Maintaining harmoni(um)

Buckle up. This one took some time.

For the past month I’ve been grateful to work with a music teacher who has introduced me to learning how to play the harmonium and understand how to read Indian music (forget Do Re Mi. It’s Sa Ri Ga…from now on), as well as help me to hear and repeat certain patterns in the music, and how to keep rhythm (slow, single, double even triple time). And of course we’ve been chanting. These pieces all go hand in hand and are even complementary of my experience studying yoga and philosophy in Mysore. It has been at once, a meditative and transformative process. So, as I prepared to leave Mysore and continue with my travels, I decided the time had come to fulfill a dream and I set out to purchase a harmonium.

Armed with 3 reputable stores to check out thanks to my teacher, Ranjini, I hired a rickshaw driver and away we went. Not to be overlooked for even a moment here is the fact that once you hire a rickshaw driver in India, they are committed to you. Your time is their time. Your endeavor becomes theirs and receives full attention. Of course they’re being paid for it, but compensation is so minimal for the amount of time spent hanging around and waiting and helping that it continues to blow my mind. Just try to imagine this sort of relationship with a cab driver in your neighborhood. Impossible.

Our first stop proved to be overpriced and a little too fancy for my taste, but I had a chance to try a few different harmoniums on for size and grace the music store with my vast knowledge of basic scales. I’m sure they were impressed.

A friend who was very generous with her time on this particular day met me and accompanied me to the other side of the market in search of further options. The first store on this side of town was closed for lunch…indeed, the tradition of siesta is alive and well in India...but to my knowledge it’s not called anything fancy, just lunch. So, onto it’s rival across the street (found with some friendly help from Madu the rickshaw driver/ interpreter/ courier/ guardian angel, and some folks on the street). The store was basic in terms of square feet (max occupancy was 3), but the selection was plentiful with instruments stacked floor to ceiling.

Again I played scales since it’s what I know best, and was quite entertained to find that when I looked up from playing, a small audience of about 4 or 5 men gathered and were standing in the doorway, I presume, to watch more than listen. Nonetheless, they seemed genuinely pleased that we were there. In no time at all I found a contender, considered the odds of the 3^rd and final store returning from siesta any time in the next hour, and with that, happily selected the bellows of my dreams!

A phone call by the store’s owner resulted in the almost immediate arrival and subsequent parting of the crowd by a stranger from the depths of the outside market that came in to make a few adjustments that only seconds before I requested be made to the instrument. We were packed so tightly into the store that we easily could have been shipped along with my new toy without any need for styrofoam fillers!

Rupees were exchanged, pictures were taken and I requested that my newfound love be boxed so I could ship it back to the US. A small consortium of about 4 or 5 (some new, some old) men including the store owner and rickshaw driver proceeded to discuss and eventually agree upon the best method to pack the box and in no time, I happily left the store a proud harmonium owner.

Sitting in the rickshaw, box in my lap, we were headed for the ominous post-office when about 40 meters down the road while slowed (not stopped), a man approached us from out of nowhere and said that he does sealing and shipping and to go with him. Talk about ambulance chaser! These guys mean business. I’ve heard only horror stories about trying to send things from the post-office (lines, missed paperwork, back to the end of the lines and the need for proper ID which I didn’t have on me at the time). I looked to Madu for some counsel who gave me the go-ahead with the wag of his head, so I figured I’d give it a shot.

We were led to a partially underground partially open-air space/ office across from a Mosque in the middle of the busy market where business was to take place. Madu parked his rickshaw and carried the box in for me. Again, this sort of assistance, dare I say devotion is not possible to comprehend in any other place I’ve been. From here, my new host took over. I asked how much it would cost to send and he assured me he’d tell me when the time was right, but for now we had to measure, unpack, repack and of course ensure many times through many sets of knuckles that the wood instrument was not made of precious sandalwood (somehow knocking on the outside of it with a fist is the way to determine this…sort of like watching a physician tap a patients belly in search of a hollow sound…but I digress). Alas it was confirmed that the instrument is constructed of wood whose origin and genus I am unfamiliar with.

Now, I’ve never been fitted for something like a bridal gown but I have known many a bride in my time and so, I can say with quite a bit of confidence, measuring and sealing (aka sewing) a package closed in preparation for overseas shipment from India absolutely rivals this process in total time spent, fittings and readjustments included. After about 40 minutes of sitting and chatting about all things India, chai was ordered and I realized that perhaps this was going to take a while. Eventually, the harmonium was packed, material to cover and sew the box up with was cut and fit to size, stitching was completed and I began to look to the street to catch a glimpse of the last bit of the light of day.

