Blog Archives
Out of the Arms of India.
Now I see why people have written so many songs expressing gratitude for India. Alanis Morissette’s “Thank U” comes to mind instantly.
Thank you India, thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness, thank you clarity
Thank you, thank you silence
The moment I let go of it was the moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was the moment I touched down
On arriving in India, when we were headed for our fateful stay at the ashram, Fiona questioned how anyone could find peace, solace and equilibrium in a place that appears so out of control, off its axis, chaotic.
I pondered this and responded that perhaps this was indeed the very best place to find the stillness we were both searching for.
I feel at home in Asia, strangely. More at home walking the messy sidewalks, dodging motorbikes, autos and poop than I do here in Singapore with the cleanest and neatest sidewalks I have ever seen – certainly rivalling those in Melbourne. Even the alleys and laneways are clean here.
Sure, it’s quiet here – there is a certain Prosaic peacefulness in the air (perhaps Valium in the water?) that allows one to actually notice one’s independent thoughts, but cities such as Singapore and Melbourne present no immediate external or sensual challenges.
To be aware of yourself crossing a road in Singapore is quite different to being aware of yourself crossing a road in India. No emotion is aroused crossing a road in Singapore – you will make it. If you cross the road in India, you are filled with an instant gratefulness to be still experiencing the joy of life.
India had me somewhat hypnotised, and I concerned myself with thoughts of my lack of creative production, not to mention my lack of blog writing. Now that I am out of her grip, I am better able to reflect on the myriad of lessons I learned.
The frenetic external bombardment I experienced in India was almost perfectly balanced by my brain’s ability to create such inner stillness and quiet that I really ceased to be productive. Not necessarily a state I would like to live in perpetually, but interesting to notice.
I would liken my internal state whilst in India to Philip Glass’ “Escape to India” from the Kundun album.
In a city of over five million people, I saw so many faces everyday. I am still naïve to the intricacies in the social tapestry of India. I am reminded of words by Sinead O’Connor:
Perfect Indian
He’s shy and he speaks quietly
He’s gentle and he seems to me
Like the El Farrow
His face worn and harrowed
Is he a daydreamer like me?
I don’t know if I can believe that if you hand one of these many faces the keys to their emancipation that they will simply throw them back in your face, as Aravind Adiga (author of White Tiger – a fabulous book, well worth the read) suggests. But perhaps centuries of expectation have ingrained an understanding into the psyches of “these people”.
I remember a scene while we purchased pasta and cake from a tea stall in 8th Main Road. A small child came up behind us asking for money, as many did. She was filthy and shoeless as they all are. We had made a decision not to give money to beggars, but given we were at the tea stall we were discussing buying her a samosa to eat. Two young Indian university students, also purchasing lunch from the tea stall, told the stall owner, a gruff older man with a decent paunch, to wrap up a veg puff and give it to the girl behind us. He flatly refused, once he knew the puff was for the child. “No. They will become expectant. You can’t do that with these people. You can’t buy her food”. “But she’s hungry!”. “No”. I looked at the child. Is she just one of them? I was struck by the scene of the stall holder who looked not at the child’s eyes, but at her matted hair and dirty hands, the young women who possibly saw a human element in her hunger and desperation, and us standing in our Havaiana thongs that could pay for a month’s worth of food for her and her family.
I will not be just another tourist who feels terrible about the child and signs up for a monthly donation to a largely administrative charity organization. I want to make real change. I’m not sure how just yet, but I’ll keep you posted.
But for now, it’s farewell and thank you to India for clarity and insight.
Indian Summer - Music by Victor Herbert, lyrics by Al Dubin.
The particular version I listened to was sung by Tony Bennet from his Unplugged album, which consequently has a brilliant duet with k.d. lang.
Summer
You old Indian summer
You’re the tear that comes after June-time’s laughter
You see so many dreams that don’t come true
Dreams we fashioned when summer time was new
You are here to watch over
Some heart that is broken
By a word that somebody left unspoken
You’re the ghost of a romance in June going astray
Fading too soon, that’s why I say
Farewell, to you Indian summer
The Kindness of Strangers.
Getting from A to B can now no longer be taken for granted. India. Hailing an auto. Full. Full. Full. Empty – wonderful. Vasanth Nagar is home, but however you pronounced that in your mind just then is wrong. Try it slowly. Clear diction. Inexplicably the driver finally understands and replies “Vazzanagar”. Yes, Vasanth Nagar. He shakes his head and just drives off! Maybe second, third or fourth time lucky. It’s the same process every time.
Okay, so not all strangers are kind but I have had an exceeding number of encounters in such a short time that my faith in my fellow human animals is very quickly on the increase. Certainly, multiple daily encounters with questionable auto drivers are far outweighed by these deeper experiences. I’d like to tell you about one of them.
Fiona and I have spent the past three weeks living in a foreign country with someone we had less than half a dozen conversations with two months ago. We met Amrita at the Sivananda Ashram and like us she was there to find some peace and answers to her inner questions. And now I’m sitting on her couch in Bangalore as I write this. So I asked her what in the world came over her when she decided to say “when you come to Bangalore, come and stay at my place” to two Aussie girls she was sharing a drink with at Beatles café in Kovalam.
