Category: February 2018

My time in South India is winding down, and I won’t be sad to leave the heat and humidity behind. Two short months ago I was freezing in Kathmandu and looking forward to Goa. At some point in the coming weeks, I’ll hit the sweet spot…mid 20s during the day and high teens at night. It may only last a few days, but I’ll try to make the most of it by not whining…

I took an auto rickshaw out to the boys’ gurukulam in Vattiyoorkavu yesterday. The driver was hilarious, regaling me with stories about his rickshaw woes and the tourists he has met and his religion (Anglican) and how he knows the Canadian flag because it has an olive leaf on it. Sometimes, he even paid attention to the road.

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Despite being in hospital for ayruvedic treatment this week, Swamiji was waiting for me, and we had a good meeting about how I can help with the revamping of their website. I had lunch with the boys before heading back to town and hitting the beach for a quick swim before the sun went down.

I returned to the beach early this morning for a big mug of excellent coffee and to watch the fishermen bring in their catch. They must set the net out in the evening, then they haul it in by hand in the morning. It’s a huge job requiring many hands and looks like a tug-of-war between man and the sea. They sing as they bring in the catch, and it is quite beautiful. Kovalam is certainly not one of my favourite beaches, but it’s the only one I’ve seen where fishing coexists with a thriving tourism industry. May it continue.

The English as a Second Language course I took a few years ago is finally being put to use this week. I’ve been given an evening slot in the girls’ daily schedule – 8:15 to 8:45 pm – not exactly prime time given that they get up at 5 a.m.Kids being kids though, they will play at any time, exhausted or not, so we’ve been having fun so far.

It was a bit of a challenge, given the difference in ages, to find learning games that work for everyone. The youngest is about 7 and the eldest 12 or 13. Luckily, their English proficiency is more or less equal with the possible of Devanandha who is too smart for her own good. Girija cheats, so she does okay too.

If there is a flaw in my approach to date it’s that the games get them wound up and they are not ready for sleep when we wrap things up. Last night, they wanted me to sing and dance for them. I get up early along with them, so you can just imagine how much interest I had in a soft shoe routine, especially in the $&(/#@ heat and humidity. Nevertheless, I tried to teach them how to jive, which is a bit weird since I’m not very good at it myself. Ah well, they say that those who can’t, teach!

On a completely different note, have you ever had the privilege of watching a German and an Indian discuss the notion of time? Germans with their strict adherence to order and precision and Indians for whom time, like all things related to road safety, is just a suggestion. This was the conversation between our Indian coordinator Ramesh and the German volunteer Suvarna yesterday morning on the way to town. One of the funniest things I’ve witnessed in a long time…

So here’s the thing. I’ve met a man…an Indian guy from Thiruvananthapuram. It came out of the blue, when I least expected it, and while he isn’t exactly as I pictured him, he is what I’ve been looking for. Compassionate, well-educated, well-travelled, distinguished salt and pepper hair, an infectious laugh and a flair for colour. He’s also quite a bit younger, and comes with some baggage – eight kids in Thrissur and another 12 outside of Thiruvananthapuram…all from different mothers…

And, as it turns out, different fathers.

We were coming back from one of the local temples last week, and I found myself walking with two of the three swamis who teach at this ashram. Swami Tattvarupananda and I got ttalking, and when he found out my career involved communications and that my passion is writing, he wasted no time in inviting me to help him rejuvenate the website for his gurukulum. Having no idea what a gurukulum was, I started asking questions.

Swami Tattvarupananda runs two centres for children who either have no parents or who come from dysfunctional and/or underprivileged families. A gurukulum is a centre where the children live…along the lines of an orphanage but never called that because, as Swamiji Tattv said to me, no child should ever have a label which implies that they are alone in the world. The kids are clothed, fed, nurtured, attend public school, play, do homework and help out as they would at home, all under the guidance of Swamiji and his team of staff and volunteers.

After a long conversation a few days later and a look at the amazing work he has carried out for more than ten years, I was hooked. When I leave here, I will be heading to the girls’ location in Thrissur for several days and then the boys’ residence in Thiruvananthapuram to get a feel for life there. Both locations are rural, so I’m expecting adventure. Initially, I will help him to re-write the contents of the website. I have a feeling, though, that this is the beginning of a continuing relationship. We’ll see…

It’s 5:06 a.m. and we’re back in the queue at Mookambika Temple in Kollur. I can hear the chaiwallah outside the stone walls, beckoning the early-morning devotees to indulge in the hot, sickly sweet national beverage that is to India what Tim Hortons is to Canada. Thankfully, the line is short this morning, and we proceed relatively quickly to the inner chamber where the goddess Devi sits amid offerings of water, fruit and flowers.

This is our second visit to the temple. The first, which took place last night, will remain with me for a long, long time. It being a Sunday – and just before Siva Ratri – the line of worshippers snaked around the temple and doubled back upon itself several times as thousands waited to pay homage to the goddess. The women in their finest saris and laden with gold jewelry, the men stripped down to bare skin above the waist. The belief is that men are less receptive to the gods’ blessings so they must remove barriers like clothing.

