Tag: Chennai

crosstown traffic

by L. Valdez Karl

here’s another video for y’all to check out — I love embedding these videos!

this is called “crosstown traffic” — turn on your speakers and you’ll hear the Jimi Hendrix song as a soundtrack while you check out the Chennai traffic and the street scenes that I experienced everyday…note the women construction workers helping with excavating dirt from the huge hole in the street — the dirt is carried on top of their heads…and we westerners throw our backs out making the bed…hmmmmmm….

this was shot in the back of Suresh’s rickshaw by Scott, who was a student at the Krishnamacharya Yoga Mandiram in 2005 before I was there. Scott gave me Suresh’s telephone number and the rest is history.

Funny how life is all about the connections we make…
I “met” Scott online before I got to India when I was googling around looking for information on KYM and I came across his first blog In Search of Darshan. His second blog, Scott’s Thotts, is posted in the links, so check him out. Maybe one day we’ll meet in person. He quit his real job to teach yoga full-time…..FOOL! only kidding, Scott…by the way, thanks for Suresh’s number and this video!

I can see from this video that I picked the wrong month to go to KYM — the guys in my class weren’t as good-looking as the ones in the back of this rickshaw…

so click play and enjoy!

http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-1402649156034447445&hl=en

be free, be free!

by L. Valdez Karl

March, 2006

The day I left for Madurai, I went to the beauty parlor across from my hotel (The Hotel “Gimme” Shelter in Mylapore) to get mehendi on my feet. When I went there to make the appointment, the ladies were fascinated by my tattoos — I have one on each ankle, flowers with OM symbol on my right wrist, plus big ones on my left shoulder and lower back. They only saw my wrist tattoo when I made the appointment.

I went for the mehendi and while I was waiting, all the customers and employees gathered around me to look at my ankles and wrist. Then the owner walked in with her entourage — she wore a beautiful sari, was loaded down with gold jewelery, and had a “big” personality to match. I loved her loudness! She shoved her way through the crowd, “I want to see everything!” She announced, “I want to learn this!”, as if learning the art of tattooing is the easiest thing in the world!

I said I had a tattoo on my shoulder, which of course they all wanted to see. I was not planning on taking off my clothes in the reception area of a beauty salon, but the owner said “take off top, BE FREE, BE FREE!!” — how could I resist? I had a skimpy camisole on underneath, but I removed the top of my salwar kameez. The women ooohed and aahed at my tattoo — it’s a flower vine with a butterfly that has a yin/yang symbol, very bright and colorful.

Then they caught a glimpse of my lower back and two women began to pull down my salwar! By this time, there were about 15 women gathered around — workers and customers and no work was getting done. The tattoo on my lower back is a large sun/moon combo (representing hatha yoga) with a Tibetan OM symbol. A beauty instructor who was from Nepal loved it so much, she kissed her fingers and touched it — the moon has eyes and she kept saying “the eyes is talking to me (KISS-TOUCH), the eyes is talking to me (KISS-TOUCH), the eyes is talking to me…”

After about 30 minutes of this inspection — they took pictures of all my tattoos — I finally got the mehendi started, and the Nepalese lady started to draw my tattoos in a sketchbook. She told me that she loves tattoos and wants to become a tattoo artist, but there is no good place in Chennai to learn and/or get a tattoo, maybe in Bangalore she told me. They asked if I wanted to get my nose or navel pierced, so we started discussing that, and the Nepalese lady said Indian women get their nipples pierced. “But only married ladies after one baby,” she said very seriously. I thought it was great that she would tell me that, a westerner, it was no big deal…

I loved the commaraderie I felt in that salon and the owner’s command to “BE FREE, BE FREE!”

…and I love my mehendi.

remember to be free…

ayurveda and me

by L. Valdez Karl


The Eco Cafe, my sanctuary from the dust and grime of the Chennai streets….