Amrita has a depth of trust in her own intuition, which I find fascinating and inspiring. In my life, I have not been one to take huge risks, trust strangers easily or make big decisions quickly based only on my gut feelings. I’m slowly learning that there are great experiences to be had if one oscillates to the other side of one’s own cautionary brick wall of life occasionally!
The decision to let two foreigners live with her was based entirely on the vibe Amrita felt when she was around us. In contrast, there were other travelers who would have also benefited culturally from a local home stay, however Amrita is insistent that she would not have extended the same invitation to any other tourists she met at the Ashram. Why? She just felt she wouldn’t gel with their personalities.
I’m not trying to define a special characteristic in my and Fiona’s personalities, but was genuinely interested to know why someone would make such a generous offer to two complete strangers. I feel I have been taught to be so cautious and I wonder, if the roles were reversed, would I invite two newly arrived Indian tourists to live with us indefinitely in our apartment in Australia? It’s an interesting question to ask yourself.
In some ways, Amrita says her invitation was an exercise in self trust. In the past, she has made regretful decisions when she has not followed her own instincts. She wants to make deep and connected friendships with likeminded people and she views meeting us as an opportunity for her to do this.
It seems she didn’t question her own judgment, and didn’t concern herself with worrying about potential problems. Amrita strikes me as a decisive and forthright woman who would have had no qualms in moving us along should we have had disagreeable personalities. I have admired and been inspired by her ability to advocate for herself in an intimidatingly masculine culture.
Some might say Amrita was lucky in her decision as it turns out that Fiona and I are not sadistic murderers, in fact we’re not even messy! We are considerate house guests – although a daily maid makes light work of keeping house for all of us. And the three of us get along famously. My question to myself for the next few weeks will remain – why am I not certain I would take the same risk Amrita did? Why do I perceive it as a risk more so than a wonderful opportunity for connectivity?
So now we are the three musketeers of Bangalore! Our names, painted on rice earlier today, are hanging around our necks symbolising our life long friendship. Osho says, in his book on Intimacy “Trust is possible only if first you trust yourself. Trust has a magic in it. If you trust in yourself, you can trust in me, you can trust in people, you can trust in existence.” Amrita is my realised example of these words. She seems to easily differentiate between trusting her developed instincts and falling into situations naively and with no desire to manipulate the moment.
I hop into the fourth auto I have hailed, once I have agreed on my destination with the driver. He turns to me and says “twenty rupees”, indicating he is now placing a surcharge on top of the metered price for my trip. “No, meter only”, I reply. “Ten rupees, Sunday Ma’am”. “No, meter only” I say as I exit the auto. “Meter, meter okay”. Not knowing the city roads, I can now only trust that my journey will actually end at my current home, Vasanth Nagar. Vasannagar. Vazzanagah. Vahzahnaga……
Guest blog for Elise Gow Photography and the Boudoir Boutique.
In complete contrast with my sincere desire to scale-down my life, live with less, reduce my consumption and essentially follow a commune-living-mung-bean-eating lifestyle is my passion for excess. More make-up, big hair, false eye-lashes, manicured nails, Swarovski crystals, fish net stockings, high-heels and satin dressing gowns.
I’m kind of Darryl Hannah meets Dita Von Teese! I’m more confused than you, trust me.
Fiona and I departed for foreign shores indefinitely three weeks ago and are currently residing in Kerala, India. Due to my insistence that I pack my tiara and matching diamante stilettos (among my other non-negotiable travel accessories), our baggage allowance was 19 kilos overweight. I bought every pair of cufflinks we own (I didn’t count, but let’s say 30+ pairs), and essentially my entire jewellery collection, which includes the cutest diamante tie necklace (times two, I packed Fiona’s as well, just in case…).
Fiona insisted we mail some non-essential items home yesterday, so I diligently cut my underwear supply in half, agreed to share a mobile phone recharger and take my music folders as carry on. The tiara and the heels stay.
And I kid myself that I’m learning to detach. Hmmm.
So, prior to leaving home to live on under $10 a day, we decided to have one last hoorah with our good mate, Keirah and doll ourselves up for a photo shoot at the Boudoir Boutique. God only knows what I’ll look like by the time I get home, so best we capture our collective beauty now!
I have long been a fan of Dita Von Teese’s inimitable classic style, bringing the sophistication (and naughtiness!) of the past into contemporary society. Anyone who upholds the superiority of seamed stockings gets a tick in my book any day. So when the opportunity to have a vintage make over at the Boudoir Boutique came my way, the three of us jumped at the chance.
My gal pal Elise Gow opened the Boudoir Boutique as a secondary to an already thriving wedding and portrait business, Elise Gow Photography. Elise created the most magical wedding photos for us in January, so when she approached us to come in for a make-over, we were only too happy to oblige, of course!