Then it happened. About 75 minutes into the process, the documents were brought forward for me to fill out. I needed a receipt with the purchase cost. Once again, Madu to the rescue. Honestly, would your cabbie do that? Upon his return, I was asked to write my mailing address and theirs as the return address on the box. The return address literally included the phrase ‘across the street from the blah blah Mosque’. I eventually ended up writing this 5 times in 5 different places. Then a binder (not entirely full of women) was brought forth with pictures and emails of satisfied customers. We were urged to look through this before continuing any further in the mailing process, I suppose to help alleviate any doubts I might have had when he finally gave me a quote. But that was not to happen so soon…

Following the binder came a stack of sample letters whose form I was to follow in constructing a letter to the customs agent inspecting the box that described its contents and what it would be used for (along with what it would not be used for). After some disagreement, we settled on ‘new, ordinary, wood, manual, musical harmonium’ as the content description. Then I attached the receipt along with this letter on the outside of the sealed and sewn box to improve my chances that no one would tamper with my parcel. I understood this, so I began writing. Three drafts, 15 minutes and almost zero patience later I finally completed the note to my professors satisfaction. 

Eventually the parcel was weighed and a price was calculated. Truthfully I was about 90 mins beyond my limit at this point so I almost didn’t hear him tell it to me. Until I did. Yeah, that’s right. It costs more to mail the harmonium to the US than it does to purchase it. “US and Canada. Very expensive. If you ship to Europe, much cheaper.” I paused and wondered to myself, do I bother telling him that I don’t live in Europe? (not yet, anyway!)

The estimated mailing time is 35 days.

I sure do hope my satisfied customer picture and email make their way into that binder!

Goa-ing by train

What could be more exciting than a train ride in India? Not much...but the 5 hour drive to the coast to get to the station comes in at a close second. Weaving through the mountains and roads is thrilling enough as it is. Add some serious language barriers, a few completely atypical episodes of sheets of rain pouring down into the countryside in February, the necessary coffee/ chai stop no matter the time and 'schedule' we were on to try and catch/ stay on schedule with our train, and things get really interesting.

Riding the train is a complete thrill! Easily one of the greatest experiences of my life. If you're into color, scenery, wind, speed and even a little bit of the feeling of being rocked to sleep, this is for you. Somehow the train ticket purchasing process was the most challenging part of my trip and I'm really not sure whether I could do it again with such success, but it's worth every bit of the struggle.

It's the best way to meet people, to gaze at the countryside and marvel at small villages, at fisherman and sunsets, hills and mountains and fields of green. Standing in the doorway and feeling the breeze, sometimes wind, move through you is a feeling like none other. I must have stood there for a combined total of 3 hours...I was completely addicted. Speaking of addictions, the chai was pretty bad ass too. I should know. I drank about 5 cups of it!

I can't say that riding in excess of 10, 13, even 26 hours (as most city to city travel requires) is necessarily for me...but I easily sustained 6.5 hours and wasn't quite ready to get off. Though the young child whose only reliable source of entertainment was a toy that played 'Oh, Susannah!' over and over and over again while her extended family who traveled alongside us oohed and aaahed over her every move helped to get me off just that much faster when my stop arrived!

Oh, but I digress. Some snapshots along the journey perhaps?

Ticket collector. Antiquated system, but it works.

A/C 3 tier...the way to travel

Sardine over rice with SPICY fish sauce. Not bad. I was hungry.

As the picture says, Mangalore Junction station. My starting point.

Sleeper cars. Not sure why they're called this since they have no A/C and smaller berths. Seems sleeping would be tough.Go figure. #India.

Side berth. Next time I book one of these bad boys.

This gentleman showed me how to properly stand in the doorway of a moving train (put your back into it) so you don't get thrown off by the wind. Danny Devito should have just turned his momma the wrong way...

Train baño. Good for opening the hips.

My bench. Beds pull down from the wall above. Mine was in the middle...

Like 2 trains, passing in the evening :)

Countryside

Chai! With a side of windblown hair.

Chai guy!!

Fisherman fishing

View from the doorway

Kids playing near the railroad..they were super excited to wave at the passing train!

Mahishasura

Mysore. Chapter 1.

It’s hard to believe almost 5 weeks have gone by. I have some good stories and adventures to catch up on writing and sharing over the next few days, but in the morning I’m leaving Mysore to do some highly anticipated travel on the coast of India.

Living, studying and practicing in Mysore has been one of the greatest leaps and important experiences of my life to date. I'm leaving here on a wonderful note…the best way to go. I feel more happy than sad to leave, for I know what I’ve experienced and built here for myself with the help of this solid community. I’m grateful for each experience and person whom I’ve met and had the opportunity to chat or sweat or sing or laugh with, for every face I’ve been able to acknowledge with a smile or a nod or wiggle of the head, and even to share glances with. And while I’m really excited for the adventures that lie ahead, Mysore and the shala means I will always have a home to return to when I need it.

I said so long to my teachers and friends today. Relationships that I didn’t have 35 days ago and whose impact I still may not understand for some time have been established and I look forward to either watering them and watching them grow or to simply enjoying that they were. No matter the outcome, I’m grateful, I’m proud and I’m feeling the love.

Mahishasura masks made of cement and painted by these men. You can find these hanging outside of homes throughout the city to ward off evil. Mahishasura. Mahisha Demon. Namesake of Mysore. 

'Amma' still standing, but lots of others weren't

Last weekend I had an experience. Amma was in town. Amma, meaning mother, is a woman who is revered here in India and throughout the world as the Hugging Saint. She’s a woman who, since she was a young girl, has embodied love and continues to exemplify hope for so many. She’s an activist who has dedicated her life to help make the world an easier place to live, and her organization and ashram in Kerala, South India is a spiritual home and headquarters for her monastic disciples and devotees.