3/18/06

yoga school is over and now my India adventure really begins…I will travel, solo, for two weeks, taking trains and buses, going to Madurai, Kodaikanal, Rameswaram, and Tiruvannamallai — all temple cities, except for Kodai….

I am back at the hotel where I stayed last year and I leave Monday night for my first stop, Madurai, the town with the famous temple to Meenakshi (Meenakski means “Fish-Eyed”), Shiva’s consort, otherwise known as Parvati or Uma — Shakti power, without whom Shiva would be half a man….

today I had an authentic ayurvedic oil massage with shiro dhara. shiro dhara is where sesame oil is dripped onto your forehead — it was heaven! In fact, the whole experience was heaven.

I did not go to a spa or a fancy retreat — it was an authentic Indian ayurvedic place (but the owner lives in New Jersey, figure that one out!). Definitely nothing fancy, the real deal. Massage done by a little Indian woman. I won’t go into the details, but imagine being on a table that looked like a doctor’s exam table from the 1950s with a thick plastic “sheet” on top and me n#ked as the day I was born, all greased up with sesame oil like a Thanksgiving turkey. Instead of a fancy brass funnel for shiro dhara like they have in spas, she dripped the oil from a clay pot held up by a rope attached to the ceiling. Might not be a pretty picture but I assure you it was authentic and more than wonderful. forget the fancy Shiva Rea yoga retreats at an ayurvedic spa, I’ll take this anytime!

After the 90 minute oil massage, with acupressure, she did the shiro dhara, then I had a 10 minute steam, then a shower — actually an “Indian shower” which is out of a bucket. I sat on a stool as Vesanthi washed off all the oil and shampooed my hair. I was incredibly nurtured by this little Indian woman who barely spoke English, and I felt like a rubber chicken when I left. A two hour ayurvedic massage for 1000Rs, about $23.00. I gave her 200Rs for a tip, almost $5– nothing to an American, to Vesanthi, it means a lot. She had told me that she works because her husband drinks, he’s not a reliable wage-earner. When I gave her the tip, she kissed her fingers and touched her forehead…then we hugged each other….

I scheduled another massage for the day I leave. She said I had hair “like an Indian”, which I took as a compliment because Indian women have beautiful hair…

I spent the weekend after yoga school in Chennai, just hanging out, shopping, and one of my favorite places to chill is the Eco Cafe, located on an “upscale” street. It’s a place for Westerners and Indian yuppies to hang out. I love the “Indian” places, but I can relax here with my tea and read the international version of the New York Times, away from the cacaphony of the Chennai traffic. It’s green and peaceful, and I can spend hours there. They even have a mean basil pesto that’s not bad…

on to Madurai soon…nine hours on the overnight train…

Pondicherry revisited

by L. Valdez Karl

temple elephant going to work on Sunday morning….

fuschia vine on steroids on Pondicherry house….

OM GUM GANA PATAYAI NAMAHA….

March, 2006

My first weekend in India, outside of Chennai, left me with a very different feeling this time as compared to last year. I told my friends that India is different this time, there can never be another “first time in India”.

This time I feel a bit jaded. Last year I thought everything was wonderful — this time I can see the shit on the streets, notice all the starving dogs and the beggar girls. But that is reality, all things change, nothing remains the same.

Just like last year, my first trip outside Chennai was to Pondicherry, the city where the French tried to get their teeth into India before the Brits kicked them out. I tried to get a room at the Park Guesthouse, where I stayed last year, which is run by Auroville, the ashram of the late Sri Aurobindo and The Mother. Was told “no rooms”, yet the couple who came in behind me got a room. I was told later by a woman from New York who now lives in Pondy that the Park is “funny” about a solo woman showing up asking for a room. Ended up at the Hotel Soorya…for only one night, it was fine….500Rs, a little over $10…..