It was more than an hour before the line started to move, and when it did, the noise level increased exponentially. This was nothing however to what greeted us as we crammed through the tiny entrance into the inner sanctum where the puja was being performed. Hundreds of bells clanged at decibel levels that would be the envy of heavy metal bands. It had to be 40 degrees or more in that space, with bodies crammed together amid the feverish drone of mantras and prayer.

It occurred to me a few times that I might not make it out without fainting, but somehow, I held on until we were catapulted into the relative tranquility of the outer hall. Swamiji Nivedan is nothing if not religious however, so we turned around and did it all again. Apparently it is bad luck to go through once…

You must remove your shoes before entering a Hindu temple. You are also required to take a shower. Yet, there are cows inside the temple walls letting loose streams of urine (holy, apparently) and piles of poop. There is also a river in front of this sacred place which stinks of human shit. Because it is full of it. And this is the dichotomy that exists at every turn in this place.

I have once or twice referred to the location of this ashram as “the middle of nowhere.” It is, in fact, the centre of the universe.

Everywhere I look, banana trees, coconut trees, tiny red baby pineapples emerging from the centre of vibrant greenery. Flowers of every colour and description. Stately well-kept homes. What I have not seen since arriving? Cows. Not a single one.

Not everyone is Hindu here, but I don’t think they’ve turned all the bovines into steaks or hamburgers. Instead, I think there is more wealth in this area, and people can afford to look after their animals, confining them to pastures instead of letting them roam the streets in search of food. In a similar vein, no stray dogs. We saw three dogs in the village on this morning’s walk, one of them carrying a chapati in its mouth, but they looked well-fed and paid us no attention…not the sign of a hungry animal.

There are so many birds here it defies description. Early morning meditation takes place amid a cacophony of calls that can become ridiculously funny if you think about it too much.There are also human sounds…the morning call to prayer for Muslims, the voices of children heading to school on foot, bicycle, on the backs of motorcycles, crammed into auto rickshaws and buses. And the sound of our own chanting as dawn breaks in the cool open air on the top floor of the ashram.

Our daily routine is relaxed. There is no requirement to follow the program strictly as is the case in other Sivananda ashrams. That may be why I happily rise at 5:30 a.m. for morning satsang (meditation, chanting and prayers) and make the trip back upstairs in the evening for the closing program which finishes around 9:30 pm. I am nothing if not contrary.

I am also a little accident prone these days. I pulled an intercostal rib muscle yesterday during class, so yoga is not in the cards for the next few days. No matter, I am content.

Had my first face plant in asana class this afternoon. I was almost in crow pose, a balancing asana, and I leaned just a tad too far forward. Luckily I landed on my forehead so no apparent damage. It’s early days though, so stay tuned.

Evi and I have boycotted the morning asana class for yoga “vacationers” as the call us. The teacher is a Canadian who, despite being old enough to know better, does not listen to her students. She tried a few times to get me to attempt headstand after I explained that I wasn’t ready for it. A teacher who doesn’t pay attention to that kind of feedback is not someone from whom I can learn.

Having the morning free, we walked into the small village not far from the ashram. It is refreshing to see people going about their daily routines after the tourist mecca that is Goa. People are naturally curious about us and want to talk, to know where we’re from and why we are in this tiny place, but they don’t – as far as we can tell – want to marry us or separate us from our money.

Our afternoon teacher is also a Canadian! Unlike the morning one, Uma is attentive and careful about challenging us but not pushing beyond our limits. She has saved the country’s reputation, and I’m grateful to her😀

Regardless of my efforts to keep things simple, the contents of my backpack have grown to the point of embarrassment. I’m going to take a chance on the Indian postal service and send some things home by mail. This will be our weekend adventure as we try to find a post office and someone to stitch a covering for the box. That’s how things are done here, partly to keep the tailors in business and partly because the cardboard boxes are the pits.

The advanced teacher training course that is currently underway ends on Saturday when the students write their exam. Most if not all of them will be gone on Sunday and we’ll prepare for the influx of fresh faces registered for the course that starts on Feb 18th. That’s the day I leave for Thrissur….more to come on that….

Middle of the supermarket in Cheruvathur. Evi is scooping up cleaning products to ensure that our room remains disinfected to the standard of open heart surgery theatres. [She knows these standards, having had open heart surgery). I grab one of the bottles so I can pay for it, thinking I can at least contribute in that way since she won’t let me clean. Evi grabs the bottle back and we proceed to fight over it. The store clerk watches for a bit, walks away, returns with a second bottle of the same liquid and hands it to me. I fall on the floor laughing…

It is so good to see Evi again. Who else would try to draw a picture of a coil heater to show to everyone in the store in the hopes that they’ll figure out what it is that she seeks so desperately (no hot water here so she’s going to boil her own). Who else looks for a mop on vacation? Only my Evi, and I love her for it.

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Last nite was special. In addition to the continuing full moon celebration, there were three people observing birthdays, so they brought in some local musicians and we held the evening meditation and satsang outside at the pond. It was a beautiful clear night, and just after the music started, the huge moon appeared from behind a small hill in the distance and rose to cast light over the ashram grounds. Magic, and it’s only Day One.

In addition to it being the cleanest room in the building, my room here at Sivananda Peetham is perfect. We sleep with the balcony door open at night. I use the mosquito net as a precaution but I don’t think there are any critters around. Im particularly wary of monkeys; those little thieves will make off with everything you own given a chance.