I first heard about Amma about 6-7 years ago when she was touring in the US. All I knew of her then was that people stood in line for hours to receive a hug and blessing from her. Skeptic that I am, I decided against the 5-hour road trip to see her. So, when I found out she was going to be in Mysore, India at the very time I was here, I decided to check it out.

Prepared for the worst, i.e. no bathrooms, blazing sun and unimaginable crowd, I arrived early with a group of friends and peers from Mysore, some of who had seen her in the US. To my great surprise upon our arrival 2.5 hours before the event was slated to begin, I was very happy to be able to sit down in an actual chair, under cover from the sun and, yes, I’m told there were bathrooms. We went through the process of separating (male/ female) and collecting a ticket that would later (TBD) be exchanged for another ticket with a number that permitted us to stand in a line to receive a hug. While it was somewhat redundant, the process was much less involved than I assumed it would be. We chatted with one another, took in the sights and sounds and listened to the opening prayers that lasted a minimum of an hour (and they were reading at least 7 ppm (that’s prayers per minute) prior to Amma’s celebrated entrance! In that time, the crowds began to file and stack in, row-by-row, chair-by-chair (kids are 2 to a seat), prayer-by-prayer. Amma's devotees who you could easily identify from their all-white attire, appeared to be largely in charge of organizing the event, with help from local volunteers. It's worth noting that the majority of devotees also appeared to be Westerners.

Something that continues to strike me here and seemed exacerbated at this event is not only the lack of available (personal) space, but the fact that this is common-place and I think even preferred by many. I've said it before and it still remains true. If there is any space left lingering between any 2 objects, it will be occupied in the blink of an eye. It's also remarkable how familiar even strangers are with one another. No one hesitates to  touch, tap, speak to or instruct another if it suits their immediate needs. So many people throughout the entire day (it lasted only 7.5 hours for me...much longer for other folks) attempted time and time again to make their own rules and if no one was present to stop them, then success was all theirs. Generally, however, the aforementioned devotees were on it and had to flex some muscle and become surprisingly direct with many members of the audience in an effort to maintain order at times, peace. 

When Amma made her entrance a red carpet was rolled out, people pressed their bodies into one another so that it felt hotter and closer than a steaming iron on linen pants, and the ceremony began. After introductions, updates on current projects including a new hospital in Mysore, giving thanks to the organizers, a ticket for ticket exchange, a kirtan which was very enjoyable to listen and sing with and a speech from Amma ( I had to get up and walk around at that point..we were 6 hours in and I was losing the battle of being ok with having no idea when the hugging would begin! )...I returned to my seat during prayer and meditation.

At this point, much of the audience already thinned out and was walking around the grounds or out of earshot of what was happening onstage. I make this point because, as I was sitting listening to Amma, I noticed how basic and simple her message, her words, even her examples were. In fact, it was so elementary, that I noticed myself growing impatient. I didn't understand in the moment the reason for her emphasis on things like, for example, thinking of others, helping to raise children and leading by example, acting out of love and kindness toward the world. These are things I think of and have always thought of on a very regular basis. I suppose I became a bit egocentric in these moments, because the message was beyond obvious...to me.

And then it happened. Following a moving session of prayer and meditation, instructions for how to line up for a hug were announced. The system appeared to be quite simple. Look at your ticket. It has a letter and number on it. Check the posts by the stage. When you see your letter and number appear, line up. 

I can't say for sure where the breakdown occured..1 complete and total guess is the english alphabet and number system on each ticket that was used to direct a partially illiterate and non-english speaking crowd of people...but rest assured, there was (in my mind, at least) a breakdown. Suddenly the crowd swelled, women in their 6th and 7th and 8th decades who were dressed in their best Saris were on the ground, climbing under ropes, clawing at people, pushing and shoving their way to the line that connected them to the stage where Amma sat. After about 10 minutes of figuring out how to reclaim my personal space (and by reclaim I mean how to get people out from the ground beneath my skirt), certain things began to make more sense. Suddenly I wasn't sure I wanted to be there any longer as I realized the implications that this brief meeting with Amma held for so many people. So many of these people are desperate. Amma is a sign of hope, of a chance for something, anything, better than what they currently know and have in life. For them, seeing and touching and being blessed by Amma is a potential way out. 

It was humbling in so many respects to stand there and understand this realization.

I eventually received a hug. Some say it's a life-altering experience. Others find themselves in tears or feel her energy moving through them. By the time I got to Amma, I felt somewhat violated. In truth, I had a flashback of the one time in my life I spent 10 minutes on Bourbon Street during Mardis Gras, an experience I vowed never to put myself through again! (Beignets and coffee however, that's a different story!) From the moment I stepped into the back of the line, I was man-handled all the way up to and even after that hug. I also felt something, though I'm not sure how to describe it on a visual/ energetic level for a split second when our gaze met, and indeed, I acknowledge a great deal of respect and gratitude for a woman who is able to offer so much hope and who continues to spread her message of love to those who need it most throughout the world.