Meditation- A Pantoum

Still a little rough...but enjoy!

The subtle is powerful
How intimate to inhale and exhale
Without knowing it
Wide awake with closed eyes

How intimate to inhale and exhale
Unclogging chakra after chakra
With closed eyes and open consciousness
Without the help of synthetic pills

Decongesting chakra after chakra
Maintaining body, mind and spirit
Without the help of synthetic pills
Choking you as you swallow

Swallowing without choking
Breathing without knowing it
Maintaining body, mind and spirit
Wide awake with closed eyes

Caste at Play

My most direct observation of the caste system has been watching Dr. Rao, the head of the center, interact with Soma, one of the guys who works here. Soma is my age which always shocks me because, to speak frankly, he’s way more mature than me. I have a hard time defining what Soma does here because I view him more as Dr. Rao’s servant. I have literally watched Dr. Rao drop a piece of paper and wait for Soma to show up to pick up the piece of paper. Soma carries Dr. Rao’s briefcase when he arrives. He brings Dr. Rao his tea. When Dr. Rao calls him, he comes running (literally). And while a lifetime of doing this would suck to me….Soma does it and doesn’t complain (at least not out loud).

I have seen other instances of the caste system throughout our various excursions. Waiters tremble as Dr. Rao talks to them. When something isn’t going the way he wants it, Dr. Rao says something and it’s magically changed. I wish I knew Kannada so I could know what he says to make people do as he wishes. Has he ever heard the word no? He is a sweet man to us but how sweet is he to everyone else? Not knowing the language is hard because seeing understanding caste at play has a lot to do with understanding the language, both linguistic and body language, I think.

Manipuraka Shuddhi Kriya

Today, I went to another yoga session. Sangiva, our teacher, started the program with us two weeks ago. It is a series of eight continuous classes. If you miss one, you must drop out of the program. It’s an optional class and I felt compelled to do it. How can you not take a yoga class in a country known for yoga?

Today, we did a meditation technique for decongesting the Manipuraka, the chakra located in the navel that deals with worry. Up to this point, I hadn’t felt any change or major difference with the other meditation techniques we tried. The only other chakra we’ve worked on thus far has been the one dealing with the heart.

But something happened today, something clicked. I know I sound absolutely ridiculous and when I describe the meditation technique we used today, you are bound to start laughing. Today, we did a technique (the title of this entry) that is basically called jibberish for short. It is a technique that begins with you standing up. For the first two minutes, you stand with your eyes closed reliving the most depressing moment of your life. The next twenty-one minutes are spent conveying your emotions about the depressing moment with your eyes closed speaking jibberish.

I was highly skeptical. I’ve heard of people speaking in tongues but I, personally, was not sure how to convey my emotion about the most depressing thing to ever happen in my life in a language I don’t understand. But I did it. The jibberish flowed. And I must say it is quite powerful to relive something I’d never let myself think about before.

I felt something tonight, a change. My meditation led to an intense stomach ache, something Sangiva says happens frequently with this meditation. If the meditation works, I will be able to still have the memory of the depressing moment without the emotion. We’ll see. All I can say is don’t knock it until you try it.

Holding Back Tears

Today we visited a women’s shelter, an NGO, which deals with former sex workers in Mysore. It was gut wrenching. I found myself in tears and can’t describe why. I did my best to not cry in front of the women because I didn’t want them to see my tears. I’m not sure why I didn’t want them to see. It’s weird because I wanted them to know I cared but at the same time I don’t want them to think I feel sorry for them. I know that when I’m going through something tough, I don’t want pity but support. Of course, I’ve never gone through something as tough as them but that’s my rationale.

They sang a song for our group and it made me so emotional. While the song was beautiful, it was their faces. I was sitting quite close to them and would look into their faces, their eyes, as they sang. They were all blank. It was as if they had ceased feeling anything.

The center was for eighteen to forty year old women and I must say that some of these women looked far older than forty. Their lives have aged them greatly. Others looked shockingly younger than eighteen. The women’s children are allowed to live at the center too. One of the youngest women I saw there, she looked far younger than eighteen, had a daughter who was at least four years old.

A center such as this gives so much hope to these women whose families may have sold them into sex work or husbands abused and left them. At the same time, these women leave the center as marked women. Is it possible for them to ever get married or re-marry? Their children receive food and education while at the center but what happens when their moms leave?

This trip impacted me in a way that hadn’t happened yet. I want to go back and actually spend some time with the women. It’s amazing how much they touched me, how much of their energy I felt, without a word exchanged between us. Their faces said so much by not saying anything at all.

Train Ride…urrgggh!

