't do very well without two-page checklists to reference.
Ah, yes. So, it's something I don't think I've ever confessed to, but
certainly responsible for 74% of my life successes: I'm a relentlessly
effective multi-tasker and organizer. (My sister, in an email today,
made reference to this same quality that we've inherited by blood from
my mother as, "itchy butt syndrome"; I laughed for 10 minutes.) This,
as all our best qualities are, is a sword; the other edge being that in
the process of my ruthless swinging around, I am often negligent of
emotions, people, creativity, alternatives and details that I
arrogantly slaughter in the name of producing the fastest and highest
yield. (And I call myself a vegetarian.) As my co-leader recently wrote
of me in my evaluation: "...she just needs to remember that there is
more than one (i.e. her) way to get up the mountain." So wise and true.
And there are just as many ways to get around the mountain -- meaning
it's taken me an impressively long paragraph to summarize the sentence:
"My days are simple."
My days ARE simple. Awkwardly and
healthily, uncomfortably simple. Right now, I only have three daily
obligations. And they are kind of interesting, so let's go there...
Hindi
Classes. This is, without challenge, my favorite hour of every day. And
that is because my Hindi teacher, Virendra-ji, is perhaps, my favorite
man in the world. And yes, I think this of a hundred human beings. But
part of being a "non-dualist" (invented term) means that I can have as
many "favorites" as I want (infinite); or at least that's how I
rationalize it in my world (also invented). *save* Virendra-ji is
single-handedly responsible for every fluent (Western-born) Hindi
speaker I've ever met. He is considered the most respected master and
guru of language learning in the city - and I too will confidently
vouch for him as the nothing less than the, Yoda of Hindi. The man
reads minds. He handles Jedi learning and memorization techniques like
a light saber. He employs your subconscious and manipulates it like
play dough. And us poor, lowly, ignorant students - we are blind to the
firm and expert rationale behind his magic-like tricks. You may not get
it, but hardly I do - so how can I explain? I've never known a teacher
to be able to entice the subconscious of a student into secret action.
But he does it. He'll strand an especially complicated sentence
together and instruct me, "Don’t think. You will understand this in
three minutes. Just repeat. Now repeat again. Now close your eyes.
Repeat. Okay, say it backwards. Now say it forward. Say it fast. Slap
your hand on the table when you say the last word! Now tell me what it
means in fluent English. Not broken English. Fluent English! Now say it
fluently in Hindi, with confidence. Good. Next." *save*
Bamboo
Flute Class. The vision, obviously, is of a charmed pilgrim, skipping
her way through the winding valleys of the Himalayas, singing back and
forth to the little birds, all the while smiling under the whistle of
her simple wooden flute. The reality, however, is eight neighborhood
kids taking a collective break from their cricket game to inhale just
enough air to scream at the practicing pilgrim, "STOOOOOOOP
THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!" It could be worse I suppose. Instead of scales
and ancient, sacred Ragas, I could be murdering Mary and her Little
Lamb. Either way, it's bad. It's very, very bad. And, to the recurring
nightmare of my neighbors, it's likely to be that way for still some
months. My flute teacher however, is quite wise. He only gives me
enough examples to take home for practice and then fills the rest of
the two hours with warm chai and lovely chit-chat on the history,
culture, and logistics of learning Indian music.
Brainstorming
with Ajeet-ji, the visionary behind GURIA. Ajeet-ji is the lovely man I
quoted a few posts ago from his speech aimed at elevating awareness of
the flesh trade in India. I'm collaborating with him on a number of
projects, all of which he groups into the single, endearing, category
of, "high tech." The projects' task lists include collecting content,
articles, photos, film and contacts for the purpose of furthering
global awareness and sponsorship of the NGO and its objectives. We'll
see where it goes; it's only in seed stage at the moment. But if you
happen to be rich and reading this, and hoping to find an amazing
non-profit in which to invest some money (with fantastic karmic
returns), do email me: solbeam@gmail.com. There will certainly be more
thoughts turning to print in future posts on the subject of GURIA as my
involvement moves from seed to sapling. So rich or poor, stay tuned.
*save*
Wow.
Maybe my days aren't so simple? But they are. They are. I wake up at
7am (no alarm) and meditate every a.m. I have plunger coffee, brown
bread and honey with a newspaper and Hindi conversation every day at
the same place for breakfast. I go to my classes and then I read the
same book (Indian Religions - The Spiritual Traditions of South Asia -
An Anthology edited by Peter Heehs) while I sip on lemon mineral water
and wait (1 hr) for vegetable paneer momos, on the same rooftop, every
day, for lunch. I meet up with Ajeet-ji, or, in some crazy variation,
venture on an exciting errand in the afternoon. And then I share my
evening with my Indian homestay family, stop in for email on the way
home, say goodnight to my landlord, review my Hindi vocab, crawl into
my 0 degree sleeping bag, read a short story from Jorge Luis Borges,
and fall asleep as soon as, sometimes before, my head hits the pillow.
Occasionally, I wake up in the middle of the night with the intrusive
and compulsive thought to recharge this or that appliance so that I,
too, will be prepared for the 10 powerless hours of tomorrow to come.
And THAT, I guess, is what I'm doing.
(Please excuse my midnightishness.)
*save*
Tags: On the Road