Spent lots of time at the Ganesha temple this morning, saw the puja with the temple elephant. Yet the people in the stalls outside…..people asked me for pens, pens, pens besides money, money, money. The temple’s shoe man (who watches your shoes when you go into the temple) told me his daughter studies in Chennai, he wants my “best pen”. I gave him a pen I had. Later on, as I came out of the temple he tells me “pen no write”. I told him “your karma, boss. Chennai man give me sandlewood pen last year, fell apart, cheap. karma is karma…..om gum gana patayai namaha….”

Something about Pondy this time just seems so…..mean and hard, can’t describe it. I’ve been walking around for hours now and I keep thinking, why does everyone look so pissed off? No smiles. I stopped at a chai bar on the beach and told the clerk how great I thought the chai was (it was! all for 3 rupees!) and the look on his face would have melted glass. Walked around the market streets, and all I saw was….America. American clothes, American plastic shit, American money-grubbing.

On the bus to Pondy I sat next to a Muslim man who kept offering me candy, he was great, so open so friendly. On the other side was an Indian woman who spoke excellent English so we talked about spirituality when she found out I teach yoga. She said she had done yoga a long time ago and wants to get into it again. I said, but you have the best yoga schools here, Westerners come here to study yoga but Indians don’t do yoga here. She said that’s because we don’t appreciate it. She said it was her karma that she sat next to me because I have given her inspiration to start doing yoga again.

Then she started talking about America and Bush. I am sick of people asking me “do you support George Bush?” I said, no, you can’t blame me for him, because I did not vote for him, twice! I told her not to judge America or Americans by George Bush. I told her, if you do that, you are no better than Americans who judge India and Indian people by the pictures of filth, poverty, and beggars that they see, they think all of India is like that. So how can you judge America by George Bush? I told her, you talk about spirituality, but you have one opinion only about America because of what you see in the press? She apologized to me, said I had opened her eyes about her own closed mind.

aaaah……all that in a 3 hour bus ride to Pondy…..

Unless anyone think I am dissing Pondy, I’m not. It was just different this time. I stood on the rocks by the sea this morning looking down at all the garbage as I drank my chai. Last year I thought “this is India, it is what it is.” This morning it disgusted me — I thought, doesn’t anyone care what they are doing to the ocean, to the environment? Then a man walked up next to me with a plastic bag with something long and oval looking in it. He made sure that when he threw it, it landed in the ocean. He walked away without a second thought. I thought about what it might be: garbage, or a cat, a puppy, a baby, maybe a girl baby? It did not float, it sank immediately.

I would not be a clear-eyed Buddhist if I did not see things as they are, not as I wish them to be, without the garbage and the starving pups and the big-eyed beggar girls. It is what it is. And I absolutely believe that the people are friendlier in Chennai than they are in Pondy! Even the Westerners in Pondy all looked like they were pissed off….

On the bus trip back to Chennai two men helped get me to the right city bus stop to get me back to my hotel and I did not have to ask them for help….they only asked if “American madam” needs help….

Ah yes….. while my fellow students were lounging all weekend at Ideal Resort, a beach resort in Mahabalipuram, I was watching men shit and piss next to the road on the way back from Pondy…..the “naughty stop”!.

On the return trip from Pondy, the bus made a “rest stop” between Mahabalipuram and Chennai. The bus stopped at a grove of what looked like pine trees, lots of space in between each tree. Also lots of garbage, crows, dogs, and a few cows. Most of the men got off the bus, and started to shit and piss in plain view. Too bad for any women on the bus who had to relieve themselves! I watched this unphased, I did not look away. The man next to me, who I noticed was dressed all in white, looked embarrassed that I was witnessing this. He clucked his tongue a few times, waved his hand toward these two legged dogs, and said “naughty stop”. “Sorry?”, I said. More tongue clucking…..”naughty stop” he repeated and shook his head. He looked mortified that I was seeing all this, and that we were in plain view of the road, with cars, buses, and rickshaws speeding by….

this is India, darling…..

last day in Chennai

by L. Valdez Karl

the story sequence is out of order, but so it goes…
above pic taken on my last afternoon in Chennai, September 2005, at the flower warehouse

*********************************************

September 2005

My last day in India was the best day I experienced in Chennai.