We’re back in Mysore after my most awkward experience here in India. On the night train back to Mysore, I wrongly picked out a sleeper area for four people. Our trip had only reserved two of the seats in the four person area. Dr. Rao said to stay there with my friends and he’d ask the other two occupants to move. I felt awkward doing this but thought about how in the United States we frequently switch seats on planes all the time to accommodate other passengers. I figured the two train riders would not be offended if we asked them to move. After all, they’d likely be men and with the connotation of the “loose western women,” no married Indian man would want to sleep next to her on a train. Well, to put it bluntly, I was wrong.

The man refused to move even though the seat he would have stayed in was exactly the same as the one he had a ticket for. I was so taken aback. One of my friends was furious and talked to Dr. Rao. Dr. Rao eventually switched seats with us. It was not until I switched seats that I digested what had happened. In the United States, we are so used to “gentlemanly” behavior. As a feminist, I cringe at saying this, but it’s true. We typically expect males to cater to us. It’s the way that they prove their masculinity.

In India, asserting one’s masculinity is completely different. For this man on the train, it was I who was out of line to ask him to move. I should be moving for him. Really, I should not be on a train unless I’m with my family (my husband’s if I’m married or my parents if I’m single).

I still don’t know the appropriate way to handle the situation. I truly hope that what I did, how I felt, was not based off prejudice or assumption. I can’t help but wonder if something similar happens to black men in the U.S. What I do know is that the situation was awkward and even after I moved, the man still walked by where I was sitting and lingered for a few seconds and just stared.

Second Class Citizenship

The last two days in Hospet were quite difficult for me. We have rounded the halfway point of the trip and things, particularly the way women are treated, have gotten to me. I do not know first-hand how women are treated but I can speak about how I’ve been treated.

It is so interesting (and incredibly frustrating) to see the things that I have read about in women’s studies classes come to life. Where I have felt the most shafted, the most unequal to men, has been in restaurants.

Going out to eat is completely male dominated. You never see women unless they are with their families but you will see tons of men, married or unmarried, drinking and hanging out together. The waiters are all male too. While I am getting less freaked out about the constant male gaze (being stared at throughout a meal by the men), I am having trouble getting used to being ignored.

The waiters at restaurants will literally walk away from me in mid-sentence to help an arriving male customer. They won’t listen to my requests and won’t think twice about not bringing me something I ask for. I can get over a forgotten piece of toast but there’s something about losing my voice…my voice not mattering... that really gets to me.

My whole life I’ve been taught that this thing I call my voice is my ticket. I use it to speak up for myself. I don’t use it at times to prove a point, to rise above someone else’s anger. I use it wrongly to lash out when I feel like it. I can’t imagine not having a voice. And yet, here in India, without even a say in the matter, my voice is being silenced.

Swimming

Once we arrived at Hospet, a few of us went swimming. A pool in India is interesting because it is dominated by men. At the particular pool we went to today, there were no women swimming at all. We, a group of women, felt a little awkward. We tried to stay as modest as possible by wearing shorts and t-shirts or jogging capris over our swimsuits. Everyone watched us like a hawk, it was a little alarming and awkward too. I wondered what the women who were sitting watching their husbands and children swim thought of us? Furthermore, what did the men think? There was a little girl in the pool, learning how to swim. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d continue to swim as she got older. If she stopped swimming, when would it happen? Would there be some life-affirming moment where she realized her genderized status? Or would things change by the time she was a woman that her gender wouldn’t keep her from taking a dip in the pool.

Fate

Today, we left Badami and headed to Hospet. On our way to Hospet, we stopped at Aihole and looked at more temples. I am still trying to digest everything I see at the temples. Every time I enter a temple, I feel overwhelmed by all the imagery and trying to decipher what it is I see. Even without a full understanding of everything I see, I still marvel that these ancient creations are still standing and more than that, still significant to people today. A lot of our ancient relics, while still standing, are not necessarily applicable to people today. But these temples are still utilized by Hindus and the stories conveyed in the temples are still told today and passed down to children.

While we were in Aihole, we met a ton of children as usual. Whenever there are children, there are always more boys than girls, something I find quite interesting. One of the few girls we saw proceeded to tell Dr. Rao that she had a friend a little taller than her that just got married and that she would soon be married. She was seven and a half, maybe eight years old. While the relationship isn’t consummated until they both reach puberty, it is crazy to think that the fate of these kids is mapped out by the age of eight. I guess one could say that their fate was sealed by being born into poverty in the Indian countryside.

Bangle Shopping

Following our hike, we headed into Badami to do shopping. You can feel the difference in a smaller town. People are not hassling you as much. The people here are so friendly, yelling “Hello” or in the case of kids, “Hi Foreign” followed by screams of “America.” The one shop that we spent some time in was a bangle shop. Of course finding bangles large enough for our American wrists was an ordeal. The shop owner simply placed his hand on ours to measure our hand and wrist. It was an art how he worked with the bangles, finessing them onto my wrists. Once they were on, I was stuck and so were they. I was paying either way because if I tried to pull them off, they’ll break. So I’ll be rocking green bangles for a while.