Prior to the day of the shoot, Elise told us to gather pictures as suggestions for looks and poses that we wanted to recreate. I pulled out my Dita Von Teese guide book, my oriental deep emerald robe, fishnets and heels and was ready to go!
On the day of the shoot, Keirah, Fiona and I brought enough clothes to dress a vaudeville chorus. Feather boas, peacock feathers and corsets abounded! Despite my penchant for over packing, I was fairly certain on the look I wanted to create. I had already discussed with Elise how much flesh I was willing to reveal and with a glass of champagne under my belt, I was happy to bare mostly all in front of the team.
Hair and make up created quite a wonderful and unexpected transformation. Given my current contemporary hair style, I was concerned that they wouldn’t be able to create much of a vintage look with what there was to work with. But my concerns were well allayed by a curling wand, some teasing, plenty of spray and a scarf. Jade was miraculously transformed into ‘Betty’!
We chose a photographic angle that highlighted my better features, namely my legs, and smoothed out (or hid altogether) the areas of my body I’m more self-conscious about, mainly my tummy and upper arms. Although at times I felt a little too revealed in my position, I was comforted by Elise’s keen eye for angles that all of my self-conscious requests would be seen to. And they were.
The day was akin to a dress up play-date at Anton’s (my all time favourite man and shop, but he’s too cool for a website, you’ll just have to find him yourself), in and out of corsets, tutu’s, negligees, short satin gloves, long satin gloves. You get the picture! It was a wonderful girls day out – so many laughs. I felt like a true super star, Ava Gardner style, lounging around in my robe with a champagne while the other girls had their shots done.
Before leaving the studio for the day, Verity (Elise’s right hand woman) showed us some preliminary shots. And, wow! We couldn’t wait to see our final copies. In fact, Fiona and I were so enamored with ourselves we kept our ridiculously outrageous photographic make up on for our evening dinner party!
While I have had the privilege of having many self portraits taken for my work, I have never had any ‘glamour’ photography taken of myself, for myself. I now have some of the most beautiful photographs to cherish when there are more happy wrinkles than photo shop can erase. As one of two, Fiona and I promptly swapped photos and I also have the most stunning vintage shots of my wife to keep forever.
But alas, after all that primping and preening, I now sit facing the ocean from our $6.40 per night, second story beach front apartment, my hair now dried crispy with salt water from my swim earlier. I am comfortable in my fisherman’s pants and ‘Powered by Tofu’ t-shirt, knowing that my diamante stilettos are always within my reach.
Sivananda Yoga Ashram and Kovalam Beach.
Over looking the waves and rocks at Kovalam beach (Kerala, India), I have thought a lot about our short, four and a half day stay at Sivananda Yoga Ashram. Leaving much earlier than our month or two intentions.
We enjoyed the asana classes immensely. The food, though repetitive, was very tasty. The accommodation was spartan but adequate for our needs. We really struggled with the satsang. Chanting I don’t mind, but four hours every day was pushing my limits of respectful observation. By day two, we were being strongly encouraged to participate in worship which neither Fiona or I felt comfortable with.
One of the teachers showed an overt display of frustration and annoyance at several students leaving a satsang early, yelling out to the students that their actions were disrespectful, eventually running out of the hall to retrieve some of them. I’m not condoning anyone’s behaviour in this scenario, the movie we were shown was tremendously boring – a poorly crafted, too-long visual homage to Sivananda, who grew in size, wealth and popularity in each clip. Leaving satsang at any point is a sign of disrespect, though this information is inferred and not made explicit. This event caused no further open discussion the following day from our teachers. This was not the first example of lack of open communication.
Fiona and I talked intensely for two days about whether to stick it out or leave, whether we felt our ego’s were to blame for our inner rebellion towards satsang, whether we could endure satsang for the sake of the wonderful asana classes. In the end, we decided that Sivananda just wasn’t for us, so with some sadness we left on the Friday after having only arrived on the Sunday prior.
We have now been in Kovalam for just over one week and although, at first, we thought it too touristy and western catering, we are now learning from locals and long term residents about all of the little hidden gems of this little coastal town. It is likely we will plant ourselves here for quite a few weeks more.
With so few westerners, it is easy to strike conversation in the street or at a chai stall with the other foreigners. We me Mikey, from the US, while swimming in the beach two afternoons ago. He told me of a lady taking yoga classes in one of the closed restaurants which I attended that same afternoon. Evangeline, from the UK, is offering yoga classes as selfless service and just asked us to put in 20 rupees (less than $1AUD) each to give to the restaurant owner as a sign of our appreciation for use of the space.
Evangeline has been living in Kovalam for the past six months while studying yoga and yoga teaching and has been a wealth of information regarding local eating and shopping haunts. She is a really wonderful yoga instructor and my daily 4pm yoga class followed by a swim at 6pm has become somewhat of a ritual.
There are more and more connections and conversations every day, a type of lifestyle we just don’t cultivate on peak hour trains to and from work in Melbourne. I have always been struck by the silence. It seems a shame, for you never know who you could be sitting next to and how they might help colour the rich tapestry of your life, or how you could impact the direction of theirs.