On my last night in India I met one of the yoga students (Pat from Tanzania) at the Eco Cafe for our goodbyes and she told me that I was probably the only one who was not in the group picture. She also said that a tea was given for the students at the end of the day. But frankly, a group picture, a tea, and teary goodbyes to people I only knew for a month and probably will never see again, mean nothing to me compared to what I experienced that last afternoon.

The Banyan is a women’s organization that is about 60 minutes from where I stayed in Mylapore. I wanted to donate money and also clothes and toiletries that I would not be bringing back with me. Suresh got lost a few times, but we finally found it. I was amused that he never asked women for directions to a women’s shelter, he only asked men for directions.

Visiting Banyan was an overwhelming experience for me because I teach yoga in a shelter similar to this one. There are approximately 300 women there, and not just from Chennai.

I almost started crying when I walked through the gates — two dogs came running up to me, barking loudly, protecting their home. One dog had a bad rear leg so he was running on three legs. The other dog, was dragging her back end, pulling herself with her front legs, she must have had a broken pelvis. But she was still fierce, trying to protect her place, her paralysis did not stop her. I watched her as she dragged herself all over, with old crusted sores on her back legs from dragging herself around. But when she laid down exhausted, she looked up at me and seemed to smile!

I was greeted by a young Finnish woman. She came to volunteer after the tsunami and stayed on in Chennai, learning the Tamil language. I asked her about the dogs and she said “oh, we adopt them too…” It did my heart good when she told me that they also have yoga classes for the women.

I was given a tour and I talked with tsunami survivors, to an ex-movie actress who was rescued from the streets, to a woman from Mumbai who has the same curly hair as I do — she hugged me because we had something so mundane in common, our hair. She did not speak English, but she came up to me smiling, pointing to her hair, and then touching mine.

I lost it — I started crying because I thought about the women in the shelter back home where I teach yoga. The woman who was the ex-actress came up to me and told me in perfect English, “don’t cry, madam, we love it here, we are happy here.” They have nothing and yet they have everything.

I left and Suresh took me to the warehouse district where we walked through huge warehouses filled with fruit and veggies and flowers. I was the only Westerner and Suresh made sure no one crowded me too much. I took my best and most favorite pics of India at these warehouses. I was mobbed everywhere I went, people wanting me to take their pictures, then crowding around me to see their pic on the camera. Surrounded by 20 men and never hassled once — would that happen in NYC or Chicago? They yelled their thanks to me and kissed their hands and touched my cheeks, some bowed and made anjali mudra to the OM tattoo on my wrist.

Attend final classes that afternoon? Scheduling classes after our “graduation” ceremony in the morning was an anti-climax. I never would have given up the experiences I had that afternoon for anyone or anything. The best part was experiencing it alone, on my own terms, deliciously secure as only a woman of a certain age can be.

emails home

by L. Valdez Karl

Unfortunately, during my first trip to India in September, 2005, I did not keep the emails I sent home. Y’all will have to be satisfied with my musings and rants from my second trip in March, 2006, including those I wrote for IndiaMike.com, where I am now a moderator…

enjoy!

the first pic is me with Suresh’s three darling daughters, his nephew, and a neighbor boy….such a simply sweet and beautiful day…..

the picture of me and my very large friend was taken in September 2005 in front the temple in Pondicherry….the blessing only cost me 1 rupee! definitely the money shot!
__________________________________________________________

3/6/06

…the intensive is going to be awesome, of course! this time we have Desikachar’s senior senior teachers teaching us and….Desikachar himself is teaching the meditation class and his son, Kausthub, is teaching the class on how the Sutras teach us how to transform ourselves.

This is a yoga teacher’s dream — at least for a teacher who believes that this is the heart of yoga. We chanted with Desikachar this morning, and he told us we sounded “fantastic”….