Hike

Today we went on a hike. It was my first hiking experience and I must admit that I was a little surprised. When Dr. Rao (head of Dvanyaloka Center) put hike on our itinerary, I assumed he met that we’d be taking a longer walk than usual. However, we completed a full blown, two hour hike with a steep, rocky descent. I was proud of myself for finishing.

During the hike, we saw an Indian walking the same path in sandals. Furthermore, we see so many people walking barefoot. I realized that I had no reason to complain. I was merely inconveniencing myself for two hours. My hike would end with toast and water. There’s would end with more daily activities to do. My inconvenience is their daily life. I wonder what an inconvenience would be to an everyday Indian who is not part of the higher castes. I wonder if inconvenience exists for them.

After the hike, we visited more temples. It was quite interesting because the site we visited had been buried and was discovered. It’s hard to believe that this beautiful architecture was once underground. It is so interesting to visit remnants of history in India because it’s so accessible. You can touch the actual temples, walk inside them. Some of the temples are still in use. In America, we’d be allowed to look at a replica of the site and that’s it. There is something to be said for how looking at history, the actual artifacts, feeling the grooves in the structures, examining the face of Visnu, can connect you to the people who made those structures.

Dr. Rao is always saying that the British claimed that India had no history. The British failed to see that history is something different here in India. It is alive in the traditions that carry on. In the saris and the little boys being initiated at eight. In the ancient temples that people still hold as sacred. In the rituals of having a “good morning.” History is alive and well, in both artifact and in present human interaction.

Vanity

After getting to Badami we headed to look at some old caves from the 5^th and 6^th century. The caves have various depictions of Visnu and Shiva. What is so amazing is the immensity of the cave and the fact that all that created them was a chisel.

After admiring the caves, a few of us went to investigate some loud live music that we heard playing. It was a wedding! I never got an actual good view of the wedding because a bunch of kids got to me before I could get to the wedding. They all yelled “photo, photo.” After I took photos of them and showed it to them, they would stare intently at the camera looking at themselves. It was incredibly sad, I don’t know if I was sad for them or more sad for me.

I realized that they don’t wake up and look in the mirror every morning like I do. They don’t spend ten extra minutes making their hair look perfect. They don’t know exactly what they look like. I didn’t realize that I take my own vanity for granted. I expect to know what I look like, to be able to look at myself when I want to. Vanity to an extreme is not good. But in America, it can’t be denied that our identity is so tied to our appearance, our vanity.

We’ve spent a lot of this trip pondering our practice of medicine versus the Ayurvedic practice of medicine. This instance made me think about our all consuming, vanity driven plastic surgery business. I wonder if the same kind of business flourishes here in India. I’m sure it might in the cities (I can find skin bleaching cream in a smaller city, Mysore) but not in the country.
When I think back on the day. I think of how all the kids I photographed have such a strong sense of self without even knowing how beautiful they are.

"Good Morning"

We are here in Badami after my first train ride ever. We were in sleeper cars and traveled from Mysore during the night. I had trouble sleeping, part of me wished it was daylight so that I could see all the countryside that we were passing. I stepped off the train in a daze (I’d finally fallen asleep) and quickly remembered that I was in India after inhaling the “pleasant” fumes of the train station.

We drove through the countryside for two hours before reaching our hotel. I wish I could convey what I saw but picture this: butt cheeks. Butt cheeks everywhere. Little butt cheeks, brothers and sisters squatting next to each other. Old man butt cheeks in the distant fields, fields that would later be toiled by the men owning those butt cheeks. You see in India, one begins the morning by clearing out all of the body’s toxins. These include of course brushing your teeth, cleaning your ears, sticking oil in your nose to clean there too. But one of the most important things is to defecate in the morning. In the words of our guest lecturer who was an Ayurvedic doctor, a “good morning” implies that you defecated. When you say “good morning” to your neighbor, you are implying that both you and your neighbor got rid of all the body’s toxins.

I found this notion of a “good morning” hard to believe until I saw it on the countryside, the villages of North Karnataka. All of the squatting, all of the butt cheeks showed people beginning their morning’s right according to ancient Ayurvedic medicine. I felt a little awkward watching but they were watching the bus pass and some even waved and shouted hello.

Driving through the countryside was the first time I got to see India waking up in the morning. As we passed little villages, I saw bodies wrapped in blankets still lying outside. Men were huddled around having coffee and tea. Women were sweeping the front of their houses, which weren’t really houses but more like shacks. The poverty amazes me but people wake up and know that having a “good morning” is always possible.