Once again, being here confirms for me that yoga is not about the body, but about transforming the mind. And once again it confirms that no one can put their own name on a 5000 year old tradition — not John Friend, not Ana Forrest, not Bikram….

This morning they talked about how true personal transformation, on a deeper level, can not come from a group class, it can only be done on an individual level, one-on-one, like Krishnamacharya taught. It can start in a group yoga class, but can only reach culmination, one-on-one.

As I laid in bed this morning in the throes of jet lag, I realized what coming here does for me — India integrates me, takes the yin and yang and pulls it together into the One that gives me peace. It is hard to describe, but when I realized it, it literally felt like two halves melting into one.

mmmmmmm……my India …..
__________________________________________________________

3/11/2006
first weekend of traveling…

woke up this morning in Pondicherry . Starting walking at 7 am — to beach on the Bay of Bengal , taking my time….. stopped to make “happy birthday” call to hubby while I was drinking REAL indian chai for 3 rupees a cup — had 3 cups. 44 rupees to $1 so figure it out!

There is a Ganesh temple in Pondicherry — the temple where the elephant blessed me last year. On my way back from the beach, they were walking the temple elephant thru the streets to the temple, her face decorated, her “ankles” wearing bracelets. They took the real Ganesha into the temple and walked her around. Following her were the priests beating drums, blowing horns, and pulling a movable altar with a statue of Ganesh covered in garlands. They walked her around the temple about 5 times or so, then took her outside. Every time she passed me I said OM GUM GANA PATAYAI NAMAHA, Ganesh’s mantra. The whole experience was awesome. And yes, Ganesha blessed me again…..when I gave her a rupee. The elephant is 15 years old by the way, still a young temple elephant.

I had breakfast on the beach in a tiny restaurant, 30 rupees. Idly with chutneys and a sweet lassi, of course…..

My trip is a bit different this year — I realized that now that I see the underbelly of India , last year, I saw only the good thru rose colored glasses. Now I see everything more clearly, the garbage, the shit — dog, cow, and human — on the streets, the starving dogs, the beggars holding puppies or babies to get your sympathy. There were two little girls, one holding a little puppy not more than 2 months old, so of course I gave them all my rupee coins and 30 rupees in paper money, how could I resist? I told them to feed themselves and the puppy. Who knows if they will feed the puppy?

But in spite of this, I love it here. I am a true buddhist when I can see reality as it really is, not as I wish it to be with no starving puppies and little beggar girls and no shit on the streets! This morning I called from the beach on my cell phone to Madurai , the temple town I will visit in two weeks, called 2 places to reserve a room. I have a reservation at a 1000 rupee hotel and a 118 rupee guesthouse next to the temple…..guess which one I will stay at??

well, think I will go back to hotel now, to shower, and go out for another walk. Will head back to Chennai about 3 pm or so…..

bye for now — and think about elephant blessings…. and all the other blessings you have in your lives…..
_________________________________________________________

3/16/2006

…it was a great theory class today, all about the bandhas, so interesting!! once again, being here re-confirms for me how this is the pure, traditional yoga, the heart, anything else is just faking it…..and anyone who puts their own name on yoga…
PUH-LEEEEEEZE!

the teachers keep emphasizing how personal transformation is the true goal of yoga, not getting the yoga butt or abs, but personal transformation, changing our states of mind, replacing negative tendencies with positive ones, and connecting to the True Self, how ultimately this can not be done in a group yoga class, it can only be done one-on-one with a teacher, as Krishnamacharya taught.

They showed us the sequence on how to teach the bandhas, starting with jalandhara going down to mulabandha, and how people should be able to inhale and exhale at least to a count of 10 or 12, before even attempting to work with the bandhas. Also told us about contraindications. Again, once more this emphasized for me, what NOT to teach in a group class, because everyone is different and everyone will have a different reaction to it — uddiyana bandha aggravates vata for example.

We were told that Krishnamacharya did not believe in kriyas. He said pranayama practice — properly done — was effective enough to cleanse the body of impurities. Desikachar was with us last night and he told us stories of his father, about how Krishnamacharya stopped his own heart for 2 minutes — it was only then that Desikachar took up the practice of yoga, when he saw the power of it. Until then he was not interested in it. This was in 1962 or so.

I’ve have gotten pretty good at chanting the Gayatri mantra….I don’t sound too much like a howling dog anymore!

other than that, was in a very minor rickshaw accident the other night, but was not hurt. Went out with a South African student to a bookstore and in search of sweet lassis. A Muslim woman on a scooter turned into us, her front wheel ended up underneath the rickshaw and she fell off. no one stopped to help, but the guy I was with got out to help her up. She just got on the scooter and took off like nothing was. We were lucky — two other students were in a rickshaw accident where the rickshaw rolled over. Lucky for them that they escaped with only bruises and scrapes, nothing broken.

This is India….
___________________________________________________________

3/20/2006

I just got back from another beautiful day in Chennai, thanks to my rickshaw driver, Suresh. I used his services last September. He usually hangs out at The Woodlands Hotel (a hangout for Westerners in Chennai) but is available for hire for the “American madam”. Thanks to Suresh I got my best photos last year, when he took me on my last day to Chennai’s veg/fruit/flower warehouses….

Suresh does not speak the best English, but we communicate. At the beginning of this week he invited me to his house for Sunday (today), and kept reminding me about it — “wife make fish, good, Madam…” with a big smile. He said he would buy a fish, and his wife would use a little oil (because he knows I don’t like “grease”) and some spices, and his wife will cook us a feast! He picked me up and I knew it would be a traditional South Indian meal when he stopped to get some banana leaves (banana leaves are used for plates.)

I kept thinking about how our relationship has changed since last year. He invited me to his house so he must think I will not be judgmental of him as a poor rickshaw driver. Many people I know would scoff at the idea of sitting on a concrete floor eating a wonderful meal with a rickshaw driver and his wife and kids (none of whom speak English!). Many higher caste Indian would not even consider it….

The fish was great, with steamed rice and a veg salad, and a dish of mutton besides. I hoped that his wife would not be insulted that I could not eat all that she gave me — I don’t eat much, and after a few slices of fish, I was full. The funny thing was that they gave me utensils and I said, no, I will eat with my right hand, south Indian style. The kids tried to use the spoons — they sat up nice and straight looking proper, and I motioned for them to forget the spoons, just eat Indian style, which they gladly did, immediately. It was a good laugh….

It amazes me how Indian women, no matter how poor they are, always look beautiful in their saris and gold jewelery, and we Westerners always look like refugees. With many there is a certain elegance as they glide through the dirtiest and dustiest of streets, seemingly without a drop of sweat on their brows….

We got to his house (two rooms, and the Indian squat toilet is outside in another room of the building, clothes washing is done in a bucket, and pounded against the ground), and of course the neighbors had to come to see the American (I don’t think too many westerners visit this part of Chennai.) His place costs 1500 rupees per month, the one across the way costs 3000 rupees/month — for “rich people” he says (44 R = $1)

He told everyone I am the American yoga teacher he drives around. They were all interested in my tattoos, especially the kids. Suresh has three daughters (which is a curse for a poor Indian man, he must come up with a dowry for each one when they marry), and I also met his nephew. After lunch, we went up on the roof where the laundry was blowing in the breeze, and the kids started posing for pictures. I took a ton of pics of the kids and some neighbors. It was a beautiful way to spend an afternoon, to me, the “real India”. I felt honored to be there, on the roof, running around with the kids, showing them the pics on the camera, it made me want to cry. These Indians I was with, none of whom speak English, treated me like family, someone who they will never see again….how many of us would do that?? It was a day I will never forget.

I heard the kids calling me auntyji, which is a term of respect for the older “aunty” in the family…..

this is my India ….tomorrow night on to Madurai, and more Indian adventures….